The Delight of the Faithful: Henry Levi, Cheikh Raymond, and a 1958 Recording from Constantine

From L to R: Alexandre Nissim Benharoun,

- Chalom Lellouche

- Edouard Zerbib

- Sion Bouskila

- Victor Assouline

- Hayo Hassoun

- The father of Chalom Lellouche but no Henri Levy...

I stand humbled before this particular record and I am certainly not the first. Indeed, Cheikh Raymond was so taken by Henri Levy’s voice that he represents the only other artist to have ever been featured on Leyris’ Constantine-based Hes El Moknine label.

To find out anything about Henri “Yosef” Levy, one has to turn to the Algerian Jewish message boards. And yet, he is elusive even there. The lone comment on a stunning photo of Constantinois rabbis from this late 1950s laments the fact that Rabbi Levy is missing from the image. On another site, we are informed that Levy was not a rabbi at all but an “officiant,” someone with rabbinical skills but without ordination. For anyone who has ever been to an active synagogue in North Africa or attended a Maghribi service anywhere, none of this will be surprising for it is the congregants that lead the service. If there is a rabbi among the crowd, he can be difficult to find.

By day, Levy operated a printing press but at prayer time he officiated at the synagogue close to the lycée d’Aumale. There he developed an intimate relationship with none other than Cheikh Raymond. On Forum Zlabia under the “Hazzanims de Constantine” thread “Benj” writes that Levy had, “a fantastic voice and was the delight of the faithful during Shavuot.” He remarks specifically on Levy’s recitation of the Seventh Commandment. Cheikh Raymond was equally struck by Levy’s take on this piece of the liturgical tradition and so much so that he pressed him into recording it. Thus on both sides of the 25 cm LP, Levy is accompanied by Cheikh Raymond and Sylvain Ghrennasia, Enrico Macias’ father.

On another thread, “Benj” asked for more information on this record. I have dutifully provided the first six minutes of it below. The spoken introduction offers us a rare and precise time stamp (right before the month of Nisan 5718 - perhaps March 21, 1958). The chanting itself provides us with a precious aural “glimpse” into the world of Jewish Constantine in 1958. Knowing that all of this crumbles but a few years after this record was made makes Levy’s voice seem all the more powerful.

Like all of the other records in my collection, this one traveled. I’m not sure if Henri Levy brought copies of it with him when he landed in Marseille but someone did and then it made its way to me. For me, this record is symbolic of how temporary my hold on this music is. I don’t “own” any of it but happen to have it at this very moment. For now, though, all I can do is share.

Songs in the Key of Chakchouka: the North African Light and Comic Chanson

An early Edmond Nathan Yafil comic monologue at 90 rpm.

Before David Guetta, there was his great grandfather Kiki Guetta. Born in Tunis at the end of the nineteenth century, Jacob “Kiki” Guetta championed neither popular nor Andalusian music but rather the North African comic song. Taking a cue from the light hearted repertoire then being refined on vaudevillian stages as far afield as Paris and New York, Guetta adapted the genre to Arabic, established his own troupe, and entertained mixed Muslim and Jewish cabaret audiences beginning in the earliest years of the twentieth century. When Gramophone released its first catalogue in Tunisia in 1910, Guetta’s discs were featured prominently.

Guetta, like his Moroccan and Algerian Jewish contemporaries who embraced the style, pushed the boundaries of the acceptable in public. On many of his records, he ridiculed those in power, poked fun at his compatriots, and drew attention to emerging social problems. But, as his successors would soon do, he sang about the more banal.

In some cases, the banal, or the light song, took the form of translated ditties, like Guetta’s Arabic version of La Petite Tonkinoise, while in other instances it meant connecting the latest international music trend - often Latin - to the local palate. Perhaps nothing exemplifies this better than the array of songs released toward the middle of the century on the subject of chakchouka, the North African tomato and egg delicacy that many of us have come to know and love. Imar Maghy, for instance, a Tunisian Jewish comic of the 1950s and 1960s, would set “chakchouka” to cha cha cha, pepper it with Arabic, and serve up wildly popular results. Even if the tune has little to do with cuisine itself, one can surely appreciate the identitarian aspect of it. You will find a taste below.

Not to be outdone was the Algerian Blond Blond, who sang about both the merguez sausage and chakchouka, and his Sétif-born colleague Alberto Darmon aka Staïffi (and his group: ses Mustaphas), who made his version of “chakchouka” into a dance number while also putting the culinary delights of the Belkacem restaurant - rhyming the Arabic word for “beans” with the French for “unforgettable” - to a foot-tapping harmony.

