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STreet sign

STreet sign
Originally uploaded by hamada.

Street sign

Ports Said described via discography II

At Virgin Records, I spotted this CD called Dances of Port Said. It had awesome discography I had to copy it here from its website, the website looked like it will dissapear one day so I copied the text here...The link to the original website is below...

"Port Said ......portal to the Isthmus of Suez......exotic jewel atop the shield-shaped Sinai Peninsula ...... . city of commerce by day and romantic adventure by night...... . starting point of desert caravans and terminus for lost souls ...... burial ground for princes, soldiers, sailors, beggars and thieves......crucible for love and hate, greed and cruelty......melting pot of the Middle East.

By day you can smell the port's pungency, which has hung over the city like a pall for centuries. If you idle in the streets fronting on the harbor, you can see the busy entrance to the canal, where tankers line up waiting their turn to weigh anchor for the rich oilfields to the south. Fishing boats dot the quay, bobbing like corks until the next time they put out for the blue Mediterranean, and the too exude their own peculiar smell. Occasionally you can see dragomen scurrying towards the docks clad in long robes and hauling their boxes of Turkish delight. There are also gulli-gulli men toting chickens, coolies clad in filthy rags and laden down with sacks of coal they are carrying to the bunkers of freighters, old men with sacks of roasted nuts perched on their heads, merchants and clerks, sheiks rubbing elbows with peddlers.

At night the port is transformed, becoming one of the most dangerous, rawest places on earth. Tall towers and high balconied buildings inspire a sense of foreboding. You have the impression that anything can happen, and it generally does. The city pulsates with an enticing rhythm. You sense it in the swaying of the tassels on the natives' tarbooshes ant the undulations of the belly dancers. Young sailors swagger through the streets, concealing their misgivings with false looks of bravado. Hidden away in the shambles of back streets, in tottering tenements and well-upholstered bistros, purveyors of sin are holding forth, In some of them, naked girls plastered with lipstick prepare their acts for the salles des exhibitions. Perhaps some urchin will accost you as you pass by, making a pass at your watch or wallet; or some villainous creature will hurl a stone at you from an alleyway. But more likely it will be the brothel keepers beckoning from their doorways, screeching peddlers or shouting hack drivers, all of whom add to the tempo of life.

Music, too, pulsates through the night in Port Said. As you hear the strains of some oriental ensemble, a chorus of strident voices echoing through the sultry darkness, or the wail of a solo pipe, you understand the meaning of the saying that the city feeds on the flesh of strangers. Somehow you are always a stranger in the port, no matter how long you've been there. This is because one's identity as an individual becomes obscured by the throngs of people who fill the streets throughout most of the day and night.

In Port Said you are drawn inevitably to the Djeama'a el-Fna, a large, noisy, crowded place about the size of a square city block. The natives say that the Djema'a el-Fin, is never empty, and if you come upon one at any time except during the hours of early morning, you're bound to conclude that it could not be more crowded. It has a fascination quite unlike anything, the Djema'a el-Fna, seething with humanity. Waves of djellaba hoods moving closely together give it constant motion. Even faces appear to be all alike as they merge into the general turbulence. Occasionally the aimless movement of the crowd's current is broken by the antics of a cancer, by tumblers, sword swallowers or men spinning matchlocks.

Captured by the murmur of the crowd and the wail of music, you stop at one of the cafes that border on the square. You seek out the terrace to get away from the mob. Naturally, you can't just sit by and buy nothing. So you order a drink or coffee, which cost twice what they would at a place of the street level. But then, there is the view, towers and domes stretching as far as the eye can see. Your eyes return to the crowd, always different, always a myraid of color even in the shadows of night, and to the dancers, the tumblers and sword swallower.

When you're not riveted to the Djema'a el-Fna, you're apt to make your way to a bazaar. These are rambling and mysterious, brightened during the day by shafts of sunlight coming through the roof and made more alluring at night by candlelight. The bazaars are full of stands displaying fabrics of every sort, jewelry, handmade metalcraft, carpets and vegetables. Turbaned figures constantly wander through the aisles, doing their share of pushing, shouting and bargaining. One stall is likely to feature a band of native singers, telling in strident fashion age-old stories of love and adventure. Another will reveal belly dancers going through the choreographic ritual of the harem, and enlivening their performance with meaningful looks and shimmering veils. Still another will hold a dozen of so acrobats stripped to the waist and exercising with dumbells and poles.

