Sliman Elmaghribi and Jaffa's Moroccan Sound

Those in the know, know Sliman Elmaghribi. Elmaghribi, born Sliman Benhamou in Meknes, came to define the Moroccan sound in Jaffa in the 1950s and 1960s. And that sound was nothing if not ubiquitous. It could be heard at once blasting from the Azoulay’s shop near the center of town and wafting out of the rough and tumble night clubs - the hamara - dotting the city’s alleyways. There were the Andalusian practitioners there to be sure but Tel Aviv’s better half also drew in those who were ready to sing about their more contemporary experiences in hybrid styles all their own. Sliman, difficult to categorize, falls somewhere into all of this. The ultra-talented singer and oudist was both a major recording star for the Zakiphon label and a musician’s musician who sometimes slipped under the radar. He knew and loved Cheikh Mwijo, indeed the two played together back in Morocco, but seemed to avoid some of his friend’s more extroverted qualities. He was adored by the masters of a previous generation, like Zohra El Fassia and Samy Elmaghribi, and yet never adopted the honorific that so many of his peers were bestowed. What can be said for sure is that Sliman Elmaghribi was prolific and accomplished, putting out album after album for decades and attracting more and more fans along the way.

Young Sliman Elmaghribi (far left) with Maalem David Ben Haroush and Jacob Zerad

His “Yaffo Zint Elbldan” (roughly translated as Jaffa the Beautiful) gives us a slice of what all of this sounded like. It is his homage to the city he spent so much time in and grew to love - despite its very real problems. As you listen to this track, try to put yourself in its time. Imagine yourself winding your way to an address best found by looking for landmarks and not numbers. As you enter the smoke-filled venue, recall that the Kuwaiti brothers are somewhere nearby entertaining Iraqi audiences. Order a round of beers and pickled vegetables as Sliman sets up with his orchestra. Close your eyes as he begins to strum. Yaffo Zint Elbldan for you and for others is now the city’s unofficial anthem.

Sing Out, Maghreb! Jewish Moroccan Protest Music

Maurice Touboul. The Housing Crisis. MT. Early 1960s?

In the course of the recent Arab uprisings, journalists have paid a surprising amount of attention to the role of music in protests. In general, this has been a welcome development, especially when one considers the all but silent soundscape which those writing about the region have reinforced by ignoring it. However, this has also led to the reifying of the notion that protest music in the region is imported. This manifests itself in the focus on style, usually hip hop, over content. Yet, when one digs just a little bit deeper it become eminently clear that at least in the Moroccan case, the likes of rappers Bigg, H-Kayne, and El Haqed (L7a9ed) are taking inspiration from much closer to home, namely the late 1960s and 1970s protest standouts Nass El Ghiwane, Jil Jilala, and Lemchaheb, who themselves drew on indigenous sources.

In fact, protest music in Morocco and in North Africa more generally, is hardly new. The phenomenon goes back to at least the rise of the recording industry in the Maghreb and probably much earlier. Unsurprisingly, Jews played a disproportionate role here as well. The very styles Jews pioneered in early Moroccan, Algerian, and Tunisian music, whether cha’abi or francarabe, can and should be seen as a challenge to the status quo and to the musical powers that were. Jews were derided at the time for such sonic innovation and castigated for corrupting conservative ears. Ultimately, however, these music forms won the day.

Salim Halali. Arja' li bladi. Pathé. 1930s.

In addition to the implicit protest, Jews were considerably explicit as well. In Tunisia, Habiba Messika sang El Ittihad (Unity) in the mid-1920s and Louisa Tounsia sang Ana Arabiya (I'm an Arab) a decade later. In Algeria, Salim Halali sang about his homeland returning to him. Even Zohra El Fassia sang out, championing the cause of Sultan Mohammed V (he was eventually exiled and then returned to the throne by the French) in the late 1940 and 1950s.

As Jews dispersed in the 1950s and 1960s, those who stayed in North Africa past when they were “expected” to, like Algeria’s Alice Fitoussi, challenged nationalist and exclusionary conceptions of citizenship. In many ways, it is these musicians who I am most curious about. What can be said for sure is that wherever North African Jewish musicians went, they and their instruments didn’t remain silent for long. Whenever there was a breach of justice, they took pen to paper and vocalized what was on their minds, thereby giving voice to their compatriots battling difficult or unfamiliar terrain. Their audience enthusiastically joined the chorus.

Jo Amar was one of these musicians. Despite enjoying considerable success in Morocco and internationally, Amar was met with deaf ears by the Ashkenazi music establishment upon aliyah to Israel. To paraphrase the Moroccan-born Azoulay brothers out of Jaffa: Who would sign Jo Amar? We would. Before recording for the mainstream labels, Amar enthusiastically belted out hit after hit for the Azoulay’s Zakiphon imprint. While he sang separately in both Arabic and Hebrew, it was his song Lishkat Avodah (Employment Office) which combined the two and became the darling of the Moroccan community in Israel. I would wager that while many American Jews know Jo Amar well, nearly none have heard this one. In Lishkat Avodah, Amar masterfully calls attention to the suffocating discrimination faced by Moroccans upon their very arrival in Israel. In Arabic, he sings about the separation of children from parents as the former is sent off to the kibbutz in what is a totally alien environment. There is the utter sense of despair coming from the great unknown:

Taken from Haifa to Beit Lid…we were to told to keep going…
We were separated from our parents…
God have mercy on us

Beyond this and the musical dexterity he displays in rhyming the Arabic flous (money) with the Hebrew kibbutz (collective community), he reserves his most blistering verbal attack at minute 3:47 in Hebrew and for all to understand:

I went to the employment office

He asked me where I was from
I told him Morocco
He told me to get out

I went to the employment office
He asked where I was from
I told him Poland
He told me to please to come in

Of course, Amar sang in good company before leaving Israel for the United States. In Israel, his cohort continued to strike a chord regarding passion-stirring issues of the day while his French counterparts frequently intoned on local living conditions. This track by the Moroccan Maurice Touboul is in part the inspiration for this post. It is one of the more curious EPs in my collection and I unfortunately know little about Touboul other than the fact that he was deeply respected by the likes of Samy Elmaghribi and that he was no one hit wonder. In La Crise du Logement, he records at least one Moroccan Jewish attitude to a housing crisis in France and similar to Amar, he calls on God to take note.

