Record Digging, Cassette Collecting, and Musical Memory in Jewish Morocco

Samy Elmaghribi and Salim Halali are still played at the Astor, Fez's last kosher restaurant and bar

Hadj Belaid fresco in Tafraoute (2012)

Some three years after first discovering the magic of musician Haim Botbol in a record store in Casablanca, I returned to Morocco to find his music in cassette stalls across the country. In fact, I got an even deeper sense of the critical importance of music in the Maghreb on this trip. In Tafraoute, in the country’s deep southwest, frescos of musical instruments like the rebab and images of musical standouts from the 1940s like Hadj Belaid adorned walls throughout the region’s ancient villages. At a pizza joint along the Tizi-n-Tichka pass, a banjo on a chair was displayed prominently. When the restaurant’s owner wasn’t making pies, he would strum a few chaabi notes. And in Casablanca, by the former Lincoln Hotel, a cd seller played Samy Elmaghribi’s version of Gheniet Bensoussan for passersby.

After years of collecting Moroccan and then North African music in general, I was interested in not only finding dusty recordings from Tangier to Fez but also to collect musical memories. I was interested in how Moroccans, Jews and Muslims, understood and remembered their Jewish pop icons of yesteryear and so I went looking.

I started in Tangier and found very little. I figured a Mediterranean port city with a once large Jewish community would herald in an auspicious beginning. Being there during Ramadan hampered my efforts in many ways. Most medina shops were closed during the day. A general lethargy had set in. Additionally, Marcel Botbol’s music club, just outside the medina, was closed and I soon learned he was switching venues but wasn’t due to reopen until the following month. Undeterred, I kept searching. Walking up and down medina thoroughfares and side streets, I finally happened on a store selling clocks that a friend had mentioned. A half dozen sun faded Mohammed Abdel Wahab LPs were displayed prominently in the window. He must have had more stock, I thought. He did but he was too tired, he told me. I pressed him but I decided to let it go. Considering that he had been holding on to records for some thirty years past their utility and interest for most people, I could sympathize with his exhaustion. Besides, there would be other opportunities.

The interior of Le Comptoir Marocain de Distribution de Disques (2012)

Where Tangier yielded little, Casablanca was a black gold mine. I returned to the places which had launched this musical journey for me three years ago: Le Comptoir Marocain de Distribution de Disques on Lalla Yacout and Disques Gam in the opposite direction on Boulevard de Paris. At Le Comptoir, also the home to the Tichkaphone label, I snagged a dozen Botbol cassettes. It’s safe to say that Le Comptoir represents one end of the record store spectrum, organized and immaculate, whereas Disques Gam is the other end, chaotic, hot as hell, and magnificent. Gam Boujemma is the store’s proprietor and a repository of musical knowledge. You have to know what you’re looking for here and I did. With every record or cassette he pulled out, I was deluged with hard to come by oral history. Stories of Samy Elmaghribi performing at the nearby Cinema Lux fascinated me. As did his reverence for Albert Suissa. I walked away with a few prize items from his archive including a couple EPs on the N. Sabbah label and Botbol’s only release for Philips.

Two Giants: Albert Suissa on N. Sabbah and Botbol on Philips (2012)

In Morocco, the musical medium of choice corresponds directly to the seller’s knowledge of the industry. Those selling records should be placed at the top of the hierarchy, followed closely by cassette purveyors and CD distributors a distant third. Also, a couple things happened in Morocco in the 1970s that should be noted. One, the music industry was nationalized. Two, cassettes appeared, allowing records to be transferred directly to tape and distributed widely. The era also represents one of the last gasps of the prominence of Jews in the Moroccan music scene.

