SJOB - 1978 - Freedom Anthem

SJOB

1978

Freedom Anthem

01. Oya

02. My Friend

03. Ayamato

04. Kukelu

05. Efin Ogiso

06. Freedom Anthem

07. Wombiliki

Bass Guitar, Lead Vocals, Percussion – Ehima Ottay

Chorus – Amoia, Bassey Black, Bayo

Congas – Friday Jumbo

Drums – Candido Obajimi, Mike Umoh (tracks: A1, A2)

Guitar, Lead Vocals, Percussion – Sam Abiloye

Keyboards – Collins

Organ – Sega Gafatchi

Tenor Saxophone – Chike Ekwe

Trumpet – Idowu Ogunbamowo

Buckle up, groove enthusiasts—this one's a bit of a wild card. Released in 1978 on the obscure Nigerian imprint Shanu Olu Records (catalog SOS 035), Freedom Anthem is credited to S. Job Organization (a cheeky contraction of the original SJOB Movement). But here's the punchline: according to Prince Bola Agbana himself—the drummer, vocalist, and spiritual heart of the original quartet—this album is basically the band's "apocryphal" third child. Born without the full core lineup (no Prince Bola on drums/vocals, no Jonnie Woode on cosmic Moog/keys), it's more like a funky cousin crashing the family reunion with session players in tow. Remaining members Spark Abiloye and Blackie Ottay pushed it out to keep the momentum going after the egalitarian dream started fraying. Think of it as the SJOB side project that forgot to invite half the band to the studio.

Still, what we get is deep, dark, and undeniably funky—a shift from the sunny, psychedelic spaciness of Friendship Train toward something moodier, more political, and tinged with reggae riddims. Influences from Black America (think emerging disco-funk edges) mix with local folk elements and afrobeat grit. No Odion Iruoje production polish here; it's rawer, like a late-night Lagos jam session that got serious about continental unity. Seven tracks across about 35-40 minutes, with the music credited collectively to "S. Job Organisation." Reissued in 2016 by PMG (Austria), it found new life among crate-diggers who love that "hidden gem" vibe.

Track-by-Track Breakdown 

Side A: The Call to Arms

Oya

Opens with invoking Oya (the Yoruba goddess of winds and change—fitting for a "freedom" theme). Heavy percussion, folk-infused melodies, and a reggae-ish sway that feels like Bob Marley teleported to Benin City. It's hypnotic and earthy, blending traditional sounds with funk bass. Humorously, it's the track that says, "Change is coming... but let's dance slowly about it."

My Friend (aka "My Friend (African Reggae)") (~6:17)

The standout—a smooth, dubby reggae groover with heartfelt lyrics about friendship (ironic, given the band's splintering). Laid-back rhythms, echoing vocals, and a bassline that slinks like it's avoiding drama. This one's been YouTube gold for afro-reggae fans. Funny bit: In a band built on equality and pals, this feels like a passive-aggressive postcard: "My friend... where'd you go?"

Ayamato (~5:11)

Political fire ignites here—"Ayamato" (roughly "Stand up for your rights") is a direct call for Africans to rise against oppression. Darker funk grooves, urgent horns, and lyrics that pack more punch than the earlier albums' philosophy. It's the album's wake-up call, funky yet fierce. Chuckle-worthy: Finally, some Fela-level activism... from the chillest collective ever.

Side B: Deeper into the Darkness

Kukelu

Mid-tempo funk with intricate percussion and layered guitars. Mysterious vibes, perhaps drawing on folk tales—it's groovy but enigmatic, like the band teasing secrets. Solid jammer that keeps the energy simmering without boiling over.

Efin Ogiso

Another deep cut with possible Edo/Benin influences (Ogiso referring to ancient kings). Smoky, atmospheric funk with reggae dub echoes and swirling instrumentation. It's the moodiest track, perfect for late-night contemplation... or plotting your own mini-revolution.

Freedom Anthem

The title track—a rousing, horn-driven call to arms with anthemic choruses demanding liberty. Funky breakdowns, collective chants, and that dark edge make it empowering. Humor alert: It's like the band shouting "Freedom!" right as their own freedom (from each other) was pulling them apart.

Wombiliki

Closer with more folk-reggae fusion—"Wombiliki" incorporates local sounds into a bouncy, infectious rhythm. Lightens the mood at the end, like a tinge of hope after the heavier messages. Danceable and fun, it's the track that reminds you: even in dark funk, there's room to wiggle.

Overall Sound and Legacy

Compared to the Moog-heavy psychedelia of the proper SJOB albums, Freedom Anthem goes deeper and darker: less cosmic synths, more raw percussion, reggae/dub infusions, and overt political bite. It's still unmistakably Nigerian afro-funk—tight ensemble playing, polyrhythms for days—but feels like a transitional beast, bridging highlife roots with emerging global black sounds. Without Bola's charismatic vocals or Jonnie's spacey keys, it loses some signature sparkle, but gains grit and urgency.

With a touch of humor: This is the album where the "movement" became a splinter group, proving that too much democracy in a band is like too much pepper in jollof—exciting, but eventually someone leaves the kitchen. Prince Bola disowning it adds legendary drama: "Not a real SJOB album!" Yet, it endures as a cult favorite, reissued and praised for its "deep, dark funk" on platforms like Bandcamp and Discogs. Original pressings? Rarer than an egalitarian band that lasts forever.

Freedom Anthem might be the black sheep (or apocryphal cousin) of the SJOB family, but it's a damn funky one—darker, more political, and reggae-kissed than its predecessors. Essential for afro-funk completists chasing that raw 1978 Lagos edge. Just don't tell Prince Bola you love it more than Friendship Train... he might revoke your groove privileges!