The journey - from Egypt to Ziad, and from Ziad back to Egypt - is remembered by three Egyptian artists whose lives intersected with his work in different ways: oud virtuoso Hazem Shaheen, poet and filmmaker Ahmed Haddad, and poet and songwriter Ibrahim Abdel Fattah.
All three interviewees - artists whose own careers would normally place them at the centre of any profile - were remarkably eager to come from afar only to speak about Rahbani. None treated the interview as an obligation but rather as a chance to recall and celebrate a “genius” in their own words. Hazem Shaheen, for one, was in Egypt for only a brief holiday with a very tight schedule, nevertheless insisted on making time to meet. "Anything for Ziad," he said.
Ziad’s presence in Egyptian collective memory
For generations of Egyptian television viewers, one melody has quietly become part of the country's collective memory. It first entered Egyptian homes decades ago as the signature tune of the popular television programme Ala Al-Tariq, presented by broadcaster Malak Ismail. Today, it serves as the theme of Maspero Zaman, the satellite channel dedicated to preserving Egypt's television heritage. Many recognize the melody instantly without knowing its composer. It is the overture to the musical play Mais El-Reem composed by Ziad Rahbani.
Ziad Rahbani performs the overture to Mais El-Reem musical play.
The irony runs deeper. As Egyptian television quietly absorbed one of Rahbani's own compositions into its collective cultural memory, Rahbani spent a lifetime absorbing Egypt's musical heritage into his own work. The music of Sayed Darwish and Zakaria Ahmed, the spirit of Egyptian musical theatre, and its social consciousness became part of the artistic language from which he forged something unmistakably his own. Sometimes the dialogue was explicit.
In Shou Hal Ayyam (What times we live in), he quotes Sayed Darwish's famous line, "El Helwa Di Aamet Te'gen fil Fagreyya" (This beauty woke up at dawn to knead) and Zakaria Ahmed’s “Hwa Saheh el Hawa Ghalab?” (Is it true that love conquers all?), weaving one of Egypt's best-known songs into his own reflection on economic hardship. More often, Egypt appeared not as quotation but as artistic instinct.
Watching Rahbani's television interviews, one impression kept returning. Praise rarely seemed to sit comfortably with him. Yet whenever he was placed in the artistic lineage of Sayed Darwish, his face would soften into a quiet smile.
That influence would eventually complete a remarkable circle. The artistic tradition Rahbani inherited from Egypt returned decades later through his own work, inspiring Egyptian musicians, poets, and theatre-makers who were searching for new artistic possibilities.
In the first part of this series, oud virtuoso Hazem Shaheen remembers Ziad Rahbani not only as a musical genius but as the deeply human artist and friend behind the legend.
Ziad, the human being
Few Egyptian musicians knew Ziad Rahbani as closely as oud virtuoso Hazem Shaheen. The only Egyptian to become the lead male vocalist in several of Rahbani's concerts in Egypt and abroad.
Founder of the Eskenderella troupe in 2000, which revived Sayed Darwish and Sheikh Imam songs as well as introduced their own originals by renowned poets Amin Haddad and Ahmed Haddad. Hazem Shaheen established a close friendship with Ziad Rahbani after they met at the Cairo International Jazz Festival in 2010.
Ziad Rahbani speaks about Egyptian oud virtuoso Hazem Shaheen.
Rahbani quickly became one of Shaheen's strongest supporters, believing deeply in his talent, encouraging him throughout the years and financing his recently released album, Zekr—a tribute to the Egyptian composer Zakaria Ahmed.
The cover of Hazem Shaheen's Zekr album.
Shaheen worked alongside the Lebanese composer long enough to understand both the artist and the man behind the public image.
One conversation, he recalls, stayed with him.
Rahbani had heard that some Egyptians believed he disliked Egypt, that he had once even insulted the country. Shaheen immediately dismissed the rumour.
"I asked him, 'Who told you that?' then proceeded directly, 'No, of course not. That's not true.'"
Rahbani insisted that the rumour existed.
"He said, 'But there's a rumor claiming I cursed Egypt.'"
Shaheen replied that no one who truly knew Rahbani's music could believe such a claim.
"I told him, 'How could anyone believe that? Egypt is so obvious in your music, how could you not be loving her? You actually love her so much.'"
Rahbani's answer was brief: "You're absolutely right."
