The Egyptian is joyful by nature, amused by the simplest things, and laughs loudly at the slightest jest. He lifts his turban and sings along at the slightest musical note. By contrast, the Lebanese-Syrian finds Egyptian music static and out of sync with his fast-paced, modern life. He prefers Western music for its dynamism and energy, which aligns with his lifestyle. Footnote 1
With these words, the Lebanese journalist Karam al-Bustani (1888–1966) critiqued the dominance of Egyptian music in Beirut in an article published in the Beiruti daily Lisan al-Hal (Voice of the Times). With the expressive title “The Song We Desire Today: We’ve Had Enough Mourning and Crying, Bring Us Joy,” he called for a distinct, modern musical identity that aligned with Beirut’s aspirations. He argued that the melancholic tone of Egyptian music was unsuitable for a city rapidly modernizing under colonial rule. This critique reflected broader debates on modernity, identity, and culture during the French mandate (1920–43), as Beirut navigated Western influence, colonial control, and local authenticity.Footnote 2
After the Great War, Beirut became the capital of Greater Lebanon and the seat of the High Commission, solidifying its role as a key port city linking Lebanon, Syria, and the broader region.Footnote 3 Shaped by colonial strategies, the city expanded at the expense of other Lebanese cities, marked by rapid urbanization, educational growth, and the rise of a professional class of bureaucrats, educators, and journalists.Footnote 4 The influx of rural migrants and refugees further diversified the city. These shifts transformed Beirut into a complex urban center, where social groups navigated competing identities. These changes also shaped Beirut’s musical scene, with new entertainment venues, a growing recording industry, and café concert culture turning the city into a vibrant cultural hub.Footnote 5
Since the end of the 19th century, singers, musicians, and dancers have circulated between Beirut, Damascus, Cairo, and Aleppo, creating exchanges and cultural influences that blended local, regional, and Egyptian styles in the city.Footnote 6 Lebanese mountain folk music, characterized by rhythms like zajal and dances such as the dabke, played a significant role in shaping the city’s identity, along with the mawwāl Baghdādī, the most successful form of art music in the city.Footnote 7 Aleppo’s influence was seen in the qudūd and muwashshaḥāt, and Islamic cantillation, along with Syriac and Byzantine church traditions, regulated vocal ornamentation and rhythmic vitality, enriching Beirut’s musical landscape.Footnote 8
However, Egyptian music dominated. Egyptian ṭaqāṭīq formed a shared repertoire among female singers across the region.Footnote 9 Many performers, such as Ahmad Afandi al-Mir, sang qasīḍa imitating Salama Higazi’s (1852–1917) singing, while buzuq and tanbur player Muhyi al-Din Bayun (1869–1934) and oud player Saliba al-Qatrib (1904–94) from Tripoli performed adwār and qasīḍa.Footnote 10 These performances followed the Egyptian art music tradition, characterized by its improvisation, rich musical language, and strong theoretical and artistic foundations.Footnote 11 When the French Orientalist and linguist Jean Lecerf asked the famous Beiruti singer Omar Zanni (1895–1961) in 1933 about his early beginnings, he asserted that any unknown singer had to perform in Egyptian Arabic to gain recognition.Footnote 12 As Beirut sought to define its role and image within the region under colonial rule, this Egyptian influence became a major concern.
