Didi – Khaled
…la zhar la memoon la aargoob zine
didi, didi, didi, didi, zin di wah….
I’m just fated to have bad luck,
take, take, take, take this beautiful girl away…
This song is such a dear favourite of the amazing woman that I married, as were the last two songs I posted (Silencio in My Pop Life #88 and Some Folks Lives Roll Easy in My Pop Life #89) that I am seriously considering calling this section My Pop Wife. It’s dance music for the world, and was a huge hit across the Mediterranean and far beyond in 1992, the year of our marriage, and the ripple carried through to 1993, getting as far as India. Didi was used in a Bollywood film, and performed by Khaled at the 2010 World Cup opening ceremony. It is his best-known song and I have proof of its dance-floor credentials from personal experience.
I first came across Cheb Khaled (as he was known in 1984) when I bought his LP Hada Raykoum – it was raw and thrilling, the sound of raï music from Algeria. At that time I was living in Finsbury Park with my muslim Pakistani girlfriend Mumtaz. We went to see Khaled at the Royal Festival Hall where he had the whole venue up and out of their seats – he and his band were electrifying. Khaled was born in Oran in 1960 and became well-known as a teenager through his cassette tapes. He is an amazing singer. Raï music was frowned upon for many years in Algeria, being considered a bastardization of traditional islamic music.
Cheikha Remitti (3rd left)
Raï started out as a cross between Sephardic Jewish, Spanish, French and Arabic music in Oran, a vulgar street music which rejected conservative islamic values and definitions of what could and couldn’t be heard. The first and still most influential star of the genre was the legendary Cheikha Remitti who popularised the bawdy and earthy songs which had previously only been heard behind closed doors at weddings and other events. The association of ‘fallen women’ with the music kept raï music unrespectable, and she was banned from TV and radio by the first independent Government of Algeria in 1962 (because she’d sung in French-controlled areas during the revolution), and yet the working-class poor adored her and Khaled no doubt would have heard her as he grew up.
She died, still performing and recording at the age of 83, in 2006.
Pop raï was born in the 1960s when music and instruments from other cultures, (including Jamaica) started being adopted, and the moniker Cheb (chief) was used for the popular performers to distinguish them from the previous generation. Cheb Mami for example also had a huge following in France among the Algerian diaspora. Cheb Khaled though rose head and shoulders above the pack, and when World Music was promoted in the UK by the likes of Earthworks and Peter Gabriel’s WOMAD in the early 1980s, raï was among the new styles and sounds that we hungrily consumed.
Hada Raykoum was my first raï purchase in 1984, a stunning slice of Maghreb soul with accordion and drums of various kinds (I don’t know what they are called I’m afraid, please feel free to add details below!) providing the backing for Cheb Khaled’s aching emotional voice. He would drop the prefix “Cheb” later and by 1992 when his breakthrough LP “Khaled” was released, (produced by Don Was), he was called simply “Khaled”. The new sound had bass guitar and synthesisers, but still retained the Algerian raï flavour. It was a massive crossover hit.
In 2001 the film I’d written “New Year’s Day” – the most scarring experience of my professional life (see My Pop Life #75) – had its UK Premiere in Brighton, my home town. It was probably November. In the Marina cinema. Although I haven’t told you, dear reader, about exactly why it was the most scarring experience of my professional life, for now all you need to know is that Jenny and I nearly got divorced during the making of the film. We both fell out badly, and finally, with the director of the film, (why should I name him?) who nevertheless turned up all smiles to the Premiere. Before we went in the local paper was taking pictures of the famous people (jeez) who’d swung by : Richard E. Grant and Kevin Rowland, Mark Williams and maybe me. Then I saw Bobby Zamora at the sweets counter and went a little mental. “Bobby” I said, “Hi !” ( I should add that we knew each other a bit thanks to the small world of Brighton and Hove Albion – the football team I supported and which he played for in 2001. Played for? He was our star centre-forward ! ) I burbled at him unnecessarily about my premiere, and he smiled and offered congratulations. “Why don’t you come in and see the film?” I asked like a burbling twerp. “No thanks” he said. “I’m going to see blahblahblah”. My crest probably fell, but not for long. Oh well. Back in Screen 1, the premiere was chock full of friends old and new, including people who were, in disguise, portrayed in the film. I made a little speech which was emotional (the film is very much a testimony of sorts) and thanked Danny Perkins and Will Clarke from Optimum who were distributing the movie, and then we watched it. It was good. Mainly. Afterwards we crammed into taxis and perhaps a double decker bus which took us down to the PARTY which was in the Zap Club. As it was still called in those days.
And we had already decided who was DJ-ing, and prime position was taken by my pop wife, Jenny Jules. And yes it was November because not two months earlier the Twin Towers had been destroyed in New York by two piloted planes (apparently), not to mention the Pentagon, and we all knew the world would change forever and yes – the anti-islamic feeling which we all take for granted now in 2015 was just starting to surface. We knew it would. And Jenny played this song Didi by Khaled at the height of the party. And we danced to those muslim rhythms and those arabic words. And shortly afterwards, one of our friends Naima, a Moroccan lady with two beautiful daughters and an English husband Steve who had converted to Islam to marry her, went up to Jenny and hugged her tight. “Thank you for playing that” she said, “you don’t know what the last two months have been like”.