The Delicate Art of Sound Design in “Lisabi: The Uprising”

Lisabi: The Uprising opens with celebratory drums. A white man exuding an air of colonial superiority saunters into the palace astride a majestic horse as a bloodied Olodan, portrayed by Femi Adebayo—is violently thrust through the palace doors.

The great Alaafin of Oyo, brought to life by Odunlade Adekola, bathes majestically in a large bathroom. Surrounded by maidens who attend to his every need, the scene embodies an aura of power. The narrative seamlessly pivots, guiding our gaze from the bustling palace hall—teeming with chiefs, tax collectors, and wives adorned in their finest regalia—to the solitary figure of the king in his inner chambers, poised to address his subjects.

What’s remarkable is the profound impact achieved without a single word spoken for nearly three minutes. The film establishes its moral landscape, compelling the audience to empathize with the battered Olodan while fostering a palpable disdain for the seemingly tyrannical king. When the head Ilari (tax collector), brilliantly portrayed by Ibrahim Chatta, begins his rhythmic kingly chant, the audience finds themselves already deeply invested in the unfolding drama. All this is made possible through the art of sound design. 

“In modern times, the appeal lies in the fusion of traditional and contemporary instruments, captivating audiences through their screens,” explains Tolu Obanro, head of the sound department at Akinmolayan’s Anthill Studios and creator of Lisabi‘s musical scores. “While a Yoruba flute might be used, it should be complemented by other instruments to create a rich, layered sound.”

The opening scenes of Lisabi highlight this approach, blending traditional Yoruba instruments with modern ones. The sonic journey begins with a modern trumpet, followed by talking drums and local gunshots. As the scene transitions to the palace, we hear the creaking of a massive door, the bubbling of the king’s bath, and the monarch emerging from the water. Piano melodies, eulogies, and string instruments interweave, building to a crescendo of sound.

Obanro’s use of the Kakaki Oba, an instrument traditionally reserved for kings, is particularly noteworthy. He employs it to create the theme sound for Sangodeyi, the head Ilari, emphasizing the character’s formidable nature. The significance of theme sounds in film cannot be overstated. They amplify the emotional impact of scenes, establish mood and setting, and enable viewers to form deeper connections with characters. Characterization encompasses everything that brings a film character to life, including their experiences, motivations, and personal traits. By assigning specific theme sounds to characters, filmmakers like Obanro create a more immersive and personalized experience, significantly enhancing characterization.

Sangodeyi’s ruthlessness is immediately established when he kills the former head Ilari in the opening scene. This brutal act, performed simply because the king doubted the previous one’s capacity for cruelty, speaks volumes about Sangodeyi’s character. His unflinching willingness to execute a man before an audience sets the tone for his reign of terror. The Kakaki Oba theme that accompanies Sangodeyi throughout the film reinforces this reputation, as he continues to inflict pain on surrounding communities, particularly the Egba people. Further emphasizing Sangodeyi’s formidable nature are the charms he wears throughout the film. These visual cues suggest that beyond his royal backing, Sangodeyi possesses spiritual protection, making him an even more intimidating and seemingly invincible antagonist. 

Sound design and music are pivotal elements in any film, but they take on even greater significance in the genre that has recently captured the imagination of Nigerian filmmakers—epics. The auditory landscape can make or break the entire production in these period pieces. For instance, a single anachronistic sound—like a car horn in a village setting—can shatter the illusion of a historic era. This is why sound professionals like Obanro approach their craft meticulously, crafting unique soundtracks for each scene.

In Lisabi, the sound design serves a dual purpose; it elevates the might of the Oyo empire—a formidable force that employed tax collectors to control and dominate neighboring towns and villages—while simultaneously developing the plot and characters.

When we first encounter Lisabi (played by Lateef Adedimeji), a hopeful, optimistic Yoruba melody about a hardworking farmer plays in the background. This musical cue hints at Lisabi’s significance as the protagonist. In contrast, the distinctive, ominous tones of the Kakaki herald the appearance of the head Ilari, underscoring his role as a harbinger of terror for the Egba people and others under Oyo’s dominion.

The power of sound to evoke emotion is perhaps most poignantly demonstrated in the portrayal of Lisabi’s friendship with Sokenu. Their bond is beautiful, tugging at the audience’s heartstrings. When Sokenu falls victim to the brutal tax collectors, the Ore Gidi Lore Mi sweet score transforms into a melancholic remix that reflects Lisabi’s grief.

“Even silence is a form of sound,” he explains. “I used that when Sokenu was killed, and it was very deliberate. I tend to use silence for sad scenes.” This absence of sound creates a void that enhances the emotional impact of the moment, allowing the audience to absorb the weight of the loss fully.

Throughout Lisabi, the sound design tells the story of the tussle between Oyo and the Egba people. One of the more memorable examples is Abebi’s dance scene as she prepares to meet her husband, the joyous music starkly contrasting her impending tragic fate. In the wake of Sokenu and his bride’s deaths, the film’s sonic landscape shifts. The mood darkens, tension becomes palpable, and the sound design reflects this change. As we witness determination ignite in the eyes of Lisabi, the soundscape hints at an impending revolution, and we know something is about to change. 

Obanro explains the intricacy of his approach: “Many techniques were used in mixing Lisabi’s sound. I aimed for depth in all the scenes, sfx included. There was also crowd recording and soundscaping.”

The robust sound design of Lisabi sets a new benchmark for Yoruba historical films, elevating the genre to new heights. Moreover, it emphasizes the broader implications of sound scores for Nigerian cinema and cultural representations. Obanro acknowledges the delicate balance required, noting that while creative additions can enhance storytelling, the primary aim must always be an authentic representation of Yoruba culture. As sound designers push the boundaries of their art, audiences can look forward to increasingly immersive film experiences that entertain, preserve, and celebrate Nigeria’s rich cultural heritage.

“For me, I’ve decided to improve my scores on every movie. And that’s how the general sound design in films will improve, each musicologist making an individual decision to do better at their work. That way, Nollywood can evolve even faster and make the stories more compelling.”