When Bad Bunny won the Grammy for Album of the Year for Debí Tirar Más Fotos (DtMF), becoming the first artist to win the top prize for a Spanish-language project, he showed the world that doubling down on the local can indeed lead to global fame.
His historic win, followed by his praised Super Bowl performance, reignited conversations around what it would mean for Arabic music to “go global.” Could Arabic music be the next Latin music?
“Bad Bunny held a masterclass in utilizing culture authentically,” Lebanese American music journalist and founding Editor-in-Chief of Rolling Stone MENA, Danny Hajjar, writes in an Op-Ed for GQ Middle East. He notes how that seems to be missing in the South West Asia and North Africa (SWANA) region.
In a conversation with OkayAfrica, Hajjar argues that the deeply political nature of DtMF, how it meets the urgent contemporary moment of Puerto Rico, is unmatched in contemporary Arabic-language pop music.
“There are definitely political bodies of work in Arabic, particularly in rap scenes that are not as commercialized, like Tunisia or Lebanon,” he clarifies. “But in my view, there hasn’t been an album by a pop artist with global aspirations with political stakes.”
Is that why Fathy Salama is the only North African and Arab to ever win a Grammy, and Cheb Mami the only one to perform at the Super Bowl? Is a lack of authenticity and response to this moment’s political urgency keeping Arabic music on the fringes of the biggest global music conversations?
“I don’t think there’s an Arab artist right now who could have Bad Bunny’s mainstream appeal,” agrees Omar Ghonem, Egyptian journalist and Editor-in-Chief at Ma3azef. “And I don’t think that’s important, honestly.”
Defining the political in the North African context
“Historically, our region has always created art that is not devoid of politics, so why have we stopped?” asks Hajjar.
Artists in North Africa operate under tight censorship laws. Certain political statements can have worse consequences than merely the loss of a career. While many rappers across the region continue to speak to their local realities and challenges, and sometimes pay a high price for it, the same is not necessarily true for bigger artists with a more mainstream appeal.
“Ever since 2011, there’s been a confusion between oppositional and political [art],” says Cairo-based Syrian music journalist and Editor-in-Chief of Rolling Stone MENA Ammar Manla Hasan. “People assume that if an artist is political, they need to be oppositional and say ‘[eff] the government, etc.’ You know, the post-Arab Spring discourse. But there’s Amir Eid. There’s El Grande Toto; he doesn’t release protest music, but he’s outspoken about the situation in Morocco and in clashes with the authorities.”
The Egyptian rap scene, headed by the likes of Marwan Pablo and Wegz, is often seen as the most apolitical scene in the region. Hasan doesn’t agree. “They’re political in the sense of normalizing liberal and bodily rights and autonomy in a conservative society,” he says. “They’re pushing for personal liberties for the new generation through their lyrics and behaviour, which has left an impact on society.”
Hasan is the former Editor-in-Chief of the Arab music magazine Ma3azef. When they published “Cypher El Maadi” six years ago, he remembers getting pushback for showing the rappers drinking beer. “People said, ‘this is an imitation of the West and not us as Egyptians,’ and one guy commented with the Wikipedia page ‘Beer in Egypt,’” he says and laughs. “Egyptians have been drinking beer for six thousand years now. So I think it’s political in that sense.”
Elsewhere in the region, Tunisian rappers are raging against police brutality. Last year, three rappers were jailed for drug use, coincidentally, one week after releasing tracks against police brutality.
Hasan argues that a rapper with a small or moderate following has more leeway to speak out than a pop artist with a large audience. “The bigger the artist, the more they are under increased scrutiny. It’s a whole different calculation,” he says. “I understand that bigger artists are under more risk of backlash.”
“My counter argument is that their communities are risking their lives with less; less material things, financial support, celebrity or fame than what these artists have,” says Hajjar. “If you look at the Gen Z protests in Morocco, for example, these are not famous people, and yet they are willing to speak out, knowing exactly what those risks are. So shouldn't we expect that also of our entertainers who claim to represent us or want to bring that culture to a global stage?”
