By Maurice Guindi "When the curtain rises, I invariably get cold feet, even after so many years of concert appearances and immense popularity. It is a sort of stage fright caused by anxiety to please, to maintain the high standard my listeners are used to." These were the words of Umm Kulthoum to me during a two-hour interview at her Nile-side villa in Zamalek in the mid-'60s. Sitting next to her was the nation's most renowned composer-singer, Mohamed Abdel-Wahab. The interview followed the first time the two giants had come together in what was then dubbed the "artistic summit." Her rendition and his music produced a masterpiece called "Inta Omri" (You Are My Life). Until today, it is a best-seller throughout the Arab world. Umm Kulthoum took her art very seriously. She was known to scrutinise the words of songs submitted to her very carefully and make changes as she saw fit. She had an excellent command of classical Arabic. Her repertoire included dozens of poems, which she managed to bring close to ordinary Egyptians. This talent and her study and recitation of the Qur'an at home and at religious feasts in her young days endowed her with perfect articulation -- a great asset for a singer. Umm Kulthoum spent her childhood and early youth in the countryside, singing at religious festivals, weddings and other events. Her father, a musician, encouraged her and always accompanied her. She said that her first few payments as a child singer were "milk, or rice or wheat puddings". And her first cash payment? "A 20-piastre coin, which I held tightly in my hand and passed on to my mother when I returned home," she said, with a far-away look in her eyes. Umm Kulthoum became well-known after she came to Cairo in the early '20s. From then on, her fame kept soaring, not only in Egypt but also in the Arab world. She sang at theatres, private parties, weddings and other festive occasions until the early '30s. After 1935, she began to give regular concerts that were broadcast live by Radio Cairo, which began transmitting that year. Except for a few interruptions caused by World War II, she gave a concert on the first Thursday of every month during her 'season', from October or November to June or July. Her repertoire of more than 400 songs covered a wide range of themes, from love to religion and rationalism. Mustafa Amin, a renowned publisher and journalist, once wrote: "A single nationalist song by Umm Kulthoum is more effective than a hundred fiery newspaper editorials." I attended my first concert in 1947 when I was a student. It was a special event, held at the Ewart Memorial Hall of the American University in Cairo. I had listened to her many times on the radio. But seeing her perform on the stage was completely different. I was entranced by the way she conveyed the meaning of the words through the modulations of her voice, the workings of her features and the movements of her hands; the way she thoroughly enjoyed her own singing; and the way she carefully measured her distance from the microphone to ensure top broadcast quality. The concert ended shortly after 2.00am. Overwhelmed, I chose to walk home to Shubra instead of taking a taxi. The golden voice kept ringing in my ears during the long walk. From that day until Umm Kulthoum stopped giving concerts in 1972, I hardly missed a performance, which usually consisted of three songs, reduced to two in the last few years of her career. Only my work as a journalist would prevent me from being there, and that was rare. I shall never forget her last public concert at the 1,800-seat Qasr Al-Nil Cinema. Umm Kulthoum rendered her first song, titled "A Night of Love," over two hours. She was then 74, and the strain was obviously too much. It showed in her second song, a tribute to the holy Muslim pilgrimage to Mecca. Her voice cracked as it went into a high pitch. She froze and the orchestra stopped playing. There was total silence among the audience for a few moments. Then there was thunderous applause for several minutes. A tear trickled down Umm Kulthoum's cheek; she felt the applause was motivated by pity and compassion, rather than admiration. She zipped through the rest of the song, and that was the end of her magnificent career. She produced only one song afterwards, quietly consigning it to a record. At her villa, Umm Kulthoum had a small room next to her second-floor bedroom which contained a sound system. She had her concerts taped and she invariably played back the tapes upon returning home in the wee hours of the morning to evaluate her own performance. "I welcomed any criticism from friends and fans, but I valued self-criticism as well," she told me. Fans from all over the Arab world came to Cairo for her concerts and frantically sought tickets. Until she retired, Umm Kulthoum persistently refused to increase the prices of her tickets, which ranged from LE2 for the best front seats to LE1. At a concert in the early '50s at the Ezbekiya National Theatre, I left during the intermission that followed the first song to buy a pack of cigarettes. I was approached at the gate by a middle-aged man who offered to buy my ticket for LE100, a very handsome sum in those days. I could tell from his accent that he was a non-Egyptian Arab. I smiled at him and said, "You have come to the wrong person. I am the last man in the world to part with my ticket. Please try someone else." He appeared flabbergasted by my categorical rejection of what he obviously considered an irresistible offer. Those unforgettable nights with Umm Kulthoum were among the happiest of my life.
