Iraqi singer and composer Ilham Al-Madfa'i, in Cairo for a series of concerts, takes time out to speak to Amina Elbendary Everything we have heard of Iraq and Iraqis recently has had to do with war. And so it was with no little excitement that music lovers and Arabophiles with intellectual pretensions received the news of Ilham Al-Madfa'i's visit to Cairo last week. The Iraqi musician held a number of concerts: at the Cairo Opera House's Open-Air Theatre, at the Citadel's Saha Theatre and the Cairo Jazz Club. Cairenes are not as familiar with Al- Madfa'i's music as their Arab brethren. He is particularly popular among Jordanians and Palestinians, perhaps because he has lived in Amman since the early 1990s. Yet even though Ilham's songs are rarely aired on satellite channels all his Cairo concerts attracted full houses. And there was a lighthearted atmosphere prevailing at the Opera House performance, in stark contrast with the inter-Arab tensions exposed and perpetuated by the recent war on Iraq. The familial bantering and blame-exchange of the last few months could -- at least for an evening among a mixed crowd of markedly young Arabs -- be easily pushed aside. Ilham would dedicate a song to Iraq and another to his late Egyptian friend, Radwan El- Kashef. All the accompanying musicians were Egyptians. Maybe things aren't so bad after all. Photo: Randa Shaath At 60 or thereabouts, Ilham retains the aura of the pop music idol. Dressed in khakis and a green linen shirt, topped with a beige cameraman's vest, he does indeed look like the music he sings -- Arab, Westernised, cool. I meet him the next morning without his guitar. Ilham got his first guitar at the age of 10, he tells me, a gift from a cousin, a story he has repeated countless times. And no, he didn't study the guitar. He taught himself. Growing up in a house of statesmen, Ilham was surrounded by traditional Arabic culture. His father played the oud at home. But he chose the guitar. His decision to become a musician, and a pop one at that, was hardly conventional in this milieu. Since the 1960s, and his first band, the Twisters, Ilham Al-Madfa'i has been toying with the idea of blending Arabic music with other sounds. And if the most overpowering influence on his music has been the guitar over the years he has added more and more oriental influences: the qanoun, the joza and even the nay have joined his ensemble in addition to the drums and guitar. Around 1961 or 1962 the Iraqi singer Nazem El-Ghazali heard the young Ilham sing "Fawq Al-Nakhl" (Over the Palmtop) and joined him. Iraq's popular poet Mudhaffar Al-Nuwwab has also been a friend of Ilham and his brother for years and his latest album includes "Kaddhab" (Liar) by Al-Nuwwab. Most of the lyrics to Ilham's music -- like "The Bazringosh", "Khuttar" or "Tuffah" -- contain elements of folkloric melody with which his Arab audiences are familiar. Yet the blending of Latin and pop rhythms with such Arabic lyrics makes Al- Madfa'i's music more upbeat than what is traditionally associated with Iraqi music. His songs are danceable and it is no wonder that this music found its first warm reception not in concert halls and theatres but in coffee shops and night clubs. And indeed a few brave souls did just that -- dance -- at the open-air theatre, an one can only hope that they were joined by more at the Jazz Club. Ilham first made a name for himself in England in the 1960s singing at the Baghdad Café (Al- Bayt Al-Baghdadi). "I don't usually go to concerts with a planned programme. I try something and see what the mood of the crowd is. It takes a minute usually and then I can tell. Sometimes I tease the audience, starting with an Italian song, perhaps, until they cheer for 'Fawq Al-Nakhl' perhaps, or 'Khuttar'. Every performance is an improvisation. It has to have something different, unusual. The same song is never sung the same way twice." That, of course, is part of the Arab heritage he carries. He often starts traditionally, as he did with several songs at the opera; beginning with a slow, often sad melody, saying the lyrics out loud, and then after a pause the beat transforms itself into something closer to flamenco, it goes higher and faster. The typically-Iraqi overture is not forgotten, merely put to one side for a while. And despite these beginnings most