KCRW’s acclaimed music documentary podcast, Lost Notes, returns for its fourth season. Co-hosts Novena Carmel (KCRW) and Michael Barnes (KCRW / KPFK / Artform Radio) guide you through eight wildly different and deeply human stories, each set against the kaleidoscopic backdrop of LA’s soul and R&B scene of the 1950s-1970s. Support KCRW’s original programming like Lost Notes by donating or becoming a member.
Fela Kuti and Sandra Izsadore in 1976. (Courtesy of Sandra Izsadore)
KCRW’s relationship with Fela Kuti goes back to 1980, when KCRW’s Tom Schnabel and Roger Steffens were connected with the mighty Afrobeat innovator while he was still imprisoned in Nigeria. Six years later, once Fela was free and clear to tour internationally, he came to Los Angeles and visited KCRW in person, again with Tom Schnabel.
The connective tissue between these two events is Sandra Izsadore, who returned to KCRW for the first time in decades to talk with Lost Notes co-host Michael Barnes about meeting Fela in LA in 1969, and her essential role in the creation of the Afrobeat genre. It’s safe to say that without Sandra, there would have been no Fela as we came to know him soon thereafter. And that’s no exaggeration.
If you haven’t heard our full episode on Fela in LA, you’re going to want to check that story before diving in here! But if you’ve done your homework, read/listen on…
Michael Barnes
We did this episode on Fela and his time in LA. And there's no way to tell that story without also telling your story. But, in talking about Fela in this early period – for myself and for other people who are big fans of his music – it's hard to imagine him being anything other than Fela. And with you, and this big personality that you have, it's also, in some ways, hard for me to imagine you being anything other than this version of you. Can you tell us a little bit about your life growing up in LA?
Sandra Izsadore
I think I could say that my Southern parents kept me in a bubble. They didn't tell me the truth about my black skin and my blackness in America. They gave me none of history.
Michael Barnes
Probably trying to protect you from what they had left in the South.
Sandra Izsadore
Now that I'm older, I comprehend. By the time I turned six, we moved into an all-white neighborhood. And, believe it or not, that all-white neighborhood was in Compton. Let me tell you: I grew up where there were fields and creeks and swamps. People had horses. There were ranches. I mean, I had a beautiful childhood. And all my little friends were white. I did not really know the difference. Until, one day, I became Black Sambo. So I was wondering: when was I going to turn white? And my eyes were gonna be blue. And still, no one taught or said anything. Now, I remember when my mom took me down South. And of course, I didn't know nothing about segregation or any of that.
But I remember going to the theater with my cousins, who were from the South. This is the first time I was able to go somewhere with an older cousin and a friend, so I'm feeling all grown-up. She went and she purchased the tickets for us, and I bolted for the front door. And she grabbed me just as I was about to open it. And she says, “We're not going in this way.” I said, “Well, why not? This is the door right here.” And you know how she won me over? She says, “We're gonna sit in the balcony.” Do you know that was one of my biggest dreams was to be able to sit in the balcony? Because, in Los Angeles, children could not sit in the balcony unless you were accompanied by an adult. So this day, when she said we were going around on the side to sit in the balcony, I was like, “Oh boy!” I was so happy. It made my day, not knowing the ugly story behind it. So I felt joy, while others were feeling negativity about that same thing.
Michael Barnes
It's almost a blissful ignorance, right?
Sandra Izsadore
Well, it was a beautiful thing to me.
Michael Barnes
That's why they say that line, “ignorance is bliss.”
Sandra Izsadore
I'm gonna tell you, they're absolutely correct. Because the knowledge that I've gathered over the years, when you see and know the truth, it’s ugly.
Michael Barnes
How did you go from blissful ignorance to the reality of, especially America during the 1950s [and] early 1960s as well, to this moment where your consciousness was raised, and now you could see it for what it was?
