Fairuz and Drake. (Credit: AFP archive photos/montage by L'Orient-Le Jour)
Her voice has always been untranslatable, claimed by millions, but belonging to no one but her. In her 1979 track, “Wahdon,” composed by her son, the late Ziad Rhabani, Fairuz sang of solitude, the melody both intimate and immense, like a cedar’s shadow stretching across a mountain valley. Forty-six years later, that same voice has taken an unexpected path: Sampled on Drake’s new album “ICEMAN,” which is yet to be released, folded into a track called “Wahdon Interlude.”The news spread quickly, sparking astonishment, anger, pride and curiosity. Could Fairuz, Beirut’s morning prayer, be reimagined in the late-night world of Drake’s Toronto? What does it mean when an Arab classic, wrapped in its own history, is appropriated into the machinery of global pop? More from Rayanne A nation on screen: Lebanon’s first cinema week The legal...
Her voice has always been untranslatable, claimed by millions, but belonging to no one but her. In her 1979 track, “Wahdon,” composed by her son, the late Ziad Rhabani, Fairuz sang of solitude, the melody both intimate and immense, like a cedar’s shadow stretching across a mountain valley. Forty-six years later, that same voice has taken an unexpected path: Sampled on Drake’s new album “ICEMAN,” which is yet to be released, folded into a track called “Wahdon Interlude.”The news spread quickly, sparking astonishment, anger, pride and curiosity. Could Fairuz, Beirut’s morning prayer, be reimagined in the late-night world of Drake’s Toronto? What does it mean when an Arab classic, wrapped in its own history, is appropriated into the machinery of global pop? More from Rayanne A nation on screen: Lebanon’s first...
