Majda Al-Roumi: Songs of war and jasmine The prodigal daughter returns once more. She wins, and we love her for it By Amira Howeidy It's 5.30 on a hot afternoon at the Cairo Opera House, and Majda Al-Roumi has just finished over six hours of rehearsing. Elegantly dressed in a navy blue jacket, crisp white shirt and beige trousers, she swiftly touches her hair, checking it is perfectly styled and neatly tucked behind her ears. It is. Her performance during the past two days has been equally polished, as she spent long hours rehearsing her three latest songs, Tawq Al-Yasmin (Jasmine Collar), Ashtaqu Ilayka (I Miss You) and Sayedi Al-Ra'is (Mr President). With approximately three hours of voice exercises a day for the past two decades, it is hard to expect perfection-obsessed Al-Roumi to do less than the very best. This obsession was the driving force that made her spend 400 hours rehearsing her hit single Maa Al-Jarida (With the Newspaper), the lyrics of which were written by the late Syrian poet Nizar Qabbani. But no. She isn't ready yet. "I'm stressed, nervous and very afraid until I hear the applause after my first song -- then I breathe," she says in a small, very low voice, chewing gum in mouth. "It stops my mouth drying out when I'm rehearsing for very long hours," she explains. Two days later, she is swaying, graceful and confident in a stunning black evening gown, to the music being made by a 300-strong orchestra and chorus at the Opera. In three hours, Al-Roumi sings 15 songs and gives two encores at the insistence of the charmed audience, throws out beautiful smiles and a few shy giggles, all amidst non-stop applause. "We love you, Majda," an elegant middle-aged woman shouts. Egyptians fell in love with Al-Roumi the moment the camera zoomed in on her face 22 years ago in Youssef Chahine's hit movie Awdat Al-Ibn Al-Dall (Return of the Prodigal Son), in 1976. She was only 19; Chahine introduced her as 'The Voice of the 20th Century'. Not only was Awdat Al-Ibn Al-Dall an artistic success, its strong political connotations earned it unofficial classification as a radical left-wing movie. Ironically, for many of the ensuing years, Al-Roumi was one of the symbols of Lebanon's right-wing Phallangist politics. Although she is "not a politics person", as she repeatedly states, war-torn Lebanon could not but involve everyone in politics, including herself. At the apogee of her fame, many years after the war, Al-Roumi, 41, today stands for the mainstream pan-Arab nationalist trend. Her visit to Cairo on 24 and 25 June follows her participation in the celebrations of Sinai Liberation Day last April. A week later, she gave a concert in Paris, followed by another in New York last month. Al-Roumi will visit more Arab countries on her annual Arab tour, including Jordan and Tunisia. But the most significant was her much-celebrated visit to Algeria last December where she gave a stadium concert in front of 50,000 people. Before leaving her home in Beirut, she wrote up her will and left it with a relative, asking him to take in her two daughters if she was killed in Algeria. "Although I was afraid, I wanted to deliver a humanitarian message. I will always go where it is my duty to be. And I do it with enthusiasm and nationalism," she asserts firmly. Born in 1957 at Kfarchima, south of the Lebanese capital Beirut, she is the daughter of Halim Al-Roumi, Lebanon's most famous musician and the man who discovered Fayrouz. "I can't remember when I started singing. All I know is that I've been singing for as long as I can remember," she says. Her first appearance as an amateur singer was in 1974, on the popular Lebanese TV show Studio Al-Fann (Art Studio), where she sang songs made famous by Umm Kulthoum, Asmahan and Laila Murad. She easily won first prize. "Everything changed after that night. In a few minutes I became a singer after my voice had been confined to my family's house. One night made my fate and determined my future. For the first time, I tasted fame," she remembers. Halim Al-Roumi's house was not just a musicians' home, but the favourite haunt of Lebanon's intellectual elite. If anything, Al-Roumi's was a school of authentic Arabic music. As she grew up, she inhaled that atmosphere. She loved Abdel-Halim Hafez, Umm Kulthoum, and Asmahan and was deeply affected by another school: that of the Rahbani brothers. "When I knew I was going to be a singer, I decided to create my own style. At the same time I realised how much I admired Asmahan and Laila Murad, especially the glamorous musicals they acted in. I hoped to revive that type of music, which had died out completely." But two years later, Al-Roumi was playing the role of Tafida, the rebellious yet realistic worker's daughter, in her first and only movie: Awdat Al-Ibn Al-Dall. Tanned face framed by her long black hair, Al-Roumi was not just a pretty face. The three memorable songs written by Salah Jaheen -- Rag'in (We Are Returning), Muftaraq Al-Turuq (Crossroads), and Al-Shari' Lena (The Road Is Ours) -- remain very popular to this day. When the movie was screened, Al-Roumi's fame was established. As she enjoyed the fruits of the film's success, and only a year before she obtained her BA in Arabic Literature, the civil war broke out in Lebanon. She recalls with obvious sadness: "Studying, or even singing, was impossible. And