Certainly not all Moroccan Jewish protest music can be categorized as "liberal" but all of it took aim at what the community deemed to be unjust, whether the wanton disregard of Maghrebi interests by Israel’s Labor party or the jailing of Aryeh Deri. Nonetheless, these songs continue to resonate.

Some sixty years after Jo Amar first sang Lishkat Avodah, his words remain as powerful as ever. In Kamal Hachkar’s brilliant documentary Tinghir-Jerusalem, the film’s elderly Jewish protagonists recall Amar’s anthem. Fast forward to minute 43:11 and watch, listen, and try not to be moved as their singing of this classic brings Hachkar to tears.

Long Lost Libyan Records Resurface in Jaffa

The late Libyan Jewish recording star Joseph Mango Boaron

Music is subversive. It knows no bounds and no borders. This blog has traditionally focused on Morocco although I have recently ventured into writing about Jewish Algeria and Tunisia. This post will bring us to the far east of the Maghreb: Libya.

Between 1949 and Libyan independence in 1951, some 30,000 Libyan Jews left their homeland for Israel. Harvey Goldberg writes in the Jews of the Middle East and North Africa in Modern Times (p. 442) that when the Israel-bound ships sailed from the harbor at Tripoli, immigrants sang Moses’ song of redemption at the sea (Exod. 15). But what else were they singing?

Geoula Barda, Libyan master of the mawwal and Zakiphon standout

In the late 1950s and early 1960s, Libyan Jewish musicians flocked to Jaffa to record with Raphael Azoulay and his sons for their Zakiphon label. These musicians included Bano Gniss, Joseph Mango Boaron, Geoula Barda, Suffa Kahlon and others. They recorded Andalusian music (ma’luf), Libyan pop and original chaabi songs. Through the latter, these musicians succeeded in narrating their own migration experiences and confronting their new realities.

Libyan Jewish singers introduce themselves, their writers and their label in late 1950s, early 1960s Israel

It is unclear whether any 78 rpm records were ever commercially recorded in Libya in the first half of the twentieth century as attested to by Jonathan Ward at the excellent Excavated Shellac blog. LPs and EPs were indeed recorded in independent Libya but it remains a real challenge to find any of this music today. So when I stumbled upon a stack of Libyan 45s in the Jaffa flea market last month, I knew I had uncovered rare musical artifacts that had to be shared with readers and listeners.

Yaacov Yamin, music writer and composer who worked closely with Geoula Barda

As you will hear, Libyan music is and feels different from the rest of Maghrebi music. Separate the Egyptian pieces out and you are left with killer violin, mawwal that feels like sacred ritual and trance inducing repetition. The Arabic is different as well. It was difficult to choose one 45 side to post but I decided to go with Labnyia Labsitt Sirwal by the famed Joseph Mango Boaron. This is one of the first pieces Boaron recorded in Israel. He manages to capture the initial reaction to the Libyan experience in Israel by narrating the story of a young woman from Amrous, a village-turned-city just outside Tripoli. In Israel, this young Libyan woman flirts, smokes and worst of all - as he repeats over and over again in the chorus: the world and times are terrible…this girl is wearing pants.



Unfortunately most of this music has been lost and many of these musicians have passed including Joseph Mango Boaron. I know very little of Bano Gniss. Suffa Kahlon…well it seems he may still be alive. His story is so unbelievable that I will have to save for another post. I was pleased to learn that Geoula is still belting it out. Check out this performance of hers at a 2011 Libyan wedding.



Of course many questions still remain. Did Jews commercially record in Libya or only in Israel? Were original compositions in Israel in fact based on older Libyan pieces? Did any of the music produced in Israel ever make it back to Libya as it did with the Moroccan repertoire? There is much more work to be done on this music but let’s start with this. If we’re lucky some of this music will finally make it back to Libya and the story will continue to unfold.

Digging for North African Records in Israel

Spending a few days in Tel Aviv and Jerusalem and just found a great stash of North African records in the Jaffa flea market. Looking forward to cleaning up when I get home and digitizing. In the meantime, enjoy a couple photos.

The Azoulays, Jewish Libyan Cassettes and Zohra El Fassia's Great Granddaughter

Henry Zehavi performs in Bat Yam - Feb. 2012

The morning after participating in the Bat Yam North Africa sessions, Eilon and I enjoyed a traditional Israeli breakfast of coffee and cigarettes while listening to music. One of the standout pieces he played for me was ostensibly political propaganda and musically-speaking it was dynamite. It was Moroccan Arabic pop music (chaabi) that extolled the virtues of an Ashkenazi mayoral candidate in Ashdod in the 1970s. Using music to convey current events and encourage voting is part and parcel of this genre and in fact much of this political music not only offers insight into these communities and the issues they were concerned with but also an enjoyable listening experience. Judah Assaraf, who sang for a number of Moroccan labels in Israel in the 1960s and 1970s, recorded songs on subjects ranging from the famed peace flight of Iranian-Israeli Abbie Natan (from Israel to Nasser’s Egypt and back again) to the Six Day War to the Herut party.

Between changing records, Eilon showed me some old 78s he had collected that had unfortunately not withstood the test of time but nonetheless shed more light on the musical history discussed on this blog. The 78s in his possession included a number of Jo Amar pieces recorded in Arabic for Philips and a duo known as Abitbol and Fassy that recorded for the N. Sabbah label out of Casablanca.

Joseph Mango Boaron. In Chansone Tripoli. #3. Koliphone. 1970s.

After breakfast, we headed to one of our favorite spots - the Azoulay shop in Jaffa. While Eilon chatted with David and Zaki Azoulay, I picked out some cassettes including a Mike Karoutchi, the Libyan performer Joseph Mango Boaron and a Cheikh Mwijo opus / political call to action to restore the name of Shas leader Aryeh Deri, a former Knesset member convicted of bribery and banned from parliament for ten years in 1999. Each of these cassettes has an interesting story behind it but I’ll save that for another time.

Zakiphon Record Catalogue. Clockwise: Samy Elmaghribi, Albert Suissa, Zohra El Fassia, Jo Amar and Salim Halali.

Our conversation with the Azoulay brothers lasted about an hour but could have lasted for several days as far as I was concerned. In the course of casual conversation, I learned the following:

- Cheikh Zouzou’s son had settled in Israel and brought his father’s recordings with him thereby enabling their rerelease and preservation.

- The Azoulays kept better tabs than I thought and part of the proof of this was the last remaining Zakiphon record catalogue that David showed me and allowed me to photograph.

- AZR, one of the many label names under the Koliphone/Zakiphon suite, stood for Azoulay – Zaki – Raphael.

