The mystery of Issam Hajali and the unknown masterpiece of Arabic funk
Over the years, there has been no shortage of incredible, groundbreaking artists who go completely unnoticed, only to be reassessed years later. Artists like Vashti Bunyan, Death and William Onyeabor found new audiences years – decades, even – after their careers had largely faded into obscurity. These stories are much more common within the realm of Arabic music, as the scene usually favoured DIY music-making techniques and distribution, which meant it was a lot easier for prolific funk artists like Issam Hajali to fall through the cracks.
Hajali is probably best known – if at all, in fairness – for his work with the Lebanese collective Ferkat Al Ard. It was with this group that Hajali established himself among the most innovative and original artists in Lebanon, pioneering a sound that has since proven to have something of a timeless quality. Seemingly, though, the records of Ferkat Al Ard were not the first chapter in the musical biography of Issam Hajali. One of his first flirts with the music world came in 1977, with the drastically forgotten release of Mouasalat Ila Jacad El Ard (‘Journey to Another World’).
Throughout history, a great deal of the world’s greatest music and art has arisen from politically tumultuous times. Seemingly, Mouasalat Ila Jacad El Ard was no different. Following the Syrian intervention in the Lebanese Civil War in 1976, Hajali was forced to flee his home nation due to his left-wing political leanings and support of the Palestine Liberation Organisation. So, the musician spent a year exiled in France, during which time he scraped enough money together to spend one day in a recording studio.
Having recruited a rag-tag band made up of local musicians, a friend from Beirut who had also fled the persecution and war, in addition to fellow Arabic musicians from both Algeria and Iran, Hajali set about recording an entire album in only one day. The result was an early incarnation of Mouasalat Ila Jacad El Ard, which was eventually completed in late 1977 upon the songwriter’s return to Beirut. Awash with a uniquely defiant style of acoustic funk, in addition to periods of quiet contemplation and introspection, the finished album was ruthlessly original.
In truth, Mouasalat Ila Jacad El Ard was a political statement as much as it was an album. The vast majority of lyrics on the release were taken from the prolific Palestinian author and poet Samih El Kasem. During a time in which Palestinian activists and organisations were witnessing horrific levels of persecution both in their homeland and within Lebanon – where many Palestinians had fled following various attacks on the Muslim population by Israeli forces – Hajali’s use of Kasem’s prose was particularly compelling.
Understandably, given that the city was still engrossed in violent conflict and political struggle, the music scene of Beirut had taken something of a hiatus. As such, it was difficult for Hajali to find anybody to publish his groundbreaking work. Instead, the album was reduced to being self-released on only a handful of low-quality cassette recordings dubbed by the songwriter himself. Hajali would sell these cassette tapes to friends and family, and some were stocked in local shops, but it is estimated that less than one hundred were made in total.
Thankfully, for music fans everywhere, one of these tapes – the only one that Hajali had managed to hang on to – has since been passed on to the folks at the Berlin-based record label Habibi Funk, who have given Mouasalat Ila Jacad El Ard a long-overdue vinyl pressing. Despite having been created over 40 years ago, the music of the record remains intensely captivating. In fact, the social and political context, which is an unavoidable aspect of the release, has never particularly gone away. Although the Lebanese Civil War has long since ended, the persecution of Palestinians remains to this day. Hence, Mouasalat Ila Jacad El Ard is perhaps more relevant today than it ever has been previously.
