Over Two Decades After His Death: Musical Legacy of Abdel Halim Hafez Revisited

The most popular male Arab singer of all time – Abdel Halim Hafez – rose from poverty to become a friend of kings. He lived for his art and died too soon. Loved and admired by people of all ages, the “Egyptian Elvis” left his mark on Arabic music for future generations.

On June 21, 1929, in the Nile Delta village of Hilwat, north of Cairo, a poor woman gave birth to Abdel Halim Ali Ismael Shabanah. Hours later, she died. A few months later, his father also died, leaving the baby and his sister in the care of their older brother Ismael, a struggling young music teacher. The orphaned children grew up in extreme poverty. However, Abdel Halim showed musical aptitude at a young age and was encouraged by his brother. Abdel Halim loved the most famous singer of that time, Mohammad Abdul-Wahab, whom he heard on the radio. As a teenager, he walked to the nearest big city to listen to him perform. Too poor to buy a ticket, he climbed to the roof of a nearby building to get a better view, but his ingenuity backfired as he fell and broke a leg.

In economic desperation, his brother Ismael moved the family to the capital city, hoping to make a better living. This allowed Abdel Halim to attend a tuition-free music institute where he learned to play the oboe. He also formed friendships with fellow students Mohammad al-Mougi and Kamal al-Taweel, who would be instrumental in his later career. After graduation, Taweel became a staff composer in the Egyptian radio station, and Abdel Halim was employed as an oboe player in a small ensemble. By coincidence, the ensemble was hired to record a song composed by Taweel for a celebrity singer. They rehearsed with Taweel and prepared for the recording, but the singer failed to show up. Hoping to salvage the situation, Taweel asked his friend Abdel Halim to sing. Surprising himself and his friend, a reluctant Abdel Halim performed beautifully. Taweel quickly persuaded the station manager to hire his friend.

This critical event led to a meeting that Taweel arranged between Abdel Halim and the manager of the Alexandria radio station, Hafez, with whom the newly discovered singer significantly moved. He insisted on arranging a meeting between the young man and the ustaz  (the teacher or master) of Arabic music, the great Mohammed Abdul-Wahab. In gratitude for this demonstration of his faith in him, Abdel Halim Shabanah changed his name to Abdel Halim Hafez in honor of the station manager (from this point onward, Abdel Halim will be referred to as Hafez). 

Abdul-Wahab, when they later met, was amused by the change of names and suggested that the new name was more musical. In that historical meeting, Hafez played the oud and sang for Abdul-Wahab, who was not generous in his compliments. However, he reportedly was extremely impressed with the young man’s voice quality and style. He offered Hafez simple, polite remarks and decided to remain in touch with him.

These new connections would guarantee Hafez steady work as a singer on the radio station. He and Taweel shared the good news with Mougi and told him of the audience with the ustaz.  Mougi was not impressed and surprised them by advising Hafez not to accept this line of work. He insisted that real success and money were in the private sector, not a government job with a fixed salary. Mougi volunteered to compose Hafez's first song and arranged with a producer for him to sing at beach clubs in Alexandria – for handsome pay. 

The gang of three and a lyricist worked hard and traveled to Alexandria for their first performance. Hafez sang “Safini Marra” (Approach Me Once and Leave Me Once) to uninterested audiences while his friends waited for audience approval. The crowds yelled at the young man to stop whatever he was singing and perform the day's popular songs. After a few nights of dwindling attendance, the nervous club owner intervened and begged Hafez to sing known material. He refused, on principle, canceling the contract and therefore losing compensation. The distraught artist sought counsel from Abdul-Wahab, who told him the same thing happened at the same beach when he first started. He explained that beach audiences were not real listeners, being nothing more than summer vacationers seeking late-night entertainment.

