Word came through that King Sunny Ade (KSA) had woken up late and so our meeting would be later than scheduled. British clocks had also gone forward during the night, further confusing the sense of time. I turned up with a friend at the hotel later and placed a call to KSA's manager, Mr Osayemi, who disclosed that the musician was to leave for another appointment in under 30 minutes. Somewhat disappointed, we decided to wait in the lobby and bid for what little time the star could spare on his way out.

No one who saw the previous night's concert at the Barbican Centre could begrudge the man an extra hour or two in bed. The show took off with full steam, and Sunny Ade came out bobbing up and down to drumbeats with the kind of agility that puts younger men to shame. Whether dancing in formation with his band on E Ku Ikale and Merciful God, leading Ijala-oriented acapella interludes, or performing the rousing Agbamurere chorus, the king of Juju music was on top form.

There were 'vintage Sunny' moments, with nostalgia-inducing numbers like the synthesiser-driven Ja Fun Mi. All through, KSA worked his charm, and the man who sang Synchro System achieved an effortless synchronicity with the audience. Singing the repeated line Oyinbo/Naija, oju re ree (so, this is your face!), a woman in the audience stunned all, interjecting in a ringing voice: "Sunny, oju re ree". And dead on cue, the band took up the refrain, "O t'ojo meta" (it's been a while). It was much the same when the legend sought to explain to Westerners in the audience that it was Ramadan time in Nigeria: "You see, some in the North are moslems; some in the South-West are moslems..." As he started on the East, a male concert-goer cut in, shouting: "Ibo ni won!" (They are Igbos). Whatever Sunny Ade was going to say about Easterners was lost in the ensuing laughter.

And the jokes kept coming till the end, when Sunny Ade exited the sta ge, a few steps at a time, singing teasingly: "Nigbakan leyin o ri mi" - meaning, "once shall you see me". Waiting in the hotel lobby, my friend and I were not sure how much we would see of KSA. We had just ordered sandwiches and chips to placate the butterflies in our stomachs when the star emerged from the lift, looking relaxed and dapper in a blue and white checked shirt, grey slacks and cap. His whole get-up had been presented to him that morning by a friend, one of many who flew from the US into London for the show, and flew right out again.

With soft music in the background, the three of us settled into comfy chairs for the interview. An hour into our conversation, I reminded the star of the appointment for which he was now quite late. He didn't mind, he explained, because he was having a nice time. Otherwise, "I would have made excuses, saying: 'I have an appointment' - though I hate to wind things up with a lady."

Journalists regularly inspire KSA to look for getaway clauses, asking questions he has answered countless times, such as, "when were you born?" Another common query goes, "'I learnt you are from Ondo?' Well, you can see the lines on my face..." Happily, my friend and I seemed to have a different effect on the man who finds inspiration in many things. "What you have done this morning inspired me as well," he said. "You came with a purpose and asked constructive questions... it's an inspiration." We were astonished, but there was no denying the sincerity in his voice.

He is also inspired by musicians who take their careers seriously. "Some are only into money or fame but cannot maintain it." But some are "amazingly blessed," like the late I.K Dairo, a major influence on KSA. "Here was someone who, according to his biography, never went to school, but his guitar playing was never out of tune." He credits Dairo as the first Juju musician to have management, booking and public relations officers, his own car as well as a bus for his artistes, and offices - in Lagos and his hometown. All these, "yet he didn't go to school."

Noting that a few others also tried to put the right structures in place, KSA stressed that no one was as successful at it, or as visible, as I K Dairo. "He was very inspirational, I try to emulate him. During our time, with Ebenezer Obey, we changed it (the Juju music business) into proper organisations." It is now commonplace to see a fleet of cars including trucks and generators when artistes are going for shows, "but I K Dairo was the pioneer who started it all."

This led us to Sunny Ade's famed rivalry with Ebenezer Obey. There are plans for a joint album of gospel and secular songs that would not conflict with Obey's religious calling. Work on the album is due to start early in 2005, once the right arrangers and producers are secured for the project.

KSA played down talk of past rivalry. "During those days, Obey and I were friends," he maintained. "We've never been at loggerheads. All these have been created by fans." He conceded, however, that certain factors fuelled the speculation, not least the 'Omo Ode' records - waxed by notable Juju musicians around the time of a court case involving the African Song label under the management of Chief Abioro.