until 1984, I had absolutely no chance whatsoever to sing." The experience of the civil war, the Israeli invasion of Lebanon in 1982 and the destruction of Beirut that followed left a deep scar -- in her own words, a deep feeling of bitterness. "The war broke out during the most beautiful years of my life, and left behind a strong feeling of sadness. The only positive element in all this is that it made the heart more tender. And we [the Lebanese] have become more responsible and more appreciative of the human experience." Although she released her first album Wadaa (Farewell) in 1977, it went unnoticed because of the war. The communal divisions -- confessional, ethnic and cultural -- which were part and parcel of the political process and everyday life of post-war Lebanon almost froze Al-Roumi's career. Her appearances were limited to a Phallangist-financed TV channel, mostly viewed by Maronites. The '80s witnessed the end of the Lebanese civil war and Al-Roumi's comeback to a wider Arab audience. She toured several Arab capitals and although she sang from her old repertoire, mainly nationalist songs in colloquial Lebanese, the words she chose for her new songs were in classical Arabic. Nizar Qabbani's Beirut Sett Al-Dunia (Beirut, Lady of the World) was the first classical Arabic poem Al-Roumi sang at this stage. She sang many others in the late '80s and '90s, which renewed her success and placed her at the forefront of the music scene. She was described as an "ambassador of Arab art". Her songs, now synonymous with "respectable" art, are hailed as authentic amidst what critics call a frenzy of tasteless Arabic pop music. Some even argue that after the mythical Fayrouz, Al-Roumi remains the sole icon of note. Her biggest hit to date is Kalimat (Words), a lengthy qasida by Qabbani. Maa Al-Jarida, also by Qabbani, and Kun Sadiqi (Be My Friend) by prominent Kuwaiti poet Soad Al-Sabbah, both released in 1994, were best-sellers. Al-Roumi's good looks, glamorous outfits and characteristic movements on stage crystallised her image -- a beautiful, romantic, yet serious singer. But in 1994, her overwhelming popularity was suddenly in jeopardy. The Egyptian press ran stories quoting Al-Roumi lashing out, describing Egypt, its singers and dialect as "appalling". A vicious counter-campaign was immediately launched by Egyptian reporters, followed by a series of decisions by the state-run TV and the Syndicate of Musical Professions banning Al-Roumi from Egypt altogether. The crisis lasted for a year; her denials went in vain. It escalated to include various Lebanese singers who, in a show of solidarity with Al-Roumi, refused to come to Egypt as the war of words between the press of the two countries continued to accelerate. The situation suddenly became Egyptian versus Lebanese art at a time when musicologists and critics argued that Egypt, which once boasted singers such as Umm Kulthoum and Abdel-Halim Hafez, was now exporting their likes from other countries. "I don't have a clue how this whole saga began or how it went away, but it was frightening to see it happen," she says. But as the storm abated, Al-Roumi was back in Egypt in time to sing Misriyya Ana (I am Egyptian) and win even more Egyptian fans. A clever politician? Al-Roumi denies the charge. "I never meant to apologise in any way because I refuse to be in the position of the accused," she says in a serious tone. "I know one thing: that someone or some people wanted to prevent me from singing in Egypt, but when God wants something to happen it does. And this attempt to keep me away failed. You can't imagine how the Egyptians welcomed me when I arrived after this problem. I felt that God was making it up to me because I was so hurt. I respect the Egyptians for not listening to all this, although it was a pretty dangerous scheme," she adds. In October 1995, Al-Roumi sang in the Arabic Song Festival in Cairo. Contrary to the standard procedures of the festival, at which more than one singer performed during the same show, Al-Roumi was given a whole evening by the administration. In the vast Chinese Garden of the Cairo International Conference Hall, more than 2,000 people cheered for Al-Roumi as she delivered her songs, now orchestrated by Gamal Salama. Almost three years separate Al-Roumi's return in 1996 from her two-night show at the Opera House last month. To many of her fans, her voice and performance have certainly matured. Her latest three songs prove it. A long and certainly difficult poem Qabbani's Tawq Al-Yasmin, composed by Iraqi singer and composer Qazem Al-Saher, is a showcase for Al-Roumi's professional skill. Al-Roumi is very proud of Tawq Al-Yasmin. Her eyes glow with excitement as she speaks of her new album, which she thinks marks a new stage in her ever upward ascent. With the words of Qabbani, the music of Al-Saher and Salama's orchestration, her confidence seems well-founded. Before she closed her performance at the Opera concert, Al-Roumi took the microphone and said quietly: "I opened this night with songs of love and music, but I don't want to sink in romance while my country and all the Arab countries are in danger. This is a song addressed to all the officials who can hear me to save our nation from this danger." Amidst uproarious applause, Al-Roumi softly began to sing Sayedi Al-Ra'is.
