Although he is virtually unknown in the United States, Fela Kuti of Nigeria is the most dangerous musician in the world. For two decades, Fela has lived by the motto music is the weapon of the future, recording a half dozen albums each year that document the corruption and inhumanity of the Nigerian government. Writing, producing and arranging his own recordings, in addition to singing and playing saxophone and keyboards, he invented a hybrid of African and American styles dubbed Afro-Beat. It's not pretty the way much African music is, but the coarse pulse carries Fela's rage. Although a shortage of raw materials in Nigeria had already limited the singer's ability to put out records, the government jailed him in the fall of 1984 on a dubious charge of currency smuggling.

While Amnesty International fights for his release, Celluloid Records has issued three albums that draw from Fela's extensive catalog. The centerpiece of Zombie is the contemptuous title track, perhaps Fela's most infamous recording. Taunting mindless authoritarianism ("Zombie no kill unless you tell him to kill"), it earned Fela a beating at the hands of Nigerian soldiers soon after its 1976 release (they burned his house down the next year). The frantic horn arrangement demonstrates how Afro-Beat incorporates soul, swing and free jazz, and Fela plays the organ like Booker T. trying to knock down the walls of Jericho. Side two uses material from other LPs recorded in '75 and '76 and is almost equally vicious: "Monkey Banana" attacks those who profit from obeying authority, and "Everything Scatter" describes the anarchic nature of Nigerian city life.

Shuffering and Shmiling, on the other hand, is a minor effort from 1978. In a sermon directed at "Africans all over the world," Fela portrays religion as the opiate of the masses while a female chorus barks out mocking "amens" behind him. The instrumental on the B side extends the arrangement through a series of solos, making the total playing time little more than twenty minutes.

The jewel of the Celluloid series is No Agreement, recorded in 1977. On side one, the fourteen-piece band responds to the funky, compact arrangement with the precision of a symphony orchestra, as they swerve from solos back to charts over a hypnotic two-bar guitar riff. The sharp mix highlights the elemental construction of Afro-Beat; guest trumpeter Lester Bowie of the Art Ensemble of Chicago adds slurs, hoots and whispers; and Fela's terse lyrics vow never to compromise his pan-African ideology.

Unfortunately, all three albums are marred by hasty design: they offer minimal biographical or recording information and no release dates, and Zombie lists no band members. Although it was an interesting idea to reprint the original album covers in miniature, it would have been more productive to use the space for lyrics (Fela's pidgin English can be difficult to understand, especially on Zombie).

But even if they were packaged as plain white cassettes, the smoldering anger in this music would put most Western political pop to shame. Fela's 1984 imprisonment came as he was leaving for his first major U.S. tour – the Nigerian government clearly didn't want his ideas to reach our shores. That kind of fear is a truer testament to Fela's potency than any review. (RS 469)

ROB TANNENBAUM