- Their record factory was based in Holon.

- Their reference points for beauty were still Louisa Tounsia and Line Monty.

With every sentence uttered, my knowledge of the Azoulays, their vision, their personalities and just how mindboggling their operation had been and how much more there is to learn from them increased exponentially.



After fulfilling our Azoulay needs, we headed to Jaffa’s flea market in search of buried vinyl treasure. Over the years, it has become increasingly difficult to find North African records in Jaffa and if they are to be found then they are marked up considerably. However we had a lead and this lead led us to an antique store where the proprietor did in fact have a few EPs remaining. The records were in horrible, horrible condition but I purchased one on the Philix label on the off chance that I would get home, put the needle on the record and be floored. We then had lunch, said our goodbyes and I headed back to Jerusalem.

Eliyahu Kahlaoui (Shlomo Cohen). Bente El Mdina. Philix. Late 1960s?

I returned to the Tel Aviv area a few days later to meet with Karen. Karen is Zohra El Fassia’s great granddaughter who had contacted me through this blog in the hopes of tracking down recordings of her famously talented relative. When I told her I would be in Israel for work, we immediately set up a time to visit and swap stories. The experience was powerful. Karen resembles Zohra and was as warm as I had imagined. As soon as I saw Karen I handed her a CD I had made of digitized Zohra El Fassia 78s. For me, the fact that I was able to share this music with a member of Zohra El Fassia’s family was beyond moving. Karen, in turn, shared with me stories and much more. I learned just how bold Zohra was (she was married multiple times), that her family name was the very common Hammou and how uncommon her life was – more so than I had ever really understood. Karen showed me converted home videos of Zohra El Fassia performing at family gatherings. To paraphrase the poet Erez Bitton, her eyes are full of love in these videos but it’s not only her heart that is clear – so too is her iconic voice in these recordings. I left Karen with a much deeper understanding of just who Zohra El Fassia was and what she stood for. Karen is now working on an online project to capture the history and music of Zohra El Fassia. Let me know if you would like to be in touch with her to contribute photos, music and/or anecdotes.

When I returned to New York days later, I wasn’t disappointed. I dropped the needle on the record and Bente El Mdina practically begged to be digitized. Bente El Medina - City Girl in Arabic – was recorded by Shlomo Cohen aka Eliyahu Kahlaoui for the Philix label, one of the smaller Moroccan labels that cropped up in Israel around the Koliphone/Zakiphon labels. Eliyahu Kahlaoui (Shlomo Cohen) also recorded a song called Bente El Mochav – Moshav Girl in a combination of Arabic and Hebrew - that is the suburban contrast to City Girl. Philix recorded a number of North African musicians in the 1960s and 1970s including Judah Assaraf, who I mentioned above, Brahim Souiri, one of the all time great Moroccan musicians, and the famous Algerian David Elbecheri. Take a listen to Eliyahu Kahlaoui and his troupe below.

The Bat Yam North Africa Sessions: Chaabi Music Alive in Israel

A few months ago I received an email from Eilon, a fellow record collector in Israel. We exchanged notes and swapped stories and agreed to meet next time I was there. When I found out I would be heading to Israel for work in February, I reached out to Eilon to see if we could catch some music together. He told me there was a rare show in Bat Yam that we had to see. The four hours of music we would later become a part of was one of the greatest performances I have ever seen or heard. The fact that this was more or less underground, North African chaabi in Israel made it all the more thrilling.

Izac Elbergui. Koliphone. LP 18. 1970s (Words by Sliman Elmaghrebi)

On February 9th I met Eilon at his apartment in the Hatikva neighborhood of Tel Aviv. He let me browse his beautiful collection of North African vinyl that he collected over the years at various flea markets in the center of the country. We listened to a few select pieces including a rare David Nidam LP on Zakiphon and then hit the road for Bat Yam, about a 15 minute drive from Tel Aviv.

At 11 pm we entered a large community center close to the Rabbinate in Bat Yam. A small crowd of about 35 listeners, multiple decades our senior, eyed us as we found seats at a table with other guests. I quickly spotted Zaki Elbergui, recording star for the Azoulays and their Zakiphon label in the 1970s, now in his 70s and donning a yarmulke. Interestingly most of these musicians have become increasingly religious as they get older, similar to their Muslim counterparts. Zaki was older now but his voice remained strong, deep and hoarse as he began to sing.

Izac (Zaki) Elbergui performing in Bat Yam, Israel on February 9-10, 2012.

Food – fava beans, spicy carrots and assorted pickles – and drink – Goldstar beer – covered our table. A man beckoned me over to sit next to him. Inta maghrebi? He asked me in Moroccan Arabic. I told him I was from New York. He was from Marrakesh originally and said he was also a singer and had performed everywhere from Casablanca to Montreal to Los Angeles. I was incredulous at first until he pulled out his iPhone and started showing me pictures he had snapped of his old pictures. There he was with the great Jewish and non-Jewish North African and Egyptian musicians - Samy Elmaghribi, Salim Halali, Elkahlaoui Tounsi, Oulaya, Sabah, Farid El Atrash and others. I had just met the renowned Henry Zehavi who would later be called to perform on stage.

For the next few hours, Zaki Elbergui would perform along with an oudist, a hand drummer, a drummer on darbuka and Yaacov m’Akko, a skilled and talented violinist who gave one of the best vocal performances of the evening. At the beginning of each piece performed, the oudist would invoke the names of the honored North African musicians who came before them historically and who were physically before them in the audience – all in rapid-fire Moroccan Arabic. Zaki Elbergui then slowly began to give up the microphone and invite some of these honored voices before him to the stage. Henry Zehavi was pulled up on stage after much ceremonial cajoling. His training and skill were self-evident as he performed a number of songs including those of Salim Halali who he had once upon a time toured with around the globe.

Zaki then invited an unassuming David al-Ruimi on stage. David wore a Kangol-style hat and thick glasses that hid his later obvious talent. There was deep respect given to him from the orchestra and the audience and this respect would prove absolutely deserved. Below is the only known recording of David al-Ruimi on the Internet. I suggest you turn up the volume full blast and close your eyes to this unparalleled performance.