A plan to stay in Egypt
In fact, in his later years and before illness prevented him from travelling, Shaheen says, Rahbani had been planning to come to Egypt and stay for a while to work, just as he had done in several other countries.
"He was planning to come [and stay in Egypt.] You can even see that he was testing the waters at first. He was trying to figure out what it would be like to come and work in Egypt," Shaheen said.
"He appeared twice on Mona El Shazly's show. He wanted to get a feel for how people here [in Egypt] saw him and how they would respond to him. But by then he had entered a different stage of his illness," Shaheen explained.
For Shaheen, however, the affection for Egypt was evident not only in Rahbani's admiration for Egyptian composers but in the artistic environment in which he had grown up.
Generation before Ziad
He believes the relationship goes back to the generation before Ziad.
"The truth is, Egypt had a tremendous influence on Arabic music," he says. "The Rahbanis, especially, didn't just pass through the works of Sayed Darwish and Mohamed Abdel Wahab—they were genuinely influenced by them, both in composition and in musical theatre."
Growing up within that artistic world, Rahbani inherited those influences naturally, before reshaping them into an artistic language entirely his own. Shaheen sees no rupture between the Rahbani generation and Ziad.
"First there were Assi Rahbani and Mansour Rahbani, then came Fairuz, and after Fairuz... there was Ziad. It's as if he was entrusted with carrying the legacy himself."
Indifference to hierarchy
Yet despite carrying one of the Arab world's most celebrated artistic legacies, Rahbani never behaved as if conscious of his stature.
"He doesn't see people's status. He doesn't notice that sort of thing. He doesn't look at someone and think, 'This is an important man,' or 'I should treat him differently.' That indifference to hierarchy often unsettled those who expected special treatment.
"The irony is that someone with a big ego ends up feeling smaller in front of Ziad... while Ziad hasn't done anything at all to provoke it."
Shaheen believes the explanation lies partly in the extraordinary intensity of Rahbani's personality.
The power of presence
"Ziad, like any great source of energy, is both magnetic and repulsive at the same time. His presence draws you in and makes you want to stay, yet at the same time he is exhausting because of the sheer intensity of his energy."
He compares the experience to standing near a powerful force.
"It's like a black hole... You're irresistibly drawn toward it, but at the same time it's overwhelming."
That intensity, he says, came from the speed of Rahbani's mind.
"The thing is, that's just how he is. His mind works incredibly fast. When he listens to something, he takes it in with his whole being."
That ability, Shaheen believes, explains why Egyptian music became part of Rahbani's artistic consciousness rather than merely one of his influences.
"I don't even think he consciously knew every detail of Sayed Darwish's work," he says. "I think it simply became part of his artistic conscience."
The art of being human
Rahbani's admiration for genuine and honest ordinary people, or “Ibn El balad,” as Shaheen phrases it, reflected the same instinct.
Shaheen remembers walking behind him in Beirut one day, deliberately keeping his distance.
"I saw him walk over to a man who was washing cars and warmly shake his hand."
The moment stayed with him.
"What struck me was that as he was walking, lots of people were greeting him... But when he reached that car washer, he deliberately walked over, shook his hand warmly, and greeted him with genuine affection."
"That's just the kind of person he was. He genuinely loved ordinary, working-class people."
Of roots and heritage
He believes that same affinity drew Rahbani to Sayed Darwish, Sheikh Imam, and Zakaria Ahmed.
"He's drawn to anything that has roots or mud in it—anything connected to heritage or tradition."
Listening to those musicians as a young man before discovering Rahbani himself, Shaheen found that Rahbani's work felt strangely familiar.
"My artistic conscience included: Sayed Darwish, Umm Kulthum, Mohamed Abdel Wahab, Zakaria Ahmed, Farid al-Atrash, Ziad Rahbani, and Fairuz."
What Rahbani offered, however, was not repetition. Ziad took that tradition somewhere no one else had taken it before."
Snapshots from a live concert in Hrajel - Lebanon 2018 where Hazem Shaheen performed Amrica Meen song written in Egyptian dialect and composed by Ziad Rahbani.
“Consider me your brother”
That journey eventually became personal. Working alongside Rahbani, Shaheen felt he had become part of a project larger than himself. "I sort of served his project, to support the path he had created." The relationship gradually developed into a close brotherhood.
"He used to tell me that himself. He would say, 'Consider me your brother.'"
*Read part 2: 'Opening the way:' A tribute from Egypt to Ziad Rahbani
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