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| Box labeled "Saoud l'Oranais" and filled with Algerian 78s |
On Monday July 13, I left a blisteringly hot Marseille bound
for Montpellier. I was heading there to meet a Mr. Sultan about a collection of
“oriental” records he was looking to part with. Upon arrival at Mr. Sultan’s
apartment, a friendly-faced nonagenarian greeted me, welcomed me in, and poured
me a much-needed glass of water. He pointed me to a table on which sat a small
box and a plastic bag, both dangerously packed with Algerian 78 rpm records,
and we began to talk. Mr. Sultan, originally from Oran, was in the process of
moving into a retirement home, he told me. His children were uninterested in
the ancient discs and so he was looking to give (sell) them to a good home -
someone who appreciated their value. The records in his collection were his
father’s - a man, who judging by the condition of these records and confirmed
by Mr. Sultan, was serious about his music. As he spoke, I carefully pulled out
record after record for inspection. Most were in their original Pathé and
Polyphon sleeves and most reflective of an Oranais musical sensibility. Among
the lot was Lili Labassi, Cheikh Zouzou, and of course, Saoud l’Oranais. It was
the latter, Mr. Sultan made clear, that his father was particularly fond of. Indeed,
the box in which all of the records had sat for way too long contained a single
mark designating its contents: on the cover Mr. Sultan or his father had
written “Saoud l’Oranais” in a now-faded blue ink. I closed the box,
reorganized some of the other discs, gently packed them into a record bag, and
bid Mr. Sultan farewell - likely for the first and last time. My heart raced
the whole train ride home knowing what was inside my bag.
Since that fateful encounter with Mr. Sultan, I have been
thinking much about Saoud l’Oranais. I have of lately been writing about the
way in which the Second World War collided with North Africa and North African
music-making and no such story is complete without mention of Saoud l’Oranais.
But his life was much more than his end and I want to first sketch out the details
of that rather remarkable existence before doubling back to how it was cut
short and why I’m posting this now.
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| Saoud l'Oranais, Baidaphon, 1935 |
Saoud l’Oranais was born Messaoud El Médioni in 1886 in
Oran. He came from a long line of musical Medionis and it appears that he first
recorded for Pathé at the age of 26 (the first mention of Saoud l’Oranais is in
a Pathéphone catalogue from 1912). To give you a sense of that early Algerian
recording world he inhabited, that same 1912 record catalogue featured Ed.
Yafil (Edmond Nathan Yafil) singing and Mouzino described as “éleve de Sfindja”
- a student of the great Andalusi master who still needed to be listed
according to his lineage. Throughout the 1910s and through the 1930s, Saoud
performed regularly with El Moutribia, Algeria’s premier indigenous (and most
Jewish) orchestra. He was first bestowed the title of cheikh sometime in the early-1920s
and by the end of that decade, he served as President of the Société de Chant in
Oran. He collaborated with José Huertas while in Oran and also served as the
director of the Mouloudia, Oran’s premier “oriental music” society. Saoud was
happy to bring his children into the music business and recorded with his son
Henri and managed to have his son Georgeot record for Parlophone at the age of
12. His most famous musical descendent, his nephew Maurice El Medioni, is of
course, still very much alive and remarkably, still performing.
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| Sadia Bendenoun (student of Saoud) |
Among his many accomplishments were his musical protégés. Indeed, he took a chance on a blind Jewish girl by the name of Sultanta Daoud and soon turned her into Reinette l’Oranais. On Reinette’s earliest recordings, the announcer would belt out, “Istwanat Polyphon…Reina…éleve de Saoud.” The “éleve de Saoud” brand was a powerful one and would be attached to a number of musicians throughout the 1930s.
Saoud recorded prolifically. His music could be found on Pathé, Polyphon, Parlophone, HMV, Philips, and Baidaphon. His range was rather remarkable as well. He sang gharnati, hawzi - as well as lighter songs about Oran’s championship soccer team. When he wasn’t singing, he managed his own bar, Café Saoud, in the Derb, Oran’s Jewish quarter.
Sometime in the second half of the 1930s, Saoud made his home in Marseille. This was likely done out of opportunity more than anything else. Indeed, Saoud would join a steady flow of North African Jewish and Muslim musicians who made the metropole their base in the 1930s. Like in Oran, Saoud operated a café in his newly adopted city.
And
then in June of 1940, Saoud suddenly found himself behind enemy lines. The
German occupation of northern France had ushered in the rise of a
collaborationist regime, known as Vichy, based in the country’s southern half
and including Marseille. From here things get murky. What life was like for
Saoud and his family during those years is unknown although surely it was
terrifying. Then, on the evening of January 22, 1943, but a few months since
Operation Torch and after a massive roundup of Jews in Marseille, the Germans
deported Saoud, his son, and too many others to Drancy, the internment camp
just outside of Paris. From there, Cheikh Saoud l’Oranais, now once again
Messaoud El Médioni - for few would have recognized him, was sent to the Nazi
death camp at Sobibor. On March 23, 1943, Saoud and his son Joseph, age 13,
were murdered.
In some ways, it is easier to dwell on his death than on his exceptional life. His
recordings, although once everywhere, have become scarce. Thus, I’m posting
something from the recently acquired Sultan collection so that we may honor
that life. Given that it is both Yom Kippur and Eid (at the time of writing), I
thought his “Idd El Kebir (Eid al-Kabir)” recorded in the late 1920s for Pathé was more
than appropriate. Let us remember that this recording comes from a time when
North African Jewish musicians like Laho Seror and Mouzino performed at mosque
dedication ceremonies, when Ramadan evenings were spent at the casbah cafes and
music venues of Jewish performers like Sassi Lebrati, and when Jews like Saoud
l’Oranais sang about Muslim holidays like Eid al-Kabir.
May Saoud’s memory be for a
blessing and may that blessing carry us through this next year.