The Bat Yam North Africa Sessions: Volume 2

David al-Ruimi sings in Bat Yam on Feb. 10 2012

I have done my best to capture the feeling of this night but of course much is missing. What isn’t captured by these iPhone videos is the intense audience participation throughout the night. Individuals mouthed the words to these songs, danced with each other and with the musicians, gave money to the performers as thanks and listened intently as they were transported back to a different time and place. Eilon, a skilled darbuka player of his own accord, was also invited on stage with the orchestra. Others would sing throughout the night including a different Mwijo then the one I have previously written about - this one from Casablanca - while classic hits like Samy Elmaghribi's Omri ma ninsak were reinterpreted.

In my mind, however, the best performance of the night was one of the last. Yaacov m’Akko (Jacob from Acre), a master violinst, quickly revealed a voice, style and rhythm the likes of which I have never heard. Here he is on video – likely for the first time ever. I again suggest you bring whatever device you are using to full volume. Stick with this one – this track is killer.

The Bat Yam North Africa Sessions: Volume 4

Yaacov m'Akko on violin and vocals - at the top of his game 

There were a few more performances that followed and then it was over. Never before has 3 am come so quickly. The musicians began to pack up their instruments, put on their jackets and head to their cars. Some were returning to other parts of Bat Yam. Others to Jaffa and Yaacov of course to Akko. He had hours of driving ahead of him. Eilon and I headed to Jaffa to have a bite to eat and process. We had just witnessed an increasingly rare performance of Jewish North African musicians - some of the most talented of their generation. As these musicians and their audience grow older, it is important that these sessions are made available to a wider audience. It is for this reason that I have put what I am calling the Bat Yam North Africa Sessions online. Please make sure to spread around.

For more videos, click here. I’ll be writing again soon on meeting with the Azoulays, record and cassette shopping in Jaffa and meeting with Zohra El Fassia’s relatives in Tel Aviv.

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.

"God, Country, King" in Song - The Music of Esther Elfassy, Albert Suissa & Samy Elmaghribi

Morocco's motto: God, Country, King

From time to time I have small groups over at my apartment for listening sessions. These listening sessions allow me to share old recordings and the overall listening experience in an intimate setting while also providing me with a laboratory to demonstrate certain themes or try out new ideas. At a recent session, I decided to play some pieces that reflected the theme of “God, Country, King,” the official motto of Morocco. What I love about this theme is that it allows me to showcase some unexpected music from some well known artists including Esther Elfassy, Albert Suissa and Samy Elmaghribi. At first I thought that for readers / listeners familiar with Moroccan music and the role that Moroccan Jews played in the music industry that perhaps these tracks wouldn't be so unexpected but on second thought I'm not so sure. Even if the themes are expected - nationalist, religious - the singers, timing and styles aren't. A young Esther Elfassy singing about the oneness of God in haunting Arabic in Israel in the 1970s or Samy Elmaghribi singing a marche Marocaine shortly before his departure from Morocco - especially when contrasted with his other music.

Nonetheless this music is very different from what I have posted previously. Below I've including some biographical information on these three great singers and some of their dynamite tracks. As you'll see, there is some biographical information missing, especially with Esther and Albert. I would love for readers to help me fill in these gaps.

Esther Elfassy

Esther Elfassy performing in Paris

Esther Elfassy began recording for the Azoulay brothers under the Koliphone and Zakiphon labels in Israel in the early 1970s. She mostly recorded songs written by Moshe Ben Hamo but did also write some of her own work. She sang chaabi and incorporated some Hebrew in her music from time to time. What I love about her in many ways is her Arabic (of course in addition to her killer voice). She reminds us of course that Moroccan Jews have historically expressed even Jewish religious concepts in Arabic. One of my favorite tracks of hers is called Zoro El Kotel (Visiting the Western Wall in a combination of Maghrebi Arabic and Hebrew).

Esther Elfassy. Zakiphon. 1970s

The track below is religious / devotional in nature. It is a song about the oneness of God and the repetitiveness is rhythmic. Judging from some of her other work and her picture, it's not what one would expect from her but that's what I love about it.

Esther Elfassy - Elwahid houwa Alah - Koliphone by CBSilver

Albert Suissa

Albert Suissa performing at a Bar Mitzvah celebration in Morocco. 1950s

Albert Suissa was a giant of Moroccan music. He recorded dozens of records (including many 78s) for a half dozen labels including N. Sabbah, Casaphone, Boussiphone, Koliphone and Zakiphon. He was a killer singer and oudist.

Albert Suissa. Koliphone. 1960s

Below is a song called Hasan Tani Ala Slamtic Sidna. Suissa uses the honorific "sidna" for King Hassan II, a Moroccan title used for royalty and the exaltation of saintly figures. The song pulls you in from the very beginning. The song in many ways is about power and protection and conveys both those feelings from the start through pounding singing and instrumentals. Check it out below.

Albert Suissa - Hasan Tani Ala Slamtic Sidna - Zakiphon by CBSilver

Samy Elmaghribi
 

Advertisement for Samyphone records. Le Voix des Communautés (Rabat, published 1950-1963). March 1, 1963, pg. 3.

I'm not going to give his entire bio here but needless to Samy Elmaghribi was one of the all time great Moroccan musicians. At the height of his popularity there wasn't a person in Morocco who didn't know his name or who hadn't heard heard his music. Even to this day, mention the name Samy Elmaghribi in Morocco and elsewhere and you will get a big smile.

Samy Elmaghribi (center with oud) signing records after a performance

Born Solomon Amzalleg in the coastal city of Safi in 1922, he was already a singing sensation by the 1940s and throughout the course of his early career he recorded dozens of 78 records for Pathe. In 1955-56, he established his own record label Samyphone and by 1959 he had moved to France. He sang in a variety of styles including in the various Moroccan and Algerian Andalusian traditions, his own sometimes scandalously secular work and classic popular tunes. By 1962 the Azoulay family began exclusively distributing Samy Elmaghribi's recordings under the Koliphone and Zakiphon labels. The Azoulays were also the first to bring Samy to Israel to perform and managed his career there.  In 1967 he settled in Montreal, served as the cantor at the Spanish and Portuguese Synagogue and continued to perform around the world. In 1987 he moved to Ashdod, Israel where he lived until 1996 when he returned to Montreal. He died on Mary 9, 2008 at the age of 86.

The track below is one side of one of his rare Samyphone 78s and his 8th release on his label. It is an upbeat anthem that invokes the Moroccan motto of God, Country, King. He sounds young here but nonetheless is clearly in command of his band known affectionately as "Samy's boys." Here he sings in praise of all things nationalist Moroccan - the Moroccan military, King Mohammed V, King Hassan II and of course the people. Listen to it a couple of times - it's much different than anything you've heard him sing.