In the bazaars also you can feel the pulse of Port Said--its antiquity, its atmosphere of cunning, the erratic temper of the natives. If you catch the eye of an Arab, it's difficult to know whether his suspicious glance is caused by distrust, hatred, jealousy or sly humor. Behind his protective djellaba is unmistakable concentration, calculating, deep and often too dark to fathom.

The music in this frcording is typical of the Middle East. Much of it brings to mind the ancient slave market, where girls were sold for harems to the accompaniment of sensuous dances and serpentine-like melodies. Instruments used include flutes, drums, bells, cymbals, castanets, clarinets, oboes and strings, as well as many kinds of native percussion sticks or boxes. Even though the listener may not understand the meaning of the words, the piquancy of the music and the inflection of the singers' voices are such as to have considerable appeal."
-- el-bakkar website

Port Said described via discography...

"Port Said, gateway to the Red Sea and the Middle East, strategic portal to the fertile Nile valley and the sprawling Arabian desert, colorful gem of a city that overlooks the vast realm of Egypt, a land of fabulous natural wonders, man-made wonders and enchantment.

But there is much more. Perhaps nowhere else in the world does the ancient order meet the modern with more dramatic impact. Huddled among million dollar industries--shipping, oil, spices, foodstocks, mining and skills--lies a kind of "no man's land" into which most of the non-white classes are crammed. Here, in one of the most densely populated regions of the world, thousands of human beings from every corner of the world live in surroundings that defy description.

Here exotic women and mysterious men of every sort intermingle. Here peddlers, dancers, wandering musicians, beggars, soldiers of fortune, merchants, thieves, prostitutes, bakers, candlestick makers and drug addicts rub elbows. Here for western consumption, is embodied all the strange and titillating allure of the exotic Middle East.

Port Said is a place in which every individual can find something to suit his or her taste. It doesn't matter what one's favorite pastime or personal idea of pleasure may be. There are open markets where one can buy--or be fleeced--almost anything one wishes from soda pop to an oriental dagger or opium pipe. There are dancing girls who will perform their ancient ritual for a few modest coins (and for a little more will take you into their tent or hut for more enjoyable entertainment). An endless parade of native women fills the streets as they go to and from the market or home carrying urns, woven blankets or other burdens on their heads.

Almost at every turn there is a pottery merchant who piles his wares to all who cross his spot in the open street. Every now and then the wind wafts the familiar smell of the harbor through the crowded streets, reminding one that Port Said stands at the entrance to the Suez Canal, through which pours an endless caravan of vessels from all over the world. Occasionally you see a camel alongside a streamlined automobile, one of the most striking reminders that co-existence of the old and the new is still very real.

And through it all runs the pattern of music, a fascinating and distinctive variety of primitive instruments and equally primitive forms of vocal expression. Compared with western music, modern Egyptian music has changed little from the music of the ancient world. There is a good deal of repetition, but this is one of the elements that makes Egyptian music somewhat ritualistic, and much more interesting to listen to. Even today, for the most part, no fixed harmony or notation is used. The scale is a quarter tone, rather than the western diatonic half tone, scale.

Like ancient Egyptian music, the modern variety makes much use of a large variety of instruments, including drums, flutes, bells, cymbals, castanets, clarinets, oboes and strings. Also, a considerable number of different kinds of percussion sticks are used to accompany the music and singing.

The music in this recording, typical of authentic Egyptian style, is the kind you will hear in every native setting, either with or without dancing. Some of it harks back to the ancient slave market, when maidens performed sensuous and provocative dances to the accompaniment of native bands of musicians. It is untamed and raw, but orthodox.

In the main, Egyptian music is always dance music. It is usually lively, even though it may be sad in mood. Countless generations, through joy and suffering, have contributed to the musical art of this land. The earthiness of dancing girl and beggar breathe with equal eloquence and power in the music you hear in Port Said, for time has passed without essentially changing these simple hearts who live their lives with dance and song." -- el-bakkar website

Creativity and Art

Picasso said, “Good artists copy, great artists steal.”
Albert Einstein: “The secret to creativity is knowing how to hide your sources.”

what is good and what is great? what is copying and what is stealing...

is it purely a perception game? who decides whats what? can we market/sell a scribble no matter how good/bad original/copy/stolen the work is?

Could there be perception-altering based businesses? it sounds like there is, but why is it so uncommen or hidden?

"Art is the lie that makes us realize the truth."
Pablo Picasso

Art is either plagiarism or revolution.
-- Paul Gauguin