Warm and Fuzzy about the Orient

The western world has experienced a surge of interest in Arab pop music and lifestyle. Take London, for example: in trendy cafés young Brits lounge on soft cushions, smoking hookahs to Arabicized sounds and beats. Thomas Burkhalter takes a look

image: Sarotti company
The "Sarotti Moor" logo was invented in 1918 – a typical cliché for the Orient

​​Incense sticks perfume the air, while soft lighting creates an intimate atmosphere. The soundtrack is provided by CDs like "Buddha Bar", "Salon Oriental" and "Asian Lounge". Electronic music and Middle Eastern clichés transcend borders to convey a feeling of exoticism.

No one is bothered by the fact that supposedly-traditional elements are being modernized in rather simplistic fashion; they just feel cosmopolitan.

In recent years London has experienced a surge of interest in Arab culture – or at least it seems that way. Almost every neighborhood has an Arab – or rather Arabicized – café where young Brits puff away at hookahs while lying on soft cushions and listening to exotic sounds.

In Soho, Hampstead, Finsbury Park and Hammersmith these cafes invite visitors to experience a "different" kind of relaxation. Momo's Resto on Heddon Street and the Kairo Café in Clapham North are the most popular locations.

Dancing the Hubble Bubble

With the rising demand, a growing number of London DJs and musicians are taking an interest in Middle Eastern sounds; some of them also have roots in the Arab world or Turkey.

The most enterprising of them may be the Turk Necmi Cavli. On the little terrace of his house in a Turkish neighborhood in the north of London he waxes effusive about the success of his group Oojami and his "Hubble Bubble Nights", when he brings together the most important local and international artists to combine Middle Eastern and North African influences with samples and beats: Abdel Ali Slimani, U-Cef, MoMo, Fantazia, Nelson Dilation from London, Smadj, DuOuD and others from continental Europe.

Cavli, who left Turkish Bodrum for London 18 years ago, wants to be a part of multicultural London rather than isolating himself inside the Turkish community: "In the community I could play for political organizations to an audience of 5,000 Turks. No English people would ever go there, but the community would talk about multiculturalism. That's not what I'm interested in."

Despite the success he has enjoyed recently, Cavli believes that as a Muslim musician he has more obstacles to overcome than, say, Indian DJs. "Afghans, Arabs and Turks are still lumped together here," he says, but he encourages these categorizations himself by drawing his largely white audience with posters featuring pan-Arab clichés: belly dancers, hookahs and the red Ottoman fez.

The fez as an exotic decoy

Cavli protests that he is not selling cheap imitations, he is working with cultural products from Turkey's past.

The fez, for example: the rimless red woolen cap with the flat top and the hanging tassel used to be widespread throughout the Middle East and in the Balkans.

However, the hat was abolished in Turkey in 1926 and in Egypt in 1953; today it lives on only in various traditional Balkan costumes. In the Arab world today hardly anyone wears this kind of headgear – much less young people.

In 2001 the Basel organization "Music of the World" sought the public's favor by featuring a fez on the festival poster. However, Elias Khoury, who also appeared at the festival, was not amused.

When the Lebanese writer saw the "unspeakable" poster on the festival grounds, he wanted to leave on the spot. For the Arab world today, the fez is regarded mainly as a symbol of Ottoman hegemony. In Europe, the red cap serves as an exotic decoy – in London, it lures visitors to clubs claiming to be on the cutting edge.

The British love clichés

"We live here, not there", stresses Karim Dellali, who plays with the groups Oojami and Fantazia Percussion and launched the club night "Couscous Lounge" in St. Giles Church. The Algerian works for a large financial company in Knightsbridge. In his local pub in Hyde Park he drinks beer and chats with everyone – they all seem to know him here.

Interest in Arab culture has been on the rise, he says, especially after September 11. It does not bother him that his music contributes toward conveying an image of the Arab world that has little to do with contemporary realities:

"The British love clichés. And we Arabs have stereotypes about the west as well." He is proud to be an Algerian, but he happens to live in Europe:

"In 'exile' you experiment more with elements of your native culture than you would if you were living in your homeland. In England there's no censorship. For example, belly dancing is still considered indecent in the Arab world, but here it's appreciated as an art form. The English like to see a beautiful, exotic belly being shaken. In Oojami we even have a male belly dancer perform for us, which really has nothing to do with clichés anymore."

Differences between England and France

As far as political statements are concerned, London's musicians prefer to keep a low profile – in contrast to the Algerian rap scene in France and Algeria, where groups like MBS ("Le Micro Brise le Silence") and Intik openly criticize political shortcomings.

Tahar al-Idrissi of the English-Moroccan collective MoMo simply does not want to spend his entire life thinking about politics. In his local café on Holloway Road he sips Moroccan mint tea and describes the "extreme differences between England and France":

"We play for a mainly European audience, while the rappers in France play for their fellow countrymen. We often wear our Moroccan clothing, while the French-Algerian rappers would never do that. The only thing that's important is the music, the clothing is irrelevant."

Music and politics are two different things

For years Nelson Dilation has enjoyed success in Britain and abroad as a DJ at such events as "Tandoori Space" in Leeds, "Whirlygig" in London and the organizer of club nights "Salon Oriental". The native-born Englishman is a cult star of London's British-Asian and British-Arab music scene.

