Osama Kamal attends a concert in the best of folk tradition The auditorium in the Badrakhan Library was rather compact. It is an all purpose room, doubling as a space for arts exhibition, book signings and art performances. Tonight there is a concert by Sheikh Badr and the auditorium is packed to full capacity. For those who know Badr, this is a night not to be missed. The performer's repertoire ranges from Sufi chanting to sira (folk hero tales) accounts. There is also a lot of religious singing in Badr's repertoire, for how can you have folk singing without religious crooning? Everything in the hall is oriental -- the decoration, the accessories, even the carpets and chairs. However, a modern art show is still on, and the avant-garde paintings of Issam El-Gabkhangi seem to be taken by surprise by the oriental revivalism of the venue, soon to be taken to another level by the village music that we are here to enjoy. The audience around me are a mix of old and young. The curious young are hoping for a glimpse of the past, and the old -- no doubt -- are merely nostalgic. Not long ago, concerts such as tonight's were a common occurrence in every Egyptian village. At a wedding or a moulid (saint's day), when people travelled or came back, the crooners sang the siras and performed the mawwals (love songs in the ballad style), and intonated Sufi poetry from dusk to dawn. Tonight is only different in the venue, but the performers are the real deal. Sheikh Badr is here with a band of four musicians playing the violin, the tambourine, the drum and the rababa (a string instrument). Sheikh Badr is against introducing any Western instrument in folk singing. He sees the use of Western musical instruments as a corruption of tradition. "Our folk instruments are unique in their effect, and they are the reason oriental folk music is so attractive to Westerners," he says. The only instrument of a Western denomination in the band is the violin, and even that is of arguably oriental origin. The faces of the musicians bear the unmistakable southern features. They have come from al-sayeed al-gowani, or the southernmost parts of the country, announces Sheikh Badr with pride. He is from Kom Ombo near Aswan, a descendant of the mighty Jaafari tribe. Badr takes the stage with the vitality of a singer at a wedding, singing one village hit after another. Many city people can recognise the songs, as several have been on the radio or used in film scores. He starts with Al-bint beida beida wana amel eh (The girl is white, so white, what do I do?). Then he goes through a dozen of old hits, such as Lagl ennabi (For the sake of the Prophet), Khodni maak yallenta mesafer (Take me with you, traveller). At one point he tantalises the audience with a few stanzas from Al-Sira Al-Helaliya, (oral history of the Hilly tribe). When I talk to Badr after the show, he reminds me of the late Zakaria El-Heggawi, the great man of folk art, the uncontested sponsor and primary keeper of musical tradition. It was El-Heggawi who first created the Nile Band, of which Badr is still a member. El-Heggawi toured every part of the country, east and west, south and north in search of songs and lyrics, of oral history and village tales. He died in 1975, but his spirit and art are very much alive, so is the Nile Band under the current management of Abdel-Rahman El-Shafei. Some of the Nile Band first generation singers are still around, Fatema Sarhan and Gamalat Shiha included. Others are now dead: Khadra Mohamed, Mohamed Abu Deraa and Rayyes Metqal. But their imprint on folk singing is not gone and their memory is cherished to this day by a new generation of performers. The Nile Band has for decades been Egypt's primary emissary to international forums and festivals, equalled only in this respect by the Reda Folk Dance Company, the country's primary folk dance company. Badr has travelled with the Nile Band to Tunisia, Morocco, Italy and France. He remembers these trips with relish, and is pleased with the recognition Egyptian folk art receives abroad. Over the past few years Badr has appeared in more than one stage play, including Sirr Al-Hawa (Secret of Love), in which he sang the popular saga of Hassan and Naima. In one scene in the play Badr performed a duet with the popular singer Ali El-Haggar, which consistently brought the audience to their feet. Badr also appeared in the play Taam Al-Sabbar (Taste of Cactus) with Azza Husseini, which had two long runs at the Hanager Theatre. Together with artist Hamdi Hussein, Badr appeared in the stage play Ghenwet Al-Leil (Song of the Night), which told the saga of Shafiqa and Metwalli. He also sang Al-Sira Al-Helaliya at the Popular Culture Theatre in Fayoum. Badr is the scion of the Mashayekh family of Kom Ombo. He had a religious education and began singing as a child. His maternal grandfather, Sheikh Hammad, is something of a local saint and his paternal grandfather, Sheikh Taha, is a well- known Sufi figure. Badr says that Kom Ombo is mostly a conservative community with Sufi leanings and pronounced spirituality, and that him being specialised in religious singing should come as no surprise. In his community people listen to religious singing almost daily. Badr's first album in 2005, Ya Rayhin Al-Madina (You Who Go To Madina), was a collection of religious songs. Badr's personal style is folksy and cheerful. When you listen to Badr, it's as if you are at a moulid. There is a sense of carnival, a levity of gesture and lots of humour. The cheerfulness does not even disappear when Badr goes into a sira (traditional songs about folk heroes). Comfortable as he is in his sira singing, he does not consider himself to be one the great sira singers among the likes of Sayed El-Dawi and Gaber Abu Hussein. The big names of sira, he tells Al-Ahram Weekly, not only sang but lived the sira. Badr believes he is just a disciple of those immortal greats, a man who walks on their trail, just as Zakaria El-Heggawi once did.
