Mòlo Sâyat – ĦADÃEQ
Zephyrus Records – 26 November 2021 (CD) / 17 December 2021 (LP)
Mòlo Sâyat‘s ĦADÃEQ tells rather a long story, and it’s a story that could only have happened in Europe. In 2010 a group of students at the cinema school in Brussels began to regularly jam together. These informal sessions started around the dinner table with Lebanese singer Pôl Seif, Saxophonist Mathieu Najean and another friend from their cinema school, Paul Gautier. Over time the line-up was augmented with Frederic Safin (double bass) and Olivier Faber (percussions, trumpet, violin), and later with Alexis Van Doosselaere (percussions) and Anthony Dupriez (guitar). More an orchestra than a band. They began to play traditional Mediterranean songs that Pôl would propose. These songs could be anything from Greek, Italian, Gypsy, Lebanese and Egyptian songs alongside a hefty dose of jazz. They played everywhere that would have them and went on to tour Belgium, France, Spain and Canada, much of it in a blue truck named Archibald, releasing their first album in 2012. Mòlo Sâyat took a break in 2015 but then came together in Lebanon in 2019 to reunite the original line-up and relaunch the band. So the story goes on, and this album, Hadaeq, is the result. It was definitely worth the wait! The music is fabulous, and the musicianship is impressive.
ĦADÃEQ opens with ‘Asqini’, with its loose, free-form introduction featuring oud and rhythmic chanting of the name Asqini (which I believe means ‘beautiful’) followed by a transition to a lively 5/4 trance-like rhythm that features wild percussion, bass and a brass section that veers off at times towards jazz before returning to its chanting theme finale. And these guys do love their unusual time signatures. ‘Pe Molate, Pe Khelel’ starts in a rhythmic 9/8 before heading off at breakneck speed to an off-the-beat dance tune that feels like it ought to be Balkan but features some glorious trumpet playing that, to my ears, has a Mariachi feel to it that’s hard to sit still to.
‘Kai Zhas Seka’ is eminently danceable, too, with energetic rhythms and fiercely disciplined reeds and brass. We have an oud working in tandem with deep, resonant percussion to create a mystical feel that could come from almost anywhere around the Mediterranean Sea. There is some fine singing here, too. ‘Hisan’ feels very Arabic. Percussion from djembe or calabash drives this song throughout, and it features some divine fiddle playing in a style very similar to some of the best klezmer.
There are two tracks on this collection where the oud steps out front. In ‘Akşam En Gȕzel’, the oud is teamed with what sounds like a Djembe. It has an Arabic feel, interspersed with anthemic, almost western-pop-style, chorus singing. Unusual but very enjoyable. The oud is also well to the fore on ‘Furn El Ṡibbek’, which, instrumentally and vocally, reminds me a little of the Trio Joubran from Palestine. Danceable in the extreme.
Mòlo Sâyat also do mellow and romantic very well. ‘Adame’ has the feel of French chanson, for which the trombone and clarinet are brought to the fore alongside some tasty rhythm guitar playing. It sounds very simple but is really hard to do well. The chorus vocal is incredible; I can imagine this being sung in a raucous tavern session. Horns and flute also feature in the achingly beautiful ballad ‘Ṡurfatón’. If you want a song for the last slow dance of the evening, then this is the one for you. The album closes with ‘Taksi’, and they are having fun with this! It is a fast-paced party number where the band take turns to strut and show off their skills to great effect. I’ll be surprised if this showstopper of a tune isn’t their encore piece to be played at the end of the night. I wouldn’t want to try to follow it!
As I said earlier. The story of Mòlo Sâyat is a long one, and the story continues. The results are chimeric and celebratory and with such top-class musicianship, I can’t wait for the next chapter.