Sandra Izsadore
If we have to pinpoint a moment, it's when they set LA on fire. And I can't remember the DJ’s name … [The Magnificent] Montague, that was his name. And he even before the riots – or the civil disturbance, I should say, because it was an uprising – he said, “Burn, baby, burn.” So you know, everybody was using that term: “Burn Baby Burn.”
Michael Barnes
It seems like Watts was a moment where, because everything literally exploded in that moment of uprising, that people no longer could not see it. That experience of being in that moment: what was that feeling like? I mean, going from 1965 and into the Watts riots, Malcolm X's assassination, into Detroit in ‘67, into MLK’s assassination in ‘68, all the various things that happen after that: the rise of the Black Panthers, this Black consciousness, Black Power movement, all this rising up. At that moment, what was that experience like for you?
Sandra Izsadore
In the beginning, it was anger. I was so angry. And around that time, my mother had to bring someone in from the streets, a cast-out. She was a white girl by the name of Charlotte. But of course, I brought her to the house, right? And Charlotte started to live with us because of the abuse that she had experienced in her own family. Charlotte comes from a well-to-do, upper-middle-class American family. So it was an exchange during this uprising here in America, and me becoming aware, Charlotte came into my life. And that was a beautiful thing. Because I think we've taught each other. She taught me a lot about white world, and I taught her about [the] Black world. And in the teaching of the two, the two merged. I know the truth, and I make sure that she knows the truth. So you start where you are.
A teenage Sandra Izsadore with her mom in an undated photo. (Courtesy Sandra Izsadore)
Michael Barnes
When you talk about that experience and the movement – these different moments from your very young life into young adulthood – it really is like you were the perfect person for Fela Kuti to meet and to have [an] expanding of his consciousness, which then led him to all the things that he did. But before the moment that you guys met, as far as I understand it, you met Fela through Juno Lewis.
Sandra Izsadore
Correct.
Michael Barnes
And I'm really curious if you could tell us a little bit about Juno, how you met him, what the relationship was like between the two of you. I'll also ask you about how Juno brought you to the moment where you met Fela as well. But can you tell us about Juno?
Sandra Izsadore
Well, let's begin with the spiritual journey. Because at that time, once I became aware of the negatives, I immediately wanted to know the positives and the truth. I wanted to prove [that] “this is not it.” So that made me delve into Africa. Because I had no positive images of myself, no positive images of Africa or Africans. I don't even know how I got into the theater with the Sawapa dance troupe. Now I’m older now, I'm in my late teens. And Juno Lewis just happened to be the percussionist for this dance troupe that was coming out of UCLA. And it was through dancing with Sawapa, and Juno knew my passion for Africa and wanting to know. He was the one that had gone to the Bill of Fare [restaurant and cabaret]. And the only thing I knew about the Bill of Fare was Sir Lady Java. And Sir Lady Java was a beautiful trans person [who] was performing there. That's the only thing I knew about the Bill of Fare, you know.
So Juno had gone, and he came back and he was like, “Sandra, you've got to come and see this group. They're from Africa, they have blah, blah, blah, de blah, blah, blah.” And by now, I'm in high school, right? I had met a lot of Africans from Africa, but they were all from what the Africans would say, “the bush.” But what they meant was very rural areas. Some of them had come from where there might have been a hut and a well. I had met mainly those types of exchange students that were coming here. So Juno insisted that I come and hear the band. And by this time, I was like, “I don't think so. I've had my fill.” “Oh, Sandra, you gotta go, you gotta go.” And I'm like, “Yeah, right,” because I'm thinking, “another big disappointment of colonial mentality.” Juno was so adamant about me coming that he came and picked me up from the house.
So when I walk in, I look up on stage. I hear the band's playing, but it was more like toot-toot-toot-toot, because you couldn't even hear it. I don't remember nothing about the sound. But anyway, I'm looking up on the stage, he's looking down, and it was like, woo! Strong connection.
Michael Barnes
Right there from the start. So you have this immediate connection when you see Fela.
Sandra Izsadore
Yes.
