Issue No. 601
Culture
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29 August - 4 Sept. 2002 Issue No. 601 Culture |
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| Published in Cairo by AL-AHRAM established in 1875 | Recommend this page | ||
Sobhi and the quake
The earth moved. Could it have been the amplification, asks Amal Choucri Catta
2002 Summer Concert, Sobhi and Friends; Open Air Theatre, Cairo Opera House, 24 August, 9pm
Suddenly the ground started to shake. At first everyone thought it was the amplifiers blasting off the rhythm at nerve-wracking volume. But as the tremors continued the audience began to realise it was an earthquake. Many hurried out of the Cairo Opera House's Open Air Theatre into the surrounding gardens. Some returned however: asked why they had left, many replied they wanted to be out in an open space, in case it was a big one. The "Big One" didn't come this time, not like in 1992. People can't forget that. They can't forget the victims or the buildings that tumbled down.
On stage, though, none of the performers seemed perturbed by the unexpected interlude. They were going through one of the songs of the second part of their programme, with Sobhi Bedeir crooning some schmaltzy refrain of love and springtime, the percussion mercilessly battering its decibels into the sky. They even made jokes about the quake, trying to relieve the public's anxiety, before drifting swiftly into the tune of the next song, hoping, perhaps, that the irritating volume might drown the fear.
That night Sobhi Bedeir, with guest star Sadek Gallini and Nayer Nagui at the keys, were performing their fourth and last concert of the summer. They started off delightfully enough, with a nostalgic Italian tune of distant skies and remote affections, continuing with "O sole mio", sung in English by Sadek Gallini, who seemed to have "spent a lifetime waiting for the right time", while the choir of 12 youngsters echoed beautifully in the background and Sobhi Bedeir came on with an emphatic version of the Italian refrain.
The sun was shining somewhere on the other half of the globe as Sobhi delved into "Love Is A Many- Splendoured Thing", replete with visions of colourful kimonos, cherry blossoms and the "high and windy hill" of the old movie.
The choir did a perfect job, the voices excellent, the polyphony brilliant. Nayer Nagui at the keys was as spellbinding as usual and Sobhi as sentimental as one has come to expect. But the beat came on again -- the next song a medley of Spanish and French, followed by Sadek's "Surrender" and a Latin "Si Señor" with lots of Ay, Ay, Ays to remind the audience of Carmen Miranda and Xavier Cugat. They went on singing, going back and forth, from one song to the other -- "Amor, Amor", "Besame Mucho" -- finishing the medley with a voluminous "Cha, Cha, Cha". Then, seemingly out of nowhere, "Marimba Rhythms Started to Play", while Sadek invited an invisible beauty to "dance with him and to make him sway". The choir echoed the tune while, on cue, some spectators started swaying in their seats. They didn't care that much about the songs, what they really cared for was the beat. And that they got, in abundance.
There is something ambiguous about Sobhi Bedeir's concerts: he never introduces his songs, nor his friends. In fact, he doesn't talk at all. Once on stage, he and his guests start singing, stopping only for a 15-minute break, and then resuming their performance till the end of the concert, which generally lasts for two hours, with around 20 songs being performed. This is doubtlessly lovely for those who are familiar with all the tunes, but it does not seem to be much appreciated by fans of the older generation who don't come to Sobhi's concerts solely for the pleasure of swaying to his melodies, but to applaud the entire performance. They are quiet people, not always well-versed in this kind of music, and might perhaps appreciate some information about his songs of choice, either before or during the performance. "He just sings," said one lady that night, "but he won't talk to us."
Sobhi Bedeir, the well-known tenor, returned to light music several years ago after leaving the "bel canto". He had an excellent keyboard and, with his pianist Nayer Nagui, his performances attracted audiences of all ages. Those were the times when he talked to his audience, planning his programme in advance and announcing his songs during the performance. In later years, as the one-man shows grew less frequent, "Sobhi and Friends" came to being. The majority of his fans did not mind, though some muttered about a new haughtiness.
Now Sobhi Bedeir is a charming person who, until the last rehearsal before each show, does not really know what he and his friends will be singing. His shows are largely built on improvisation, which at times becomes a little too obvious. He has a considerable repertoire from which he is able to choose his songs even while on stage. Should he be asked to furnish a list of the songs he will be singing, he would be quite incapable of doing so before the performance, though quite why this should stop him from announcing his songs while on stage is not clear.
Whatever, on this particular night he made his audience perfectly happy. His accompaniment had all the charm and the liveliness of a sonata by Mozart -- it was fresh as a spring morning and as unimpaired by time, though perhaps not the perfect backing for Sobhi's ardently pleading "Let Me Love You". Violent desire was back again with Sadek's next song, "Je t'aime comme un fou". And then came Jacqueline Rafik. She is a young soprano and her voice, though quite pure, is not yet strong enough for the Main Hall. She is at her best singing light music and musicals while using a microphone. She and Sobhi gave us a beautiful version of "Autumn Leaves".
Soon, however, the nostalgia dwindled away and on came friend Sadek with a Latin beat and lots of sound from the choir, bringing the first part of the concert to a vivid climax.
The second part was different: the beat seemed harsher, louder, the decibels more violent and the nostalgia was suddenly gone. This part began with the choir and Sobhi singing "We all need somebody to lean on", and Sobhi performing a solo of "Lean on Me". Then the songs seemed to drown beneath the excessive sound, with the performers and the audience clapping their hands to the beat of "Don't leave me, don't go" which Sobhi pleadingly crooned into the mike. Jacqueline returned for "When I fall in love it will be forever": a beautiful melody, like the calm before the storm, or rather, before the quake which had the chairs shaking and the audience quivering while on stage it was noise that had took over. The thrill was gone and people started talking and walking away. The magic had vanished, anxiety broke in and everyone was getting impatient, though most of the spectators stayed till the last song before hurrying home. The music was suddenly forgotten. Everyone was discussing the quake.
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