They would tune in to the timeless voices of Um Kulthoum, Abdel-Halim Hafez, and Abdel-Wahab – three iconic singers I became familiar with by the age of six or seven.

One day, while visiting my uncle’s house, his wife invited me to accompany her to pick up her daughter from a nearby sporting club in Roxy, one of the iconic elite clubs located near the presidential palace in Heliopolis. As we drove, I couldn’t help but notice her sleek, modern Mercedes and her fashionable attire. Her hair, striking gold with dark brown highlights, framed her composed yet somewhat uptight demeanour. 

Abruptly, as she turned on the cassette player, a magical and powerful voice filled the car – urban folk music evocative of the working class. I was confused by the contrast between it and my aunt on the one hand and the Arab singers on the other. The bold, unique voice was accompanied by incredibly catchy tunes, and it sang simple lyrics about heart-wrenching topics.

It was my introduction to Ahmed Adaweya. Born Ahmed Mohamed Morsi Al-Adawi in 1945 in Al-Minya, he was erroneously identified as Adaweya on the cover of his first cassette and the name stuck. Adaweya began his life as a tambourine player in a band that specialised in performing in shaabi (folk, or urban folk) weddings. One day the singer couldn’t make it and Adaweya was given the opportunity to replace him. His performance was so impressive it launched his singing career.

Adaweya was often referred to as the king of the Egyptian shaabi. For many years he was controversial and subject to criticism. In the 1960s shaabi was associated with a form both more rural and less provocative, with staid singers like Mohamed Al-Ezabi (1938-2013), Mohamed Abdel-Motteleb (1910-1980) and Mohamed Rushdi (1928-2005) topping the bill.

Adaweya’s sound was far more informal and innovative. He sometimes wore a galabeya to his concerts, and he seemed to offer something far less wholesome than the middle-class fare of legendary figures like the Star of the East Umm Kulthoum (1898-1975), the Maestro of the Generations Mohamed Abdel-Wahab (1902-1991), and the Nightingale Abdel-Halim Hafez (1929-1977). But his popularity almost challenged their hegemony. More dangerously, as it seemed to conservative arbiters of taste, he was being listened to by the middle as well as the working class. Still, no one could doubt his talent.

Hafez for one defended Adaweya’s genre of music and applauded his voice, so much so that he joined in the singing of one of his most provocative numbers, El-Sah El-Dah Emboo – the title mimics the sounds made by a baby – which he performed in Hassan Al-Seifi’s film Al-Banat Ayza Eih (What Do Girls Want?, 1980), starring Soheir Ramzi, Mahmoud Abdel-Aziz and Samir Ghanem.

The song was composed by a working-class lyricist from Al-Hussein known as Al-Rayes Beera (1922-2008), whose real name was Khalil Mohamed Khalil. He also composed Adaweya’s hits Karakashani Dabah Kabsho (Karakashani slaughtered his sheep) and Ya Shaqi Ya Wad Ya Genn (You Naughty Genie). He also composed the Sherifa Fadel song Asmar Ya Samara (O Dark One). Fadel was another fan and supporter of Adaweya.

But it was the shaabi lyricist Hassan Abu-Etman who collaborated with Adaweya most often. Born in 1929 in Al-Mahalla Al-Kobra, he opened a barbershop in Cairo. Even if he worked in an effortlessly vernacular register, Abu-Etman was a very great poet, and his work opened new doors to Adaweya, with some 90 per cent of Adaweya’s songs written by him, including phenomenal hits such as Salametha Umm Hassan, Zahma, Kollo Ala Kollo, Bint Al-Sultan, Ya Leil Ya Basha and Raho Al-Habayeb. Adaweya’s distinctive delivery made his music both powerful and appealing, and the deep resonance of Abu-Etman’s lyrics commented movingly on a fast-changing society.

Adaweya’s prototypical hit Zahma (Crowds), composed by the Cairo Conservatoire graduate and talent scout Hani Shenouda turns a simple description of Cairo’s increasingly impossible traffic into a poignant meditation on love, loss, and existential wandering.

Adaweya was also a major figure in the cinema of his time. Besides Al-Banat Ayza Eih, he appeared in Ahmed Al-Sabaawi’s Al-Motasawel (The Beggar, 1983), starring Adel Imam, Omar Abdel-Aziz’s Yarab Walad (A Boy Child, Amen, 1984), featuring Farid Shawki, Karima Mukhtar, Samir Ghanem, Ahmed Rateb and Dalal Abdel-Aziz, and Ahmed Shebl’s remarkable vampire film Anyab (Fangs, 1981), starring alongside Mona Gabr and the singer Ali Al-Haggar.

In 1989 Adaweya suffered from an overdose, with which the Kuwaiti Prince Talal Nasser Al-Sabah is said to have spiked his drink after a party at a Cairo hotel. It left him in a coma for three months and he emerged paralysed, regaining his ability to move only partially and gradually. It was seen as an assassination attempt, though it was never definitively resolved. Adaweya spent time abroad for treatment, and many years later performed at a huge high-profile party he and his wife threw to celebrate his recovery.

More recently he appeared alongside Lebanese singer Ramy Ayach in a music video of Baheb El-Nas El-Rayaa (I Love Cool People, 2009), which made it an instant and huge hit. Adaweya’s legacy is a testament to the power of innovation and artistic honesty.

Adaweya passed away on 29 December at the age of 79, not so long after the death of his wife. His influence remains strong to this day, and he is survived by his own singer son Mohamed Adaweya.

* A version of this article appears in print in the 9 January, 2025 edition of Al-Ahram Weekly