kazem alsaher

Kazem Al-Saher is one of the world's superstars. He's sold 30 million albums. Across the Middle East, and around much of the globe, the Iraqi's concerts sell out in a heartbeat. His most recent release, The Impossible Love, just issued in the U.S., has already dominated charts around the Gulf.

But the big, romantic ballads whic have brought him fame are only one facet of the man. Classically-trained at Baghdad's Music Academy, he can move easily between pop and more serious work.

"I feel happy when turning between the different kinds of music to satisfy my fans and myself."

Born in 1961 in northern Iraq, Al-Saher took up guitar at 10, then switched to the more traditional oud. Two years later he wrote his first songs. At 21 he entered the Academy, a young man obsessed with music. Along with his studies, Al-Saher was trying to break into the pop business as a singer-songwriter, but with no luck. Instead, he found an opening through the back door, and in 1987 made a video with a television director friend for his autobiographical song, "Ladghat E-Hayya" (The Snake Bite), which caused a sensational reaction when slipped into a TV broadcast.

"With that song I tried to rebel against something in myself and gave freedom to my voice," he recalled. And he succeeded. Although the song itself was banned because of its lyrics, Al-Saher had made a name for himself. And that name turned into fame the following year when his pop song "Abart Al-Shat" became a massive hit around the Gulf.

"It achieved success in a short time," he acknowledged. "And it made the Arabian world and the Arabian community all over the world know my name."

But it infuriated some of his professors, who didn't want one of their students singing cheap sha'bi music. With something to prove, Al-Saher turned around and composed "La Ya Sadiki" (No, My Friend) a 50-minute epic which "it was deliberated to make people know that I am able to sing the hard music" and showed he'd learned his lessons in Iraqi music well.

In the ‘90s he began working with the great Syrian poet Nizzar Qabbani, who had written lyrics for the legendary Oum Kalthoum, and the partnership produced some dramatic results. Al-Saher had established himself as a unique performer, one with a knowledge and love of the Arab classical tradition, but also with his own vision.

"I love our great classical musicians," he said. "What they've achieved has helped us create more music." But rather than simply imitate, "I prefer to take the hard way to get my aims."

In an era where the technology of the drum machine and the sampler rule sha'bi, Al-Saher uses full orchestras for his music, and the sweep of strings offers the grand gesture that fits perfectly with the romance of his songs. But even there he's innovative, juxtaposing unusual maqams, or scales, that generally would never be put together. The important thing is whether they work.

"I like to be different in my work. I like to look for the strange and hard things," he explained. He's been credited with reviving a maqam associated with the late Mohammed Abdel Wahhab, but sees nothing strange in it.

Nor does he see anything unusual in finally using the rhythms and beats that are the global currency of dance music. A remix of the single "La Titnahad" by Transglobal Underground is, to him, a natural extension of his composition.

"Some of my songs need the orchestra, but I don't like them to be typical," he asserted. "Sometimes other viewpoints work. So remixers put their touches on it and complete the dramatic line."

Al-Saher could cruise through the rest of his life putting out albums of big ballads and make a very comfortable living. And while that remains his stock-in-trade, it doesn't fulfill the inner artist. Which is why he's currently writing his most ambitious work to date, an opera based on the legend of Gilgamesh. But, as he admitted, "music is my life, and I live for it."