Samy Elmaghribi. Samyphone. 1956

Samy Elmaghribi - Allah, Ouatani Oua-Soultani - Samyphone (78 rpm) by CBSilver

Between Forgetting and Remembering: Charli Elmaghribi and the Other Artists

I recently read a comment on a Youtube video that stirred something inside me. If I recall correctly, the video was of an old recording of the great Moroccan oudist Sliman Elmaghribi. After watching the video I scrolled down to see that one commenter on the video was looking for more information on Sliman. Another commenter said something to the effect of: “It’s sad that barely a generation after many of these artists have passed away…no one remembers them.” In many ways, I feel the same sentiment but in other ways when I look at my own record collection or meet other collectors I realize that not all is lost. Perhaps it just needs to be gathered.

It seems that in every generation North African music is forgotten, rediscovered and recovered to some extent. To get a sense of this historically, I recommend reading Jonathan Glasser’s excellent work on the concept of Andalusian musical patrimony in Algeria in the early 1900s. I have to say that these preservers of this patrimony, whoever it belongs to, often did and continue to do a decent job. There is hoarding to be sure and reluctance to share but thanks to the work of individual ranging from Edmond Nathan Yafil in Algeria to Rafael Azoulay in Israel to Tounsi El Kahlaoui in France, a good deal of North African music is out there somewhere, in some form, waiting to be rediscovered and ripe for new listeners. When I speak about this music publicly, I often ask myself the rhetorical question, “Why does any of this matter?” My first answer - and in many ways the best answer - is that this music is good. It moves the listener. Like that video, it stirs something inside us. For a moment, we share space and time with musicians who gave their heart and soul to this craft and thus it is a part of us.

Charli Elmaghribi (third from left). Le Guerre de Yom Kipour. Koliphone. 1973

I say all this because I want to share some music of a lesser known artist whose work begs to be rediscovered. There are a number of artists who I make frequent mention of on this blog due to how talented they were, how prolific they were and to my dismay how quickly I feel they have been relegated to historical amnesia. But we must remember them because for every Zohra El Fassia there was an Esther Elfassy - also talented, prolific but who likely came of singing age in a different time (the 1970s) and the wrong place (Israel and not Morocco or other parts of the Maghreb) and thus didn’t have the same chances of success. And so for every Jo Amar there was a Sami Amar and for every Samy Elmaghribi there was a Charli Elmaghribi.

Charli Elmaghribi. Koliphone. 1980s.

Charli Elmaghribi recorded for Koliphone/Zakiphon from at least the early 1970s. He is a fantastic oudist and has a distinct voice. He performs everything from Algerian to Moroccan and Andalusian to piyyutim. I want to thank my fellow collector Eilon for pointing out this Youtube video of Charli Elmaghribi in Morocco that seems to date from the late 1980s or early 1990s.




I have digitized the first side of a Charli Elmaghribi cassette from the early 1980s. The little background information I know on Charli is that he is still alive and performing and lives in France. He comes to Israel throughout the year to perform. I wish I could tell you more (his real last name, the city he hails from in Morocco, who his musical influences were) but for now his name and music will have to suffice. I want to stress one more thing.


Charli Elmaghribi - Yamslmin kalbi - Koliphone by CBSilver

 
Charli Elmaghribi - Ya kalbi chali el hal - Koliphone by CBSilver
 
In case of I haven’t made this abundantly clear; much of this music still exists in the Azoulay brother’s shop in Jaffa. I strongly recommend stopping there on your next trip to Israel and purchasing what you can before this music once again becomes lost to time.

Death of Rabbi Elazar Abuhatzeira, Memories of Tafilalt and Cheikh Mwijo

The new Jewish cemetery in Rissani (2008)

The tragic news of the murder of Rabbi Elazar Abuhatzeira, grandson of the Baba Sali, in Be'er Sheva, Israel last Friday, July 29 brought back memories of my travels in Tafilalt where in a way this story really begins. Tafilalt is the area of southern Morocco that borders the Sahara where the Abuhatzeira dynasty originally hails from. The area includes the shrine of Rabbi Shmuel Abuhatzeira, cousin of the Baba Sali, in Erfoud, the remnants of the historic Jewish communities of Ghirlane and other villages and of course the original home of the Baba Sali in Rissani. I'm going to write more about Erfoud, Ghirlane and Rissani in an upcoming post but first I want to start with the figure of the Baba Sali and some music that will help situate this story.

As you will recall from a post I put up in January, Cheikh Mwijo, the legendary singer from Meknes, and the Abuhatzeira family have long had a history. At the time I recounted the following, "First, it should be noted that Mwijo has a number of songs that exalt Moroccan tzaddiqim. One of these songs is a tribute to Rabbi Yaakov Abu Hasira, the grandfather of the Baba Sali, who died on a pilgrimage to the Land of Israel and was buried in the Nile Delta in Egypt. Abu Hasira’s tomb became a site of pilgrimage and has recently attracted media attention due to local Egyptian opposition to the annual influx of Israelis and Jews. When the Baba Sali caught wind of this song and of Cheikh Mwijo he invited Mwijo to visit him in Netivot in the Negev. Mwijo couldn’t make the journey from Kiryat Ata right away but eventually would come to pay his respects. The Baba Sali couldn’t understand how Mwijo knew so much about his grandfather. Mwijo revealed to the Baba Sali that he was a Meknesi at which point the Baba Sali exclaimed that everything now made sense as Meknes was a city of great torah scholars. To honor Mwijo, Baba Sali asked Mwijo to drink arak from the same cup as Rabbi Y. Abu Hasira, his grandfather (it was unclear whether the cup was used by his grandfather or if the arak had actually been partially consumed by his grandfather). Mwijo drank dutifully but was forced to hold his nose while doing so for he hated arak. As Mwijo told this story animatedly, I remembered the arak I had left in the car and thought that somehow the Baba Sali must have been watching over me."

I have digitized Cheikh Mwijo's Rabb Abouhassira off of his 14th LP. It dates from the 1970s. It is fascinating ode to the Baba Sali and his grandfather and recounts, in Judeo-Arabic, the history of the Abuhatzeira family and the Jews of the Sahara.

Cheikh Mwijo. Rabb Abouhassira. #14. Koliphone. 1970s

Take a listen.

