The Ode of Amr Diab
There’s so much energy and elegy in his voice. That beautiful harmony speaks a sorrowful language that gets me fascinated. That Western-Egyptian musical arrangement conveys a tearful poetry that catches me off guard. It’s like listening to a crying child who has just lost his mother in the middle of a busy market, or a wailing soldier who has just seen the death of his best friend at a hostile battlefield, or a weeping housewife who has just watched Kabhi Kushi Kabhi Gham on TV. I may not fully understand what he actually says (my Arabic has become a little rusty these days), but listening to his complex rhythms always remind me of complex emotions I usually encounter in various circumstances.
Here is what I’m talking about: listening to Qusad Aini, I can feel the frightening sadness I normally (or maybe abnormally) experience while I am doing a freestyle in a swimming pool; listening to Allah Ala Hobak Inta, I can feel the terrible suffocation I always endure in the middle of a dark and silent night; listening to Wayah, I can feel the overwhelming isolation I constantly have to put up with whenever I walk through crowded streets in Melbourne. Such a strong connection that goes beyond language and border, huh? Who the hell is this guy who seems to understand me so well and dares enough to sing his heart out for my life’s little misery?
A SINGING REBEL
Amr Diab is definitely not a new face in the Arab World. At 50, he is still a top household King, the Father of Mediterranean Music, The Iron Man who has filled up the musical air with his haunting voice ever since his debut appearance in 1983. He is a living legend who has sold millions of records and who has won many international awards. In Malaysia, he was famous for his song Nour El Ain introduced in 1996, which was further popularized by Dato’ Sharifah Aini and Mawi (does this ring a bell?). I first heard of him in the year 2000 through a song called Tamally Maak (which still sounds pretty sad and suicidal to me until now).
Unlike Maher Zain, Amr Diab’s presence was a bit lukewarm, which was not a surprise. You see, in the Malaysian context, a talented guy like Amr Diab, who has such a pitch-perfect voice with a superior enunciation in Arabic, was by standard and convention expected to be a nasyid singer who sings for God, not for a sexy lover who belly-dances in a sexy dress. To be more specific, in the Malay Muslim context, an eloquent voice like Amr Diab is an excellent candidate for a qari in an annual musabaqah, or a muezzin calling for prayers, or an imam leading makmums at a mosque, or a religious motivator who sometimes sings in the middle of a morning talk show on TV.
Seriously, most of (conservative) muslims in Malaysia must have found it bizarre listening to Amr Diab singing contemporary house music in what seems to be a sacred language. Nonetheless, I can’t blame their limited perspectives of the world since they are probably exposed to Arabic through religious means only (like me, to begin with). Personally, when I listen to, for example, Aslaha Betefre’, I can’t help thinking of a qari reciting the holy verses in the middle of ecstatic dancers in a blinding discotheque. What a blasphemous thought!
Which is why Amr Diab’s ode is so irresistible. Just listen to his recently-released album called Banadeek Taala and feel the rebellion and revolution through his superb skills in putting together traditional Arabic sounds and Western instruments. This is, I suspect, what has made Amr Diab an ongoing international sensation among those who embrace modern-yet-rooted values. And this is exactly what has glued me to his music (am I such a koya rebel?). Look, his non-compliant approach in blending the opposite genres is just brilliant (which, I’m sure, is endorsed by millions of fans out there).
Now, if you please excuse me, I would like to fly into the poignant yet gorgeous world of Amr Diab, going retro with Aghla Min Omry, feeling lucky to be alive with Aref Habiby, swaying my body with Heya Hayati, jumping in excitement with Maak Bartaah, losing my mind with Tagroba Wa Addet, sailing through a romantic night with Youm Matbelna, entering into the state of fantasy, of ecstasy, of nostalgia, of melancholia …
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OMG!!!! You love Amr Diab too? Mama has this “Best of” CD she bought in Bahrain and has been playing it back to back in the car. And talk about a small world, a former staff was Amr’s schoolmate back in Egypt. Seriously, I can’t stand Maher Zain but give me Amr anytime…. purrr….meow!
Haha. I like the last statement. Amr Diab rules out!