Jonathan Curiel, Chronicle Staff Writer
Saturday, June 28, 2008
Lounes Matoub, the beloved Berber singer, was known for d... Berber musician Moh Alileche, who lives in Berkeley, knew...
A little more than 10 years ago, Merzouk Allache was in his Berkeley apartment talking on the telephone with a friend, Lounes Matoub. Allache was worried for Matoub. Both men were singers who vocalized about their native Algeria, but Matoub was known as the most outspoken singer of his generation - someone whose rhetorical lyrics prompted death threats, a shooting that put him in the hospital and a kidnapping that spirited Matoub away for two weeks until he was finally released.
"He said, 'I love you like a brother; anything I can do for you, please let me know,' " Allache remembers Matoub saying from Algeria. "I told him, 'Yes, do me this: Watch out. Take care of yourself. That's the biggest favor you can do.' He was a fatalist. He said, 'If I have to die, I die.' "
A few months after their conversation, Matoub was dead at 42. A gunman (or gunmen) shot the car he was driving with almost 100 bullets. For the funeral service in his native village, which thousands of people attended, Matoub's body was draped in the Algerian flag. On Sunday in Berkeley, Allache will perform at a commemoration of the 10-year anniversary of the singer's death. Matoub's life and death are impossible to discuss without addressing the subject of Berbers, the native people of Algeria, of whom Matoub was one.
For decades, the Berbers have struggled to have their rights - and their language - recognized by Algeria's government. Though Berbers in Algeria (and across North Africa) have long adopted Islam as a religion, they are not Arabs, and have resisted any attempts to marginalize their culture. In Algeria, Matoub was openly critical of the government's treatment of Berbers, and openly trumpeted the country's Berber history. One of Matoub's first popular songs, "The Lion," profiled Berber revolutionary Ramdane Abane, an Algerian independence leader in the anti-colonial movement against France, who was assassinated in 1957. Matoub songs accused the Algerian government of mistreating and killing Berbers.
Allache and other friends of Matoub believe the government had him murdered for his outspokenness. Others believe that radical Islamists - like those who kidnapped Matoub in 1994 - carried out his killing, which has never been solved. In the Berber region of Algeria (which is the southernmost, mountainous part of the country), Matoub is a martyr - a Martin Luther King-like figure whose image is everywhere. "There is not a single cafe, restaurant or business," says Allache, "that doesn't have a poster of Lounes Matoub."
Matoub's music is also played everywhere in southern Algeria - and throughout France, where millions of French Algerians live. In the United States, Matoub's music is a staple of many world music afficionados, who gravitate to songs that veer from free-form folksy to studio-produced pop. Matoub, who made 36 albums, played the mondol, an instrument similar to the mandolin. He sang almost exclusively in Tamazight, the Berber language. YouTube features scores of Matoub videos and tributes, which show the singer in his various states of performance, including stadium shows. Part of Matoub's appeal was his infectious playing style - on stage, he was constantly smiling, joking, cajoling, storytelling, anything that moved him. He was like Bruce Springsteen, Bob Dylan and Arlo Guthrie rolled into a politicized Berber musician, and like those three American performers, Matoub was a poetic songwriter. In one song, Matoub described the mountains near his childhood village as "my soul; the mountains saw me grow up - they are the mountains that protected me."
Whether he performed at stadiums or smaller venues, Matoub never took a fee, says Allache, who knew the singer for almost 30 years. Instead, the money went to causes he supported. Matoub, who grew up in poverty, made his living from sales of his albums - which made him wealthy. During Matoub's 1993 visit to the Bay Area, he went to San Francisco's North Beach neighborhood and, on the spur of the moment, bought a $1,500 leather jacket.
"You know how artists are," says Allache, who plays the guitar. "They like to dress up."
Two months ago, Allache visited Matoub's grave, which is located by his old village home in Taourit-Moussa. One of Matoub's songs was titled, "Today I Exist, Tomorrow I'm Not Sure." Allache, 47, talks about Matoub as if he's still alive, using the present tense to say that Matoub "thinks of himself as Algerian first, then Berber."
(Though Berbers use the word "Berber" to describe themselves, the word is related to "barbarians," and Berbers often prefer other descriptions, such as "Imazighen" or "Amazigh.")
Events like Sunday's in Berkeley keep the memory of Matoub alive for others who may not have known the singer the way Allache did. In the past week, Matoub events have been held around the world, including Paris, where the mayor wants to dedicate a street to the singer.
"He wanted to spread the truth," says Moh Alileche, who, like Allache, is a Bay Area Berber musician who knew Matoub for years. "That's the reason people like him so much."
A commemoration of Algerian singer Lounes Matoub, who was killed 10 years ago, will be held from 6:30-10 p.m. Sunday at the Hillside Club, 2286 Cedar St. (at Spruce), Berkeley. The event, which features music, video tributes and more, is free. For more information, e-mail amazigh_group@yahoo.com.
To hear music by Matoub, go to links.sfgate.com/ZDYG.
E-mail Jonathan Curiel at jcuriel@sfchronicle.com.
http://sfgate.com/cgi-bin/article.cgi?f=/c/a/2008/06/28/DD5611FM0N.DTL
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