Past genres of music tied to the younger generation’s cries have historically either been imported or muted on the rare occasions one managed to prevail from within. Look at Rai for example, a genre born from the frustrations and desires of Algerian youth, which managed to break through cultural taboos only to be sanitized and sidelined once it gained too much traction. To make matters worse, not only did it suffer from heightened levels of censorship from both authorities and influential conservative figures, but its leading voices—Cheb Hasni or Kamel Messoudi for instance—were ultimately silenced, by death, at the hands of those who couldn’t handle the weight of their words or the popularity of their claims.
Co-opted by the very systems it once sought to challenge, the few chords and lyrics that allowed our region’s youth to breathe were eventually pushed away, falling behind as the industry embraced commercialism over confrontation. Hip-hop, however, has proven to be more resistant to that fate since it made its way to our side of the world. The core DNA of rap— rebellion, authenticity, and self-expression— is what probably makes it harder to dilute. And that might exactly be why so many Arab kids are picking up the mic today, as for once, they’ve found a medium that refuses to compromise through a sound that speaks their truth before anyone else gets the chance to muffle it. Add that to the fact that the internet is quite literally a democratizing force— a stage with no approval processes or gatekeepers— and suddenly, the barriers that once kept certain voices down have crumbled.
In my conception of things, when rap first started gaining traction in the region, it was embraced by a small circle mostly made up of misfits, skeptics of society, and anyone who felt as if they didn’t quite fit in. Driven by the dire need to vent, question, and articulate their minds in ways they couldn’t before, initially, fame wasn’t necessarily the be-all end-all for those involved. If anything, the most important thing was to be heard, not seen. Though at times rough around the edges, the music carried a certain je ne sais quoi that made it feel alive, urgent, and most importantly, vital. But as rap grew, so did its reach, and over time, it went from the margins to mainstream, swapping its label of subculture to the culture itself.
Played everywhere from inside clubs and outside parties, on social media and commercials, hip-hop was, and still is, the youth’s lingua franca. And while the original fire of protest still flickers in some corners, the genre has largely shifted— polished, packaged, and often more marketable than meaningful. With more and more young people wanting in, not just because of what the art form stands for, but because of what it can offer, it’s safe to say that the former tool of resistance has turned into a path that may lead to visibility, influence, and even celebrity. And of course, the latter is what seems to matter most these days.
“In this frenzied race for virality, we often forget the very essence of sonic creation: simply making music, even before thinking about its popularity. Many emerging artists label their tracks as ‘projects’ right from the start, as if artistic intent must automatically fit into a product-oriented mindset,” Sami Bennani, A&R and expert in music business in the MENA region, told MILLE. “Prioritizing TikTok over more organic channels doesn’t dilute the art— it reflects the urgency of today’s landscape. But when every release becomes a bid for instant impact, there’s a risk: that music turns into a race, not a craft. The point was never just to hit— it was to resonate,” he added.
As he explains, what we’re witnessing is a shift in how music is made as the intention of artists on the come up seems to have gradually drifted. More concerned about impression than expression, aspiring MCs have tailored their sound to fit a feed, with social media playing a catalyzing role in how they conceive their work and map out their potential careers.
Not long ago, I came across an episode of A View From A Bridge, an Instagram series which features a person on a bridge picking up a red dial-phone to share their view of the world as a camera zooms out to reveal the landscape behind them. Coincidentally, a recent interviewee happened to use his minute-or-so on the line to probe a similar question as ours today, wondering why so many people rush to DJ-ing even though they don’t necessarily entertain a real connection with the music, culture, or crowd. And despite his claim focusing on another sonic discipline, the heart of it can still be applied to rap and hip-hop.
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“Either you’re a culture producer or you’re an observer, right? You’re stuck at home on TikTok, watching people have fun and actually being part of it, and so people feel like, ‘I have to do something,’ ‘I have to do something to be creative,’ ‘I have to make something.’ And the easy thing is to buy a synth off Amazon and just start spinning, even if you’re bad, because people will be like, ‘Oh, they’re doing a thing,’” they explained. “I think we need to get out of this really, really horrible panopticon, where we feel like we have to be observed producing pieces of culture in order to be valid as people (…),” they added.
In a generation where hard work doesn’t always guarantee payoff, where stability is fleeting, and popularity is everything, it’s understandable that some are willing to do the most, be it chasing after a mic or a moment. Put it this way: everyone wants to be the next big thing, or at least the next one noticed.
Take Ziad Zaza, for example. We may not know what exactly sparked his foray into rap, but what’s certain is the distance he’s covered in just a few years, from a kid out of Fayoum to one of Egypt’s most sought-after names. Just as present on the charts as he is in ads and campaigns, Zaza has surged to the industry’s top, carving out space not only in music but also on the silver screen. Landing roles in major local productions and even appearing in a film chosen to compete at Cannes, whether you see it as branding, artistry, or both, the impact is hard to ignore. And with all the attention, access, and influence it brings, who wouldn’t want a piece of that cake as an everyday netizen?
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Adding to all that, the very thing we’re critiquing— social media— is also what we have to thank. Our generation is uniquely positioned to take a shot at music, or really, at anything. Unlike past eras, you don’t need a studio, a label, or insider connections to get started. As mentioned earlier, all you really need is a decent internet connection, a mic that works (even if it’s your phone), and shwayet luck. Platforms like SoundCloud, TikTok, and YouTube have flattened the playing field— or at least made it feel that way. You can record in your bedroom one night and go viral the next. That kind of accessibility is priceless, and given its potential to flip lives overnight, the question almost asks itself (once again): why wouldn’t you want to try?
What’s more, in John Adams’ own words, one “must study politics and war, so that our sons may have liberty to study mathematics and philosophy. Our sons ought to study mathematics and philosophy… in order to give their children a right to study painting, poetry, music, architecture, statuary, tapestry, and porcelain.” If you follow that train of thought and apply it to ourselves, past generations did the studying— or should we say endured the struggles— so we could have the chance at a better life. They bore the weight so that we have the freedom to explore what they couldn’t, especially when it comes to the realm of culture. So if they did all the legwork, why not honor it by simply trying? Just trying to create, to express, and contribute to culture in our own way regardless of whether or not it will stay.
With that in mind, while it may irk us to see so many out there shell bars that never land, maybe that’s not the point of it all. Maybe the value isn’t always in the end product, but in the act of showing up, of reclaiming space, even clumsily, in a world that hasn’t always made room for us. Because whether it’s for the fame, the therapy, or just the thrill of being heard, the simple truth remains: people are creating. And in times like these, that alone is worth something.