Blond-Blond...Les merguez , version swing by marco68700

Of course, there is much more to be said on the subject of Jews and comedy in North Africa in the first half of the twentieth century but an outline will have to suffice for now. Comic monologues and songs can be counted as among the earliest pieces to be recorded on wax cylinder across the Maghreb. In Algeria, the impresario Edmond Nathan Yafil would bring the scène comique to large audiences, impressing none other than Mahieddine Bachetarzi, who himself would take Algerian comedy and theater to the next level.

I would also be remiss in not mentioning that a number of these pioneers of comic song, along with their stand-up counterparts, made their way to France and Israel around mid-century, including the Moroccan Maurice Lusky, who can be heard below doing his classic “drunkard” sketch with Raymonde El Bidaouia.

I will have to leave it here but welcome further thoughts and comments. In the meantime, good listening, bon appétit, and b’saha!

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.

When La Mamma Became Ya Yemma: Lili Boniche, Charles Aznavour, and Algerian Cover Songs

A young Mahieddine Bachetarzi. 1920s?

Somewhere in an attic or an archive exists a recording of Mahieddine Bachetarzi singing Josephine Baker’s iconic J’ai deux amours. Why he chose to cover this particular song and what meaning one can discern from a national figure like Bachetarzi singing about his love for two nations during the turbulent 1930s will have to remain but speculation for now. What this does suggest, however, is the existence of “the cover” as a genre during the middle third of the twentieth century in Algeria. In fact, if it was one thing that Algerian Muslim and Jewish musicians shared, it was a passion for covering the hits. Covers took a variety of forms during this period but the most intriguing, as already eluded to, was the phenomenon of translating mostly French language chansons into Arabic and in that process, giving them entirely new meanings.

Perhaps the best known of these cover artists was one Mahieddine Bentir, of whom Ted Swedenburg has written about recently. Bentir, born in 1934 in Algiers, hit on something big in the 1950s when he began transforming American rock ‘n’ roll into “rock oriental” and set French genres to Algerian rhythms. He brought tremendous energy to his position at the RTF (Radiodiffusion-Télévision Française) in Algeria and as an independent artist, one who was fond of doing summersaults on stage at a particularly rockin’ moment. He has cited Robert Castel, Lili Labassi’s son, as one of his inspirations. Bentir’s Ana Bouhali, his appropriation of the classic Je Suis Le Vagabond, captures a certain slice of music hall Algeria in the 1950s perfectly. Here’s a short version of the French and then Bentir’s exhilarating Arabic rendition:

Lili Boniche performs at the Salle Pierre Bordes - Algiers, 1959

Lili Boniche, also known as “the Crooner of the Casbah,” was another cover cheikh. Born in 1921 to a Jewish Algerois family, le jeune Boniche was already making a splash in the Algerian papers by the mid-1930s, an especially impressive feat given his age at the time. Boniche became a staple of Algerian radio during the period and then began recording 78 rpm records for the Pacific label in the 1940s. He is most famous for his hit songs (all of which were later covered by others) Elle Est Partie (Mchate aliya), Eili Mektoub, Carmelita, and Bambino, the last an Arabic cover of the Neapolitan song, Guaglione, which was then all the rage in Europe and soon North Africa. Throughout his Algerian career, Boniche attracted tremendously large, mixed audiences.

Luc Cherki in all his disco glory. 1979.

Many have argued, in what appears to be a historiographic misstep, that Boniche, for a number of personal reasons, all but stopped performing in France upon his arrival there. This position helps to bolster the claim that he was “rediscovered” in the early 1990s by Bill Laswell, among others. In fact, a review of his releases reveals the opposite - Boniche recorded constantly and consistently through the 1960s and 1970s, both for his own LB label and for El Kahlaoui Tounsi’s Dounia. Shockingly, he even cut a disco EP, much like Luc Cherki, in the late 1970s.

Lili Boniche. Ya Yemma (La Mamma). LB Disques. 1963.