 Janatte Haddadi's beautiful short on Coq d'Or

The Casa medina was once a musical mecca for Moroccan Jews. It was here where Salim Halali’s club Coq d’Or, now a textile factory, once stood. Albert Suissa continued to live and write music in the mellah until a late age. So I was elated when I stumbled upon one of the remaining few cassette sellers in Casa’s medina. His stall was impossibly tiny. Floor to ceiling tapes lined its walls. With my eyes quickly scanning the now all too familiar artists, I noticed something peculiar. In his collection were dozens of Israeli releases of Moroccan Jewish artists from the Holy Land. While the Zakiphon labels had been removed, these were clearly Jaffa-based releases of Cheikh Mwijo, Raymonde, and Sliman Elmaghrebi. Here was evidence of a fascinating chapter of music moving beyond closed borders.

Found: Samy Elmaghribi in a Casa cassette seller's attic (2012)

I told him what I was looking for and he had everything. I walked away with long sought after Felix El Maghrebi and Zohra El Fassia tapes complete with hand written song titles. On a whim, I asked if he still had records. Without flinching he took a rickety ladder and propped it against a wall of cassettes and started climbing towards his attic. He pulled down two large bags of 45s. I started to comb through them as my heart raced. What would I find? The occasional Samy Elmaghribi EP surfaced as did the odd Botbol cover (including an Algerian release) but unfortunately none of the covers matched the records and none of what he had was what I was looking for. Despite this, I had learned a great deal in this encounter.

Hadj Belaid recording on Baidaphon c. 1940s

Before finally heading to Fez, I spent a week with my girlfriend and friends traveling in the Marrakesh area and to its east. Toward the end of the week, we visited the village of Telouet, home to a breathtaking Glaoui casbah. As we left, it started to drizzle and then pour. A nearby café provided us shelter and piping hot mint tea. On our way in I had noticed a 50s era HiFi system at the entrance. Where there was a record player, I thought, there must be records. I started asking the right questions. Within a moment my hosts informed and then showed me that it still hummed along, in fact, it played beautifully. They put on a couple of Western LPs and then brought out two black plastic bags of 78s. These were all priceless 1940s recordings of Hadj Belaid on Pathé and Baidaphon. We were all having a great time. A waiter took a lighter to one of the records to show me this was no plastic we were dealing with. This was shellac! Handshakes were had all around and then I excused myself to finish my tea.

Le Cristal in Fez, still bustling (2012)

My last few days in Morocco were spent in Fez. For the first time, I stayed in the Ville Nouvelle. I was captivated. For the tourist and the historian, some of the beauty of Morocco, even in its “modern” counterpart to the medina, is the (at least superficially) unchanging landscape and architecture. Thus my hotel in Fez was located right next to the now defunct Astor Cinema, which was next to the still in operation Astor Bar (home to Fez’s remaining kosher restaurant) and a stone’s throw a way from independence era café’s like the Cristal. You quickly started to get a feel for what Jewish Fez must have looked like in the 1950s and 60s.

I was not disappointed by what I found in Fez’s medina. After paying homage to the record-turned-cd label Fassiphone, right outside the old walls, I launched myself into the city’s infamous myriad alleyways. It was not before long before that I located the cassette district. One seller’s stash of Jewish musicians was significantly reduced. About seven tapes were all that remained. He was eager to sell, including what appeared to be his most master-like recordings, but I held off.

Botbol, tea, and towers of tapes in Fez (2012)

A twist and a turn later and I had found my man. “Mohammed” cut a handsome figure against a background of thousands of tapes. He saw me staring and ushered me “in.” A dozen pleasantries later, short introductions, a sip of wormwood infused tea, and the cassettes jumped one after one into the tape deck. Mohammed was a former musician and played often with his Jewish counterparts. His familiarity with the scene was astonishing. When I asked about Botbol, Mohammed mentioned he knew Jacob, the father, and then dutifully put on a recording, which he sang every word to. This pattern of singing along with the uttering of an artist’s name repeated itself with a range of performers from Cheikh Mwijo to Samy Elmaghribi. The mere mention of Zohra El Fassia, the grande dame of Fez, brought a large smile to his face. He started recalling the heyday of places like the Astor and Cristal and others. I couldn’t resist, I bought way too much from him but it was worth it. He then took us to his gorgeous medina home for another cup of tea. His roof view rivaled any in the city. I asked him to see pictures but instead I got his address with a request to keep in touch. I couldn’t have been happier to oblige. Mohammed wasn’t sure if anyone still sold records in Fez but I was happy nonetheless. Not everything has been transferred to CD so getting your hands on tapes is the next best thing.