"I'm a British citizen, but I have a Russian grandfather and a Greek grandfather. It's a coincidence that my skin is white," says the Rasta man. Dilation mixes dance music with traditional music from Asia, the Middle East and North Africa, skillfully adapting his mixes to each club and occasion.

"The Middle Eastern essence is what counts, the politics are beside the point," he says with disarming openness. "I have no idea of the meaning of the Arabic lyrics I sample. Maybe my music is extremely political, maybe it's even religious."

Nelson Dilation laughs. Of course he goes to peace demonstrations, like those against the Iraq war – music and politics seem to be two different things for him.

"Warm and fuzzy sounds for hippies with credit cards"

The interest in Arab music in London has not met with undivided enthusiasm. "The Arabia scene just produces warm and fuzzy sounds for hippies with credit cards," jokes the British-Asian musician TJ Rehmi. "Arabia is still just whatever the West longs for."

Of course it is true that the Arab world is anything but a cultural oasis existing alongside the western world, separate and far away. Cities such as Cairo, Beirut and Dubai are dominated by pop culture and television. TV stations supply the Arab world with soap operas, music videos and news, reaching the entire globe via satellite.

Young people are especially likely to turn to the west, following the global charts and singing in English. But the visitors to London's hookah cafes regard the Middle East mainly as a contrast: a change from everyday life in Britain, an alternative to London's club scene.

Welcome to Little Beirut

But on Edgware Road, London's Arab main street, the English are few and far between. Late in the evening the neighborhood is in the hands of the Near and Far East. Lebanese, Iraqis and businessmen from the Gulf States sit in their local cafés, smoking hookahs – but they sit on plastic chairs rather than reclining on soft cushions.

There is no sign of relaxed "hanging out" – everyone talks loudly to everyone else, trying to drown out the commercial Arabic pop à la EMI Arabia which makes it virtually impossible to conduct a conversation. Neon lights illuminate the scenery, one which consists not of colorful interior design and bright fabrics, but of bare white walls and silver kitsch.

Mourad Mazouz, who pioneered the Arab club scene in London with his "Momo's Resto", is a welcome guest on Edgware Road. The Algerian is one of the few people who have made money from the Arabia boom without isolating themselves from the Arab communities.

He refers to Edgware Road affectionately as "London's little Beirut". While his club attracts illustrious guests from Rachid Taha to Madonna, the new "Arabia scene" annoys him no end.

Exoticism is more important than culture

"Lots of people here are just trying to earn money in the cheapest possible way." As an example he cites the American label ARK21, which floods the London market with Arab pop stars and CD compilations whose covers and the names of the musicians count for more than the musical content:

"What they're selling as quality intercultural music is actually commercial rubbish." The "Arabia trend" is focused mainly on exoticism, hardly on Arab culture and much less on Arab people, he says. Mazouz does not use Middle Eastern clichés to advertise his events. And he is about to open an experimental electro-club, taking his aesthetic daring to a new level and hoping that others will follow his example.

He interprets the often-heard words: "I'm an Arab, but I live here," as meaning: "I don't wear folk costumes. Belly dance is for tourists." Mazouz has a clear concept of multiculturalism: "It's not about wishes and projections, it's about acknowledging reality with all its bright and dark sides."

The immigrants stay in their niches

In London's in-cafés British young people enjoy Arabicized culture without Arabs, while on Edgware Road Arabs live their lives without westerners. Arabs and their culture seem to be two different things: elements of their culture find their way into the urban club scene, but the people themselves remain caught in the niches and community cultures typical of Great Britain.

"The English like our culture, but they don't like us as people," the rapper Mush Khan, who comes from Kashmir but lives in Great Britain, said several years ago when the "Asian Underground music movement" started shaking up London's club scene.

Do his words ring still truer for Arab culture? Or does London's typical neighborhood culture have such a strong effect that even the people who are actually interested in other cultures do not venture outside their own territory?

No interest in Arab culture

Sheree Baker is an inquisitive Englishwoman. She has no inhibitions about foreign cultures, and she is one of the few "white" Englishwomen who show up on Edgware Road. She is infuriated by London who constantly go to the same pub and never want to see or experience anything different or new.

"Lots of people avoid Edgware Road because they think women get stared at here." When asked whether this is true, she laughs: "No different than anywhere else." And when asked whether London's rediscovered love of the Middle East is more than a trend, she also laughs before replying. She thinks it is all a mix-up:

"The young people in London think there's hashish added to the hookahs in the hip clubs. That's the only reason why they go to the cozy dark cafés; nothing would entice them to go to Edgware Road. Take away the drugs, and the interest in Arab culture is virtually nil."

So the hookah trend hardly indicates a genuine interest in Arab culture. London's young people want enjoyment. And it is easier to dream peacefully while listening to Arabicized ambient sounds than while thinking about the current political situation.

Thomas Burkhalter

© Thomas Burkhalter 2005

Thomas Burkhalter is a musical ethnologist and freelance journalist for such publications as the Swiss daily Neue Zürcher Zeitung and for his web platform www.norient.com.

Translated from the German by Isabel Cole

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