MGM Grand Gambles $1.5 Million on Fayrouz Premiere in Las Vegas

By Pat and Samir Twair

Lebanon’s Fayrouz is generally acknowledged as the Arab world’s greatest living singer. On May 15 nearly 10,000 fans traveled from all parts of the Western Hemisphere to hear her perform at the MGM Grand Arena in Las Vegas.

The MGM Grand is said to have invested more than $1.5 million to bring Fayrouz and her 48-member entourage to Las Vegas for nine days of rehearsals, pay her fee and cover advertising and publicity costs. For weeks, the legendary diva’s Las Vegas premiere was publicized at no small cost with full-page ads in major U.S. dailies.

However, it was no gamble for MGM, which was aware of her drawing power. Fayrouz eclipsed Frank Sinatra’s box office receipts at London’s Royal Festival Hall when she performed there in 1986; during her most recent tour of the U.S. in 1987, she drew standing-room-only-audiences in New York, Boston, Washington, DC and Detroit. Tickets to the Las Vegas show ranged from $50 to $350.

Mystery revolves around the diminutive Fayrouz, who would like to keep her age as much a secret as her personal life. She rarely grants interviews and insisted that only her official photographer, Roger Moukarzel, take photos of her at the much-anticipated Las Vegas concert.

This was reinforced to the point that women who had waited in line for up to an hour were stopped by security guards who searched their handbags—not so much for weapons as for mini cameras. Any that were found were confiscated until after the performance.

We chatted with excited fans who had flown in from Chile, Venezuela, Hawaii, New York, Boston and Michigan. Lebanese Ambassador to the U.S. Farid Abood and his wife had traveled from Washington, DC, and were spotted in the front row. Matronly Muslims in hijab, flashy Beiruti men wearing gold chains, middle-aged women in sequined gowns and mini-skirted beauties began rounds of applause to signal concert managers they were growing impatient with a wait that lasted well over one-and-a-half hours until conductor Michel Herro appeared onstage.

The distinctive sounds of the 34-member Fayrouz orchestra quieted the audience, which broke into cheers, ululations and applause as the five male and five female backup singers opened with Mais ir-Reem, a well-known Lebanese musical sketch.

Resembling spiny dinosaurs, jimmy gib cameras scanned the cavernous arena. Eight other video cameras were rolling as the diminutive darling of the Arab world stepped into the spotlight. Attired in a sky blue gown, Fayrouz opened the concert with Dow el Kandeel (The Light of the Lamp), written by her son, Ziad.

Her mellifluous contralto tones seemed to spin a silken web that mesmerized the audience as she sang an old refrain, Tarik el-Nahil (The Road of the Bees), then segued into Nasam Alaina al-Hawa (Love Came to Us Like a Soft Breeze), which brought the audience to a standing ovation.

The chorus sang Khaif Anah Habaitek (I’m Afraid I Love You), a refrain made famous by Marwan Mahfouz.

Now appearing in a butter yellow gown, Fayrouz evoked sighs and cries as she sang Anah Wiyat (You and Me) followed by Habek (I Love You).

Waif-like and frail as Edith Piaf, the hollow-cheeked Fayrouz seemed to arouse a protective mood in members of the audience, who were all too aware of the tragedies in her life. Her estranged husband, composer Assi Rahbani, died in 1986, and a daughter died in 1988. Throughout the 15-year civil war, during which her voice was silent, Fayrouz became an icon of the Lebanon that was no more.

A mournful flute opened the next number, A’atini el-Nya wa-Ghani (Give Me the Flute and Sing), which again brought the ecstatic audience to its feet.

Nostalgia filled the room as the chorus performed Euni (My Eyes), a song associated with Josef Saqer. Men stood and began debke dancing in place as the chorus again broke into Bint al-Mouawan (The Daughter of the Bus Driver).

A concerned woman usher ran to a man dancing in the aisle and asked him to take his seat. Instead, overcome by the music, he invited the usher to dance with him.

