#Arabic Jazz

[haveyouheardthisband]

[haveyoulistenedtothisalbum-poll]

Tracklist:

أغنية الوداع (Farewell Song) • فيكن تنسو (You Can Forget) • مقدمة 87 (Ouverture) • ياليلى ليلى ليلى (Ya Leili Leili Leili) • اعادة (Reprise) • بروفا كيفك إنت (Prova) • كيفك إنت ("Kifak Inta" (How Are You)) • ضيعانو (Dia Anou) • في شي عم بيصير (Something Is Happening) • عندي ثقة فيك (Indi Thika Fik) • مش قصة هاي (It's Not A Problem)

Spotify ♪ YouTube

[zef-zef]

Salah Ragab And The Cairo Jazz Band - Ramadan In Space Time from: Salah Ragab And The Cairo Jazz Band - Egyptian Jazz (Art Yard, 2006)

[Salah Ragab accompanied Sun Ra on a tour in Egypt, Greece, France and Spain in 1984.]

recorded in Heliopolis Egypt between 1968 and 1973

Salah Ragab - Conductor, Piano, Drums, Congas El Saied El Aydy, Farouk El Sayed - Alto Saxophone Abdel Hakim El Zamel - Baritone Saxophone Moohy El Din Osman - Bass Abdel Atey Farag - Bass Trombone Mohammad Abdel Rahman - Bass Tuba Sayed Ramadan - Bongos, Drums [Ramadan - Baza] Sayed Sharkawy - Drums Abdel Hamd Abdel Ghaffar (Toto) - Ney [Bamboo Nay] Khmis El Khouly - Piano Fathy Abdel Salam - Tenor Saxophone Saied Salama - Tenor Saxophone, Baritone Saxophone El Sayeed Dahroug, Mahmoud Ayoub, Sadeek BasyounyTrombone Ibrahim Wagby, Khalifa El Samman, Mohammed Abdoe - Trumpet Zaky Osman - Trumpet, Flute

[sonmelier]

23. Praed | Kaf Afrit

🇱🇧 Liban | Akuphone | 49 minutes | 5 morceaux

Le duo libanais Praed, composé des musiciens Paed Conca et Raed Yassin, fusionne depuis le mitan des années 2000’s musiques populaires arabes et expérimentations électro-jazzistiques. Ce cinquième album studio est incontestablement leur meilleur, combinant de manière extatique les motifs mélodiques ondulants et frénétiques du shaabi avec des nappes de synthé et des beats survoltés – sans parler de la clarinette qui chemine avec maestria dans ce maelstrom sonore.

[starry-bi-sky]

Clone^2 - Separation Strikes

"Why do I have to go?" Damian asks, surly and accent-thick, it sounds more like a demand and a whine at the same time. Sitting on the kitchen table with his arms crossed, in a green t-shirt that Danny bought him at a whim when he was at a thrift shop, and black shorts, he's never looked more like a kid. There's a little backpack leaning against the table leg, Damian begrudgingly picked it out when they went shopping.

His English has grown in leaps and bounds since Danny found him -- er, or more accurately; since Damian was spat out in front of him. -- and very little did they have to use the translator on Danny's phone these days.

Which meant one thing: Damian can start attending school comfortably now. And 'go' was the Amity Smiles Child Care Center. Danny and Jazz went as kids until they were twelve, and Mom and Dad actually managed to convince the center director to let Damian enroll for the summer.

And it was summer; Damian starts today.

"Because," Danny says, trying and failing to hide the smile pulling on his face, his heart warm and soft, and also laughing at Damian's expense; "being cooped up in the house all day isn't good for you, and you're starting school in the Fall. And, in Jazz's words: you need to have interactions with other kids your age for the benefit of your social development. And besides, it's only for the morning."

Damian's nose scrunches up, and his eyes roll so violently that for a moment, Danny thinks about joking that he'll get his eyes stuck like that. He holds his tongue; his little brother already looks like he's five seconds away from committing an act of violence.

"I don't need social interaction." Damian sneers, his cheek in his hand; a neverend pool of pride. "I am--"

"The Blood of the Demon Heir, better than everyone else." Danny cuts off, waving his hand in dismissive circles, his voice mockingly deep. Damian's brown skin darkens in embarrassment, and he scowls at Danny. "I know, bud. But Jazz is right, -- don't tell her I said that, -- you should be around kids your age."

Especially when he starts First Grade in the Fall. Honestly -- Danny was a little nervous to send him to the center. Damian's long since cut the habit of trying to kill or otherwise maim people, his palms ache-burn with gentle reminder, but his tongue was as sharp and as cutting as his sword. He still struggles with trying to quell it when he's upset. Vicious child-weapon that he once was, and will never be again.

Danny knows that it comes from a place of fear and defense, that Damian lashes out because that's what he's been taught. That at the end of the day, he doesn't really mean what he says, and he's learning to express himself better. But the other kids don't know that, and kids can be unforgiving and cruel.

Danny just...

His slow beating heart sighs, melancholy settles behind his lungs.