The case left a vibrant creative legacy. The first 'omo ode' record was Emperor Pick Peters' Omo Ode De (the hunter's son has come). Admiral Dele Abiodun responded with Omo Ode Da (where is the hunter's son?); and Sunny Ade's contribution was the classic E Kilo F'Omode (warn the hunter's son). According to the musician, the relationship between music and the listening public is, for the most part, outside the artiste's control. "When you sing a song, people will translate it into something else; when you are in the studio, you don't know how the music will come across." One example is the guitar solo in E Kilo F'Omode. Like an unspoken agreement, all who have heard it believe they know what it says. And as KSA himself admitted, the perceived meaning has seeped into the public consciousness.

When Sunny Ade and Ebenezer Obey eventually sat down to talk all those years ago, the conversation went along the lines of: "Who benefited from all this: me, you, the record companies or the fans?" The fans might have been fascinated by the rivalry, but KSA insisted that: "The record companies had hundred percent benefit. If we (the musicians) had been given our dues, we would have benefited, but we were not." Three "elders" - I K Dairo, Haruna Ishola and Adeolu Akinsanya a.k.a Baba Eto - were the peacemakers between Sunny and Obey. The declaration of peace also took musical form, with Ebenezer Obey's Ija Dopin and Sunny Ade's Ija Pari.

A measure of artistic generosity runs through King Sunny Ade's views of fellow musicians. "I admire all good musicians on this planet, each one has something you can learn from." He described gospel artiste Bola Are as "one of the women in the music industry that is worthy of emulation, she is a leader."

KSA's Barbican concert took place on the last day of October, rounding off a month of 'Fela-worship' at the venue. It was inevitable therefore, that Fela Anikulapo Kuti would find his way into the conversation. To KSA, Fela was "an outstanding voice of the oppressed," and worth celebrating. "I am just wondering why it's being elaborated here rather than in Nigeria."

Sunny Ade's mother, we were told, "loved" Fela. "She used to call him 'oyinbo' because of his fair skin". The Afrobeat great was a regular visitor to Sunny Ade's house during the time of Koola Lobitos. In Fela's music, "there are areas where you can see elements of my music," observed KSA. He called Fela a "genius" who created "very good music by which you can recognise Nigeria. I hope my music does the same."

Sunny Ade has collaborated with many singers, including Stevie Wonder, Manu Dibango and Onyeka Onwenu. With the likes of Dele Abiodun, Orlando Owoh and Charly Boy, KSA released The Way Forward, a socially-conscious album on Nigeria. Work has begun on another collaborative album, this time with younger musicians including Lagbaja, Paul Play Dairo and Daddy Showkey. Of the new generation, KSA said: "They are faster than us but we always try to slow them down, to let them know it is the legacy that matters."
My friend, Ireti Bakare, had come along as a die-hard Sunny Ade fan. She got her day with KSA, and lots more besides. She has something of a familial connection with the Juju music legend, having been raised by Alhaja Jarin Seriki, who was like a mother to KSA. The star also explained how Ireti's favourite Sunny song, Sunshine, came about. "If you listen to the music, it was recorded on computer, the band had gone home." The song managed to shine through as a bonus track on the album, Glory. This, he reflected, was "the magic of songs." He featured on the soundtrack to the film, Breathless, starring Richard Gere and Kim Basinger. Did Sunny meet Gere? Ireti wanted to know. The answer was "yes".

As part of events organised by the KSA Foundation, Dr. Yemi Farounbi gave a lecture last September marking the star's 58th birthday. The KSA foundation helps the disadvantaged including children, as well as upcoming and veteran musicians. The star is the subject of three books to be released soon: a coffee table pictorial, a biography titled The Legend, and Behind the Stage, offering Sunny Ade's own insight into the "fascinating life" backstage.

Dancing and swimming help him keep in shape, and he pays close attention to reports from his fan clubs. "I listen to my fans, they don't hide their feelings. Some will say, 'Sunny, you are getting fat o' and I act on it." He doesn't drink or smoke, saying of an early experiment with cigarettes: "I tried to smoke but it didn't work out, at times you burn yourself." He listens to all good music, and good music, he stressed, cuts across genres, "unless you want to permanent yourself to one sound."

On his career thus far, King Sunny Ade concluded that: "The story of my music can only be told by my fans, but from the responses so far, people are loving it." And so were we. But KSA's appointment could be delayed no further. On our enchanting afternoon with the music legend, my friend and I agreed that we had come away with an unusual but wonderful lesson: never permanent yourself to only one sound.

-Morala Wood