"The desert can be a harsh place to live, but it seems quite hospitable to music. North African artists have spent the better part of two decades proving that the blues, a genre born in the fertile depths of the Mississippi Delta, can thrive in the otherwise unforgiving sands of the Sahara. Now, the prodigious folks at Habibi Funk Records are reminding the world that these artists have been adapting outside genres to their local climes since at least the ‘80s. The label’s latest compilation album features a selection of cassette releases that showcase Libyan interpretations of funk, disco, and especially reggae—another genre that grew up in a very different climate, but found fertile ground on Libya’s sun-drenched Mediterranean shore.
The label is upfront that this album isn’t a collection of hits—and the compilation is the better for it. There’s an eclecticism to the curation that makes it feel like what it is: An exploratory journey through the physical memorabilia of Libya’s music scene from the late ‘80s to the early ‘00s, where every reel offers a chance to turn up a new undiscovered gem. The compilation charts a winding path from the synesthetic synth-pop of “Baed Al Farha” to the soft-edged proto-ambient of “Kul Ghrub” to the brass-forward Pink Floyd interpolation you didn’t realize you needed until Libyan composer Khaled Al Reigh saw fit to breathe it into existence. The tracks are distinct but connected, tied together by a pop-oriented energy that feels universal even as the songs themselves assert a strong sense of place.
Another recurring thread is reggae. Jamaica’s fingerprints are all over the first half of the album, often mixed with other regional or global styles. Cheb Bakr’s “Allom” tempo-twists between head-bobbing reggae and foot-shifting shaabi, while Group Hewaya’s “Irja” teases with a swaggering funk riff before dropping into a laid-back island groove. Elsewhere, the album taps into reggae’s revolutionary roots. A line like “Palestine is my homeland” would likely only be sung metaphorically in Kingston, but it takes on a new significance in the hands of Fathi Aldiyqz and the Sons of Africa Band, speaking to a pan-Arabic struggle against injustice that’s just as tragically necessary today as it was when the song was made.
In reality, though, every track on this album is a form of protest music. Under Gaddafi’s regime, cultural mediums were tightly controlled by the state, which prioritized traditional Libyan styles or anything that could be co-opted for propaganda. Western musical influences were basically outlawed unless adapted to serve the regime’s purposes, meaning this compilation is more than just a collection of good tunes: it’s an anthology of Libyan cultural resistance. Cassette tapes were crucial during this period, allowing artists to distribute their music outside of authoritarian controls. Chronicling that cassette scene, as HFR had done, is a true service to the musical community, providing an account of that scene’s innovation and a testament to its ability to blossom no matter how harsh the conditions."