Prized records including Botbol, bottom row (left) (2012)

Zohra El Fassia on Polyphon c. 1940s (2012)

I took the long way out of the medina and I’m glad I did. A few missteps and backtracks later and I had located what may be Fez’s last record store. The owner, much older than Mohammed, was also a former musician. Hundreds of records were arranged in some of the most creative ways I had ever seen. He displayed his most prized records, including a not-for-sale Botbol, on one side of the store. At his desk were beautiful black-and-white and sepia photos of his former life. Behind him were cassettes of Morocco’s most influential stars including Samy Elmaghribi, whom the proprietor called the best Isra’ili singer in Moroccan history. I painstakingly combed through piles of LPs and EPs and pulled out impossibly difficult to find cuts. As I continued to look high and low for records, which seemed to be hiding everywhere, I saw a dozen 78s in the corner. I gently removed them from the shelf. Sifting through these treasures one by one, my heart skipped a beat. There it was…a 70-year-old recording of Cheikha Zohra El Fassia made for the Polyphon label. I showed it to the owner. He put on his glasses and said zeena (beautiful). Sadly, the record itself was beyond playing condition but its near forgotten presence in this store still sings volumes to me.

Jo Amar (El Maghribi) Also Sang in Arabic

Jo Amar. 56120. Zakiphon. 1960s. Side 2 - Mssat Ailaya (Mchate Aaliya by Lili Boniche)

Before I begin a DJ set, I often ask the crowd if they are familiar with any North African Jewish singers and the answer inevitably is, “Yes, the great Jo Amar!” Listeners know his Israeli pop hits like Shir hashikor and Barcelona and his liturgical music like Shalom leben dodi but not much else. Sometimes I will even start off a session playing the album he recorded during his famed 1965 Carnegie Hall performance only to illustrate that this is the music we will not be dealing with in the course of our set. People will say that what set Jo Amar apart was his mastery of various styles including Eastern European melodies but for me that misses the point. Simply put his voice was unparalleled and that is what made him great. He sang almost falsetto. His voice could be soft and lilting at times (which made you listen all the more intently) but in a moment he could switch to a commanding crescendo and just grab you. His voice told a story and this was especially vivid when he sang in Arabic.

What fascinates me is that most are unaware of the fact that Jo Amar recorded 78s in Arabic before moving to Israel and that he continued to not only record Arabic Andalusian music in Israel and elsewhere but also chaabi and Francarabe on LP – Mchate aaliya by Lili Boniche is a perfect example. He wrote his own songs in Arabic and he sang the great songs of others and this post is an attempt to put this history back on the map after being omitted by far too many articles and obituaries.

Jewish cemetery in Settat, Morocco (2008)

Jo Amar was born in Settat, Morocco in 1930. By the late 1940s he was recording music in Hebrew and Arabic for Philips. On his Arabic 78s he was known as Jo Amar El Maghribi (Jo Amar the Moroccan) while on his Hebrew 78s he was simply Jo Amar. In 1956 he moved to Israel where he immediately started recording for the Azoulay family – first on 78 on the R. Zaki label and eventually moving to 33 and 45 on Zakiphon.

"Two weeks after I recorded my first song in Israel," recalled Amar in a 2008 interview, "it reached even the most impenetrable Ashkenazi ears." This is one of my all time favorite quotes. You wouldn't expect it from Jo Amar but there he goes again and surprises. By the time Jo Amar arrived in Israel he was a well known entity in the North African community. The Azoulays helped to put him on the musical map in Israel, when no other record label would. The brothers Azoulay apparently sang backup on Shir Hashikor when it was first recorded in Jaffa. Jo Amar would go onto to record for the major Israeli labels as well, on his own Kol Amar label, and on various labels around the world.

