In an interview with The Believer, Sublime Frequencies founder Alan Bishop described a vast difference between Western and other cultures. “There’s a thing about ‘new is everything,’ old is unwanted,” he said, going on to add that while he fetishized these cultures’ old music, he realized that in locales like Thailand, Morocco, or Syria, “the culture is left to rot, just like the buildings and the infrastructure. No money is going back into preserving things.” Perhaps as a bulwark against such rot, the Habibi Funk imprint was set up two years ago to shine a light on older music from the Arab world and founder Jannis Stuertz is aware of that dichotomy. “Too often re-releases of old music are mainly being consumed exclusively by a western audience,” he writes in the liner notes that accompany his label’s latest compilation, though he notes that in traveling through the Middle East, he now counters young fans who “got attached to music of their parents’ generations and that they are now themselves…looking for records.”
Reissues of late often scrounge neglected parts of the world for western pulses, be it Surinam, the French West Indies, or Hawaii. And across its first six releases, Habibi Funk generally does appeal to what sounds good to western ears, usually of the funk variety, with traces of soul, R&B, rock and smooth disco for good measure. But in our current climate where Islam and Arab culture remains grossly distorted and willfully misunderstood, there’s a sense of urgency that—beyond the music—the label is also offering a Western audience a chance to better understand this region by moving to it.
It’s fitting that the set kicks off with “Bsslama Hbibti,” a hard-sweating stomp from Fadoul, a Moroccan whose closest parallel might be to James Brown. From the artist who helped put them on the radar, “Hbiti” features gritty drums, lashing guitar, and Fadoul’s near-manic pleas atop it all. But whereas Brown and band would be dapper and disciplined, there’s something unhinged in the energy of the performance that brings to mind the raucous takes on R&B that Rob Tyner and the MC5 dipped into. Its companion is Bob Destiny’s “Wang Dang,” which—although recorded and released in Algeria—is shouted by an African-American from New Orleans who spent time in the region as a choreographer. Similarly curious is how the melody for “Für Elise” crosses borders to Morocco to become the guitar line for the shouts of a raucous unknown track from Attarazat Addahabia.
Fans of Sublime Frequencies and their exhaustive look at Southeast Asian bands taken by surf music will find kinship in “Mirza” and the skronking sax lines of Sudanese track “El Bomba.” And just when it seems the comp is firmly entrenched in an exploration of how ’60s rock and R&B infiltrated the region, the tumbling disco beat and needling reeds make Mallek Mohamed’s “Rouhi Ya Hafida” refreshing. (The liner notes also hint that the Algerian musician also recorded but never released experimental electronic music as well.) “Sah,” from Egyptian artist Al Massrieen, also rides a slick dance beat, the female backing vocals and slide guitar sending it towards the cosmic end of the disco spectrum. But sometimes the sleeker funk doesn’t quite work on some of the tracks, as on the too busy rubber bass of “Lala Tibki” and lo-fi “Games.”
The most arresting track is “Ayonha,” featuring buoyant drum machines, jangly guitars and tickly synths, all played by Libyan-born Hamid El Shaeri. El Shaeri found pop stardom in Egypt from the ’80s well into the ’00s and the track’s airy harmonies and easy feel wouldn’t sound out of place on AM radio in California. Similarly, sweet vocal harmonies drift across Tunisian band Dalton, who embrace the likes of Tim Maia and the Doobie Brothers on the laidback “Soul Brother.” Sounding at once American and Brazilian, the Tunisians suggest—if sadly not a real-world actuality—a musical brotherhood that transcends such boundaries.
