014 WAHDON; (ESSAY)
A rambling off the back of True art; Capitol T.
One of the most important things when it comes to art, is the ability to make a viewer/listener/reader/receiver feel something even if they may not entirely “understand” the art itself. Art that transcends barriers of things like language and beauty standards and social dogmas created by man and man themselves. Art that is the closest we may ever get to reaching the sixth sense or even the fourth dimension. Art like Wahdon by Fairuz.
This entry is coming from an American born man with no direct ties to either Beirut or the rest of Lebanon; the place of birth for Fairuz in the year of 1935. The closest prior connection I would have to Fairuz or Wahdon would be a scattered sectional reading of the Quran translated to English from the original language, Arabic - the tongue used in this masterpiece. Yes I can tell you what the words translate to, I could even link a video that shows the english translation line for line - I can even tell of the origin and reasoning for Lebanese poet Tala Haidar writing the work Wahdon; but I will risk sounding both ignorant and slightly disrespectful at first by saying, do not seek that information. Not at first.
It would be almost dishonorable to tie down this piece of art with the heavy unbreakable chains of language. Instead of seeking that meaning in said chains, search for it in that sixth sense, that fourth dimension. Let the opening jazz piano mesh into the backing of a bass and intertwine into one, setting you in the scenario. Wether it be a balcony atop a windy skyline building or a lonely back alley with rain pouring down on you heavy yet still not putting out that cigarette in your hand. Fairuz opens with the line “وحدن بيبقو متل زهر البيلسان” and it immediately hits that spot you didn’t know you were longing for. It nestles right into place of whatever scenario you have set yourself in and raises it, enhances it, realizes it. The verse ends with what I would imagine Aphrodite to sound like amidst a breakdown on the verge of tears.
Next verse opens with “يا زمان “. she cry and she crys. Here’s god and she is weeping. She is broken and it sounds of doubt; like an underlying knowing beneath layers of doubt and doubt and doubt. A cry so soft so quiet yet stronger and more powerful then any roided up super man can ever dream of being.
Next verse. Hear it is, reach out for it; touch it, smell it, live it, cry about it. This is everything you feel and everything you are both are and not at all. A scream; A SCREAM! The rents due the wifes angry the husbands cheating the job sucks the people are hateful and full of angst and here you are in between and of it all. You're stuck; but then again maybe you’re not. Whatever you feel is, is what it is. Whatever you feel in this moment is the truth with a capital T. The ultimate truth, the truest of truth.
Let it ride. Let it ride.
We return to the familiar calling of the title, Wahdon. Wahdon. Only some things are different here. The cry that was once of beauty turns into something more sinister, more vengeful. A wipe off of the tears and a clear heavy handed drop of collected and strengthened thoughts. Again a cry of “يا زمان “ this time even more beautiful than the other. It’s closing time, this, the closer. The acceptance of said scenario, the basking in it - not the fool me twice but the full me thrice, cant get fooled again. A tear not for the act itself but for yourself having faith that the light at the end of tunnel existed. But it doesn’t. We are here for no reason left to fend for ourselves and so the things that happen are without cause and only effect. The sooner you find that, the sooner life becomes real. The sooner life becomes real the sooner you can confront it. The sooner you can confront it, the sooner you can make your decision if it’s really worth it after all. Most times, it is - even if every time, it really doesn’t feel so.
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The words themselves written by Haidar paired with the voice of a deity from Fairuz, you don’t need to “understand” the words in order to understand the words. Nothing could have prepared me to listen to this song for the first time. I wish I could go back to that moment. Over taken by tears I played it over and over and over. Each time the words were accusatory towards me and made me think of it all. All; All from the day before, All from the week before, the month, the year. All. My eyes crowded up like some coffee shop next to a church on a Sunday at 1230 with tears; every, single, time. When I sought out more information and found the translation of Haidar’s poem and his reason for writing it; It was familiar. Not only is the story one that will unfortunately remain timeless, but the words themselves were ones that I could recall hearing while listening to Wahdon. Im sure you could say the same too.
Fairuz and Haidar did it. By it I mean reaching the fourth dimension. By it I mean tapping into the sixth sense. By it I mean creating true and real art. Listen for yourself, and tell me that that isn’t the Truth. Capitol T.