Rabb Abouhassira - Cheikh Mwijo (Koliphone, 1970s) by CBSilver

Ya Nas, Ya Nas – Zohra El Fassia Digitized

The recent draft constitution put forward by King Muhammad VI describes Morocco as, “a nation whose unity is based on the fully endorsed diversity of its constituents: Arab, Amazigh, Hassani, Sub-Saharan, African, Andalusian, Jewish and Mediterranean.” I thought I would take this opportunity to write about the great Moroccan Jewish singer Zohra El Fassia who embodies much of that diversity.

The Morocco Years
Zohra El Fassia was born in 1905 to a Jewish family in Fez. She recorded dozens of records in her career in Morocco and at least seventeen 78s just between the years 1947 and 1957 for Polyphon, Pathe and Philips. She was a favorite of the King and of the people and took pride in the fact that her music was enjoyed by both Muslims and Jews.

Zohra El Fassia – Aita Moulay Brahim (Chant Chleuh) – Pathe, 1950s
I just digitized one of her 78s. To my knowledge no version of this exists online or in CD form. Take a listen. This is a different Zohra El Fassia then the one you will hear later in this post. Rapid paced singing. Chant Chleuh as Pathe describes it – Zohra El Fassia singing ‘aita.



The Israel Years
By 1962, Zohra El Fassia – at the height of her career in many ways - moved to Israel. She lived in Jewish Agency housing in Ashkelon, in conditions strikingly different from the ones she enjoyed in Morocco. Upon arrival in the country, she began recording in Arabic for the Koliphone (Zakiphon) label.

I want to take a moment to point out something interesting here and it is really a point that Ammiel Alcalay made in the past but that hasn’t been resolved. Erez Bitton, the important Moroccan-Algerian poet, who writes about the North African experience in Israel, penned a poem in 1976, a tragic poem, on Zohra El Fassia’s life in Israel and deserves mention here:

Zohra El Fassia’s song
Erez Bitton, 1976

Zohra El Fassia

Singer at Muhammad the Fifth’s court in Rabat, Morocco
They say when she sang
Soldiers fought with knives
To clear a path through the crowd
To reach the hem of her skirt
To kiss the tips of her toes
To leave her a piece of silver as a sign of thanks

Zohra El Fassia

Now you can find her
In Ashkelon
Antiquities 3
By the welfare office the smell
Of leftover sardine cans on a wobbly three-legged table
The stunning royal carpets stained on the Jewish Agency cot
Spending hours in a bathrobe
In front of the mirror
With cheap make-up –
When she says

Muhammad Cinque

Apple of our eyes

You don’t really get it at first

Zohra El Fassia’s voice is hoarse
Her heart is clear
Her eyes are full of love

Zohra El Fassia

Back in 1993, Ammiel Alcalay pointed out in After Jews and Arabs: Remaking of Levantine Culture that the compendium the Modern Hebrew Poem Itself makes a serious error about Zohra El Fassia. Several poems by Erez Bitton are included in the the Modern Hebrew Poem Itself including the poem “Zohra al-Fasiya.”

Alcalay points out that one of the compendium’s editors, Ezra Spicehandler, writes, “Erez Biton (b. in Algiers, 1942), more than any other poet of this younger group, strongly reflects his Middle Eastern heritage. Much of his poetry springs from a childhood spent in the slum world of Moroccan immigrants in Israel. Typical is his ballad of “Zohorah al-fasiah,” a fictive [emphasis mine] Jewish favorite of King Muhammad V of Morocco.

Until this day The Modern Hebrew Poem Itself continues to print in all its editions that Zohra El Fassia was fictive. It’s all the more astonishing to consider that Zohra El Fassia lived, recorded and performed in Israel. Furthermore, her impact on Moroccan music has long been acknowledged in Morocco including most recently at the 2009 music festival in Essaouira.

Zohra El Fassia – Laarosa – Zakiphon, 1960s
I just digitized this 1960s release of Laaroosa by Zohra El Fassia. This EP was released by the Koliphone (Zakiphon) label in Israel. Check it out. A very different sound then the ‘aita on 78. You can hear her voice strain here but it is still a dynamite track. In fact, when writing about this music I always think it’s important to consider whether this music had any impact at all in Israel…

Here is the former Sderot-based band Sfatayim doing their rendition of Laarosa. Not as good but interesting.



Zohra El Fassia died in 1994 in Ashkelon at the age of 87. Erez Bitton, along with the singer Shlomo Bar, of Habrera Hativit and born in Rabat and the Mayor of Ashkelon were some of the very few who attended her funeral.

Two months before her death, Zohra El Fassia said the following in an interview with Maariv: “When I made aliyah to Israel they [the Jewish Agency] gave me a horrible apartment. I suffered from loneliness, no one visited me…Do you know why I cried? I wasn‘t afraid of death, I knew one day I would die but I was afraid that after my death no one would remember who Zohra El Fassia was.”

Spread this music around. I’ll be digitizing more of her 78s soon. Let’s not forget the great Zohra El Fassia.

Moroccan Jewish Music at JCC Manhattan - June 7, 2011

Zohra El Fassia. Laarosa. Zakiphon. 196?

Come check out my sessions at JCC Manhattan

Here is the schedule:

12:30 am
Koliphone Records: The Untold Story of Israel’s Arabic Singing Jewish Musicians

1:45 am
Sheikh it Baby: Arabic Music by Jewish Musicians

I know it's technically June 8 but come on the 7th and stay through the 8th :)

Cheikh Mwijo # 23 Digitized - Classic Recordings

More Cheikh Mwijo - this time on cassette. The quality isn't perfect but I'm on a tape kick right now. I'm fairly positive that the album cover was shot in Mwijo's current home - I recognize the red vinyl.

Cheikh Mwijo. #23. Ze lo halom. Koliphone/Zakiphone

Cheikh Mwijo. #23. Goulouli fine. Koliphone/Zakiphone

Cheikh Mwijo. #23. Gzali houwa sbabi. Koliphone/Zakiphone

Cheikh Mwijo. #23. Lbnat. Koliphone/Zakiphone

Meeting the Legendary Cheikh Mwijo

Cheikh Mwijo. #12. Koliphone/Zakiphone. 1970s

When you google Koliphone, the Israeli record label started by the Azoulay brothers in Jaffa in 1953 that pioneered and produced Arabic music sung by Jews from North Africa and the Middle East, a couple of things come up. One is my blog and other is the work of Uri Wertheim in Israel. Knowing I would be in Israel in December, I sent Uri a fairly benign Facebook message about record digging for North African LPs in Haifa and Jerusalem. Our conversation quickly moved beyond finding records and soon involved tracking down and interviewing the remaining Arabic singing musicians from the 1960s.