If Boniche took a break from music, it was possibly during that traumatic and confusing year of Algerian independence, although there is only scant evidence to support this. Whatever the case, he was certainly “back” on the scene as of 1963. It was that year that Charles Aznavour’s La Mamma had reached the number one spot on charts across the continent and unsurprisingly, Boniche chose to cover it for the A side of his first release on his new label. In my opinion, Boniche’s Arabic version – Ya Yemma – is even more powerful than the original. Clearly not just a lament for a mother, Ya Yemma can easily be “read” or heard as a longing for Algeria itself. Below you will find both the Aznavour original and the Boniche cover with the Lucien Attard Orchestre playing back up. Take a listen:

Finally, I would be remiss in not mentioning Salim Halali, the subject of my last post, and his Arabic take on another song about mothers, the Yiddish classic My Yiddishe Mama. Below is a classic Cantor Yossele Rosenblatt version and the later Halali adaptation. I dare say this is the only Yiddish song ever translated into Arabic but I would be happy to be proven wrong.



 

Until next time…Happy New Year to all.

Jewish Morocco Turns 5! Salim Halali, Taali, & Change

Salim Halali in pose. 1970s?

In his memoirs, Mahieddine Bachetarzi, the “Caruso of the Desert” and founding father of Algerian theater, describes Salim Halali as having “the greatest Arab male voice” of the post-War period. Halali’s music, blending Latin styles like flamenco and paso doble with popular Arabic pieces written by the likes of Gaston Bsiri and Mohamed El Kamel, was at once distinctly modern and traditional. It was also everywhere. By 1946, you could catch Halali multiple times a week on Algerian radio. His records, made exclusively for Pathé in the 78 rpm era, were sold in Algeria’s major cities, across the Maghreb, and in Paris and Marseilles. Some have gone as far as to call him North Africa’s first pop superstar and when considering his dashing good looks, his swoon-inducing voice (among women and men), and international appeal – sought out by Um Kulthum and others, it’s not difficult to see and hear why.

A very young Halali in Algeria

Halali is deserving of a full-length biography but I won’t get into all of the details here. In broad strokes, Halali remained in Paris during the War years (apparently hidden from Vichy with the help of the Grand Mosque), established the “oriental” music venue Ismaïlia Folies in 1947 before moving to Casablanca to open a similar cabaret in the form of Coq D’Or. He eventually returned to France, release dozens of songs, and toured the world along the way. For many, he retired too early. He lived out his last days in the solitude of a retirement home on France’s southeastern coast. He died at the age of 85 in 2005.

Halali represents a sort of musical continuum between Arab and Jewish at a moment when the two were being torn apart in Algeria. Born in Annaba in 1920, Simon, as he was then known, lived a fully Algerian Jewish life complete with a passion for music. His gift of voice was noticed early and by his teens he had, like many other North African musicians of his generation, relocated to Paris to try his luck in the cabaret scene there. He soon met the already mentioned Mohamed El Kamel and the duo produced a truly remarkable number of hits. One of them, Taali, is among the more moving and evocative love songs I have ever laid ears upon. I have reproduced it below. My suggestion, before listening, is to pour yourself a glass of wine or non-alcoholic beverage (North African, preferably) and cuddle up with someone special. Then hit play. Open a window because it might get hot.

I have seen copies of this record turn up in various forms in places as diverse as Tunis and Jaffa. It is little surprise then that it has recently found a new, younger audience eager to pay homage to the original. The unbelievably talented team of Neta Elkayam and Amit Hai Cohen, Israeli artists of Moroccan origin, have created this mind blowing version below. One can only imagine Halali approving and then joining in.

This sultry jazz version by Georgian-French singer THékO also deserves a listen. It seems like nearly eighty years after its original release, Taali and Salim Halali are enjoying a comeback.

Halali on oud

Five years ago, when this blog launched, I could have never predicted any of this. In fact, I wouldn’t have been able to tell you much about Salim Halali or anyone else making up this constellation of Maghrebi Jewish stars. I was living in Washington, DC at the time and daydreaming of Morocco constantly. In my previous Moroccan travels, I felt like I had just scratched the surface of the Maghreb and I had grown desperate to find the most remote traces of Jewish life from the Sous to the Sahara and everywhere in between. I quit my job, headed to Morocco, recorded what I found, and for a long time that was what this blog was. On a return visit I happened on that now iconic record store in Casablanca and “discovered” Haim Botbol in cassette form. I digitized the tape, uploaded it, and the internet (you) encouraged me to keep going. I started collecting and listening and then really connecting. As I assembled this history record by record, I made sure to keep putting pieces online and writing about these complicated and talented larger than life figures. Soon relatives contacted me. Fans of the original musicians sent me emails and letters (and the occasional record). I met this cohort wherever they were to be found: in Tangier and Tel Aviv and Marrakesh and Marseilles. When I was lucky, I even had the opportunity to sit with the musicians themselves. I also have gotten to know others on this journey, who, like me, are trying to bring this music out of the storage room and back onto the turntable. Through it all, I have faithfully inhaled my share of dust, climbed dangerously rickety ladders in order to peek into an attic, and spent countless hours walking the medina in rising temperatures, all in search of these elusive, fragile, and yet resilient records.