He doesn't want Damian to be outcasted. He doesn't want him to be alone.

Not like he was.

Damian sneers again, but says nothing, his shoulders crawling up to hide his ears like a turtle receding into his shell. Danny watches him silently, leaning against the kitchen counter with his own arms crossed. The clock hanging on the wall ticks in their ears -- it's almost time to go.

He watches Damian, careful, and so he sees it when his little brother's stone-shell pride and petulance shudders, and cracks. The darkened furrow of Damian's brows weakens, and for a moment, slants back.

Ah, Danny thinks, his own shoulders slumping. Epiphany washes over him, and his sad-heart soothes in warm understanding. So that's what it is.

His head tilts, and his hair spills over his shoulders, messy and fluffy, tickling his neck. Some of his bangs fall into his face. "Hal 'ant easabiatan ya habibi?" He asks, voice low and soft. Just as Damian's English has improved, so has Danny's Arabic. He still stumbles over himself some days, and Damian says his accent is trash, but they can have whole conversations now in Damian's mothertongue.

(Danny was incredibly proud of himself for it.)

Damian's face darkens, his blush spreading across the rest of his face, and he ducks his head down. Grown-out curls, black-brown and springy, falls over his eyes. "La!" He yells, loud and indignant, and not at all convincingly. "La 'asheur bialtawaturi!"

He was nervous. Danny can see it now, in the hunch of his shoulders and the tightness of his face, and faintly, he can feel it too. In the ecto-rich air of the Fentonworks House, it thrums, barely-there, like a hummingbird behind his lungs.

Danny can't stop the little, fond smile that forces itself across his lips and upticks the corner of his mouth. "It's okay to be nervous, little brother." He says, he sounds like Jazz when he says that. He doesn't think she'll mind him borrowing the nickname.

He pushes himself off the counter, and Damian refuses to look at him, hiding behind his hair and in his shoulders. It takes three long strides for him to reach the table, and Danny turns, plants his hands on the ledge, and hoists himself up. Right next to Damian.

Damian leans into him easily when Danny's arm wraps around his shoulders and tucks him close to his heart. He can feel his ear against his ribs. Danny hunches over him, resting his chin on Damian's head. "It's so okay to be nervous, actually. I was nervous, Jazz was nervous." He tells him, scratching the blunt edge of his nails across his scalp. "Everyone gets nervous."

"'Ana last aljumiea." Damian mumbles, as small and feeble as he was the night on the OPS Center balcony, realizing that his mom and the League weren't coming for him. Realizing that he was replaceable.

Danny's half-working heart squeezes; in grief, in rage, and his faucet eyes sting. He breathes in carefully, and presses his nose into Damian's hair in a loving faux-kiss. "You're right, you're not everyone." He says, steady and strong, because if he's not a pillar for his family, who else is he?

He can feel Damian's eyes flick up to him, and Danny smiles into his black-brown curls. Tilts his head to squish his cheek against him instead, hand dropping to thumb below Damian's lashes. "You're Damian Fenton," Because the adoption went through a few weeks ago, and he's still riding that high, "You're my baby brother. O' Artist Extraordinaire, Kickass with a Sword, Vegetarian and Wonderful Co-Ghost Hunter."

Damian tries to stifle a smile, and fails. Score! Triumph gathers in Danny's gut, his smile grows wider. He squeezes Damian tight, and only releases him so he can look him in the eyes. "And if anyone gives you a hard time at school, and I mean anyone--"

Danny has bad memories of the teachers looking the other way when the other kids were bullying him, all because he was a Fenton.

And Danny, bleeding heart, bleeding hands, loves his family more than he will ever love himself, will never let Damian experience the same injustice. Not if he can help it.

His eyes narrow, and the buzzy-film of ectoplasm covers his eyes, making them glow, "--You tell me. And as your awesome great big brother-and-technically-dad-but-only-biologically, I will handle it."

Damian, wonderfully made, full of light, his little brother Damian, giggles weakly at him. A sound that's worth it's weight in gold. The scary eyes dissipate, and Danny matches the sound with a cock-eyed, impish grin, dragging Damian into a soul-crushing, too-tight hug. The kind that only annoying older brothers can give. "Got it?"

That gets a proper, if short, laugh out of Damian. He wriggles in Danny's arms, trying to break free. But Danny does calisthenics, his arms are as big as Damian's head, so it doesn't work. "Understood, now, daeni 'adhhab ya 'akhi!"

Danny laughs, loud and bright, and loosens his hold just a smidge, only so he can adjust his grip and hop off the table with Damian still in arm.

"Never!" He crows, hoisting Damian slightly. One eye flick at the clock, and in one quick move, he secures Damian under one arm like a football, and hooks his foot under the strap of his backpack. Kicking it up, he tosses it into the air and catches it with his free hand, and slings it over his shoulder. "Now, to the car, my boy! Before we're late and Mom and Dad get charged."

Damian groans, childish and dramatic and long, but his face is all squished up with a wide grin and glee. Danny can taste his joy beneath his tongue.