Michael Barnes
After the band has finished playing, Juno introduces you?
Sandra Izsadore
Wait a minute, it ain't even like that. Come on now! The band had an intermission.
Michael Barnes
In between sets.
Sandra Izsadore
Yeah, I'm sitting at the table. My back is to the bar. So Juno comes and taps me on the shoulder and tells me to come to the bar. And I said, “To the bar?” And he says, “Yes, somebody wants to meet you.” So I turn around and I look at the bar. And, of course, it's Fela. So I go over and I meet him. And that's how this all began.
Michael Barnes
And when you guys got introduced to each other, what was the thing that he said to you?
Sandra Izsadore
His arrogance! He asked me if I had a car. And I said yes.
Michael Barnes
And then what did he say?
Sandra Izsadore
“You're going with me.”
Michael Barnes
In your car.
Sandra Izsadore
Okay?! “You're going with me.” And see what you're doing, laughing? That's how I felt. And that's what happened at the time. So, immediately, I knew he was different. He was different from those other African men that I had met in college.
Michael Barnes
So you described it as a kind of arrogance a moment ago. But you also just mentioned how you immediately laughed when he said that.
Sandra Izsadore
The arrogance! It was a shock.
Michael Barnes
It was a shocking confidence right there from the start with Fela.
Sandra Izsadore
Thank you. But that's just Nigerians. And I didn't know this part: They're very pompous, very arrogant. And “Mine is better than yours.” Because they've been taught well by the colonialists.
Michael Barnes
And especially, you would think, Nigerians coming out of a middle-class or even relatively upper-class background, as Fela had at that point. He'd been educated in the UK, all those various things. So you can totally see why he’d have that kind of mindset coming in anyway, right?
Sandra Izsadore
Fela’s eyes got opened early in England because he got the memo early. I was a lot younger, but I was getting the memo here. Ten years’ difference over here, okay?
Michael Barnes
In your book, Fela and Me, you talk about a test that you used with Fela.
Sandra Izsadore
Oh, you would bring that in, wouldn’t you?
Michael Barnes
Yes I would! You felt like you wanted [Fela] to prove his African-ness to you. What was this test?
Sandra Izsadore
Well, I can show you better than I can tell you … which is the title of one of my new tracks.
Michael Barnes
So, dear listeners, I'm looking at a photo on Sandra's phone of Fela Kuti with a joint that is larger than his head. It is longer than his arm.
Sandra Izsadore
The Jumbo.
Michael Barnes
A jumbo joint, slightly smaller than a Cheech and Chong kinda Up in Smoke joint, but only barely so.
Sandra Izsadore
Okay.
Michael Barnes
So that was the test.
Sandra Izsadore
Well, the test was this: You know, back in the day, we didn't have it like that. We had these little toothpick kinda things. I think I had one, and I just shared it. I wanted to see if he'd smoke it, and he did. And I knew then, I said, “Oh, yeah, he's different.”
Michael Barnes
And from what we understood, Fela had smoked a little bit of weed in the UK. But it's really when he came to LA that this lifelong love affair that he had with marijuana was really centered, and you're also responsible for that. I don't know if you get as much credit for that too. Because that also was a fundamental thing that changed his trajectory.
Sandra Izsadore
Well, let me put it to you like this: Michael Veal, the professor at Yale University? Michael, in his book, said Tony Allen, the drummer, told him that Fela said that I'm the one. And I'm like, “How can I be the one,” because I thought it was one before me.
Michael Barnes
So this is how things begin. And, again, like I was talking about at the beginning, this is also in some ways the beginning of when Fela truly becomes Fela. When I think about him at this moment, with all that arrogance, the braggadocio, he must have [known] what he was capable of, how much talent he truly had in him. But this tour that he and his band were on, in some ways, was just a complete disaster, right?
Sandra Izsadore
How ‘bout a total flop?