Five years later I can proclaim loudly that Zohra El Fassia, Marie Soussan, and Habiba Messika have left an indelible mark on my life. I have dedicated myself full time (graduate school) to the endeavor of telling their story and the stories of the whole enterprise and I couldn’t be happier. Each one of these personalities complicates something we know, fragments binaries, and further enriches that thing we call History. It is nothing less than a soundtrack of this era and has been missing for too long.

Things have certainly changed since 2008. Elkayam and Cohen, in the clip above, recently performed the works of Zohra El Fassia, Jacob Abitbol, and Albert Suissa in Essaouira at the Festival des Andalousies Atlantiques, and in many ways have brought all of this full circle. The audience welcomed them with open arms, greeting the two with a certain contagious enthusiasm before joining in themselves.

This blog, I hope, will also change. I aim to retitle it, redesign it, make it more truly pan-Maghrebi, and come to focus more and more on those rarest of rare 78 rpm records. To do that requires time and an investment in the right technology and I will be calling on you to help with both. In the meantime, if you have suggestions, requests, leads, and so on, please do send my way.

Finally, thank you, choukrane, todah, and merci for all of your love and support over the years. It is appreciated more than you will ever know.

Tunisia's 78 rpm Era: Reflections on Habiba Messika, Cheikh El Afrite & My Recent Travel to Tunis

The Jewish cemetery at Bourgel in Tunis

Cheikh El Afrite's grave at Bourgel

On my final day in post-revolutionary Tunisia, I headed to the vast Jewish cemetery at Bourgel aiming to find and pay tribute to the final resting places of Tunis’ musical superstars of years past. While the cemetery itself is in a discouraging state of disrepair, the tombs of Habiba Messika and Cheikh El Afrite, two of said vedettes, are readily identifiable, if not difficult to reach. There is a feeling one gets when visiting a mostly abandoned Jewish cemetery in North Africa. In seeking a particular grave, you often have to wade through trash, sidestep discarded beer bottles, whack away overgrowth, and climb over other broken graves with names no longer legible. When you reach your destination, it is both unsettling and uplifting and most certainly a religious experience.

Cassette digging for Habiba Messika

Tunisians’ memory of Habiba Messika, the young Jewish singer, actress, and diva, who took Tunis by storm in the 1920s, is at once fierce and fading. Her cassettes, made from copies of copies of her scare 78 rpm recordings, are easily available in the myriad CD and tape shops around the city. Ask just about anyone – young or old – and they “remember” her. This, of course, is despite the fact that most do not actually remember. While Messika’s brutal murder by a jealous suitor was front-page news across the Maghreb and in Paris at the time, it also occurred over eighty years ago, in 1930, and most were not around to ever see her or hear her live at the Municipal Theatre, at the Casino in La Goulette, or anywhere else. Much like her music now, the memories of Messika are copies of copies. Of course, this makes them no less real but as a result certain details have fallen to the wayside. Thus her Jewishness, very real at the time, comes as shock to quite a few when revealed. Messika, like so many other things in Tunis, has been nationalized.

Stack of broken 78s with Narraci sleeve peeking out

Between meetings and visits to the archives, I went in search of records. On one of my first days in the country, I was encouraged by a find in the medina: a stack of shellac, all with purple sleeves of Joseph Narraci, one of the earliest indigenous (and Jewish) record companies in North Africa. Unfortunately, not a one contained a Narraci-produced record. In fact, most Tunisian records, especially 78s, have disappeared, many thrown out in the transition to vinyl, others captive in storage spaces around Tunisia and in attics in Paris. What stock does exist – in the medina, brocantes, and the occasional used bookstore - is either Western rock or Egyptian. If you’re looking for Um Kulthum on Odeon, you’re in luck, if you’re searching for Gaston Bsiri, bonne chance. While this was personally disappointing, it also served in a way as a testament to a phenomenon reported on by Tunisian observers of the 78-era – Egyptian discs were flooding the market. Only by supporting local artists, critics claimed, could this deluge be averted.