In December, we met in person for the first time. I was greeted by Uri and his dog Fred in the Florentine section of Tel Aviv not too far from the Central bus station. We headed to Hummus Abu George for lunch. We ordered two bowls of hummus with ful. We spoke about Koliphone records, the Azoulay brothers, how Uri got into collecting (he started working for one of the Azoulay brothers earlier in his career), record digging and everything in between. On our way out we ran into the other members of his band The Apples.

We headed to Uri’s apartment with Fred. Uri’s record collection really blew me away. Outside of the Azoulay brothers themselves, I would venture to say that Uri has the most complete collection of Koliphone records in the world. My personal interest in Koliphone stems from my interest in Moroccan Jewish music and North Africa in general but Uri has done an excellent job focusing on this label and the various associated labels (Zakiphon, Pianophon, etc.) and building a collection. Amongst other things, Uri had 45s that I had never seen before – for instance, before I arrived in Israel I knew of two Zakiphon 45s entitled Alass Ya Nasser (Why O Nasser) songs in Moroccan Judeo-Arabic on Israel’s 1967 victory - but Uri had a whole series of these EPs. He also had a nice collection of Albert Suissa, Cheikh Elafrite (Tunisian), Geoula Barda (Libyan), Raoul Journo (Tunisian) and anything else you can imagine – it was really unbelievable. We listened to some records including some 78s on an old portable phonograph that we weren’t sure was going to work (it did). We then listened to some Cheikh Mwijo.

Cheikh Mwijo. #7. Koliphone/Zakiphone. 1970s

Somehow in the course of our messages and emailing before I arrived in Israel, Cheikh Mwijo had come up. Cheikh Mwijo, (real name: Moshe Attias), had long occupied my imagination. Of all the Moroccan Jewish performers he was one of the most recognizable and perhaps the most flamboyant. The album artwork on his records was unmistakably him. There is the one where he gazes admiringly at a record, the one where he wears a fur coat and holds a cigarette in one hand and a violin in the other, another where there are four different images of Mwijo – one in traditional Moroccan garb, one wearing a yarmulke and studying text, one in a suit and one by a video camera. Above all else, Mwijo’s voice is distinct and that is what makes him stand out. Before arriving in Israel we (mostly Uri) worked on tracking down Mwijo so that we could interview him and record him. Most of the musicians of Mwijo’s era have passed – many in recent years (Samy Elmaghribi, Jo Amar, etc.) and that was part of the reason why this was so important.

Back of Cheikh Mwijo #7. Album Covers. Koliphone/Zakiphone. 1960 - 70s

We called Cheikh Mwijo from a landline. The phone was on speaker. It was a tremendous feeling to hear the voice that I only knew from 60s and 70s LPs. Mwijo told us he welcomed our visit, we hung up the phone and Uri and I got to planning.

I met Uri and Uri’s brother Noam at the car rental agency, stopping by a liquor store on the way to buy a nice bottle of arak for Cheikh Mwijo. We left Tel Aviv by late morning and headed toward Kiryat Ata, Cheikh Mwijo’s adopted city. The journey took a couple of hours with a stop for lunch. We made our way north through areas recently devastated by fire.

We pulled into Kiryat Ata and began to look for Mwijo’s home address. As we slowly crept up his street I spotted Mwijo sitting at a café wearing his signature tarbush. He looked like he had always looked. My heart raced. We were originally supposed to meet him at his house but there he was sitting in the café by his apartment smoking a cigarette. This was a future album cover. We parked the car and tried not to overwhelm him with our enthusiasm. He knew we wanted to meet him but he wasn’t sure what the point was. Moroccans the world over already knew Mwijo, he told us. We told him that not everyone knew his story and that this was an important endeavor we were embarking on. We showed him my blog (the whole thing was very meta) and the recently posted clip from Haim Abitbol. He wasn’t impressed. Mwijo had performed with Marcel Abitbol. He told us to follow him to his home.

Mwijo looked sharp – slacks, dress shirt and tarbush. He was much shorter than I ever imagined. Ani ben adam pashut, he kept saying in Hebrew. I am a simple man. It was true. He lived very simply. His home was small and exhibited touches of Morocco (a Moroccan style couch for example). He had a single picture on his living room wall and it hinted at a once great musical career - a framed, color copied image of Mwijo in front of the Eiffel Tower with his name spelled Cheikh Moizo (there are a number of ways his name has been spelled throughout his career) and superimposed above his head. We sat not in the living room but in the dining room. Images of Rabbi Ovadia Yosef, the Baba Sali and Moroccan tzaddiqim adorned the walls. We sat around the dining room table. His chair was a white plastic chair with a leather car seat attached to it for comfort.

The room filled with cigarette smoke quickly. We asked some questions when we could but mostly he spoke. Mwijo was born Moshe Attias in Meknes in 1937. He came from a family of musicians. His father, Yaakov Attias, a musician, died young at the age of 32. Yaakov Attias was originally from Fez and married Mwijo’s mother in Meknes. Mwijo spent some time growing up in the Fez mellah on Rue du Mellah, the main drag. When I asked him where exactly, he asked me in Arabic if I was Arab or Jewish and how I knew about Morocco. He then recalled an incident in the 1940s (he would have been very young) where a Vichy officer recorded his family’s name – anti-Semitism was something that would come up periodically throughout our conversation with Mwijo and this incident, in particular, stuck with him. Mwijo’s grandfather had also been a musician. Mwijo has a number of brothers who are still alive and who he still performs with. He then showed us an unbelievable black and white photo (below):

In the picture (left to right): Sliman Elmaghribi, Sliman’s father Mordechai, Muallem David Ben Haroush, Mimoun Turjeman, Yaakov Zerad and Mwijo’s father Yaakov Attias.

Mwijo first learned music by listening to this band of Jewish musicians. In Israel, Muallem (an honorific title like cheikh) David Ben Haroush would soon become Mwijo’s main influence.

Mwijo moved to Israel in Israel in 1962 at the age 35. His profession, which if I understood correctly, was an embroiderer of military uniforms and was not needed in Israel (with their scaled back, simple military uniforms and their ranks made of medal) and he showed us the 1962 letter from the Security Services Office to prove it. He touched on his experiences in the ma’abarot, the transit camps for Jews from North Africa and the Middle East, and on what he described as racism towards Moroccans in Israel then and now.

