Adasa - 1978 - Motherland

Adasa

1978

Motherland

01. Jungle Boat 6:48

02. Odo Bra (Lover Comeback) 6:05

03. Ozi-Oza (Street Talk) 6:06

04. Motherland 5:19

05. Koli-Mama (Struggle For Survival) 6:06

06. Suban (Character)

Bass Guitar – B. J. Lattimer, Melvin Ronson

Congas, Percussion – Al Chalk

Drums, Percussion – Erroll Cornin

Drums, Percussion, Producer – Benny Kyei

Lead Guitar, Rhythm Guitar – Roland Prince

Piano, Organ – Ron Burton

Saxophone, Flute – Kwasi Boahen (Red)

Vocals – Joss Aikins

Ah, Motherland – that glorious 1978 highlife gem where Ghana meets the gritty streets of New York City jazz clubs. While Adasa was proudly rooted in Ghanaian rhythms and diaspora vibes, the album's secret sauce (or should I say, palm oil?) comes from a hefty dose of American talent, most notably the Antiguan-born, New York-based guitarist Roland Prince. If the band's highlife grooves feel a bit more polished and fusion-tinged than your average Accra street band, blame (or thank) Prince and his jazz cohorts for smuggling in some Stateside sophistication.

Let's start with the man himself: Roland Prince (1946–2016), a virtuoso guitarist hailing from Antigua who made his name in the bustling 1970s New York jazz scene. Prince wasn't just any session player – he was a go-to axeman for heavyweights like drummer Elvin Jones (of John Coltrane fame), recording on albums like New Agenda (1975) and Summit Meeting (1976). He also gigged with the likes of Roy Haynes, James Moody, and Don Pullen, bringing a crisp, melodic style that blended post-bop precision with Caribbean flair. On his own leader debut Color Visions (1977), Prince showcased interlocking guitar lines that could make you weep or dance – often both.

On Motherland, Prince is credited with lead guitar and rhythm guitar, essentially the sonic architect holding the whole thing together. Highlife traditionally thrives on those signature twin-guitar parts – one picking intricate melodies, the other chugging rhythms like a perpetual motion machine. Prince nails this, adding a jazz-inflected edge: his leads soar with bluesy bends and harmonic sophistication that elevate tracks like "Jungle Boat" from solid groove to outright hypnotic. Imagine highlife's joyful repetition getting a shot of espresso from Manhattan – that's Prince weaving in subtle improvisations without ever overshadowing the African core. Humorously, one wonders if he showed up to the sessions thinking, "Finally, a gig where I can dance and solo!" His playing gives the album a transatlantic polish, making it appeal to U.S. audiences who might otherwise scratch their heads at pure highlife.

But Prince wasn't flying solo in Americanizing the sound. The credits reveal more jazz royalty: Ron Burton on piano and organ, a understated giant who played with legends like Rahsaan Roland Kirk and Sarah Vaughan. Burton's keys add lush chords and funky organ fills that scream 1970s soul-jazz – think of him as the guy sneaking Hammond B3 vibes into Ghanaian chants. His contributions thicken the harmony on slower burners like "Odo Bra (Lover Comeback)," turning heartfelt pleas into something you'd hear drifting out of a Harlem club.

The Ghanaian core remains strong – vocals by Joss Aikins (charismatic and communal), saxophone and flute by Kwasi Boahen (nicknamed "Red," providing those brassy highlife hooks) – but the American players bridge the gap. Recorded likely in the U.S. (given the Kolimama label's American base), Motherland exemplifies the diaspora crossover: Ghanaian musicians exporting their sound overseas, hooking up with expat jazz pros for a hybrid that's warmer than pure afrobeat aggression but funkier than straight jazz.

From a production standpoint, Motherland is a diamond in the rough – or rather, a polished gem recorded on a budget that probably wouldn't cover a modern indie band's coffee tab. Released in the analog era, the sound is warm and raw, with that vinyl crackle adding character (or artifacts, depending on your copy's condition). The instrumentation shines: crisp, interlocking guitars courtesy of highlife's signature twin-lead style, punchy bass lines that drive the funk, and a horn section that's brassy without being overbearing. Percussion is king here – congas, talking drums, and shakers create layered polyrhythms that are technically masterful yet effortlessly danceable. Vocals are communal and spirited, often layered in harmonies that evoke church choirs meets street festivals.

Compared to contemporaries, Adasa leans more toward pure highlife than the heavier afrobeat politicking of Fela or the rock-infused experiments of Osibisa. The recording quality is solid for an independent release aimed at the diaspora market – no slick studio polish, but that's the charm. It's live-feeling, as if the band set up in a room and just played their hearts out. Weaknesses? Some tracks blend together if you're not paying attention (highlife's repetitive grooves can do that), and the mix favors rhythm over crystal-clear separation. But technically, it's a masterclass in economical arrangement: every instrument has its moment without overcrowding the soundscape. In today's terms, it'd be like if a lo-fi bedroom producer discovered vintage African wax prints and decided to make them funky again.

Review: Look, if Motherland were a dish, it'd be jollof rice with extra spice – comforting, flavorful, and impossible to eat just one serving. In 1978, while disco was dominating dance floors and punk was snarling in basements, Adasa quietly dropped this joyful antidote: music that celebrates life, love, and homeland without a hint of pretension. It's not revolutionary like Zombie, nor psychedelic like Osibisa's flights, but it's authentically delightful. The humor? Well, imagine trying to explain "Struggle For Survival" to your disco-obsessed friends while secretly knowing it's the real party starter.

Bringing in Prince and Burton was a stroke of genius – or desperate necessity for a band aiming at the U.S. market? Either way, it works brilliantly. The album avoids sounding like a touristy fusion mess; instead, it's authentic highlife with jazz wings, flying higher because of it. Prince's leads give tracks an extra sparkle, making Motherland not just a nostalgia trip but a timeless party starter. If Adasa had stuck purely local, we might have a great Ghanaian record; with these American ringers, it's a hidden world-jazz classic. Hunt it down, and thank Roland for the extra groove – the man deserved a statue, or at least a lifetime supply of fufu.

Rating it today, I'd give Motherland a solid 4.5 out of 5 grooving palm trees. It's essential for anyone dipping into African music archives – a reminder that not all classics come with fame attached. Adasa may have faded into the motherland's vast musical landscape, but this album endures as a hidden treasure. Hunt down a copy (or a digital rip), crank it up, and let it transport you. Just don't blame me if you suddenly start dancing like no one's watching – because in Adasa's world, everyone should be.