Global Soul by Jerri Jheto
I grew up in a little village in Eastern Nigeria. My father was a Christian pastor, so I was instilled with the idea of loving your brother as you love yourself. I got into music through my grandmother’s influence. She was part of a group of women—singers and dancers in the village—and they would come to the compound every evening to play the cowbells and sing and dance around the fireplace. This is how music came into my life. I had been playing congas in my father’s church, and when the piano player left, I was asked to learn piano.
I realized when I was very little that by being an artist, I am the unconscious mind of my race. Because I saw how powerful music was—how powerful creativity was and is—I wanted to use music amid all that was happening in my life, especially as my country was at war with itself.
As I grew up and started to find myself, I became aware that everything was rough and bad. That era really shaped who I wanted to be. I always knew that it was good for everyone to be free and I wondered why some are free and some not; why some get to eat and some do not. I was always inquisitive and my thoughts were global—they were never just about myself, but always structured around how I could aspire to be a better servant to the community.
My people have used music to elevate every moment of their lives. When we were under European rule, music gave us hope that tomorrow would be better. My grandmother’s fireside circle was everything to me. That’s where the milestones in our community, like birth and death, were translated into songs and dances. Special songs were even created to pass the time that it took to cook our meals.
I was still in primary school when Fela Kuti came from London and started his band, Africa ‘70. From my house to his house was less than 50 yards away, so I saw him every day. Fela’s music was wonderful; to hear it was a spiritual experience; we felt empowered by it and we held our heads high. I would be there when Fela was writing a new song, then he would call for rehearsal and we’d hang out at the Shrine, thoroughly enjoying the great band. I stayed there many times to see how he worked. He was a machine. In the 1970s, I was there when the army tore down his commune and threw his mother to her death from a high window. I was there for the Movement of the People Party he founded, and then when he was falsely jailed. I loved Fela like I loved God, because he was what I wanted to be and I wanted to say it the way it should be said. He challenged the government in a way that’s never been done and that was wonderful.
In 1984, after I finished recording Aura with King Sunny Ade, Sonny Okosun was going on an American tour and wanted me to play bass. My first experience of the diaspora was the feeling I had of stepping off the plane in New York, and the cold hitting my skin. I wanted to go back to Africa right there and then! I didn’t want anything to do with America at that point. But a friend lent me his jacket and encouraged me to disembark.
When I hit the ground, what first seized me was that every block had a church. I said to myself, “Wow, this is where God lives!” At each church I saw a liquor store nearby. That really blew my mind. Coming from Africa, I realized that we have such a different way of life and upbringing. I started to see that the love and the commonality I knew back in Africa—the idea that the child gets brought up by the whole village—wasn’t the case in America. It affected me deeply to find myself in a culture filled with people who seemed only to care about themselves.
Finally, what brought me peace toward America was how blessed it is with diversity; to have all nations represented in this country means that every bit of creativity God has given to each nation, America can now claim, transformed, as its own. All those ideas together have made America great, therefore its diversity, and not its arsenal, is what makes it a superpower.
The Afrobeat sound that I’m doing today on Illegal Alien, I utilized from the very beginning. But I couldn’t find a home at a major label nor could I find a public hungry for reggae. Thank God for Paul Simon’s Graceland, because that sound was exactly what I’d brought forth in 1984. Illegal Alien marks the return of a prodigal son who wants to make inroads back into Africa; to continue what Fela has done with the hope that others will pick up on it and most importantly, that one day the people will understand and come together.
Music is very powerful. I’ve always said that music is the one thing God doesn’t do by Himself; instead He lets the musicians sit down and entertain Him. It’s so beautiful that in this country as I’ve lived my life, I’ve met wonderful human beings in the spirit of music and creativity. I couldn’t have asked for a greater gift.
Jerri Jheto is a singer-songwriter who has uplifted audiences for more than 30 years by pairing wicked grooves with socially-conscious lyrics. He lives in Los Angeles and can be contacted online at www.myspace.com/jerrijhetorubberbros.