In 1973 Paul McCartney was working on what would become his masterpiece Wings, i.e Band on the Run. He wanted to record it somewhere away from London, really bringing the band on the runand therefore chose to do it at the EMI studios in Lagos, the capital of Nigeria. There among other things there was a vibrant music scene with the king of Afrobeat Fela Kuti at its center, a true guru of local music. Kuti welcomed the Beatle in the press with a somewhat conciliatory “he came to steal the music of the blacks”. The two then met. Here's how it went in an excerpt from Paul McCartney's new autobiographical book Wings. A band on the run released today which we publish courtesy of the publisher Nave di Teseo.
When we arrived in Lagos and were trying to set up the studio, one of the first things that came out was a front page story in a local newspaper with the headline “Paul McCartney of The Beatles arrives in Lagos”. He quoted Fela Ransome-Kuti, as he was called then, as saying: “He came to steal black music. He came to do this and that.” And his words hurt me.
I thought, “No, that's not why I came. I came for the rhythm, for the inspiration that being in contact with that music gives me.” Like being in Jamaica is a source of inspiration thanks to reggae. So I thought, well, what can I do? I called Ginger and said, “Hey man, this is what happened and I'd like to try to talk to Fela.” And Fela came to the Emi studio with… there must have been at least thirty people.
Fela entered the control room, while the rest of the entourage remained in the studio, and we had a chat. “Hey man, listen, I didn't come here to steal your music. And it saddens me that you think so. Let me play you something we recorded,” I said. «The closest thing we have is this song called Mamunia. Let me make you listen to it.” He listened to it and quite liked it. And he said, “It's not like Nigerian music.” Then he realized we weren't stealing his music, and we became good friends.
They had seen similar things happen before: people coming to Lagos, acting friendly, then returning home and finding success with their style of music. So I think they were a little paranoid. And they were afraid that it would happen again. «This is our music. If there is something to gain, we have to do it.” I knew he was right.
Fela invited us to his home, the Afrika Shrine, which is now a legendary venue. He was outside Lagos, somewhere, in a big tent. A tent with planks. There was no real roof. And it was fantastic. We went there and got high. Fela weed was very strong. We were all like – and me in particular, although I can only speak for myself – like on a trip. And I became very paranoid. Fela introduced people to us and I saw them as figures of death. It was strange. I later found out that they were perfectly nice people. But in my state of mind, it was all very scary.
Fela gave us seats at the side of the stage, telling us they were the best seats. We replied: “We don't want the best seats.” We just wanted to be nice and not seem like bully white people. Then he started playing and it was incredible. I had never heard anything like it in my life. I had listened to African music on record, but I had never found myself in a room with that music. And that band, I still remember the lineup, it was incredible.
Fela stood in front with a small Farfisa keyboard. He looked at the audience and sang. He had the band behind him. They started playing a beat and I couldn't help but cry. It hit me so hard. It was like, boom, and I've never heard anything so good, before or since. I listened to so much fabulous music. I've heard Hendrix live and other great stuff, but this was incredible. And, like I said, tears were rolling down my cheeks. It was just fantastic. It affected me deeply.
I still remember the riff and the entrance of the saxophones. That beautiful sound, the conga players and guitar players, then the percussionists standing at the front of the stage. Fela is in the center, shirtless, wearing a straw skirt. He's like the leader of the tribe. Play the keyboard. At his sides are the percussionists. One of them is a very tall and thin boy, wearing black and white striped trousers. And he's just throwing a little percussion instrument in the air, like he's playing with it. He throws it in the air and stuff, like it's a kid's toy. On the other side is another percussionist. Right behind it are two conga players, who act as a rhythm machine. Today it would be a drum machine.
So, behind them were those two guys. And then, on the sides, the saxophonists, four or six: a great baritone and all the various types of saxophones. Then there was a drummer on the right side, and just because he has all these drums, he can afford to do what I would call “lead drums”. It can simply accentuate some parts. He is commenting on the music. It's like lead drumming. Fantastic. Then there were the guitars, and they had a tenor guitar and some kind of bass. Kind of like a little African guitar, just lovely. And then the dancers. I think most of them were his wives. And they're all topless on the dance floor in front of him in straw skirts. An incredible vision. And right when it all started, I cried. I couldn't imagine any other reaction.
Taken from Wings. A band on the run by Paul McCartney. © 2025 by MPL Communications Limited © 2025 La nave di Teseo editore, Milan. Translation by Salvatore Serù.