Drawing on theories of cultural production and identity formation, in this paper I explore how music in Beirut became a medium for constructing class, modernity, and national identity during the mandate period.Footnote 13 The middle class in Beirut, particularly the figure of musician-adīb (man of letters), played a crucial role in shaping these musical forms. I consider the middle class not a static category, but a dynamic, imagined construct, motivated by desires for socioeconomic advancement, cultural refinement, and modernity.Footnote 14 I argue that Beirut began to search for its identity, at times by resisting Egypt’s influence or distancing itself from its regional roots, and at other times by emphasizing connections to its Arabic or regional heritage, expressing its uniqueness through satirical monologues and nationalist anthems (anāshīd).Footnote 15
The Musician- Adī b: Shaping Beirut’s Intellectual and Cultural Landscape
During the French mandate, Beirut’s music scene underwent professionalization and institutionalization.Footnote 16 Figures from diverse religious and social backgrounds like Mitri al-Murr (1880–1969), Wadi` Sabra (1876–1955), Omar Zanni, and the Flayfel brothers, Muhammad (1899–1985) and Ahmad (1906–2000), became central to the city’s intellectual life. They organized their concerts, published their music compositions and mingled with artists, politicians, and literary figures from various sects and cities across the region in literary salons, concert halls, cafés, and music halls—spaces where music, politics, society, and literature intersected.Footnote 17
Mitri al-Murr, a deacon from Tripoli and cantor of the Greek Orthodox Church of Antioch, frequently performed at private soirées and concerts.Footnote 18 Known for his expertise in both local secular and religious music, he was among the first to organize Western-style concerts in Beirut.Footnote 19 Like many of his contemporaries, al-Murr was often referred to as an adīb or sometimes fannān-adīb (artist) or al-musīqī al-adīb (musician), titles that reflected his refined manners and marked a shift in how musicians were viewed in society.Footnote 20 The term adīb signified his elevated social status and the growing recognition of music’s importance in cultural life.Footnote 21 Music was no longer just ilhā’ (distraction), it was now associated with adab (culture, taste, and ethics), with musicians gaining recognition as cultural figures who helped shape society’s moral and intellectual values.Footnote 22
Wadi` Sabra, a Protestant musician who studied in Paris, also introduced Western-style concerts and piano music to Christian elites at the Ras Beirut Baptist Church at the end of the 19th century, before gaining broader recognition among the city’s elite.Footnote 23 In 1910, he founded the House of Music (Dar al-Musiqa), a school exclusively for women, to cultivate an appreciation for Western music among Beirut’s elite.Footnote 24 His efforts, emblematic of the Westernization of the Christian Lebanese elite, played a central role in the professionalization and Westernization of Beirut’s music scene, introducing Western music (particularly Romantic and French) and European orchestral arrangements to the city. Sabra’s music school eventually became the National Music Conservatory in 1929, which embodied Lebanon’s official alignment with French cultural ideals and was modeled after French institutions.Footnote 25 This reflected Lebanon’s early efforts to project itself as a modern, Westernized, and “civilized” state, distinct from its Arab neighbors.Footnote 26 This directly impacted local musical practices, leading to sidelining their essences such as improvisation, master-to-student learning, and oral traditions.
Nationalism and Music: Beirut’s Role in Shaping Arab Identities
Beginning in the late 19th century, Beirut was shaped by the rise of nationalist sentiments in the region.Footnote 27 Egyptian nationalism particularly influenced the political and cultural identity of Syrians and Lebanese who had lived in Egypt and no longer found a place for themselves there. As a result, they returned to Beirut, where the city’s dynamic sociopolitical environment offered them new opportunities to assert their own identity.Footnote 28 Many Christians, especially the Maronites, advocated for Lebanon’s independence, emphasizing its Phoenician heritage to distance the country from Arab nationalism.Footnote 29 In contrast, Sunni and Muslim communities primarily supported integration into Greater Syria and Arab affiliation, and opposed the creation of Greater Lebanon.Footnote 30 However, the creation of Greater Lebanon also reflected the economic and political interests of Beirut’s business elites, who benefited from the annexation of coastal regions to Mount Lebanon.Footnote 31 Opposition to the mandate and the idea of Greater Lebanon also came from groups such as artisans, urban workers, and traditional professions, those who were most affected by its economic upheavals.Footnote 32 The tension between the Lebanese nationalist idea, Greater Syria, and Phoenicianism was reflected in Beirut’s nationalist songs, which embodied these fragmented and competing notions of identity, shifting between Syrian, Lebanese, and pan-Arab aspirations.
Throughout the French mandate period, the Flayfel brothers played a significant role in shaping nationalist sentiment across the region.Footnote 33 From a Muslim family and deeply influenced by religious, Sufi, and Ottoman music, they collaborated with intellectual elites across the region, blending Western military music and classical Arabic poetry to compose nationalist anthems like “Mawtini” (My Homeland) and “Humat al-Diyar” (Guardians of the Homeland). Written by the Palestinian poet Ibrahim Tuqan (1905–41) in 1934, “Mawtini” became emblematic of Palestinian liberation (and was adopted as Iraq’s national anthem in 2004), whereas “Humat al-Diyar,” written by Syrian Khalil Mardam Bey (1895–1959) in 1936, became Syria’s national anthem in 1938. Celebrating heroic masculinity, idealized leaders, and romanticized notions of the Arab nation, these songs called for Arab unity against colonial powers, resonating particularly with those supporting pan-Arab nationalism, and not necessarily all society.Footnote 34 However, the success of their songs in schools, at public events attended by various sects and social classes, and later on the radio, demonstrates how elite pleasures and ideas became accessible to the urban working classes.Footnote 35
Despite this, in 1926, their music collection was criticized in Lisan al-Hal. Although praised for its patriotism, it was noted that it lacked songs reflecting Lebanon’s distinct identity.Footnote 36 This highlighted the growing demand for anthems that addressed Lebanese identity, as well as the fragmented and diverse nature of nationalist sentiments in Beirut. Although many songs of the time celebrated regional identities tied to Greater Syria, others, such as Wadi` Sabra’s official Lebanese anthem, called for Lebanese distinctiveness, reflecting the complexities of political, sectarian, and nationalist ideologies.