Defining what counts as global fame
The region is undergoing widespread disillusionment with the West and its ideals, yet many artists keep an eye on US and Western publications.
“When we talk about ‘going global,’ it's always America. You don't see it correlating with someone wanting to be heard in Pakistan or India,” says Ghonem. “And I don’t think an Arab artist should be concerned about making it in America, because they’re not going to be understood.”
Fitting into Western-style identity marketing, North African music is often pitched as “blending Western and eastern sounds,” which frequently merges Western rhythms and melodies with Arabic-language vocal lines and one or two SWANA instruments.
“SWANA itself has such a rich cultural tapestry, particularly musically. We don't have to make RnB or 80s pop just to fit the mold of what we think a global audience may want to hear,” says Hajjar.
Especially because Arabic music has long reached listeners around the globe through singers like Umm Kulthum and Fairuz, and has been sampled — often without getting credit — in North American music.
In this conversation, diaspora artists occupy a special place between the region and the West. They often struggle to gain a foothold in the region because their sound, aesthetics, and messaging do not feel authentic to SWANA audiences but are seen as most likely to appeal to a global audience.
“Someone like Saint Levant can be heard in mainstream America, because the music is not heavy on politics,” says Ghonem. “It’s soft and polished and doesn’t really engage with what’s happening on the ground.”
North African music between the West and the Gulf
“I don’t think Arab artists are infatuated with the Western listener, but the Western listener’s pocket,” says Hassan. “A million streams on Spotify in Egypt will earn $200; in contrast, in the US, it’s $3500. Artists need to solidify their presence in the West because it’s more financially rewarding and helps them to sustain their careers.”
The places to look towards for financial support are the West and the Gulf, two completely different contexts. While political and oppositional art may be more welcome in the West, artists have to pander on several audio-visual levels and collaborate with Western artists to access the market.
“If you're trying to break into a scene where the people don't speak your language, it will definitely shape your politics, your messaging, everything,” says Ghonem. “Something gets lost.”
“With the exception of a few hard topics, artists are unlikely to get cancelled by the Gulf market,” says Hassan. “On the contrary, we’ve seen a lot of support for Arab artists that don’t have to collaborate with Gulf artists or perform in their accent.”
One of these few hard topics includes the Gulf’s involvement in the war in Sudan, one of the region’s most urgent topics that musicians might address in their art and find broader resonance beyond the region.
“You don’t have to be outright political; you can have subliminal messaging. As a rap fan, I get it without them having to be outright about it,” says Ghonem. “If they go to the West and are free to say whatever they want, a lot more is lost, because the people there aren’t concerned with what’s happening in Sudan.”
Bad Bunny - an inspirational story or an unfair comparison?
If global is code for “US,” then Arabic music cannot have Latin music’s appeal, simply because Arabic is not as commonly spoken as Spanish. Furthermore, Hasan cautions that doubling down on political discourse might backfire — rather than winning a Grammy, an artist might end up too niche to reach the masses. “In the region, North African rap has the most followership, even outside,” he says. “On the contrary, the most politicized rap scenes — Syria and Lebanon — are the most locally bound and rarely popular outside.”
Ghonem does not see the importance of going global. “Who do you want to speak to as an artist? Is it someone sharing your identity and language or someone who’s completely separated from your context?” he asks.
“True and authentic artists, who make works that will still be relevant 20 years from now, are not concerned with appealing to a certain audience,” he continues. “As an Arab artist, with everything that's happening around you, you shouldn't be concerned with appealing to the West. Arab artists being absent from the Grammys does not speak to the quality or complexity of our music.”
Hajjar agrees, but he also sees that Bad Bunny’s story has more to teach SWANA artists than “go local to go global.” “He’s telling the story of a flawed country,” he explains. “I think it's great to want to celebrate all the good things about our identities, but we also should look to the things that our communities may have fallen short of, so that we can also learn from it. I just want to see some skin in the game.”
