Almost every Arab household has at least heard of Fairuz. Listening in the back of the car to one of her CDs as a child, sitting in cafes with a Fairuz compilation playing in the background, and having her music playing in the background of family gatherings were some of the many contexts in which I’d hear her powerful yet soft voice. For me, having disembodied memories of her music imprinted in my mind meant that her music was a central part of my melodic recollection of the past. This nostalgia, however, feels much grander and more painful than that infamously bittersweet feeling. Surpassing pure nostalgia, Fairuz’s music represents something more for those in the diaspora: a longing for home and a bittersweet hope for stability in the (Arab) region.
Symbolically, Fairuz’s refusal to take a side in the Lebanese Civil War (1975-1990) meant that her music was enjoyed and listened to by all. It was a point of unity. Perhaps represented best by the ceasefire that was called when her husband passed away, so that the funeral processions could go from one side of the country to the other. Her legacy across the region is undeniable, and her music’s themes strike a chord with those in, and especially those who left, the region. A sense of nostalgia and bittersweet nationalism, in addition to her love songs, of course… She has such a way with words.
‘Le Beirut’ is a song that makes me feel things that are particularly hard to define, and it is the same feeling my mother feels when listening to the song. While the song particularly sees Fairuz sing about Beirut, the way in which she describes the city through powerful visual imagery can be re-contextualised for any other city in the region. There is a powerful melancholy in her descriptions as she describes a city in conflict with itself, in a song that was released in the depth of the Lebanese civil war. Having chosen to stay in Lebanon during the war, the song is sorrowful, and yet represents a love that she feels towards her country despite it all. It is a feeling many in the diaspora feel towards their country. A hope that perhaps elucidates this complicated affinity towards the “homeland”. She personifies Beirut as a mother figure, and asks for “her” embrace at the end of the song, an image that represents the absolute tragedy of war, and the need for comfort in the midst of it.
The “home” that Fairuz describes in her songs feels symbolic, it is not a place but rather a feeling, something that feels poignant and deeply relatable for pan-Arab migrants. At the same time, it is also a place, often described with meditarennean semiotics in her music. ‘Chat Iskandaria’ sees her describe the sea in Alexandria, a song that reflects her pan-Arab nationalism, and the powerful spatial symbolism she evokes. It’s that complicated hypocritical feeling where Fairuz’s music lies, an uncomfortable feeling that there may be a home indeed, but it is one that does not physically exist anymore.
This feeling is explored in several studies that highlight the way in which immigrants from Qatar to the UK utilise Fairuz’s music as a tool to inform their identity, providing a sense of belonging through her music in a sociopolitical environment that is rapidly changing, coming from countries in which political instability is the norm. Using the concept of Bourdieu’s habitus which suggests a current interaction with our lived experiences, these studies can be seen in the everyday, not just in studies.
Sweeping orchestral choruses, and interpretable lyrics that go beyond mere descriptions of love and longing; Fairuz undoubtedly is one of those artists whose significance is more than just musical. Whether it’s listening to a song about an estranged lover who she thought had gone abroad in ‘Kifak Inta’, or her vivid descriptions of Lebanon in ‘Al Bostah’, Fairuz becomes more than just an artist; she becomes a symbol for the Arab diaspora. Unsurprisingly, for me, as a third-culture kid, Fairuz becomes a tool where I can interpret and reinterpret those feelings of home and feel homesick for no particular home at the same time. In constant instability, her music is the closest thing that unites the diaspora.
I have a Spotify playlist with my favourite songs by her here. Image courtesy of Usama Fakhry via Unsplash. Image license can be found here.
Comments