A rapping barber, a defiant teen sing for glory in Afghanistan

A WAR-WEARY NATION LOOKS FOR RELEASE

ONE IS a barber, 22, who found his voice in rap, his passionate rhymes expressing the angst of a generation that has known nothing but war. His religious mother disapproves of music, switching the channel when a song comes on.

The other is a girl, 16, who was raised by her widowed mother in conservative Jalalabad. When she appears on stage, dazzling in a vivid green head scarf, she owes it to the mother who put her foot down in the face of protest from relatives.

These are the unlikely stars of a music competition modelled after American Idol that provides weary Afghans a much-needed release on weekend nights.

In its 12th season, the show, Afghan Star, is pure entertainment: Young artists, dressed in chic local and Western wardrobes, belt out songs. People can vote by text.

But amid an escalating battle with extremists, entertainment like this is a risky business, especiallyinaconservativesocietythat looks down on music. And especially when it includes women.

The show’s judges drive around in armoured vehicles. The contestants are provided with safe housing inside a compound for the duration of the show. Audience members go through security checks.

In previous seasons, the network that televises Afghan Star, Tolo TV, would rent spaces in the city to hold the show. After threats to its staff increased — a Taliban car-bomb killed seven colleagues last year — the network decided this season to move the studios inside a gated street in Kabul’s protected diplomatic enclave.

Still, war has a way of disrupting the music. During one recent episode, a female contestant changed her upbeat song to a mournful one that she performed dressed mostly in black. Her uncle had been killed in a suicide bombing in front of the Afghan Parliament that week.

“We told her she didn’t need to perform that week,” said Massoud Sanjer, the head of Tolo’s entertainment wing. “She said, ‘No, life continues.’ But she changed her song selection.”

Between recordings and back home, they put on their burqas and disappear into anonymity.

Zulala always sang at home, but never took formal music lessons. This year, when she saw an ad for Afghan Star tryouts, she asked her mother if she could participate. She was surprised to win a spot on the show, which would bring her to Kabul.

But for her voice to be recognised, Zulala has had to put up with the resistance of her relatives, including her brother, who is a police officer. She is also afraid of facing her teachers and classmates because “they may get angry” with her.

“I knew they wouldn’t give me permission, and until this day they haven’t given me permission,” Zulala said about her relatives. “But I wanted to show my talent to the people; I didn’t want my talent to go in vain.”

Zulala is one of the three remaining contestants in the competition. The favourite, however, is Sayed Jamal Mubarez, the barber from the northern city of Mazar-i-sharif, who tops the votes week after week.

His rising fame has made his mother relent: She will watch him perform, but only if he stays away from vulgarities and there are no women gyrating in his video clips.

Mubarez discovered rap only four years ago. At his barbershop, he would rap along to the Iranian artists playing. He has gained a large following in four months on the show, a remarkable rise in a country that is only beginning to discover rap music. NYT

NYT Zulala performs during a filming of Afghan Star.