After a little less than two weeks in Tunis (not nearly enough time), I left feeling nostalgic for a place I never really knew. Strolling down Rue Al-Djazair, adjacent to the medina, brings one face-to-face with the once flagship record store of Joseph Narraci, as well as one of the former cinema districts of the silent and then talkie era. Cutting over to Rue Charles De Gaulle, transports you to the small empire of Bembaron, Jewish brothers and impresarios, who began their work by importing harmoniums and ended by creating a powerhouse label which captured the some of the city’s most impressive voices. The TGM (Tunis-La Goulette-Marsa) train is a journey back in time. As it traces the edge of the lake, children pry open the doors to get that fresh, salted wind in their face, only to be pulled back by the scruff of their necks by a responsible adult – much the same, I imagine, as it was sixty years ago. Descending at the La Goulette – Casino stop hurls you straight into Tunis’ music-hall capital, where Jews, Sicilians, Maltese, Greeks, and Muslims jostled for a seat at one of the various music venues around town. At the Casino, one might have caught a show by Messika and Hassan Banane, Cheikh El Afrite or Dalila Taliana. As I dined at one of the seaside restaurants - with some of the freshest fish I have ever tasted - I daydreamed of Raoul Journo, perhaps with Kakino De Paz, crooning about exil in El Ouach ouel Ghorba.

Nostalgia is a double-edged sword though, as it requires absence to make it its most powerful. During my first day in the archives, a young graduate student took an interest in me and we began a conversation. She asked me what I worked on and I told her I was studying the early years of the North African recording industry. She said I must study the Jewish musicians then if I was really serious about the topic. Encouraged, I told her that that was indeed my focus and in fact, I was Jewish. She went blank. You can’t say that here, she said. Not everyone was as open as she was, she claimed. Similarly, while Bachir Rsaissi’s Rsaissi label draws instant recognition among those in the know, the uttering of his Jewish counterparts – Narraci and Bembaron - is met with confusion and the polite protest that those names, in fact, are not Tunisian. Acher Mizrahi, a favorite of Habib Bourghiba long after independence, also sounds impossibly foreign to some.

El Kahlaoui Tounsi 45 in a dust-filled brocante

Despite all this (or perhaps because of it), Tunisia has grabbed my attention in a way I never thought it would. The Tunisians I spent time with were all supportive of my work, even if it was not their area of expertise. Many went completely out of their way to help me and I hope by giving a little more volume to the critically important history of the music industry in North Africa, I can someday soon return the favor.

Marhaba Tunis: New Music Mix, Tunisia’s Jewish Musicians, and Summer Travel

“Summer is here my friends: Turn on the fan, pour yourself a refreshing drink, close the shutters a bit, relax and refresh yourself in this paradise-inducing musical oasis,” writes Guillaume le Roux for 716 Music on my recent music mix. You can read his full write-up on my efforts, here. In honor of my August and September travel to Tunis and Paris (which will include research and record digging – any tips more than welcome!), I have put together the above-described mix of some of Tunisia’s finest male Jewish musicians. The mix, which I have dubbed Marhaba Tunis, can be downloaded below. In a recent tweet, Afropop Worldwide described it in the following terms, “We cannot say enough about how dope this mix of Tunisian music from @JewishMorocco is. (hint- VERY) LISTEN!!”

Two final notes before we get to the music and the rest of the post:

1. You can find more details on Tunisia’s music scene and background on the artists featured on this mix after the jump.

2. I will be blogging from the Maghreb and France for the rest of the summer so be sure to visit the site often. There will be additional updates on my Facebook and Twitter.

716 Exclusive Mix - Jewish Morocco (Chris Silver) : Marhaba Tunis Mix by 716 Music on Mixcloud

Download

Kakino de Paz – Taksim Rasd

El Kahlaoui Tounsi – Men jarr aalaya

Maurice Meimoun – Khalli rabbi yetfakkarni

Cheikh El Afrit – Gued ma amelt maak

Jose de Suza - Consolacion

A. Perez – Ya Beladi

Raoul Journo – Sellemt fik ya biladi

Raoul Journo – Ahla Ouassahla

Kakino de Paz – Teksim Naïm

 

Brief Historical Note on Tunisia’s Jewish Stars 

Youcef Hedjaj aka Jose de Suza

Naturally, I have spoken most often on this blog about the world of Moroccan Jewish music-makers. Over the last couple years, I have delved into Algeria’s robust Jewish soundscape as well. I have given the least attention to Tunisia up until this point, although Algeria’s eastern neighbor deserves our attention since the country is as much a part of the story as the rest of the Maghreb. I won’t go into all of the details of the Tunisian music scene at this point but suffice it to say that Jewish participation mirrors, if not exceeds, that of their Maghrebi Jewish counterparts to the west.