of his music tends to be upbeat; it is not sadness that lies heavy on the heart. Al-Madfa'i's songs and music attempt to blend genres and cultures in a number of ways. It is Arabic music that sounds international and ethnic; it is pop music that features lyrics by poets like Mudhaffar Al-Nuwwab and Abdel-Wahab Al- Bayati. (From Al-Bayati's poems he has sung "Raindrop": "Like a raindrop I was alone, darling/ Alone darling, like a raindrop/ Don't be sad, Tomorrow I will buy you the moon/ And the morning star and a garden of flowers/ Tomorrow, if you return from your travels.") It is music that can be heard and sung in nightclubs and opera houses. It features melodies and lyrics from traditional Iraqi folklore that sound hip and modern. The combination makes for something original. And while the idea sounds appealing it is not a mélange that has tempted too many contemporary Arab composers. Particularly original is Ilham's turn to jazz for inspiration. The influence of jazz on Arab music remains limited. You say jazz and point to a handful of Arabs who've forayed into the field: Ziyad Rahbani, Yehia Khalil... Al-Madfa'i's latest release, aptly titled "Baghdad", features an old black and white photo of the city on the cover. Mohamed Al-Madfa'i, Ilham's son and energetic business manager, tells us that in fact the decision to use that particular Nizar Qabbani song as the title of the CD came after the war. And the slick cover -- compare it with other pop CDs in the market -- may well be an attempt to repackage this aging singer to appeal to a more sophisticated public. Al-Madfa'i is well aware of the necessities of playing the distribution game, of juggling between distribution companies and their satellite channel subsidiaries. He knows that making a song available is just as important as making it. In keeping with the sophisticated image it is not surprising that the cover bears a sticker pointing to a song written by Mudhaffar Al-Nuwwab and another by Nizar Qabbani. And he is particularly excited about working with poet Karim Al-Iraqi whom he feels has introduced new life to Iraqi music. The CD includes two songs by him. Even though Ilham Al-Madfa'i's artistic project aims in large part at reworking traditional Iraqi music and introducing new Arab music, in one sense his inspiration remains firmly Western. What do you like to listen to in your spare time, I ask him and he confesses he is not an avid listener of Oriental music: "I like modern jazz. And Santana." But he listens to all the new Arabic releases to keep in touch with what's being produced. "And I can safely tell you that in the past two or three years all projects have come to a standstill." The Dave Brubeck Quartet was among his formative influences. He is interested in Latin jazz and finds the blend between these types of music appealing. He likes to read Ian Fleming novels and "Kalila wa Dumna. I find that animals are often much more rational than human beings. Especially the donkey. Do you know that in Iraq we call the donkey Abu Saber (Father of Patience)?" "Baghdad". may well be a clear bow to his homeland and his city in this time of stress, but Ilham does not hide his jubilation at the fall of Saddam's regime. He looks forward to returning as soon as the security situation becomes more stable. He looks forward to a new Iraq. People have changed over the last 30 some years, he explains -- fear had taken over the lives of Iraqis, changing their psyches. One lived in fear even abroad, he says quietly, even in places like San Diego, where he stayed for 18 months. "The whole world watched what went on in Baghdad, minute by minute. And one felt a need to do something for Iraq, for Baghdad. Baghdad, you know, is a city renowned for its glamour since the days of Harun Al-Rashid. The lyrics of the title-song are by the late Nizar Qabbani. I was living in the same place where Nizar wrote this poem, seeing the same angle where the house of Balqis, his late wife, stood and I recognise the views he describes. I feel he genuinely described the Baghdad I have in my heart. He described the palm trees, the houses... the other side of the river Tigris with its small boats and wooden bridge, the sound and rhythm of cars as one by one they slowly crossed over that bridge, the sight of the river as it embraces the city..."
