Mádé Kuti’s second act album is a jazzed-out search for happiness literally, and does not necessarily rely on lyrics for that.
On his sophomore instrumental Afrobeat album, Chapter 1: Where Does Happiness Come From, Nigerian artist and multi-instrumentalist Mádé Kuti invites listeners into a meditative, whispery sonic world. Across fifty-six minutes, he crafts a soothing, layered musical experience powered by synths, horns, and a quiet sense of emotional urgency that only reveals itself with close listening.
Drawing from the heartbeat of Afrobeat—talking drums, shekeres, brass stabs, and intricate rhythmic loops, Mádé Kuti moves away from the foregrounded lyricism that has defined much of his lineage. Here, he speaks less with his voice and more through his instruments. This album has him letting the music carry the weight of expression, without a necessary use of words.
A prodigy born into a legendary musical family, Mádé Kuti’s sound is clearly shaped by the bloodlines of Fela and Femi Kuti. But he’s not just continuing a legacy, he’s expanding it. On this project, music is not a tool for instruction or performance—it’s a diary. It’s how he thinks out loud, without necessarily saying much.
The record’s emotional core is quiet but deliberate. On tracks like I Won’t Run Away, Mádé Kuti seems to pull inward. The song unfolds like a personal confession without words, relying on the arrangements to suggest what words cannot.
This is not the Afrobeat of the protest anthems that built the genre’s global reputation. There’s no direct agitation, no lyrical rage. Instead, Mádé Kuti subverts expectations. He crafts a sound that leans more into introspection than confrontation. That’s not to say the album lacks purpose. Afrobeat’s DNA is still present—jazz flourishes, funk undercurrents, and highlife pulses appear across the record. But the tone is different. The trumpet, rather than the lyric sheet, is the loudest voice here.
What makes Chapter 1: Where Does Happiness Come From a compelling listen is how it invites each person to make their own meaning. The experience isn’t fixed; it’s fluid. You don’t just listen for messages, you feel them. The absence of lyrics creates space for imagination and each horn line becomes a brushstroke, painting vivid images that shift depending on the listener’s own emotional weather.
As a modern Afrobeat evolution, Mádé brings in experimental influences that make the record feel radical and reflective at the same time. Album opener Take It All In Before the Lights Go Out sets the tone with layered drums, hypnotic bass, and blistering brass arrangements.
The project moves between soft introspections and societal reflections. On Find My Way, ambient vocal coos meet polyrhythmic grooves and textured guitar work, evoking a sense of wandering and vulnerability. On Pray, he touches on class tension and societal disillusionment, without uttering a single word.
There’s a particular stretch of brilliance in Won Na Pa. It’s a Yoruba-rooted groove, dusted with subtle jazz inflections. Mádé Kuti’s bass vocals slip underneath the flute lines as the track shifts between a meditative pace and a more frantic, body-moving rhythm. The song refuses to settle, and that’s where it finds its power.
Dissecting the project with a fellow Afrobeat enthusiast, he described Mádé Kuti’s music as “a layered, complex wall of sound—chaotic at first listen, but deliberate when unraveled.” That sentiment holds true here. The album rewards patience. Solo arrangements, piano flourishes, and trumpet-led motifs create a journey where each track offers a different emotional temperature.
In the words of music commentator The JayDan:
“It doesn’t lean into political commentary as heavily as traditional Afrobeat. Instead, it feels more philosophical—reflecting on present-day realities and projecting into the future. This, I believe, is the truest expression of Mádé Kuti as an artist.
As someone who deeply appreciates Afrobeat, from Fela to Femi to Seun—I’d say Mádé Kuti’s sound is still evolving. As he’s always said, he is his own man—and that means carving out his own path.”
And that’s what this album feels like: a self-directed path, one that echoes with the legacy of his surname but doesn’t rely on it. It’s a risk to release a largely instrumental Afrobeat album in an era where vocal-led singles drive most conversations. But Mádé Kuti doesn’t chase trends. He builds sonic worlds. Chapter 1: Where Does Happiness Come From is proof of that.
If we’re to judge the lyrical weight of the album, it would rank an 8—not because of the quantity of words, but because of the quality of their absence. When his voice does appear, raspy and textured, it cuts through like a thread of lightning.
Overall, Chapter 1: Where Does Happiness Come From is a thoughtful, daring second outing from an artist clearly committed to growth. It’s not background music, and this project demands presence. And for those willing to sit still with it, it offers a rare reward: a journey into feeling, space, and sound.
Rating: 7.5/10
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