By Innana Darwish | Staff Writer 

Little doubt prevails that as someone from the MENA region, you’ve probably listened to Fairuz in the morning. Among the array of beautiful, dreamy lyrics and melodies lies a special place for Palestine – a whole album dedicated to the sorrowful land of olives and Kalashnikovs. ‘Jerusalem in My Heart’ was released in 1967 by the Rahbani brothers and remains a household staple. ‘Zahrat Al Madaen’ (a personal favorite) was a very popular song off the album at the time of its release, from its passionate portrayal of the city we can only ever hope to visit in our lifetime, to its biblical metaphors and implications, relevant not only because the birthplace of Jesus was Bethlehem, Palestine, but also because his crucifixion has in many instances been used to personify the tragedy that befell the Palestinians.

A song on the album that takes on a more militaristic nature would be ‘Sayfon Fal Yoush’har’ (a sword must be brandished). The lyrics imply that what was taken by force would only be returned by force, but they’re interwoven with those misty illustrations of flowers and references to scents (musk, to be specific) and beautiful scenery that our beloved Fairuz is ever so celebrated for.

Music following the Nakba in 1948 looked more like it was attempting to convince Palestinians and Arabs to liberate the homeland, then took a turn in the 50s and early 60s into appealing to Arab nationalism ensuing the events in Egypt—which were very relevant to the course of Palestinian history.

After 1967, following the 6-day war (also known as the Arab-Israeli war) where Egypt, Syria, and other Arab countries lost a war against Israel, songs began to undergo a shift towards despair and sorrow but conversely, were brimming with hope and support surrounding the emergence of the Palestinian Guerrilla movement. The album by Fairuz and the Rahbani brothers is no exception to this shift. It wholly captures the notion. ‘Jerusalem in my Heart’ encompasses agonizing lyrics of what once was, and the aching desire to return to the homeland but also utter faith in the Guerillas, or Fedayeen. During the mid-70s, Ounadikom, originally a poem created by Tawfiq Zayyad, a Palestinian politician, was put to music and sung by Lebanese singer and songwriter Ahmad Kaabour. The song is speculated to have been intended for Lebanon but is very popular among the supporters of the Palestinian struggle. There is much left to discover in the world of patriotic music and the transformation of poetry into music whether it be to describe the occupation or express emotions of revenge, guilt, hope, or loss.

For the second part of the article, however, I was hoping to highlight what some might consider ‘eccentric’ artists from the region.

Interestingly, Beatlemania did not spare Palestine even amidst the turmoil the country was in (a little over a decade after the Nakba). Soon enough, Palestinians began to form cover bands inspired by the rock scene. The 60s and 70s witnessed the birth of English cover bands like The Flintstones (Armenian and Palestinian band), The Yarneys, and The Mosquitos, though very little is known about them.

Al-Bara’em, a band composed of siblings from the Ashrawi family, and some of their friends stood out in that they eventually recorded their own original Arabic rock songs. The Ashrawi family’s origins lie in Nazareth, but the band members’ parents moved to Jerusalem shortly after getting married. The word ‘bara’em’ roughly translates to bloomers, but the word ‘bar’am’ is also used to describe preadolescence in the Arabic language. The band was active from 1966 to around 1976, at which point escalations in Palestine resulted in some members of the Ashrawi family, and simultaneously the band, fleeing the country. The band started out much like the cover bands mentioned previously until the female members- the sisters, in this case- suggested singing traditional Fairuz songs with a rock twist. The idea proved to be extremely successful due to Fairuz’s popularity. Shortly after, Al-Bara’em began composing and performing their own psychedelic rock music in the Arabic language.

Some of the band’s lyrics were based on already existent poems but in contrast to the traditional ballads and folk songs briefly explored earlier in the article, these songs had elaborate guitar solos, and a lot of tinkering with sound effects, heavily inspired by the western psychedelic rock scene. Unlike much Western music, however, Palestinians were singing about their brutal reality and not an escape, whether blunt and direct or poetic and insinuating in nature. Where Western psychedelic rock songs like ‘White Rabbit’ by Jefferson Airplane or ‘See Emily Play’ by Pink Floyd are a result of well, psychedelics, and are an attempt to encapsulate the experience, songs like ‘Tha’er’ and ‘Tareeq’ by Al-Bara’em are a glimpse into the band members’ reality. Though a fan of both, there’s a very clear contrast between otherworldly, western fantasy and raw, on-ground, Palestinian reality. Al-Bara’em sold out several venues, among them theaters and concert halls, a few even located within schools. Although the band fell apart in 1976, some four decades later, Sama’an Ashrawi, son of Ibrahim Ashrawi (lead vocalist), ended up releasing some of their recorded songs on various platforms.

Sometime in 1973, a Palestinian student might’ve been getting ready in front of her vanity with her friends to go watch Al-Bara’em perform at Jerusalem YMCA much like you and I might to go see a local band show at Metro Al-Madina on a Saturday night. Whether you prefer the traditional route or would love to explore bands like Al-Bara’em -who not only shed a light to the history of diversity of the music scene in Palestine (and surrounding countries) but also on Palestinian lifestyle and adolescence- keeping Palestinian-made and Palestinian intended music alive is a responsibility we ought to take.