Muallem Ben Haroush would eventually also settle in Israel, in Kiryat Haim, where Mwijo would support him during his final days. As a gift to Mwijo, Ben Haroush left him his songbooks, which had also been handed to down to him. The songbooks would prove to be the source from which Mwijo drew his strength. I can’t stress enough what these songbooks represent. It is incomprehensible what is tied up in these songs – the heritage of Moroccan music, Moroccan Jewish history -- history that can be found nowhere else but buried somewhere in Mwijo’s modest apartment. Apparently, when Professor Joseph Chetrit of Haifa University became aware of the books he asked Mwijo if he could photograph them for his research. Mwijo refused. He thought Chetrit was just out to make money (clearly not the case and not the case with books published by academic presses) and that Mwijo wasn’t going to get his cut. So for now, only one man has studied and mastered those songs since Ben Haroush and that man is Mwijo. It is because he committed the songs in the books to memory – a dramatic turnaround from his earlier years when he could only ever remember parts of songs – that Mwijo maintains the honorific title of Cheikh – the master of 1,000 songs. In a final odd musical twist, we learned from Mwijo that Muallem David Ben Haroush is buried in Haifa near Mike Brant, the 1970s Israeli pop star who committed suicide at the height of his career.

At this point in Mwijo’s life, a number of things happened in tandem. Mwijo discovered that his profession was no longer needed in Israel and that he had been given two gifts – the songbooks and a voice. Sitting in a café in Haifa one day, Mwijo began to sing and this, he recalled, literally brought unsuspecting patrons to tears. All of these factors – a lack of employment, a mastery of songs and a unique voice helped launch Cheikh Mwijo’s career in the music industry.

Mwijo began his music career singing and playing the mandolin but he would eventually switch to the violin, played in the upright North African style (he would later deride Western style violin playing for not being sufficiently difficult). He never learned to read music. Between 1962 and 1970, Mwijo estimates he wrote and sold about 40 songs to Sliman Elmaghribi, the young musician pictured at the far left of the black and white photo he had showed us earlier.

By 1969, Mwijo had started his own recording career. Zaki Azoulay, one third of the Azoulay trio, came to Mwijo in his home with reel-to-reel tape and recorded him live. It sold very well. Later Mwijo would record dozens of records and cassettes for the Azoulay brothers and their Koliphone/Zakiphon label at their studio on Raziel Street in Jaffa, across the street from where the current Azoulay brothers’ store now stands. The recording sessions were all “live to tape” sessions but today, he told us, he prefers multi-track recording.

In the course of conversation he shared with us a few stories that correspond roughly to the height of his career. At this point I’m not entirely sure how to describe these stories. They are demonstrative of a number of things – Mwijo’s religious zeal, his relationship to other Moroccans and Jews, how Mwijo sees himself in history, his feelings on the Holocaust and anti-Semitism – or perhaps they are just anecdotes that are interesting.

First, it should be noted that Mwijo has a number of songs that exalt Moroccan tzaddiqim. One of these songs is a tribute to Rabbi Yaakov Abu Hasira, the grandfather of the Baba Sali, who died on a pilgrimage to the Land of Israel and was buried in the Nile Delta in Egypt. Abu Hasira’s tomb became a site of pilgrimage and has recently attracted media attention due to local Egyptian opposition to the annual influx of Israelis and Jews. When the Baba Sali caught wind of this song and of Cheikh Mwijo he invited Mwijo to visit him in Netivot in the Negev. Mwijo couldn’t make the journey from Kiryat Ata right away but eventually would come to pay his respects. The Baba Sali couldn’t understand how Mwijo knew so much about his grandfather. Mwijo revealed to the Baba Sali that he was a Meknesi at which point the Baba Sali exclaimed that everything now made sense as Meknes was a city of great torah scholars. To honor Mwijo, Baba Sali asked Mwijo to drink arak from the same cup as Rabbi Y. Abu Hasira, his grandfather (it was unclear whether the cup was used by his grandfather or if the arak had actually been partially consumed by his grandfather). Mwijo drank dutifully but was forced to hold his nose while doing so for he hated arak. As Mwijo told this story animatedly, I remembered the arak I had left in the car and thought that somehow the Baba Sali must have been watching over me.

In the 1970s, Mwijo often performed abroad and frequently in France. One time, while in France, a Moroccan (unclear whether this Moroccan was Jewish or Muslim) invited him to perform in Germany. Mwijo adamantly refused to play in Germany because of the Holocaust – even after an offer of 10,00 Deutschmarks from his host which he explained was a lot of money at the time. He was impassioned when telling us this story. His voice rose and sank as he progressed. After the refusal, Mwijo immediately headed to a casino, pulled the handle on a slot machine and won the equivalent of 10,000 Deutschmarks. This was divine intervention, he argued and said rhetorically that if this wasn’t a sign (from God) then nothing was.

Mwijo then transitioned to telling us more about his career in Israel. Mwijo never received any royalties for his music instead he began by earning 10 Israeli lira per song (he would share some of this with Sliman when they performed together) and payment for each record produced. It is unclear what exactly his relationship is today to Zaki Azoulay as a result of their financial arrangements although I would guess based on what I understood from Mwijo and the nature of producer-artist relationships that it is strained at best.

Mwijo feels that he is unique among Moroccan performers. He does not like the style of Salim Halali or a number of other artists. In fact, he prefers Algerian (djiri) music to Moroccan (chaabi) and describes his singing style as djiziri, which he says is more delicate and sweet than other North African styles. To that effect, he says he performed with the Algerian National Orchestra in France in 1981, which to me underscored his complex relationship with North Africa. He has returned to Morocco once and only to perform at a Jewish celebration.

In the course of our time with him he shared with us other fascinating anecdotes. He seems to have been present at all the major life cycle events of Aryeh Deri, the former head of Shas, including his brit milah in Meknes. Mwijo’s connection to Deri, whether ideological or otherwise, is incredibly potent. In fact, Mwijo penned him a song in 2000 as Deri headed to prison on a bribery conviction.

Chris Silver. Cheikh Mwijo. Uri Wertheim. Noam Wertheim - 2010

There was a point when it became clear that it was time for us to leave. We took a picture with Mwijo and exchanged pleasantries. Uri asked Mwijo if he could visit him again. In 10 years – Mwijo said. He had grown tired and preferred to look forward rather than back. For nearly 50 years Cheikh Mwijo has made good Moroccan music. As we exited the apartment, he told us to check him out in March when he would perform at the Dead Sea.