Rock, Islam and the American influence on the live-music scene: during Ramadan Rania Khallaf found much to engage her attention Browsing the Al-Sawy Culture Wheel programme for September, I was particularly curious about "Arabic rock" -- what does that sound like? So I made my way to the auditorium on that particular night. Ten minutes before the show, the band members were rehearsing on stage. I took a seat in the front row, something I later regretted as proximity to loudspeakers proved a little too much. The providers of that strange specimen of music were named Cairokee, five -- male -- musicians celebrating their fourth anniversary. And Arabic rock sounded much better than I thought possible: the electic, well thought out lyrics would have been enough in themselves. The fact that they drew in a considerable crowd even despite the popular football team Ahli playing an Asian adversary was evidence enough of their popularity; and Amir -- singer, guitarist and band leader -- did not neglect to mention how deeply he appreciated people giving up the match to come and listen to them. Contrary to my impression that rock has only a limited audience in Egypt, Cairokee turns out to be but one of an amazing number of bands that, even when they are not playing rock outright and even when they don't identify themselves as rock bands, will at least incporporate elements of rock into their work: Eftekasat, Screwdriver, Westelbalad, Black Tima and Mascara. Drawing variously on heavy metal and jazz, most of these bands play some of form of rock sometimes. Fusion being the name of the game, it is in the way they mix and match different elements -- most draw on Arabic music as much as rock and jazz -- and the kind of taste and style of performance that their musical identity is best sought out. This shapes not only their performance but the constitution of their audience: in the case of Cairokee, it is the unique blend of rock and Arabic lyrics that people particularly appreciate. "We made the decision to sing in Arabic because we have a message to deliver," says Amir. He is an enthusiastic man with a charming smile in his mid-twenties. "It's not easy to find lyrics that go with the hard beat of rock." But according to Sherif El-Hawari -- another guitarist in the band -- the choice to sing in Arabic "just came spontaneously: it didn't sound ridiculous, so we just went on doing it". Amir, Hawari and Tamer -- the drummer, have a visible rapport as they speak, and it comes as no surprise that they were primary-school friends before they decided to form a band. Their first song -- successfully performed in a rock music night at the Sea Horse Casino four years ago -- was called "A strange thing"; most of the audience was foreign, Sherif remembers, but the song was very warmly received. It was at this point that they decided to make a career of rock. And even now they have no interest in changing or in any way modifying this orientation. Unlike other bands, they will add neither jazz, blues nor Oriental ingredients to their striking recipe. "Our aim is to stick with rock music," says Hawari, dark and determined, with long hair. "To stick with rock music, and to sing our very intimate songs in Arabic." Being self- educated musicians is but part of the package, one supposes: with no formal education in music -- they have taken at most a few courses each -- Cairokee have built their understanding of sound on satellite channels, the Internet and sheer practise. What is truly remarkable is that they have their own distinct formula, independently conceived and profoundly in touch with young people's concerns. Most of their songs take issue with predominent social concerns, especially those pertaining to the young -- unemployment, romantic strife, poverty -- but Amir insists that none of it is predetermined in any way: "We have no prior agenda. I just write about my inner feelings, sometimes we write together. In many cases a song is written collectively, so it might be my idea, but Hawari will add a fragement, Tamer will chnage the pitch..." At the present concert, it was the lyrics of vernacular poet Ahmed Fouad Negm that proved most popular, however. The 37-year-old pop singer Rania Shaalan -- an occasional participant -- was the evening's guest of honour, and she joined Amir on Kol ennas (Everyone), a pleasant number that added flavour to everything else. While Mascara's being all- female is possibly a political statement, for Cairokee the absence of female band members is a "practical" decision: with female members, Amir explains, access to each other might not be as easy: "Say an idea jumps into my head at dawn, then we can all meet within minutes to try it out. It just makes life easier." The challenge, rather, is how to develop a stage image in the light of the lack of resources. They all feel there is plenty of room for development, but there remains the simple fact that this profession just doesn't bring in enough money. The society in which they live simply "does not appreciate music as a profession", and yet Cairokee are on course. Recently they signed a contract with Much Music Arabia, a Canadian company with a branch in Dubai, and their first music video is in the making. They also recorded a track for Hokm Al-Gharam (The rule of love), a film starring Khaled El-Nabawi to be released this season. And just looking at their unmoving bodies -- completely stationary despite the loudness and sheer energy of the music -- one feels they are in control. At times, indeed, a question comes up as to whether they are simply playing a recording, considering how little the music seems to move them, but this, as it turns out, is an essential aspect of their stage image. It is more or less intentional. "Whether or not we move around has a lot to do with the venue and the type of audience," Hawari explains. "When we perform at After Eight [downtown Cairo's famous club with live music], then it's a little different." To the same question Amir responds in a rather more confessional tone, recalling Jim Morrison's tendency to face away from the audience at the start of a show: "I still don't feel completely free on stage. I'm a bit shy -- that's all." Still, he rocks -- and makes a persuasive case for the conjunction of Cairo and karaoke that gives the band its name. Except for percussionist Ahmed, who is originally from Alexandria, all the band members are from Cairo, and what they are about is as much as anything else "singing along for Cairo". Cairokee's first album is soon to be released, though