Michael Barnes
Right? Total flop, and I can't imagine what it must have been like for him feeling like, “This is my moment coming to America, and I'm gonna blow this up and introduce all this amazing African music and my Afrobeat/highlife jazz.” And then just disappointment, disappointment, disappointment … and ending up in Los Angeles with no money and no place to go. And then, in this moment, to find you. And I wonder if, during that time, did he talk about what that experience of failure was like?
Sandra Izsadore
Fela never claimed any type of failure, you know? He didn't claim failure at all.
Michael Barnes
Or disappointment, perhaps.
Sandra Izsadore
The only time I really saw Fela disappointed was when they stole his trumpet. This is when the pot is on the stove and we're stirring it up. So when he lost that trumpet, or when that trumpet was stolen from him, it was totally devastating. And you know something: me being the woman that I am, I said, that's not gonna happen. I had a job, okay? I worked for the phone company. I took my week's pay and went and got him a trumpet. And he didn't miss a beat. So the whole connection has been, and is, a spiritual connection. One bigger than Fela or myself.
Michael Barnes
I love that much more than the story that started popping up in my head when I heard that. Because that's part of what deepened the connection between the two of you even more than it already was. And this is a period of time where he and the band were living, I think, in a house in Inglewood for a period of time. Were you still living with your folks or did you have your own place at that time?
Sandra Izsadore
I was living at home with my mom and dad, well-protected. And [Fela and his band] had a house in Inglewood, right across from the [Loren Miller Elementary] school. I think it was on 78th Street. They were living there when I met them. And I loved that house. The way the house was set up, it was built in the Spanish style, where all the rooms opened into the patio. It was really nice.
Michael Barnes
But at some point, they lose that house, and then have to be in a very different spot than what you described.
Sandra Izsadore
OK, here we go. So, first of all, they lost housing. But, by this time, the consciousness of America – talking about Black people coming into themselves – at this point, we still have that spiritual thing and connection that came through the church. You help, because most of the people that are reared this way, Black people, they came from the South. And they knew that they had to help each other and be a nucleus, so that we can all survive, you know? So that unity thing was there then.
So, when they saw that they couldn’t milk it and make the money that they wanted to make, because of all the different complications, such as visas – something I didn't even know about. I thought, “Oh, we in the world, we free. We can go anywhere we want to go.” Now, that was my first lesson in education to know that you need to have a visa. And not only did you need a visa, but you needed a working visa. So if you don't have a working visa, your hands are tied. I don't care how great you think you are musically, it ain't gonna happen.
So, when Fela and them found themselves in that predicament, of course, I ran to my mom and dad. Because they had said, “The church is going to help.” So, going to my mom and dad, they reached out to their friends after [Fela and his band] got kicked out of the house. Well, Fela was able to move to my parents’ home. And at that time, they had a back house. So Fela was welcome to come and stay in the back house.
So, I think it was Juno, through the NAACP, found Bernie Hamilton, who had just got that club [Citadel d’Haiti].
Michael Barnes
Another space that's no longer there in LA.
Sandra Izsadore
Every place Fela played has been destroyed, with the exception of one. And it's not even that anymore. It was a club called the Bayou. That's where he and Frank Sinatra got into it.
Michael Barnes
That brings up something, because one place that is definitely here that he might have had a chance to perform at is Disneyland. And hearing that story was one of the things, in putting this episode together, that I was just like, “How did I not know this, being a fan of Fela for all these years? And how did this even happen?” Were you there for the Disneyland moment, and –
Sandra Izsadore
– Oh, wait a minute. Disneyland?! Look. Back in the day, you bought tickets. You bought a book of tickets. When I found out we were going to Disneyland, and I had all these tickets that I had not used … and, by then, I think it was HB Barnum that got Fela connected to this Disneyland thing. “Oh, I'm so excited! Ooooh, we goin’ to Disneyland. We gonna have fun.” You know, the kid in me was there. So yes, he did an audition at Disneyland. And they were trying to recruit someone for the Jungle Land. And, of course, Fela wasn't it. He wasn't playing African music.
