Photo By CAC

Fela Kuti pioneered Afrobeat, a blend of highlife and Funk with blazing horn sections and political lyrics. The CAC's current exhibition features the work of 34 viusal artists who were influenced by his life and work.

In a country that won't elect a moderate East Coast aristocrat as its head of state, it's hard to imagine that we'll have a black president anytime soon. At least it's hard to imagine that we'll have one who unapologetically expresses his or her blackness, a president whose politics and worldview defiantly challenge any aspect of the status quo.

Which is why the opening of Black President: The Art and Legacy of Fela Anikulapo-Kuti, a new exhibition at the Contemporary Art Center (CAC), feels like more than a simple cultural diversional lifeline -- perhaps it's a reason to shake off any lingering post-election depression. If we're nowhere near the possibility of a real black president, we can find hope in a multimedia exploration of the legendary Nigerian musician and activist who was bold enough to call himself just that.

The exhibition features the work of 34 visual artists from around the world influenced by Fela's life and work. Opening to the public on Saturday, the CAC exhibition offers visual art, panel discussions, film screenings and a music listening program, all of which commemorate Fela, who died in 1997 at the age of 58 from AIDS complications.

Fela Kuti pioneered Afrobeat, a blend of highlife and Funk known for its blazing horn sections and political lyrics. With cowrie shells on his saxophone and scorn in his voice, Fela used music to indict everything from government corruption to skin bleaching. If he thought it undermined the strength and independence of the African continent, it was fair game as a target for his bass-driven social commentary.

The gap-toothed smile, the bikini briefs in which he frequently made public appearances, the spliffs so big you couldn't tell if he was getting high or blowing smoke through a megaphone -- this was Fela. His flamboyant lifestyle was somehow larger-than-life and grassroots at the same time. He married 27 women in a mass ceremony and declared his compound in Lagos an independent state, free from the laws of the Nigerian government. But he was perceived by some to be a womanizer, a dissident without a coherent political philosophy.

The pieces in the exhibition address these various aspects of Fela's legacy. In Yinka Shonibare's "Lady Na Master," 27 headless dolls in multilayered traditional dress are displayed on a table. The intended meaning is unclear. Do the female figures represent Fela's wives, idealized and indistinguishable one from another? Or is it a comment on the central role women play in his story, from his feminist and labor organizing mother to Sandra Izsadore, who introduced Fela to the United States' black power movement in 1960s California?

A portrait by Barkley Hendricks presents a haloed Fela grabbing his crotch with one hand and holding a mic in the other, his glowing Africa-shaped heart encased in barbed wire.

Alfredo Jaar's "Moral Reasons, Social Concerns" is a framed excerpt from a letter written by the World Bank's chief economist. In it, the financial institution's head asks the letter's intended recipient, "Shouldn't the World Bank be encouraging more migration of the dirty industries to the less developed countries?" Fela addressed such attitudes in songs like "I.T.T.," in which he ridiculed the "international thieves" who prey on Africa's natural resources and economic possibilities.

"The idea was not to have one level or one style of work, but to bring all of these disparate voices together," said Brooklyn-based guest curator, Trevor Schoonmaker.

"Each of these artists was given the license to create what he or she wanted addressing different issues in Fela's life, from his politics to his music to his sexuality to his spirituality."

The exhibition, which comes to the CAC after a run at the Barbican Art Gallery in London, is part of Schoonmaker's larger endeavor, The Fela Project. A collection of essays called Fela: From West Africa to West Broadway and a Web site (www.felaproject.net) amplify the voices of a variety of people who were touched and excited by Fela's work.

Black President includes work from well-known artists like Kara Walker, Brett Cook-Dizney and Paul D. Miller, aka DJ Spooky That Subliminal Kid. But anticipation around the show has been bubbling in communities that aren't traditionally considered avid consumers of contemporary visual art.

You can hear it as an Afrobeat set stretches a Saturday night party at the Guild Haus into Sunday morning. You can see it on the lapels and skullcaps of the people proudly wearing the CAC's "Black President" pins and declaring themselves candidates.

These communities have been waiting for a public conversation that includes the words "Africa" and "AIDS" in the same sentence without the sensationalism that makes it seem as if the whole continent is doomed. They've been waiting for this type of funky, politically-charged event to be featured in a major Cincinnati arts institution.

The primary image used in the exhibition's promotional materials does a good job of communicating the tone of Black President. With his head slightly bent, eyes closed and jaw set, Fela raises his hand above his head and opens his palm towards us as if to say, "I've seen what your world has to offer. I'll make my own nation."