they have only managed to record the first song so far. *** Nor was Cairokee the end of my Ramadan foray into the live music scene. The week after, my sister -- who lives in the United Arab Emirates -- sent me a brief e-mail with an attachment on the band Native Deen (the second word is Arabic for "religion" and a very common reference to Islam -- as in all the names that end with al-deen ). "You have to go to this concert at the Al-Sawy Culture Wheel," my sister wrote. In itself this brought back memories of happy times we spent together there, and I was as intrigued by the concept of American Muslim music as I had been by Arab rock. There must've been this huge smile on my face as I scuffled around in preparation for booking an interview with the band members. Then, slowly, it all came back to me: I had actually heard their music, I remembered it well from when I found their first album -- released in 2005, the year they were formed -- at the the International Sharjah Book Fair. All the more exciting this made it, especially realising that though I had liked the album -- long lost among my sister's things -- I remembered very little of what it was about. Comprising two vocalists and one percussionist, the Hip Hop band emphasises peace and tolerance as core Islamic values, and listening to them does revivify the sincerity of one's commitment to one's native deen. This is as much about the force of Hip Hop as about talent -- strong voices being a great asset -- and, more importantly even, sheer commitment to Islam. As you clap and sway along with the rhythm, it is as if you've joined in a postmodern dhikr (invocation) rite. Sponsored by the United States Embassy and local donors, this was one of two concerts held on the occasion of Ramadan, the other being at Al-Azhar Park; and on this, their first appearance in Egypt, the Muslim American group managed to garner a large following. The concert started 15 minutes late, through no fault of the band members themselves but rather because they were being regaled with questions which they took the time to answer. Media presence was tremendous and this added a sense of anticipation. Finally Joshua Salaam, Naeem Muhammad and Abdel-Malek Ahmad appeared on stage; the impression they made was instant. First, as if to draw you into their world before you realised what was happening, they performed a track. Then, gradually, they built up a massive interactive relationship with the audience, with Joshua making statements like: "I know you people of Cairo have this sense of rhythm -- we are in Africa after all!" On yelling "Takbeer", Naeem got the audience to respond with resounding Allahu Akbars; on more than one occasion, each verse would be followed by an interlude of clapping. Owing as much to the statements they were asked to repeat -- Inshallah, for example -- as to their intense responsiveness, the resulting atmosphere was indeed very comparable to a Sufi invocation ritual. In a strange, round-about way, Native Deen brought their Egyptians back to their moulids (saints' anniversaries), where the chanting performances of inshad induced a similar collective ecstasy. The responsiveness of the audience made the band members mad with excitement, and at one point Abdel-Malek announced that he had been an American University in Cairo student living in the Zamalek hostel not far from Al-Sawi, and that he had only the most pleasant memories of his Egyptian sojourn. More clapping and enthusiasm from the audience, prompting more intensity on the part of the performers -- and so it went on and on. The three band members met in their early teens at the Muslim Youth of North America (MYNA) camps, where -- as individual performers -- they worked on MYNA's rap album with other young Muslims, forming the band shortly afterwards. The deen in the title, they were eager to point out, refers to Islam not only as a religion but also as a way of life, and underlines their commitment to spreading the message of their creed through art. But what Native Deen do is not so readily definable as to make such statements more than a simplification. In many ways their work reflects their American identity, but equally it draws on the universal heritage of a belief system whose own message has had a wide variety of musical expressions. Joshua made time to explain this point further to Al-Ahram Weekly, drawing connections one could already sense: "We find that find that other people try to put our music in a box. We feel like it is just music. And sometimes you may find a different hit of other types of music, from India or the Arab World. The kind of music we play -- people would probably call it hip hop music -- is closely related to the way we were raised." Born in Camden, New Jersey in 1973, Joshua was grew up with a single mother in Kansas City, IL, and Indianapolis, eventually serving as Imam on the Air Force Base. He had rapped for as long as he could remember, giving his first performance at the age of ten -- at youth camps where he and others entertained their peers. After military service, Joshua worked "for the county in NC", on drug education and other community business. He later earned a BA in Criminal Justice. "After joining Native Deen, I focussed more on giving daawa [proselytising] through my music -- a kind of music which is mix of many types of music, and I would call it Islamic music," he says with a big smile. In itself -- as opposed to "Sufi music" and its many derivations -- this is a new term, and seems to refer to something else, something that has more to do with the universality of Islam than Islamic tradition per se. "I think the term is developing," Joshua said, "because what makes it Islamic is the message, the content of the songs." And yet these songs are not addressed exclusively to Muslims: "We have Jewish, Christian and even non-believer audience coming to our concerts. Our music works as a bridge among people of all religions." Nor does interfaith tension -- theological or political -- affect the appeal of the music; Native Deen maintain their popularity regardless. "Our music is beginning to have an effect. Yes we do sing about Allah, Islamic rituals, but we play good music, and people just want to listen to good music. And this is essentially our mission; we are trying to promote Islam through our unique music, if we can put it that way," he adds with with poise. "We receive positive response mostly from audiences in the United States, but we also play in London and some Islamic countries such as UAE, Syria, and Turkey."
