Tonight at the Paris Olympia, the heavy red curtains were drawn across the stage. Behind them the stage was full to bursting, and before them sat an audience that was calm but brimming with excitement, as they awaited the arrival of the divine voice that would carry them away to lands unseen. It was said that the music of Umm Kulthum pierced the heart like an arrow. “I cannot believe that she’s really here, in Paris!” one woman whispered to her husband. To call Umm Kulthum a legend would hardly do her justice; to the Arab world she held the stature of Édith Piaf and Maria Callas combined. An entire generation of young Egyptians had grown up listening to her love songs, through which she had practically invented a new lexicon and a new language woven of contradictions, uncertainties and the subtle shades of the soul. Her fame soon spread to neighbouring Arab countries, and now her voice could be heard all over the world. Even those unable to admire the beauty of her lyrics could not fail to appreciate the sense of ecstasy carried upon her voice, which resonated with fourteen thousand vibrations per second.
Umm Kulthum was the daughter of an Imam, and grew up surrounded by religious song. It was by listening to her father teaching hymns to her eldest brother that Umm Kulthum learned to sing. Once her father had realised how powerful her voice was, he told her to join in their lessons. Even at a young age the girl already displayed exceptional talent, to the point that when she was ten her father dressed her up as a boy so she could join the small troop of sheiks he conducted. Girls were not allowed to perform religious songs, and yet her voice needed to be heard. Her father could find no better outlet for his daughter’s gift, and preferred to know she was performing in disguise than to waste the talent she was born with. At sixteen, a famous singer recognised her prowess, and took her under his wing. The family moved to Cairo, and Umm Kulthum performed in small theatres, still disguised as a boy. Men, women, children and teenagers were all hypnotised by the voice of the ‘Egyptian Nightingale.’ Umm Kulthum was a woman of the people; she understood their troubles and worries, she sympathised with them, and she allowed their emotion to shine through in her songs. She grew into womanhood, and ‘the Dame’ (as Charles de Gaulle would call her) became one of the world’s greatest divas.
The folds of the great red curtain began to move. The chattering of the crowd stopped, as their whispering was extinguished along with the lights of the great hall. The audience waited in silence, until the diva made her entrance. She wore a flowery dress that sparkled and shone with a thousand beads of light: rubies, emeralds, diamonds and topaz – thus glittered ‘the star of the East.’ The musicians began their piece: a song that united the Egyptian nation and spoke of love and eternity. Umm Kulthum approached the microphone, and all of a sudden her voice rang out, spectacular, like the voice of a bird of paradise. Umm Kulthum was renowned for her long, drawn-out choruses and songs that seemed to stretch into eternity. But given the sheer power of her voice, none who heard them were ever bored. It was a voice that haunted the working-class cafés of Cairo, carried on with the breeze of Alexandria, ringing out from passing taxis and open parlour windows all over Egypt. Tonight at the Olympia was Umm Kulthum, the fourth pyramid of Egypt. The voice of the Nile carried them far away, and the voice of the East pierced their hearts:
“My love, the night and its sky,
Its stars and its moon, and its magic,
And you and me,
My own love, my own soul,
How in love we are,
And love, oh sweet love,
Love has awakened us,
Its pouring us a drink of happiness, and saying cheers.”
Alan Alfredo Geday