A groundbreaking, 1978 blend of Arab, jazz, Baroque pop, folk, and Brazilian styles like Bossa Nova, Tropicalia and MPB, with Fairouz’ son Ziad Rahbani as musical arranger, setting Palestinian poetry by Samih Al Qasem, Tawfiq Ziad, and the great Mahmoud Darwish.

‘Beautiful, haunting… spiritual reflection is sung with carnal force, songs of romance are rendered like hymns. For a few moments, on these ancient records, Baghdad sounds like paradise’ (Rolling Stone).

Dusting off Armenian, Greek, Arabic, Kurdish, Assyrian, Persian, Caucasian roots — and ‘a stillness that has not been darkened at all, and has the degree of density that leaves the Gurdjieffian silence immaculate.’

An all-time classic of contemporary Egyptian music, recorded in 1971. The composition is by Baligh Hamdi, for a full orchestra, featuring Omar Khorshid on guitar.

New recordings invoking the grand traditions of Turkish psych with passionate recastings of tripped-out surf, Cambodian rock, Saharan guitar, electric Thai; even a little Sun City Girls post-punk.

Stunning new music from Istanbul!
A twenty-four-minute wig-out you can dance to — wild baglama improvisation and mystical male-unison singing, atop the propulsive mass of a Berlin half-stepper, with turbulent detours into dub, radiophonics and psychedelia.
‘Kime Ne’ means ‘so what’, ‘what’s it got to do with you’. The song adapts verses from the seventeenth-century poet Kul Nesimi, wistfully invoking the Melami strain of Sufism as a touchstone of humility and tolerance, in dark times. ‘Insanlar’ means ‘humankind’... ‘The Human Beings’.
RV’s mixes are expert, taut and hard-grooving. 2 is the more agitated and dubwise.
Nearly an hour of music, on three sides; the fourth is etched with Katharina Immekus’ lovely artwork.
Knockout stuff, honestly.

Searingly soulful, soaring performances by this bonafide master of Persion classical singing, including settings of the ravishingly sensual, tormented ghazals of Hafez, from the fourteenth century.
With accompaniment and interludes by an ensemble comprising santur, daf, tombak, rubab, kamantche, tar, setar, and flute.

Recorded in exile in Paris, this is the eye-opening solo debut of the leader of the legendary Lebanese group Ferkat Al Ard.
In 1977 Issam was scratching together a living by busking on the Metro. He could afford just one day in the studio, with a pick-up band of musicians from France, Algeria, Iran  — and a friend from Beirut called Roger Fahr, who had left Lebanon around the same time.
Back in Beirut by the end of the year, Issam added percussion and other touches. He made no more than one hundred cassettes, with his last, personal copy providing the master for this precious reissue.
In these genre-shattering settings of the Palestinian poet Samih El Kasemou you can hear the roots of Ferkat Al Ard — but “it’s more of just me,” avers Issam.
Melancholic, stripped, acoustic folk crossed with cosmic, funky jazz-fusion, with strong Brazilian influences. It’s packed with breaks, and haunted by the unique sound of the santour.

Gorgeous, restorative duets by a French singer and Iranian singer/instrumentalist, taking a highly personal, affective approach to the traditional radif repertoire established by Ostad Abdollah Davami. Ecstatic, sensual ghazals from the thirteenth and fourteenth centuries: ‘You gave me away free,’ she chides. ‘I wouldn’t take the world for a single hair from your head.’
Two sides triumphantly add organ and harmonium, bendir and n’goni.
The performances are considered and expert enough, but with a have-a-go freshness and emotional truth, without snoot or prettification.
Wonderful artwork by Gwénola Carrère.
A magical record.

Ravishingly beautiful, achingly precious songs and instrumentals, sumptuously presented: the Royal Court Orchestra in 1906 through to a hauntingly soulful Hafez setting by Moluk Zarrabi of Kashan, from 1933.