From left, members of the Souljazz Orchestra: Steve Patterson, Pierre Chrétien, Ray Murray, Marielle Rivard, Zakari Frantz and Philippe Lafrenire. (Brian Goldschmied/Souljazz Orchestra)

The Souljazz Orchestra is an Afrofunk big band based in Ottawa. Yes, Ottawa. Since its formation in 2002, the SJO has performed with African and American musical heroes ranging from Femi Kuti to Etta James. The band’s explosive energy hardly jibes with our notions of Canada’s asleep-by-10 p.m. capital.

“It’s still weird,” says bandleader Pierre Chrétien. “There’s not a lot of us [Afrofunk musicians in Ottawa]. When we started, there was already an established rock scene, an established classical scene, but nothing like us. We had to trailblaze.” The Souljazz Orchestra boasts a melange of heritages — African, European and North American. “A crazy stew,” laughs Chrétien. Their newest disc, Manifesto, is the orchestra's third full-length recording, and it's ferociously accomplished. Tight, fluid and infectious, the SJO have proven their mettle as a touring band in Europe and America. An African trek is presently in the works, with help and encouragement coming from some of the continent’s elite players, including keyboardist Dele Sosimi.

Chrétien says that the Souljazz Orchestra has turned down a number of requests from companies wanting to use the band’s music in commercials. “But we’re not a protest band. No one can push us into that little corner. And we don’t necessarily sing about the things Africans sing about, because our situation is completely different here.”

By “here,” Chrétien means Canada, where the infrastructure is in pretty good shape. African songwriters are often responding to governmental horror shows. Nigerian legend Fela Kuti wrote a song comparing his nation’s corrupt military to zombies, and capped his protest by declaring his house to be an independent state. “Neither capitalism nor communism, but Africanism,” was Kuti’s oft-repeated slogan. “Africanism” means continental and class co-operation, with a return to African religions and original tribal systems. The Nigerian army responded by beating Kuti up and burning down his house while his mother was still in it. His rejoinder was to bring his mother’s casket to the steps of Nigerian parliament. Some of Kuti’s ire toward Nigeria’s government was directed at the United States, too, because Abuja, Nigeria’s capital, and Washington both seemed uninterested in African continental unity.

Musically, however, Kuti and many other African artists have been nourished by American music. It’s been a back-and-forth rapport: Africans transplanted to America during slavery led to the creation of jazz, which in turn became a component of West African highlife music in the twenties; it blended indigenous pop with improvising horns and multiple guitars. Moving on to the sixties, James Brown became interested in highlife music, which he fused to his own brand of soul to create the first funk single, I Feel Good. Funk then became part of Afrobeat, after Brown performed in Zaire during the seventies, making the music more propulsive. Bringing the funk further to the foreground is where we get Afrofunk and the Souljazz Orchestra.

The Souljazz Orchestra performs in Marseille, France in 2007. (Christophe Depernet/Souljazz Orchestra)

Chrétien says the SJO’s influences include Herbie Hancock’s early seventies material, particularly the awesomely funky music to Bill Cosby’s cartoon series Fat Albert. There’s also Duke Ellington, whom Crétien adores. “His music has those amazing rich colours. And the way he wrote for specific players — I do that, too.” Chrétien also cites Puerto Rican Willie Colon, who combined jazz, soul, funk and salsa to help create boogaloo in the sixties. And looking to the easterly side of Africa, there’s Ethiopia’s simmering smoothie, Mulatu Astatqé.

One of the great paradoxes of Afrobeat is the seeming contradiction between the dark themes and the joyous beat. There is footage from a concert by Seun Kuti (Fela’s son) in Dakar, Senegal in 2005 in which he introduces, with exuberant silkiness, a tune called Mosquito Song. “It’s a song I gave when I heard this festival was going to be about malaria,” Kuti says. He proceeds to list off malaria’s deadly effects on the African people. But the topic does nothing to hamper the energy of the music, which hurtles toward a celebratory pitch. To many of us non-Africans, that emotion seems counterintuitive.

“You get the message through the feet, not the ears,” explains Chrétien. “These bands sing in codes, because sometimes they have no choice. They find ways to share with the public.” With the heavy-handedness of some African governments being a matter of public record, it’s understandable that folks there need to be covert or coy when expressing dissent.

“We’re definitely anti-war and against the international treatment of so-called ‘developing’ countries,” admits Chrétien, “and people relate to the message.” Like Mosquito Song, Manifesto urges listeners to not forget Africa’s problems. It says so with tight horns and fast, call-and-response vocals. It’s not a celebration but rather a musical evocation of awareness. Tracks with titles like State Terrorism might seem more appropriate to hardcore American punks like Black Flag, but it’s the Souljazz Orchestra’s way of addressing the plight of the music’s birthplace.

The fact is, protest is inextricable from the tradition. This style of music hails from a continent that’s been ravaged by civil war, famine and AIDS. Though Afrobeat and Afrofunk are political weapons in Africa, the Souljazz Orchestra is more populist than revolutionary.

“We could do this forever,” says Chrétien, “this is just the tip of the iceberg.” That tip points toward a wholly different attitude. Most Canadians don’t know how to exult unless we’re forgetting something. The Souljazz Orchestra reminds us there’s a funkier way.

John Keillor is a Toronto writer.