Jo Amar El Maghribi. Goulouli fin. Tam Tam. 1960s (Marseilles)

This track is pure Jo Amar. It was recorded in the 1960s for the Tam Tam label out of Marseilles at a time when a number of North African labels were operating there. Goulouli fin is difficult to capture in meaning and in style. It is chaabi-esque as attested to by Tim at Moroccan Tape Stash but it feels like other things are pulling at it. Goulouli fin is Moroccan Arabic for,"Oh tell me where..." There is a sense of longing to the song and it seems to have been paid particular attention to by a number of North African Jewish artists. Below is the cover of a Lili Boniche EP on Dounia where he is performing the same song.

Lili Boniche. Golole fene (Goulouli fin). Dounia. 1960s

Here is a version by my favorite Cheikh Mwijo off of one of his 1980s cassettes. He recorded the song earlier in his career as well.

By 1970 Jo Amar moved to New York – a combination of push and pull factors including the draw of a better career. He eventually became a Cantor and performed in synagogues spanning the Jewish globe. By the late 1980s / early 1990s Amar returned to Israel and throughout the remainder of his life he would finally collect the honors he so deserved. Jo Amar El Maghribi, arguably Settat's most famous singer, died in Woodmere, New York in 2009 at the age of 79.

Articles on Jo Amar:
Jo Amar, Genre-Blending Jewish Singer, Dies at 79 – New York Times – Bruce Webber – July 9, 2009

He opened Israeli ears to Mizrahi songs – Haaretz – Ben Shalev – July 7, 2009 

Jo Amar, acclaimed Sephardic singer, dies – JTA - Ben Harris - June 30, 2009
- Sam Thomas gives an excellent description of what made Jo Amar so unique.

My Search for Haim Botbol

Before I last left Morocco in Aprl, I happened on a fantastic Abitbol cassette. I have been working on verifying the identify of this Moroccan Jewish singer since then. It should have been obvious to me who he was but my searches yielded far too many unrelated results. It's amazing how a few changes to a Google search (think: Botbol instead of Abitbol and Chaabi instead of Musique) can make all the difference.

So it appears that since leaving Morocco, I have been listening to the chaabi stylings of Haim Botbol whose photo is above. Botbol was born in Fes and has been performing for decades, you can find his translated bio here.

Click here for a link to some of his videos. Here he is performing with Vanessa Paloma at the Laredo Old Age Home in Tangier. I will work on scanning and then posting the cover of the cassette I purchased.

Berber Vinyl and Abitbol Cassettes

On Friday before heading out to interview Raphy, I stopped by a fantastic music store (for those in Casa, the store is located at 26 Lalla Yacout Street). Le Comptoire Marocain de Distribution de Disques carrys an extensive collection of Arab and Berber music in vinyl, cassette, and cd form from mostly the 1960s and 1970s. The music is hand picked and excellent quality. I picked up a few Berber LPs. These musicians were all from the Souss region and were masters or rwais of the rebab (spiked fidle). Interestingly, there were ahwash and rwais musicians amongst Chleuh speaking Jews (including from Ighil N'Oro - a picture of the Jewish cemetery there is at the top of the blog) who eventually imported this musical style to Israel, click here to read more.

I had originally stopped by to see if they had any Samy Elmaghribi or Salim Hilali on vinyl - two universally respected (by Moroccans) Moroccan Jewish singers. Unfortunately they didn't have any. Also, there was recently an exhibit on Samy Elmaghribi at the Casablanca Jewish Museum.

But...

In another testament to the ominpresence of Jewish life in Morocco, the store carried an extensive and possibly complete collection of the popular (shaabi) Moroccan Jewish singer Abitbol. I picked up one of his cassettes and will post a picture of the cover soon.