"And, if my little pep talk didn't encourage you," He says, reaching the door to the garage, flipping Damian up onto his hip instead. "If you have a good day today, I'll make you bal mithai when you get back."

Like all kids at the promise of sweets, Damian's eyes widen and glitter. Danny loves seeing Damian be a kid, it's his favorite thing in the world. "I will!"

[frankysmixtape]

This is a playlist of some of my favorite songs. There’s no specific vibe or flow, it’s very eclectic.

hope you enjoy it as much as I did making it.

[beyourselfchulanmaria]

Listen to 回憶如風 Memories like the wind II, a playlist by chu-lan-maria on #SoundCloud

生命由具有最高意義的、罕見的、單一時刻和無數的音程組成，在這些中場休息時刻，間歇的暗影充其量在我們周圍盤旋。 愛、春天、每一個優美的旋律，群山、月亮、大海，所有一切都只有一次真心傾訴：即使它永遠不再說了。 因為許多人根本沒有這些音程片段，他們自己只是現實生活交響樂中的間歇和休止符。

Life consists of rare single moments of the highest significance and innumerable intervals in which at best the shadows of those moments hover around us. Love, spring, every beautiful melody, the mountain, the moon, the sea, everything speaks only once truly to the heart: even if it never comes to speak. For many men do not have those moments at all and are themselves intervals and pauses in the symphony of real life.

─ Friedrich Nietzsche 尼采 (1844-1900) 德國的哲學家、詩人、文化批評家、古典語言學家和作曲家。💕

(PS. I don’t own any music and songs right, I just make the playlist for listening easily and enjoy all musicians your works and love to share it only. all copyright belongs to musician & singer. If you want me do delete yours from the playlist, please tell me then I will do it. Blessings! Thanks! Lan~*)

🪷 Ichiro Tsuruta 鶴田一郎

庭園にて 2020

(花園裡 /In the garden) 🪷

[anemonecoronaria]

My music taste is so jumbled that whenever somebody asks me what I listen to i’m like wow nothing

[catholicat]

I love when people show me music that i never heard before

[haveyouheardthisband]

[things-methinks]

Talking to [leftist/socialist/progressive/whatever] white people as a brown girl is always an experience

[theparanoid]

Hafez Modirzadeh - Post-Chromodal Out!

(2012 album)

Bandcamp

[Avant-Garde Jazz, Arabic Jazz]

[soundgrammar]

Listen/purchase: Zulum Aldunya by Zulum Aldunya

[burlveneer-music]

Rami Atassi - Dancing Together - this is some Bill Laswell-level fusion of musical traditions and modern styles

Rami Atassi is a Syrian-American creative producer, teaching artist, & guitar educator based in Chicago. He creates melodic instrumental music with influences of spiritual jazz, Arabic folk music & afrobeat grooves. Rami Atassi - guitars, electronics & sound fx, vocals, bass (4) Tatsu Aoki - bass (2,3,6,8), shamisen (1) Ronnie Malley - oud (1,6), percussion (3) Luc Mosley - tenor saxophone (2,3,4), flute (6) Eric Novak - soprano saxophone (3), tenor saxophone (4,6) Charles Rumback - drums (3,6,8) Caleb Willitz - cornet & electronics (3,6,7) Pri Akhil - vocals (6) Joie Moon - percussion (2) Ryan Suzuka - harmonica (5) All music written & produced by Rami Atassi Co-produced by Jeff Breakey & Caleb Willitz Photo: Remsy Atassi

[totallyhussein-blog]

Let the music play with Amir ElSaffar, the Two Rivers Ensemble and Hamid al-Saadi

Amir ElSaffar was born and raised near Chicago, but his heart and soul are informed as much by Iraq as by Illinois. A multi-instrumentalist, vocalist and composer, ElSaffar marvelously marries Middle Eastern musical traditions with American jazz.

ElSaffar will make his Penn State debut April 4 in an Eisenhower Auditorium concert featuring his Two Rivers Ensemble and Iraqi vocalist Hamid Al-Saadi.

Amir ElSaffar — trumpeter, santur (hammered dulcimer) player, vocalist, and composer — is a master of diverse sounds. The Chicago-area native has distinguished himself by combining Middle Eastern traditions with jazz and other styles of music. 

ElSaffar, who has a degree in classical trumpet from DePaul University, is fluent in the idiom of jazz, but he has also created techniques to play microtones and ornaments associated with Arabic music that are rarely heard on trumpet.

Two Rivers Ensemble, a sextet, combines the musical languages and instrumentation of Iraqi maqam and contemporary jazz. The ensemble’s music speaks the vernacular of swing, improvisation, and group interaction.

Through his powerful and highly ornamented voice, and in his comprehensive knowledge of the intricate details of the music and poetry of Iraq, generations and layers of the maqam tradition resonate through Hamid al-Saadi. 

He is one of the few vocalists who is keeping the art alive today, at a time when so many elements of the tradition are in danger of extinction.