![\"Amina](\"http:\/\/www.gildedserpent.com\/art54\/graphics54\/aminasparklescolorized.jpg\")
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In 1965, there were no San Francisco stores devoted to selling Arabic music. In the grungy Tenderloin neighborhood downtown there was one very small and disheveled shop that sold 78 rpm vinyl recordings, vinyl 45s, and even the latest format known as LPs which played 33s! This record store was known to sell ethnic music, but the store was gated and locked due to the nature of the street: there were \u201cwinos\u201d sleeping in doorways, drug addicts aimlessly wandering about, and heavily made-up prostitutes offering their services, attired in the skimpiest of skimpy, providing the local color and entertainment while the criminals, such as dealers, overdressed pimps and other riffraff kept you ultra-wary as you walked ever faster, wishing you had eyes in the back of your head! If you were fortunate enough to not be (or resemble) one of the above, the owner would let you into his shop. I was one of the blessed few allowed entrance and got to rummage through the dust and disorganization of the boxes and bins.\u00a0 <\/p>\n
Rooting through the shop, I eventually found two records that were very promising. One even had a photo of a Belly dancer on the cover. The music listed was: <\/strong>Chiftetelli, Taqsim <\/em>and Karsilamas.<\/em> All this was good! This would provide music for practicing dance.\u00a0 Since there were no other ethnic records from Arabic countries in the store, these two records with the music of Turkey and Greece were a gold mine. These two records were superior to the music I had been using for practice because they were more correct and authentic culturally. I had been practicing with James Brown<\/span>, Paul Revere and the Raiders<\/span>, and whatever and whoever else happened to be on \u201cAmerican Bandstand\u201d. At least it was foreign music nearer to the Arab countries.<\/p>\n By the end of 1965, I was able to land a job at the Bagdad Cabaret<\/a><\/span>, in spite of the music I had been using for my practice sessions. The Bagdad musicians played Arabic music almost exclusively. Since my job consisted of three shows a night (45 minute sets), seven nights a week, immediately, I felt that I didn\u2019t need to practice anymore… <\/p>\n Why, (I thought) I could just practice on stage!\u00a0 <\/p>\n All the music and songs played were exotic and new to me, and they conjured up many, many stories and mysteries in my imagination, in my mind and in my soul. The music mixed with the colors of the lights\u00a0 (everything from the passion of red to the coolness of the blue, to the eeriness of the "glow in the dark" emitted by the black light, with the steady twinkling of the golden flames given off by the candles set in their translucent red vases, added to the perfumes and incense that danced in the night creating a magic that remains with me today–almost 1\/2 a century later! <\/p>\n If there was a heaven on earth, this was it! It was just a little garden, an oasis, away from the humdrum of ordinary life, and I was paid to dance there!<\/p>\n I wasn’t the only one who felt this way. I was certain that the musicians and my fellow dancers felt that way too. We all showed up every night, without fail, like the pony express–through rain and sleet and snow–and like marriage vows, through sickness and health, we were there. It couldn’t have been just for the money; it was a different time that had a very different work ethic. <\/p>\n In this garden, we also had our audience. They wanted to hear music from their homelands. They wanted to hear their language spoken and sung. They wanted to be in the garden also enjoying the magic without the pain and anguish or sadness of having left their homes for the "promised" land in America. <\/p>\n They would ask the musicians to sing certain nostalgic songs for them, and the musicians would comply. One exception was Fatma Akef<\/a> <\/span>who had a set dance routine with specified songs. For the most part, we dancers were on stage to provide additional visual magic as the musicians played the music and sang the songs that had been requested. Many of these songs are the ones still played and requested today. To know what the music sounded like in those days, you can search YouTube<\/strong> for Salateen al Tarab<\/strong> and you will get an idea of the songs and how they were delivered. There was a lot of "ya leily-ing" as well as "ya aini-ing" and almost a caterwauling of a general "mawaal<\/strong>", accompanying the lyrical agony: <\/p>\n\n
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