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Mideast rappers take the mic

COLUMN ONE

From Egypt to Iran, youths infuse hip-hop with their culture, dropping rhymes and even doing time when the state objects to lyrics. But these homies sling verses about injustice, not sex and bling.

April 07, 2009|Borzou Daragahi And Jeffrey Fleishman

TEHRAN AND CAIRO — The police were polite but firm as they arrested Shahin Felakat, a lanky teen whose mussed-up strands of dirty brown hair reach in all directions, and charged him with singing lyrics that threatened Iran's Islamic order.

After a few days in jail, the 18-year-old rapper ran back to the studio to rejoin his homeboys.

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"The authorities have a very negative view of rap," Felakat says. "They say rap has a corrupting influence. When you say the word 'rap,' they think it's about addiction, someone without parents who's only thinking of drugs and sex."

Another day, another hardship, another inspiration for the young men and occasional woman who turn out the lyrics and rhythms that are rapidly becoming the soundtrack for Middle East youths.

From the 021 to the 961 to the 962, the telephone codes for Tehran, Lebanon and Jordan, the vernacular of American rap music and street culture has infiltrated the lives of young people. These kids of the Middle East have adopted the beats and hyperbolic boasts of hip-hop, but they've also reshaped rap to fit their own purposes, tapping into its spirit of defiance to voice heartfelt outrage about their societies.

Iranians rhyme about stifled lives and street-level viciousness born of economic hardship. Lebanese rap subtly about sectarian blood feuds. Palestinians sling verses about misery in refugee camps and humiliation at Israeli checkpoints. Egyptians lament the fragmentation of the Arab world.

"The main theme is bringing about Arab unity, becoming one nation rather than being divided and conquered," says Sphinx, a rapper for the Cairo-based Arabian Knightz who grew up in Wilmington, Calif., and whose real name is Hesham Mohammed Abed.

The Arabian Knightz tone is spiritual, not religious; message-driven, not pious. It is the rap not of the gangsta and his trove of drugs and half-naked women, but of brash young men whose defiance coexists with tradition.

To connect with a Middle Eastern audience, Arabic and Persian hip-hop often weaves the beeps, bops and booms of Western rhythms into the distinctive rolls, punctuating clangs and soulful background singing of Asian pop. Producers sample clips from traditional horns and string instruments like ouds as well as electric guitar and synthesizers.

"To the extent that we can, we try to rap to Iranian rhythms," Felakat says.

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