Michael Barnes
Fela Kuti was not African enough.
Sandra Izsadore
Look. Let me tell you. White world had their own definition. And that vision was beating on some skins with some wood or bamboo or whatever you put around it, and that's it. So, immediately they told Fela, “That's not African music.” And not only did they tell him it wasn’t African music, they also had the problem … ‘cause if they had been playing their definition of African music, they would have gotten the working visas for them. But because that fell through, we kept persevering. Bernie Hamilton comes in. He's got a club. Now, you tell me – boom, boom, boom, boom – the way this is connecting, you're gonna tell me this isn't some ordained spiritual whatever?
Michael Barnes
And, you know, in hindsight, it looks like destiny. It looks like fate.
Sandra Izsadore
Thank you! And like I said, it's a spiritual road.
Michael Barnes
Fela could have been a completely different Fela if it had worked out at Disneyland … but [with] that not working out, and all these other disappointments along the way, Fela and the band find themselves [at] Bernie Hamilton's Citadel d’Haiti – which again, is no longer around, [and] has not been around for a very long time, but seems like [it] was a fascinating place. Can you say a little bit about what Citadel d’Haiti was like?
Sandra Izsadore
Oh, wow, the Citadel d’Haiti. Well, it was a club on Sunset that [was] set all the way back, so there was ample parking in the front. A black building: Citadel d’Haiti. Bernie had finished filming in Europe, and he had got some of the stuff from the set. So he was able to create … Being that he had worked in Hollywood, and was working in Hollywood at the time, he knew how to build a set. So when you walked into the club, it was like you walked into the house. And then you went through this little picket fence in the club, and you were in the backyard. But it's all inside the club. The black walls with the stars on the wall, and the stage was in the corner. They had a kitchen…
Michael Barnes
…and a “voodoo breakfast?!”
Sandra Izsadore
That was just the name.
Michael Barnes
That was just a way of marketing it. OK. Gotcha.
Sandra Izsadore
Thank you. And then. after you're in the club, if you turned around, it was like you were looking at a rooftop. And on that rooftop was a chair – you know how stuff can sit on … a zinc roof at that! So we were all one big happy family there at the Citadel d’Haiti.
Fela Kuti with Bernie Hamilton at Citadel d’Haiti in 1969. [Courtesy Sandra Izsadore]
Sandra Izsadore
Also, at that time, being that Fela had got the gig with Bernie, the club needed help. And it was perfect timing. Bernie had a need, because he had a club, no license, and no entertainment. He had a facility. So at that time, Fela and them, they had agreed upon … I don't even know how they survived. I mean, the pay? Because everything was underneath the table, right? Anyway, with that little measly amount of money, with Bernie paying underneath the table, and them playing … I think his name is, I want to say DJ … he was a promoter. And between him and the musical Hair, which had just come out, that was playing down the street, and the cast of Hair coming, just like that. And Fela played, and the dance floor would be full, you know? And the club grew. And it was so much fun. Everyone was going to the Citadel d’Haiti. You talk about a Black release? Because that's what it was at the time. It was someplace where Black people could come … and especially conscious Black people, because we're identifying and relating to our roots of Africa.
Michael Barnes
And so it’s at this moment where, finally, the band seems to be having some level of success after all these moments during this tour. This is when the spark happens around the song, “My Lady's Frustration,” which is the first true Afrobeat song. Fela had changed the title of the music he was making to Afrobeat, but we know Afrobeat from everything that came. And it was still highlife jazz, he just changed the name. But “My Lady’s Frustration,” you hear that, and you hear all that early period of Fela, like Fela’s London Scene, all those early records … like, okay, this is the beginnings, this is Afrobeat. Tell us about what that experience was about, because “My Lady’s Frustration,” you are “my lady” in “My Lady’s Frustration.”
Sandra Izsadore
Yes.
Michael Barnes
So, what do you remember about him creating the song that ultimately is about you, and it's about the things that are going on between the two of you, and is this entirely new sound that gets created?