Now appearing in a black evening gown, the melancholic chanteuse sang Anah Winta Kina So’al (You and I, We’re a Question). In response to this favorite, the audience was transformed into a sea of waving arms; even a woman seated in a wheel chair moved her uplifted arms in rhythm to the song.

Other numbers were Laile Terja ya Lael (Oh Night, Bring Back My Night) and an upbeat song by Fayrouz’s son, Ziad, Ya Jisran Khashabian (Oh, the Wooden Bridge). At the close of Sanarjeu Yawman Ela Hayena (Someday We’ll Return to Our Neighborhood), the audience roared its approval as Fayrouz responded by lifting her arms like an angel.

This was the audience’s way of acknowledging Fayrouz’s steadfast silent vigil in Lebanon throughout the civil war. An Orthodox Christian, she refused to sing in any part of her divided homeland for fear it would be taken as favoritism for one side over another.

Women backup singers were attired in red kaftans as the chorus sang Uddak Rannan (I Hear Your ’Ud).

For the third segment, Fayrouz wore an iridescent gold sheath under a beaded apricot kaftan and a flowing gold chiffon headdress. Almost motionless, she entranced the raucous but reverent audience with Oudi Ya Alfalayla wa Laya (Return, One Thousand and One Nights) and Sa’alouni Elnas A’nak Ya Habibi (The People Asked Me About You, My Love).

Concerned about fire regulations, ushers futilely tried to contain women and men who were dancing in the aisles to the lyrics of Min Wadi la Wadi (From Valley to Valley).

Standing erect and as imperious as a queen in a flowing draped white gown, Fayrouz then sang Nehna wi el A’mar Jiran (We Are the Neighbors of the Moon). A rhumba beat accentuated Mohammed Abdul Wahhab’s It Happened After Some Time.

And indeed it has been some time since Fayrouz was discovered at the age of 14 when she sang in the chorus of the Lebanese national radio station. Within a year, she was the lead singer in musicals, films and folk festivals. The distinctive arrangements composed by her late husband became her signature songs, whose lyrics were written by her husband’s brother, Mansour.

Even the most exuberant audience members began to fear the bleachers might collapse when thousands of feet stomped to demand encore after encore from their muse. When she broke into A’ Hadir el Bosta (The Noisy Bus Ride), the audience screamed its approval of the song that was a hit throughout the Middle East in the summer of 1980.

Nostalgia marked the other encore numbers she selected for the audience which refused to let her leave them: Lama el-Amar Yidwi, Habibi Yirja’li (When the Moon Shines, My Lover Comes Back to Me); Bukra Yirja’ Lina Lebnan (Tomorrow Lebanon Will Come Back to Us); and Zuruni Kuli Sana Marra, Haram (Visit Me at Least Once a Year).

During the 20 or so minutes it took to file out of the arena, we asked a security guard if he had ever witnessed such an exuberant crowd. “No,” he replied, “except for the Rolling Stones who performed here in April.”

What was astonishing to these reviewers was the absence of a program. If we had traveled from Caracas or Chicago, as many of the fans did, and had not received even a program as a memento, we wouldn’t have been as pleased as everyone seemed to be.

Although the New York Times reviewer hinted that the 64-year-old singer might have been lip-synching, Fida Zalloum, who was in charge of sound equipment for the concert, laughed at the idea. “How could she when eight video cameras were recording the event for an album that will be released in August?”

We asked photographer Moukarzel, who also was in charge of lighting, what his intentions were in using only white lighting. “This was not a rock concert. I wanted to create a classical mood,” he responded. “You wouldn’t see smoke and colored lights on Pavarotti.”

Our personal regret was that the repertoire at this concert was limited to nostalgic songs of Lebanon and did not include numbers dedicated to Jerusalem, Damascus, Cairo and the rest of the Arab world, where Fayrouz is also wildly popular.

But vice president Fouad Khoury of the Los Angeles branch of Cedars Bank scoffed when we commented that if Fayrouz sang in English, she would surely develop a crossover audience in the West. “Oh no, we wouldn’t like that,” he demurred. “We don’t want to share her.”

Pat and Samir Twair are free-lance writers based in Los Angeles.