The situation changed, however, as Hafez persistently performed to more refined audiences and gained the support of musicians and composers. In a short time, Taweel’s tune “Ala Add Eshouq” (As Much as I Yearn) became a hit, and people started comparing Hafez to Farid Al-Atrash for possessing a beautiful voice and singing sad themes. Hafez broke that mold, leaving Farid as the sad singer on the throne and singing cheerful songs about national events and celebrations. “Wihyyat Albi Waffraho” (I Swear By the Happiness in My Heart) became a school graduation theme song played by every Arab radio and television station. Most of his songs had romantic and poetic lyrics but were somewhat experimental in the instrumentation, with frequent use of keyboards and the introduction of the saxophone to the orchestra. He also increased harmony, which is uncommon in the melodic Arabic style. He sang about Nasser’s revolution and Christ, a courageous step in a Muslim society.

 

Hafez publicly acknowledged other artists and was a big fan of the Lebanese singer Wadi al-Safi. At a social event at the house of Theodore Khayyat, where the guest list included Abdul-Wahab, Fairuz, Filimone Wahbi, and Wadi al-Safi, Safi performed. Hafez was asked to sing next but refused, saying, “How can I sing after listening to this beautiful voice? I should quit music and go sell beans!”

With his new success, Hafez turned to musical films like the singers before him. He starred in several successful films with featured songs that became very popular. His best-known film, “Abi Fowqa Shagara” (My Father Is on Top of a Tree), showed him at his best in looks, singing, acting, and with an unexpected sense of humor. The Hollywood-style “Du’uu Shamasee” (Bring Out the Beach Umbrellas), a song about beach vacations, was the equivalent of Gene Kelly’s “Singing in the Rain.”

This turn of fortune from early failure to stardom was not simply a matter of luck. Hafez realized his success could not ride on his talent and hard work alone in the challenging and competitive music market. He strategically formed a plan for success that consisted of two elements: one was to befriend the elite decision-makers of the arts, and the second was to appease the press and critics to win them to his side. His circle of friends expanded to include people like Mohammed Abdul-Wahab, and following in his footsteps, grew to have government officials to the head of state and foreign leaders such as Morocco’s King Hassan II. As taught by his role model and ustaz, he pursued wealthy and influential people to learn their ways, make business connections, and perhaps make up for his deprived childhood.

Hafez turned out to be the master of public relations. He sent gifts to writers and invited critics to his concerts and parties. He set up a veritable army of vocal supporters, cheerleaders, and defenders. In the process, he not only contained criticism but also prevented the competition from rising to his level of public support and popularity, much to the disadvantage of singers like Moharram Fouad, Kamal Housni, and others. The media flooded him with praise, most of which was well deserved, but he also manipulated the press to his advantage. 

Yet, Hafez was also extremely loyal to his supporters. He showed allegiance to the famous novelist Ihssan Abdul-Quddous and writers Hassanein Haykal and Kamal Shinnawi, particularly to the brothers Ali and Mustafa Amin, even as the latter ran into political problems leading to imprisonment. Through their writing, they, in turn, opened doors and created opportunities for him and, most importantly, made him a household name. He even achieved another bizarre wish – to hear his songs played on a half-dozen major radio stations simultaneously, which reportedly happened more than once due to the sheer volume of requests from listeners. He monopolized the airwaves, so every Arab probably knows his most famous song, “Sawwah” (The Drifter).

His planning and attention to detail were not limited to his social life and business associates. He examined every word and note of his songs, outfit, and line in his films, not accepting any that did not reflect the image he wished to portray. He reportedly worked for five months to locate the Syrian poet Nizar Qabbani to convince him to change just one word in the song “Qariattil Fingan” (The Fortune Reader) that Hafez was uncomfortable singing. His rehearsals took months, and he often conducted the orchestra himself. Despite his talents and success, tragedy always lay beneath the surface of his life. Hafez had been fighting an illness he contracted from unclean village water for most of his life. He died in a London hospital on March 30, 1977, at 47, leaving his wealth to his brother, sister, and a close cousin.

It is not uncommon to hear people categorize Hafez in the classic era of Arabic singing 21 years after his death. But he is far from that. Sayyed Darwish, Mohammed Abdul-Wahab, Umm Kulthum, and a few others built the classic era of this century. Their fans considered Hafez a modern iconoclast, cynically calling his fans the Hafez generation. But that is often how the great ones start. Perhaps today, he, too, is classic. The romantic, tall, dark, and handsome Al-Andaleeb Al-Asmar has become integral to the Arab music legacy.