Today marks the birthday of  Nigerian superstar Fela Kuti, the 58-year-old father of Afro-beat, and one of the most significant musicians of the 20th century. Unfortunately, little mention is made in the United States about the life of Fela, whose influence never fully reached American soil. For me, this is extremely disappointing, as we could stand to learn several lessons from Kuti’s life and legacy.

At a moment when mainstream hip-hop music is at a creative nadir, Fela’s artistic integrity provides a wonderful blueprint. Unlike many contemporary artists, Kuti was relatively unaffected by the imperatives of the mainstream market. Kuti rarely made radio consumable songs –few of his songs lasted less than 10 minutes– and he frequently refused to perform music that he had previously recorded. This is a stark contrast from today’s artists, whose creativity is often constrained by personal and corporate profit motives.

Even more significant than Kuti’s musical gifts was his political legacy. As his career progressed, Kuti became increasingly focused on making music that challenged the colonial power structure. More important, he consistently attempted to link his musical activism to real, on the ground political struggles. Unlike many contemporary artists (and academics), Kuti recognized that political activism must extend beyond the song, the t-shirt, or the slogan. While his success in this arena is questionable –one could argue that his Movement of the People (M.O.P.) party was no more focused or successful than Diddy’s well intentioned but shortsighted “Vote or Die” campaign–his ability to galvanize and mobilize his generation is still highly instructive for today’s generation.

Fela’s death in 1997 from AIDS complications forces us to consider the significance of the global HIV/AIDS pandemic. Based on data from 2005, 4 percent of Nigerian adults are HIV-positive. In other sub-Saharan countries, such as Botswana (24%) and Swaziland (33%), the numbers are considerably higher. To be sure, these numbers can be reduced through sustained research, education, and prevention initiatives.

Although he died in an AIDS-induced coma, Kuti went to his deathbed believing that HIV/AIDS was a hoax constructed by the government. To this day, many of his fans refuse to believe that the Nigerian hero could have fallen to such an undignified and unmasculine disease. These beliefs, which are not uncommon, speak to the need for a shift in our public conversations about HIV/AIDS and masculinity. As opposed to the sensational and empirically unfounded “Down Low” discourse, which has contributed to highly problematic policy decisions, we must engage in complex and nuanced conversations about the race and sexual identity of HIV/AIDS.