What's So Funny About Ahmed Adaweya?

  That boy is a monster (Mo-mo-mo-monster) That boy is a monster (Mo-mo-mo-monster) That boy is a monster (Mo-mo-mo-monster) That boy is a monster-er-er-er-er 1978 is another hyper-productive year for Ahmed, who releases two full-length cassettes. Based on this year and last, our man seems to have settled into an annual pattern: Release one ass-whupping cassette album doing what it is you do best, an album that blows away any possible competition simply by you being your own bad self, followed by a gobsmacking, goalpost-moving follow-up that catapults the genre into uncharted (if highly charting) territory.  Had anyone else released Jouz Walla Fard , we'd remember them for having hit an all-time shaabi high point; but this is Ahmed, and it's almost too easy to take his exceptional if less innovative work for granted. Ahmed and crew , we should say. Accordionist and composer Hassan Abou El Seoud once again provides the music and arrangements for this joint, and we're treated

  "There's never been a n--- this good for this long/ This hood, or this pop, this hot, or this strong" No shade on the Carter Administration, but it's clear Shawn hadn't heard Ahmed Adaweya when he penned the couplet above. Ahmed is nothing if not THE most hood, THE most pop, THE hottest, and THE strongest Egyptian to ever record, and it doesn't get any more simultaneously hood, pop, hot, and strong than Cairo, Egypt.  "Bint El Sultan," oh holy sweet baby Jesus in the manger, there are no words that can describe the totalizing slow-burn of an ab-so-fucking-lutely torqued motherfucker this massive all-time banger is. The first time I heard this track , it changed my life. Are you sitting down? Good, because we've got a lot of ground to cover here. First order of business: Discogs lists three cassette versions of Bint El Sultan : Egyptian and Moroccan reissues in 1987 and an Egyptian reissue in 1997. I have the 1997 "Good News" reissue.

  "Yazayid Fi Al Halawih," is absolutely gob-smackingly complex, with twisty strings and male and female choruses, and represents a clear (if momentary) departure from Ahmed's shaabi-forward output to date In January 1977, Egypt explodes into a series of riots that wash through the entire country, from Alexandria, where they initiate, though Tanta, Cairo and Suez, down to Luxor and Aswan. At the time, the vast majority of the country's citizens rely on guaranteed-price rations of a number of staples, including baladi bread -- the roti, if you will, of Egypt. When these rations are cut, many Egyptians take to the streets, targeting police stations and other symbols of governmental authority. The uprising, which lasts for two days until crushed by the army on January 20th, comes to be known as "the bread riots."  Some 80 people are killed during the turmoil, hundreds injured, and over 1,000 arrested. The clashes are significant enough to gain the attention of

  The newlyweds in March 1976 While writing and posting the first several entries of this project, I learned that Ahmed's wife, Nousa, passed away suddenly on May 16, 2024. Nousa helped guide, shape, and protect Ahmed and his legacy for most of his adult life and her sudden absence casts a shadow long enough to darken even this humble project on the other side of the world. Upon his return from London in early 1976, Ahmed Adaweya marries Wanisa Ahmed Atef, better known as Nousa. Their relationship is strained almost from the beginning, as Ahmed is often on the road, performing internationally, while Nousa, according to Ahmed Naji's " The Woman Who Devoured Adaweya ," suffered his absence so severely, her hair began to fall out. The couple would apparently soon separate, with the initial plan of divorcing, before reuniting for good in 1978. This gives Ahmed's second cassette of 1976, An Evening at Home , additional resonance, a hint of bittersweetness, if not irony

  While in England's capital, Ahmed experiences one of the biggest highs and bitter lows of his early career. Ahmed's 1976 opens with a residency at the Omar Khayyam in London. London may seem like an odd choice for him to have visited that year, but according to this 1976 Guardian article by David Hirst , the city was teeming with Arab visitors and immigrants hungry for entertainment. ( A post by Asmahan of London about her 1977 visit echoes this .) The Omar Khayyam in it original building on Cannon Street. It later moved to Regent. "The Arab visitors," Hirst writes, "now almost exclusively male and wearing Western dress, are likely to head for a nightclub or a casino. If it is Crockford's to which they may have been drawn by sumptuous advertisements in Arabic magazines, they can retire to an 'Arab room' with Egyptian hostesses in attendance. If it is to the Omar Khayyam nightclub, they will find an ambience, decor, floorshow, staff, and clientele so

  Their applause and exhortations are so aggressive you wonder if it's not meant for Ahmed but for his haters. This feels more like a sporting event than an hour of music. Before the first track officially kicks in, there's a rousing all-woman chorus sing-cheerleading the album's title: "Bis! Shouf! Adaweya Amil 'Iyh! Bis! Shouf! Adaweya Amil 'Iyh!" The word "album" in regard to recordings dates back to the 78 RPM shellac era, when it meant literally a number of single 78s collected together in a physical album, similar to a photo album. For people of my generation in America, it meant long-playing, 12" 33-1/3 RPM vinyl records, generally, though it could also mean an implied cohesiveness or unifying concept, the live album, for instance, or the experience, for want of a better word, of Pink Floyd's  Wish You Were Here . In 1970s Egypt, most 12" LPs were simply collections of songs, many earlier released on singles; however, increas