Sandra Izsadore
Well, during that time period, with so many doors being slammed in Fela’s face, the good part is, he met this woman by the name of Ellen. Ellen was very much believing in Fela, and she bought other backers in, and they put up money. They bought equipment for Fela. I think that was the point where things started to change and evolve. By this time, because of all the hardship Fela had gone through … At this point, he got a hole in the bottom of his shoe [stuffed] with the LA Times. Okay, Fela was walking around with the LA Times. That's how bad things were. But we didn't see it that way. You know, Bernie had housed the band, and those that hadn't been housed by Bernie, others had found girlfriends where they were living, you know? So Fela was at our house, my mom and dad's house. And he got a chance to go to church. You know, the church was very much … because this is “our first African, real African brother,” you know. So, in going to our church, Saint Reed Missionary Baptist Church, his music also … All along the way, he's getting outside influences. So yes, that's when the music started to change. I remember riding in the car with Fela and being inspired from the windshield wipers to music. Also, the Hare Krishnas, us being on Hollywood Boulevard and hearing the Hare Krishnas for the first time with the Nam Myōhō Renge Kyō. And then they invited us to a meeting, and they started that rhythm. And when you get enough people singing that rhythm, I mean … and Fela was in there, ooh. You know, he was like, woo. So he heard music everywhere.
Michael Barnes
When you think back to that kind of moment … If Fela had left the U.S. – say, after, I think they had a show in the Bay before they came, the last real show they had planned, and then they found their way to LA. If they had been like, “Let's just go home,” do you think there's any way Afrobeat would exist? Because it seems like that specific mix of the experience of being with you, being here in Los Angeles, hearing all these various things, all that coming together at that particular moment, is the light bulb that went off.
Sandra Izsadore
Like I said, it was a spiritual connection. And it was preordained in the spirit world that we would meet, because he needed to come here so he could get that lesson too. And it was important for me to be in his life at that particular time.
Michael Barnes
This moment of Afrobeat creation happens and starts to get worked into their sets, which already were enjoyed by the people. But this amps it up, because again, it's a sound that no one has heard. They go into the studio here in Los Angeles, record the first Afrobeat songs. It's released as the first album from Fela Kuti and His Africa ‘70, Fela, Fela, Fela. And this is, after recording it, is when they do leave the United States to go back to Nigeria. Do you remember much about how this new music now was … what the experience was like when they went back to Nigeria to perform this music?
Sandra Izsadore
Well, first of all, we have to give credit to Duke Lumumba, who is also an ancestor, a Ghanaian. Because with his help, and HB Barnum, is how the 1969 session came about. This is when the tables start to turn. Also, James Brown had come out with “Say It Loud (I'm Black and I'm Proud).” And me telling Fela that his music, from the influence of the Panther Party and the Nation of Islam, “Your music should be about education. You need to use that music to elevate your people.” So, this is how it went from highlife music – and at that time, [there] was only one song that I really liked, and that was “Obe,” the soup song. Can you imagine creating a whole song around soup? So anyway, that was where it started. And Fela knew that was one of my favorite songs. And then, hearing James Brown, I guess he started thinking, and rethinking, rehashing and remixing. And it went from Koola Lobitos to Nigeria 70. Then he left here as Nigeria 70, went to Nigeria, and it became Africa 70. And after he went to Egypt, it became Egypt 80 and it remained Egypt 80.
Michael Barnes
You could break Fela’s career into particular periods. There's this early Afrobeat moment, and then there's the mid-1970s. For me, that's the greatest period…
Sandra Izsadore
…That was mind-blowing.
Michael Barnes
…Then the Egypt 80 period that you were talking about a moment ago. that period in the middle 1970s, though … This was also a period of time where you weren't just a vocalist on the records, but you actually were a lead vocalist on “Upside Down.” Could you talk a little bit about that experience?
