ISSAM HAJALI
Mouasalat Ila Jacad El Ard
HABIBI FUNK 7/10 Psych-folk, orch-pop, soft-rock and jazz from Lebanese exile
A LABOUR of love for Berlinbased DJ, crate-digger and label boss Jannis Stürtz, Habibi Funk is a boutique imprint which specialises in unearthing and reissuing vintage Arabic pop albums, mostly from the 1960s to the 1980s, often rare items that only saw a limited cassette or vinyl release first time around. Admirably meticulous in avoiding Orientalist exoticism in packaging, Stürtz is certainly no “world music” purist, favouring more westernised hybrid artists who share the global language of funk, soul, folk and psychedelia. “Arabic funk with a punk attitude” is one of his snappy self-referential soundbites.
Habibi Funk’s latest cult re-pressing is the career-launching solo debut of Issam Hajali, a Lebanese singer-songwriter who later found fame with Beirut band Ferkat Al Ard. With lyrics rooted in the work of Palestinian poet Samih al-qasim, Mouasalat Ila Jacad El Ard was mostly recorded over a single day in Paris in 1977, where exiled leftist Hajali had fled to escape civil war and Syrian occupation. On returning to Lebanon, he sold rough cassette copies of the unfinished LP before a more accomplished producer, Ziad Rahbani, gave these tracks a richer, warmer, jazzier feel.
Hajali signals grand ambitions with his expansive opening track, “Ana Damir El Motakallim”, a 12-minute song cycle whose title loosely translates as “this is the root of the nation”. The shape-shifting arrangement opens in finger-picking psych-folk mode, then blossoms like one of John Barry’s orch-jazz soundtracks, before switching gear again to rueful introspection and homesick longing. A similar sense of jinglejangle mourning underscores “Mouasalat Ila Jadad”, a dreamy ballad adorned with alluringly squelchy analogue synth burbles, and “Khobs”, whose deliciously blended vocal harmonies and deceptively breezy melody suggests Hajaji may have been a fan of the Brazilian Tropicália movement, fellow musical and political exiles.
Stürtz describes most Habibi Funk releases as having a “disco reference”, and Mouasalat Ila Jacad El Ard is no exception. Steeped in the mellow soft-rock aesthetics of the late 1970s, tracks like “Lam Asal” (loosely, “I did not arrive”) inhabit that lightly raunchy Elton-ish space of good-time grooves, gently funky basslines and honky-tonk piano boogie. “Ada” has a similarly loose-limbed lounge-pop vibe, albeit with analogue synth licks that veer off towards the shrill and atonal, presumably more by happy low-tech accident than experimental intent.
The most stylistically restless and adventurous track here is “Yawma Konna”, which begins in classic moody chanson mode before moving through quasi-reggae rhythms, staccato strings and bejewelled metallic shimmers. These rare archive treasures may not be quite dazzling or original enough to rehabilitate Hajaji as some lost genius of Arabic pop, but they certainly make his wider oeuvre seem enticing, emotionally engaging and worthy of further exploration.
Extras: None.