“It’s [unusual] to listen to raï or go to a cabaret, yet everyone listens to it. It’s not charted. It’s not on the radio. It’s nowhere, but it outcharts everyone on YouTube,” producer-artist Adam Lenox aka Zouj tells OkayAfrica. “Bilel Tachini will put out a tune on a random Tuesday and make more streams than Drake.”
In 2022, Zouj came across a song by Algerian singer Cheba Warda on TikTok, which felt simultaneously familiar and completely new.
“I knew it was some kind of raï, I understood it was Algerian as well, but I couldn’t pinpoint what it was. Turns out, the street name for it is way-way,” he says. “This hyper-digital internet version of raï awakened curiosity in me.”
Raised in the Moroccan diaspora, Zouj had grown up hearing raï: an Algerian folk music genre that arose in the port city of Oran in the 1920s, blending traditional music with rhythmic drums. Raï translates to “opinion,” because it’s an art form of the working classes that allowed them, especially women, to directly address socio-political issues, injustice, and taboo topics like love and lust.
Born out of anti-colonial sentiment under the French occupation, the genre grew and evolved. At times, it took a backseat under conservative governments or during national crises, but it’s always been beloved amongst the majority of Algerians and eventually expanded to integrate new international sounds.
In the past two decades, raï has inspired artists to play with new sub-genres and fusions, such as Raï’n’B, rap raï, or way-way. When Zouj came across the latter, he knew he wanted to learn more.
A seasoned musician, Zouj has found critical acclaim with his mixtapes Tagat, Metal, and ONLY RISKS. He is known for his unconventional production style, or in his words, “I’m a good guy to call up if you want to do some really weird shit.”
Adult Swim featured Zouj’s work on Off the Air and Toonami, and he has toured Europe and the UK while making waves in Germany’s rap scene, where he has yielded chart-topping success. In North Africa, Zouj has worked with the likes of Nour and Lella Fadda.
However, his new way-way-inspired mixtape Sabahu Al Kheir Men Zouj wasn’t created with the intention to make a record; it simply came out of the inspiration Zouj felt when he first heard way-way.
“What first caught my attention was how chaotic it was,” he remembers. “The lead synthesizer is very particular. It comes from this one grey box that’s been around since the 2000s.”
“It just sounds like a weird ghost, you know?” he continues, trying to find the right words to describe his fascination with the sound. “It synthesizes actual instruments, like the rababa, which is the go-to instrument to do a way-way song. [With this synthesizer] it sounds nothing like the rababa, but somehow it does.” He chuckles. “It’s very esoteric.”
Traveling in Morocco with his mother and grandmother, he stopped by his friend Naiires in Oujda and showed a group of musicians his first attempts at making way-way. “They were very surprised. They were like, ‘how did you even find that?’” he says. “Now there’s a revival, but in 2022, way-way was very local and still dormant in the diaspora.”
Next, he found himself at the villa of Moroccan raï singer Cheba Mamia, showing her his first attempts, too. “She was like ‘yo this is trash, you should learn from my guys,’” he laughs. Her producers took three days to teach him the basics, and they started working on the mixtape.
Spontaneity and the Way-Way Sound
“It’s funny. You have all this expensive equipment and then this one ugly, plasticky machine,” he says. “Their approach to recording and arranging music is radically different to anything in Western pop.”
Working mostly in Europe, Zouj was used to the approach of reduction and minimalism, arranging a few, well-curated sounds. Way-way, on the other hand, is “a lot of stuff at once. It’s very punk in a way,” he says. Layers and percussion loops are thrown over each other with the use of only a few drum loops that one has to get creative with.
“There’s also a spontaneity which is like ‘record it, cool, it’s done, put it online,’” he says. That’s what he did with “Ma Cherie.” “I don’t know if this song is sarcastic or what’s going on there,” he laughs. “I just really had so much fun doing it that not having it in the world as one piece for me to show my children would be sad. This is a document.”
The mixtape features tracks that stay true to the genre, like “2choufat” with Rita L’Oujdia, as well as experimentation with “crazy takes,” such as “Waah Rani Lachit” with Pakkun or the rage rap beat that became “Hasni 93” with Losez, LAï, and Syqlone.
Cheba Mamia approves. “She said, ‘Wow, you really made something with the boys, you really learned the thing,’” says Zouj with a smile. “There’s not much gatekeeping.”
As the son of Moroccans from France, Zouj is a guest in the culture that is raï, not at all part of the social movement behind the genre. “This is some hipster record made in Berlin,” he clarifies. But still, he invites others who are interested to join him as guests in the culture, with the genuine and thoughtful curiosity he himself brings to making art.
‘ The preceding article may include information circulated by third parties ’
‘ Some details of this article were extracted from the following source www.okayafrica.com ’