Sandra Izsadore
From the first time I went to Africa to the second time in ‘76 … which, I was so happy to be returning to Africa. Because remember, I had this pure love for Africa and for Fela. So, getting there, and then seeing what he had become … It blew me away. At that point, I mean …
Michael Barnes
You're one of the only people who saw him at the very beginning. And then to see him at that point, where … full blown megastar.
Sandra Izsadore
Yeah. And then, at the same time, it was very painful too. Because I wasn't having the one-on-one. It was more like me and 100 or 200 others. It was very difficult to be able to communicate one-on-one with Fela, because it was so many distractions.
Michael Barnes
So how did the “Upside Down” sessions happen?
Sandra Izsadore
Well, the “Upside Down” sessions happened like this. Fella told me he had a song for me, he was going to write it, and that I would work with [guitarist Oghene] Kologbo. So Fela’s room was downstairs, my room was directly upstairs over Fela’s room, across the hall from his mother's room. And Kologbo worked with me every day on those vocals until I got it right … which was totally different for me, especially based upon, with us, 1-2-3-4. And theirs is, I think…
Michael Barnes
Yeah. Complex polyrhythms, they’re amazing.
Sandra Izsadore
Thank you. It was totally different.
Michael Barnes
And this period of time we're talking about is perhaps, artistically, the heights for Fela – particularly his song “Zombie,” one of the most direct condemnations of not only Nigeria, but many different aspects of repression. But this is also the period of time where that repression comes down on him most directly and the hardest, especially the raid on the Kalakuta Republic, his living space and performing space and all the rest. Which the military essentially burned to the ground, threw Fela’s mother out a window, sustaining injuries that eventually killed her. This is when he is arrested again and again and again and again and again.
Sandra Izsadore
You know, the whole time I was in the company and the realm of while Fela was on Earth, I can only remember joy, even in the worst of times. I mean, like you said, they beat him, they jailed him, and all these things in Nigeria. They kept knocking him down. And look. Now, today, Nigerians are calling Fela a prophet, some of them. Because everything that he wrote about, that’s all their reality today.
Michael Barnes
Thank you so much, Sandra.
Sandra Izsadore
Thank you, Michael. You know, I'm really happy to be here, because my first interview, my very first radio interview, was with KCRW.
Michael Barnes
Thank you so much for spending this time with us.
Sandra Izsadore
Thank you.
Fela Kuti and Sandra Izsadore backstage at the Olympic Auditorium in Los Angeles on November 15, 1986. (Photo: Segun Oyekunle)
Lost Notes is a KCRW Original Production. It’s made by Michael Barnes, Ashlea Brown, Novena Carmel, Melissa Dueñas, and Myke Dodge Weiskopf. Special thanks to Gina Delvac, Jennifer Ferro, Nathalie Hill, Anne Litt, Arnie Seipel, and Anthony Valadez. Extra-special thanks to Sandra Izsadore for her time and generosity.
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Lost Notes S4 - Ep. B2: Crying in the Club (from “Primer”)
Lost Notes S4 - Ep. B1: Nia Andrews and Terrace Martin on Reggie Andrews
Lost Notes S4 - Ep. 8: Do What You Want To Do: The Legacy of Reggie Andrews
Lost Notes S4 - Ep 7: Dear Ruth: How Ruth Dolphin (Re-)Built A Musical Empire
Lost Notes S4 - Ep. 6: Go with the Flow: Community, Virality, and the Politics of Dancing
Lost Notes S4 - Ep. 5: Places & Spaces: The Mizell Brothers’ LA Alchemy
Lost Notes S4 - Ep. 4: Viva Tirado: The South/East LA Connection
Lost Notes S4 - Ep. 3: My Lady’s Frustration: How Fela Kuti Found Afrobeat in LA
Lost Notes S4 - Ep. 2: Mojo on Trial: The Seedy, Greedy World of Ruth Christie
Lost Notes S4 - Ep. 1: Tainted Love: Gloria Jones and the Half-Life of a Hit