Mitri al-Murr provides an interesting example of how individuals navigated multiple nationalist discourses, especially as his time in Damascus during the Great War influenced his ideas, which were reflected in his later songs that engaged with Arab and Syrian nationalism.Footnote 37 Al-Murr recorded songs for Syria (“Inti Suriyya Biladi” [Oh Syria, You Are My Homeland]), Lebanon (“Nashid Lubnan al-Sami” [The Anthem of Sublime Lebanon]), and Palestine (“Ya Filastin” [O Palestine]).Footnote 38 His songs used similar nationalist imaginaries across different geographies, demonstrating how nationalist sentiments in the region transcended borders and were more fluid, but still rooted in shared history, culture, and opposition to colonialism. Additionally, al-Murr’s songs illustrate how Palestinian national identity became an integral part of the Arab nationalist struggle as early as 1926.
This also highlights how many Christians in the region, particularly Orthodox communities with deep connections to both Arab and Christian identities, played a crucial role in shaping these nationalist imaginaries. It is also important to note the role of record companies, which commercialized popular songs that sold, such as nationalist anthems. This explains why some singers recorded different nationalist anthems, reflecting both their artistic versatility and the market demands of the time.
Beirut, A Flower from Another Time
In 1925, Mitri al-Murr recorded a qasīḍa titled “Ya Duratan fi Taj Luban: Nashid Beirut” (Pearl in the Crown of Lebanon: Beirut Anthem), in which he celebrated Beirut as durrat Lubnān (the pearl of Lebanon), durrat al-Mashriq (the pearl of the Near East), and shamat al-Shām (the beauty mark of Greater Syria).Footnote 39 He praised the city as a symbol of cultural, intellectual, and national pride, highlighting its historical significance as a beacon of knowledge for the broader region. This song reflects the growing recognition among Beirut’s intellectuals of the city’s central role, not only within Lebanon but within the broader Arab world.
Al-Murr’s portrayal of the city was not unique. Omar Zanni, another key figure, also played a key role in shaping the city’s image during this time.Footnote 40 A prominent poet and monologuist, Zanni pioneered satirical monologues, inspired by the Egyptian entertainment scene and French chansonnier traditions.Footnote 41 However, he infused his work with a distinctive local touch, drawing on the local zajal tradition and storytelling. In 1933, he recorded “Beirut Zahra fi Ghayr Awanha” (Beirut, a Flower from Another Time), celebrating Beirut as a unique cultural capital and emphasizing a sense of belonging to the city.Footnote 42 He mourned the loss of Beirut’s former grandeur, critiquing the social and economic decline caused by colonialism, while also romanticizing the city’s cultural identity. His lyrics reflected a Beirut struggling under colonial rule, exemplified by songs like “Kriza” (Crises) and “Shuban Chic” (Stylish Man, 1929), which critiqued the transformation of the city’s social fabric.Footnote 43
Zanni’s work also voiced the working class, addressing the growing inequalities in Beirut. In “Sibaq el-Khayl” (Horse Race, 1933) and “Law Kunt Hisan” (If I Were a Horse, 1929), Zanni used the metaphor of a horse’s privileged life in wealthy families’ stables to criticize social inequality, denouncing the bourgeoisie’s excesses and exploitation by the French authorities.Footnote 44 His songs resonated across Beirut’s diverse sects and social classes.Footnote 45
This portrayal of Beirut was part of a broader literary tradition that positioned Beirut as a cultural and cosmopolitan hub bridging Egypt, Istanbul, and Europe. Since the late 19th century, poets from different sects have celebrated Beirut through qasīḍa and panegyrics, emphasizing the distinction between rural and urban worlds.Footnote 46 They considered belonging to the city central to the concept of waṭan (homeland), initially Syria and later Lebanon. Beirut’s role as a cultural capital was seen as the foundation of its development, modernism, and civility, supported by economic growth.Footnote 47 However, the rivalry between European influence and local identity, along with the city’s intellectual, moral, and economic challenges, posed a constant threat of regression.
