The three sisters in A-WA share the last name Haim, which might lead one to make premature comparisons with another group of three sisters named Haim. But finding a Western reference point for their debut album Habib Galbi is futile and, frankly, beside the point. Tair, Liron, and Tagel Haim are Israeli, of Yemeni-Jewish descent, and their music is firmly rooted in this identity.
Essentially, the twelve songs here are folk with electronic beats, sung in Yemeni Arabic. Sure, there are ska rhythms every now and then, even a hip hop beat or two towards the end. But if you’re looking for all-one-world globalist pop, try Manu Chao. Habib Galbi is hyper-specific.
Funnily enough, A-WA has been massively successful throughout the Arab world, which is, as Foreign Policy’s Gaar Adams writes, “a market where even the slightest hint of Israeli involvement in a commercial project could incite boycotts.”
The sisters see their music as a way of bridging national and cultural gaps. This isn’t quite accurate. It’s something specific with broad appeal. The same way bros might flock to see Big Freedia at a festival and shout slurs at a gay couple the next day, or the way a perfectly committed racist might be able to get down to a Hendrix song, those who hate Israel and even Jews might be able to make an exception for the 43 minutes Habib Galbi is on and then get back to their usual vitriol.
It’s not hard to see why they’re so successful in their neck of the woods. This is pop. From what I understand, their lyrics are pretty standard Top 40 fare about love, and even if you didn’t know that, it’s easy to tell; there’s a palpable happiness in their voices, as if they’re dancing in sunshine. Their harmonies and call-and-response chants are wonderful, especially when they stack their voices on top of each other, and they give us a demonstration of what they’re capable of off the bat, interlocking their voices on the opening “Yemeni Lullaby.” And the production has an appealing chintziness. Everything’s tinny, dry, and fake-sounding except for occasional guitars the warm electric bass that courses through the whole thing.
Those unfamiliar with the Arabic language and its pop traditions might find Habib Galbi difficult to get into. The songs more or less follow the same sonic palate throughout, and their stylistic detours are subtle. They’re probably not gonna dial up any rappers or Swedish superproducers anytime soon. But there’s plenty to enjoy here even on a surface level, and it might pique some American listeners’ interest in the vast and storied tradition of Arabic pop.
