Was Abdel Halim Hafez, Egypt’s most celebrated classical singer, actually a rockstar?
With his crisp black suits and neatly styled hair, few would ever label him as one. Yet for Joseph Tawadros, the Egyptian-born Australian multi-instrumentalist and oud virtuoso, the term ‘rockstar’ stretches far beyond its modern-day image.
It takes just a few seconds to judge an artist by their appearance or the instrument they hold. Looking at Abdel Halim Hafez, it is easy to assume he was simply a classical singer. But Tawadros sees him differently. To him, Abdel Halim was very much a rockstar of his time; a boundary-pusher who embraced Western instruments to expand his sound, layering in keyboard instruments, electric guitars, and even rock-and-roll rhythms, as heard in his hit Ya Albi Ya Khali (Oh My Empty Heart, 1957).
In the same way, it is easy to misread Tawadros, 42, at first glance. He plays the oud, an ancient Middle Eastern stringed instrument, yet he wears bright, patterned shirts and improvises like a jazz artist, blending tradition with playfulness, seriousness with spontaneity. The mix can be confusing at first glance, but it is also what defines his character and effort to give the oud new life and relevance.
With a distinctly Egyptian ear, Tawadros channels the energy and soul of Egypt, connecting it to the wider rhythm of the world. Through his music, he is breaking barriers and redefining what global sound can be, where the oud and a classical Western orchestra can share the same stage.
An eight-time winner of the Australian Recording Industry Association (ARIA) Award, Tawadros sat down with Egyptian Streets to reflect on his musical journey and the ever-evolving legacy of Egyptian music. He is also headlining this year’s Cairo International Jazz Festival, which will take place on October 30.
Can you tell us about your journey with the Oud and how it all began?
My whole journey with the oud comes from my upbringing. We were very Egyptian. I was two years old when we moved to Australia. I was born in Cairo, in Shobra, I’m a big Shobrawy! My mum gave birth to me on October 6, so you can’t get more nationalist than that. I think I was born to be a super duper Egyptian.
We went to Australia when I was two, and my family loved Arabic music, movies, and cuisine, hence my size! Thanks to koshary and all those great Egyptian dishes. My mother cooked everything at home. We were very Egyptian, and I was just taken by Egypt and the dream of going back.
Music was a huge part of that connection. Learning the oud brought me closer to my heritage. It all started because of a movie from the 60s about Sayed Darwich. There was a scene of a little boy learning the oud, very romanticized. That probably attracted me to the instrument. I also heard stories of my grandfather, Mansi Habib, who played the oud. There are beautiful old photos of him playing, and it inspired me deeply as a kid.
Who were your biggest musical influences growing up?
Umm Kulthum, without a doubt. She’s the ultimate for me, my absolute favorite. I still listen to her now; she’s always my go-to music. The more I listen, the more I love what she did and how iconic she is, not just for Egyptian music, but for the whole Arabic region.
Then, of course, Mohamed Abdel Wahab, and the great composers and oud players like Mohamed El Qasabgi and Riad Al Sunbati. These artists were huge influences. And, you know, that’s what gave me a good basis to go forward. I think it’s a very emotional music and one that’s deeply rooted in the society itself.
How do you see Egypt’s golden age of music and its legacy today?
Egypt has gone through so many changes, politically, culturally, from the English to the Ottomans and the royal family. The golden age of Arabic music was a time of experimentation. Abdel Wahab brought in incredible new sounds, borrowing from classical and other styles, opening Egyptian ears to the world. Egyptians have always had open ears.
Even Abdel Halim, he was like a rock band! You had keyboard instruments, an electric guitar; it was like the Beatles. Egypt became a hub for experimentation, with everyone looking to Cairo for trends. I always wanted to be part of that.
How do your Egyptian and Australian identities meet in your music?
Being in Australia, the oud became my connection to that side of the world. Australia is very multicultural, people from everywhere, with different cultures, cuisines, and backgrounds forming one society. It’s beautiful. My family thrived there, and I love Australia. But equally, I love Egypt.
So, my music naturally combines both worlds. It’s not about forcing jazz or classical influences. It’s about inclusivity. Egyptians find something in it, Westerners find something in it. That’s what I love, creating music that everyone can connect with.
And by the way, yes, I say “B” not “P”! I’m still Egyptian through and through. I walk down the street and say Zayak ya basha (How are you) and instantly it clicks, people know I’m one of them.
How did you introduce the Oud to Western audiences?