The rise of the entertainment scene during the mandate exposed these vulnerabilities, inciting intellectuals to question whether the city’s essence lay in its vibrant nightlife or in its intellectual and cultural traditions.Footnote 48 This tension reflected broader anxieties about the city’s cultural and moral trajectory under colonial rule. In 1928, an editorial in Lisan al-Hal described the influx of foreign Western customs as a form of cultural occupation, lamenting the postwar lifestyle changes in the city.Footnote 49 The editorial stated, “Beirut is the teacher. From it radiates either virtue or vice to the rest of the country,” underscoring the city’s national influence, and its role as a symbol of modernity or moral decay. Beirut was now considered the compass that would lead Lebanon and the region.
Other intellectuals, like Karam al-Bustani, expanded the discussion by arguing that Beirut, as the city of letters, should distinguish itself from its Arab surroundings, particularly from Egypt’s dominant entertainment model in the 1930s.Footnote 50 Al-Bustani’s views reflected the aspirations of many Maronite elites in Beirut, especially within intellectual circles and among Jesuit students like al-Bustani himself, who saw the city’s modernization as a way to assert a distinct Lebanese identity, often framed in opposition to the broader Arab world. He portrayed the “Lebanese-Syrian” young man as a modern figure, embodying the new spirit of the time—frequenting modern spaces like restaurants, cabarets, and cinemas, and embracing dynamic, Western-inspired rhythms in contrast to Egypt’s slower, melancholic Arab ṭarab style (focused on emotional expression and musical ecstasy). It is notable that al-Bustani still linked Lebanese and Syrian identities in a single figure, as the distinction between the two was not yet clear, even for intellectuals like him, highlighting how identities were still in the making.
For al-Bustani and many others, figures like Omar Zanni embodied the ideal image of Beirut, using a blend of European musical styles with regional traditions to express a vision of a distinct and modern Beirut.
The Monologue As Social Critique: Crafting Beirut’s Urban Identity in Greater Syria
Zanni’s influence shaped a generation of Beiruti artists who used humor, sharp social critique, and colloquial language to address the city’s rapid urbanization, colonialism, and shifting social dynamics. Artists from diverse sects, including Laure Daccache (1917–2005), Iliya Bayda (1907–91), Musa Hilmi, Yahya al-Lababidi (1900–43), and Sami al-Sidawi (1913–94) contributed to the satirical monologues that helped define the modern middle class in Beirut.Footnote 51 They performed their songs in the city’s leisure venues, which brought together different Christian, Muslim, and Jewish sects, as well as various social classes, sharing public spaces, songs, and tastes.Footnote 52
Their songs tackled contemporary issues of gender, freedom, and societal change. They critiqued women’s liberation, establishing boundaries for acceptable behavior in the modern city, while also addressing the urban elites and their attitudes toward modern life. In “Btrid Iba’a bi-l-Owda” (Do You Want Me to Stay [Locked] in the Room? 1939), Daccache and Hilmi depicted a marital conflict in which the wife desires to go out, wear fashionable clothes, and embrace modern life.Footnote 53 Her husband, however, clings to traditional gender roles, seeing her quest for independence as a threat. In “Muhawara Sibyaniyya” (Childish Conversation, 1933), Daccache and Bayda criticized both men and women’s responses to shifting gender roles: Daccache condemned men for losing their masculinity and Bayda criticized women for abandoning traditional roles.Footnote 54 These works highlighted the growing societal divisions as Beirut’s middle class sought to assert its modern identity.
In contrast to earlier urban and rural musical traditions, these songs promoted a “civil and polite” style of singing that aligned with modern social expectations, reinforcing traditional masculinity and patriarchy. Although other women’s musical forms, like ṭaqāṭīq or qudūd, had been more liberated and at times obscene, these newer forms of music presented an alternative and respectful way of singing for women, which were considered crucial to societal progress.Footnote 55 They presented an urban, male-centered perspective aligned with middle-class ideals of rationality and progress.
These songs also critiqued the excess of tafarnuj (Westernization), symbolizing the cultural erosion that some intellectuals and artists feared was happening in Beirut. In “al-Qumar” (Gambling, 1937), Iliya Bayda used gambling as a metaphor for moral decay, warning of the loss of Beirut’s traditional values under the pressure of consumerism and Western influences. In “Ma Badda Ayta” (There Is No Need to Cry Out, 1929) and “Kil Shi Franji Branji” (All Things Western Are the Best, 1938), Zanni and Musa Hilmi mocked the superficial adoption of Western fashions, particularly the obsession with wearing Western hats, as hollow symbols of progress, which reflected a broader concern about the loss of local identity and heritage in the face of colonial modernity.