Louisa Tounsia née Saadoun

Fritna Darmon, Maurice Attoun, Messaoud Habib, Abramino Berda, Bichi Slama, Chaloum Saada, Leila Sfez, Gaston Bsiri, Mademoiselle Dalila, Cheikh El Afrite, Doukha, Louisa Tounsia, Raoul Journo, Habiba Messika, Youcef Hedjaj, and Acher Mizrahi are but a small sampling of the Tunisian Jewish performers who defined and shaped their industry throughout the course of the first sixty-plus years of the twentieth century. A few details on Habiba Messika and Acher Mizrahi demonstrate the diversity of these performers and their impact, both of which are recalled fondly to this day. Habiba Messika, described as the Tunisian Sarah Bernhardt by observers in the 1920s, recorded extensively until her shocking death by arson at the hands of a jealous (Jewish) lover at the too-young age of twenty-seven. Throngs of Jews and Muslims came out for her funeral and both Jewish and Muslim popular artists (like Mademoiselle Flifla and Bachir Fahmy) penned songs in her honor. Some of those 78 rpm records were even sold to the American market on the Victor label. Acher Mizrahi was born outside of Jerusalem at the end of the nineteenth century. A hazzan by trade, he eventually settled in Tunis where he became not only the city’s most famous cantor but a major popular music figure as well (something which seems unimaginable today). He wrote lyrics for Cheikh El Afrite, recorded on his own, and collaborated with the likes of Mademoiselle Dalila and Messaoud Habib. Remarkably, he remained in Tunisia until shortly before his death in 1967.

There is infinitely more to write but this will have to serve our purposes for now. Think of it as whetting of the appetite. In return, I promise to blog on the topic later in the summer.

Short Biographical Sketches on the Musicians featured on the Marhaba Tunis Mix

Isaac “Kakino” De Paz (b. 1919, d. 1983): Blinded at a young age, Kakino de Paz was a multi-talented musician, a true virtuouso. De Paz was a master of the qanun, the violin, the oud, the piano, the accordion, and oh yes, the electric organ. He performed with La Rachidia, Tunisia’s premier Andalusian ensemble, and served for a time as head of the Radio Tunis orchestra.

El Kahlaoui Tounsi (b. 1932, d. 2000): Born Elie Touitou, El Kahlaoui was a stunning showman. There is a quality to his voice, which can only be described as mesmerizing and his darbouka work is without parallel. In addition to his staggering personal output and work with myriad North African greats, El Kahlaoui took over the Paris-based record label Dounia (the name repeated a number of times at the beginning of the mix) in the 1960s and turned it into one of the premier Maghrebi outfits. It is thanks to him and his efforts that much of North African music of the 1960s and 1970s is preserved.

Maurice Meimoun (b. 1929, d. 1993): Son of famous Jewish musician Mouni Jebali (who also happened to be Hédi Jouini's master teacher), Meimoun was an accomplished violinist and composer – writing for many of Tunisia’s biggest and brightest. The Tunisian Ministry of Culture honored him for his work shortly before his death.

Cheikh El Afrite (b. 1897, d. 1939): Born Israël Rosio Issirene, his adoption of the name Cheikh El Afrite (roughly translating as Master of the Devil) paid homage to his wit and was perhaps also a play on the word ‘ivrit, which happens to mean Hebrew in Hebrew. He was nothing if not prolific and there was little he didn’t sing about including a lament about a husband, who was sick and tired…of his wife.

Youcef Hedjaj (b. 1919): The sometimes Jose de Suza has written over 600 songs in a mélange of languages. He helped to pioneer the francarabe genre and held court at the famed El Djazaïr cabaret in Paris. He wrote the lyrics to some of the true classics including Line Monty’s Ya Oumi and L’Oriental.

Albert Perez (unknown): I admit I know little of Perez other than that he cut a number of 45s with El Kahlaoui on Dounia. Ya beladi is an emotional ode to his Tunisia. If anyone has more information, please do send my way.

Raoul Journo (b. 1911, d. 2001): Simply put, Raoul Journo was among the greatest, if not the greatest, in Tunisian recording history. His repertoire remains an integral part of the his country’s musical fabric to this day. Sellemt fik ya biladi is an incredible homage to Tunisia.