When I was a kid at school playing the oud in Australia, I was embarrassed. I thought, what am I going to do with this? People are going to make fun of me. But at some point, the magic of the oud turned for me. I realized this instrument is great, and people actually love it. Maybe it’s so old that it’s in the DNA of everyone. You know what I mean? We all come from somewhere, and the oud is so ancient that maybe, even in Australian or Western DNA, there’s a little bit of it. That’s why people listen in when they hear it, there’s a mystique to it.
But it’s been a hard journey trying to get the oud into Western idioms. There’s still a rigidness in the West, just as much as there is in the Middle East. People who don’t want Eastern influences in Western music. So you have to push that, with the help of certain intelligent programmers and people who see the beauty and benefit of change.
It’s a struggle, because I’m not just an Egyptian-Australian playing a Western instrument, I’m playing one that represents the Middle East. It’s Egypt, basically. I’m carrying a piece of Egypt every time I play it. So when I tell a classical orchestra, “Hey, have some Egypt in here,” they’re like, “Well, we’re in London or Sydney, why would we want that?”
That’s where the magic of the instrument comes in; its beauty, its tradition, and its ability to say something in music. I once did a project with the Australian Chamber Orchestra, a very big and respected orchestra, where we played half of Vivaldi’s music. We discovered how much the Middle East had actually influenced Vivaldi. Classical composers have always drawn from other cultures, and Mozart was influenced by Turkish music.
Somewhere along the way, we started putting everything into boxes, and now we’re slowly breaking them down again. There’s nothing wrong with the oud joining a symphony orchestra and finding its place in Western music.
For example, I’ve got two upcoming concerts in Montreal with the Montreal Symphony Orchestra, playing my own concerto. Then the second half is Beethoven. So it’s Beethoven, and me. Not bad, right?
How do you approach collaboration and performance?
Music is best shared. For me, it’s about finding a great team with the same passion. There are so many factors that can discourage musicians, especially when people say, “It’s just a hobby, get a proper job.” But I hope my story inspires young artists to stick with it.
When I perform, I like to connect. My music is inclusive, even with the way I dress. Most oud players wear all black. I think, “What is this, a funeral?” I wear color! People online sometimes criticize it, saying, “Respect the art.” But this is respect, by celebrating and not separating. Be colorful, be yourself.
I make jokes on stage, I engage with the audience. If people laugh and enjoy themselves, that’s the point. They leave emotionally fulfilled because they’re part of the story.
You often talk about inclusivity and breaking boundaries. Why is that important?
It’s crucial. The more role models we have, the better. Hopefully, I’m one. My music has energy and hybridity, and it blends influences. Younger players should see that the oud can be fun.
Tradition is important, but back in the day, Abdel Wahab, Farid al-Atrash, and Umm Kulthum were movie stars! They had humor, color, character. Over time, we put classical instruments in boxes, which pushed young people away. I want them to see that the oud is as cool as an electric guitar.
Which of your works is most personal to you?
Permission to Evaporate (2014) is a piece that was composed after my parents passed away. It’s very emotional and is about loss, grief, and hope. Music for me isn’t about exoticism or geography, it’s about emotion. People from all over the world connect with that.
How do you usually compose?
Honestly, through improvisation. Something happens naturally, and it becomes a theme. Egypt itself inspires me, from the street sounds to the vendors calling out and the rhythm of daily life. Egypt pushes music into you, even if you don’t ask for it.
I love going to shaabi neighborhoods! They’re full of life, color, sound, and aroma. That’s Egypt. By not embracing color, we deny our identity. Egypt is color.
And how do you view newer Egyptian music, like Shaabi?
Shaabi is honest. It’s about rhythm and lyrics from the street, raw, real, simple. Maybe not as poetic as the classics, but it tells the truth. “These grapes taste great,” and that’s life! It makes people dance and celebrate.
The oud can do that too. The oud can be Shaabi, classical, everything. I just want to make it even cooler.
What’s the message you want to leave your audience with?
Family and human connection. Technology has made us lose touch. We’re glued to our phones. I joke that my wife is my phone; I can watch myself all day now!
But we’ve lost patience and depth. Umm Kulthum sang for two hours, and now people want one-minute clips. Music should make us connect again, spend time with people who understand us. That’s the beauty of it, it connects strangers, just like Egyptians and Australians do so naturally.
Finally, one word that defines you as an Egyptian?
Color. Egypt is alive and colorful. The laughter, the energy, the humor, people make you happy just by talking to you. Egyptians and Australians share that spirit. Strangers connect instantly, and that’s exactly what music does too.
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