Although rooted in Beirut, these songs were not confined to the city. Singers frequently traveled throughout the region and animated the nightlife in Damascus, Aleppo, Haifa, Jaffa, Baghdad, and beyond. Record companies and the radio, starting in 1938, broadened their reach. Many artists across Greater Syria, inspired by Zanni’s style, adapted his satirical approach to their own local contexts, incorporating local proverbs and dialects. Figures like Salama al-Aghwani (1909–82) in Damascus and Nuh Ibrahim (1913–38) in Palestine followed Zanni’s approach, using humor and social critique to challenge both colonial oppression and local elites.Footnote 56
Conclusion: A Continuous Struggle for Modernity
Beirut’s musicians udabā’ (sing. adīb) played a pivotal role in shaping the city’s cultural identity during the mandate, with figures like Omar Zanni bridging the gap between popular and intellectual audiences across Beirut and Greater Syria. Their songs did more than critique the changing social fabric—they set the standards for what Beirut should look like as a modern city and cultural hub. Through satire, they defined the urban experience, positioning Beirut as a space where political, cultural, and gendered transformations were being negotiated. Reflecting anxieties about modernization, Westernization, and colonial rule, Beirut’s artists critiqued the erosion of traditional values while highlighting the struggle for a new, modern identity. This complex negotiation between tradition and modernity helped solidify Beirut’s role as a cultural center in the Arab world.
It was in this context that Beirut heard the first attempts at a distinct Lebanese sound with the first radio generation in the 1940s, from Sami al-Sidawi, Mustafa Kreidieh (1926–2002), Nicolas al-Manni (1900-71), and others. But as the music critique and scholar Fadi El Abdallah argues, their efforts resulted in music that was often bedouin and semi-Iraqi in style (like “Hawwal ya Ghannam” [O Herdsman, Turn My Way] and “Ya Jarha Qalbi” [O, Wound of My Heart]).Footnote 57 These artists either borrowed influences from Iraq and Palestine or incorporated European rhythms like the waltz and tango. Some also used dialects that differed from Omar Zanni’s Beiruti accent. Egyptian influence remained strong, despite al-Bustani’s wishes, with Lebanese and Syrian musicians like Philemon Wehbi (1918–85) and Nicholas al-Manni emulating the melodies of Egyptians: Sayyid Darwish, Muhammad `Abd al-Wahhab’s film songs, and Zakaria Ahmad’s style in ṭaqāṭīq. Footnote 58
Throughout the 20th century, Beiruti identity was continually shaped by tensions between tradition and modernity, rural authenticity and urban cosmopolitanism. The city’s role as both a cultural hub for entertainment and an intellectual center remained complex, as did its relationship with Egypt. As Cairo’s cinema and entertainment scenes continued to flourish, Egypt’s dominance grew. Beiruti artists aspired to build their careers in Cairo, which remained the dream destination for emerging stars like Sabah (1927–2014), Laure Daccache, and Nur al-Huda (1924–98)—a dream that would end dramatically with the arrival of Gamal Abdel Nasser in the 1950s.Footnote 59 As Lebanese musicians sought to carve out a distinct identity in the post-independence era, epitomized by the Rahbani brothers and Fairuz (b. 1934), they built upon this legacy, along with the debates and experiences of this past. Ironically, the musical identity they crafted became more Westernized and romanticized, often using Mount Lebanon as an “authentic” rural symbol.
However, by emphasizing rural traditions, framed as the essence of Lebanese identity, they overshadowed Beirut’s regional and multicultural richness, as well as the memory of the pre-independence generations, whether from the Ottoman or the mandate period. The heritage of genres like satirical monologues and mawwāl Baghdādī, which reflected the city’s intersection of cultures, were sidelined in favor of a more homogenized view of Lebanese culture. Reflecting on this era reveals a city (and a country) that, in its continuous quest for modernity, silenced essential aspects of its own narrative, erasing the diversity that had long shaped its sound—and continues to do so today.
Acknowledgments
I am indebted to Hanan Hammad and Clara Wenz for bringing this roundtable together and their valuable comments on an earlier draft of this article. I am especially grateful to the editor of this journal, Joel Gordon, whose rigorous and insightful critique was central to the development of this piece. My thanks as well to the foundation for Arab Music Archiving and Research (AMAR) for granting access to essential materials and for their efforts to preserve this musical heritage.