Repetition... Kills the Joy of Anticipation
During my career as a journalist, specifically twenty years ago, I was afforded the opportunity to cover one of the concerts of the late artist Sabah Fakhri in Kuwait. That night remains vivid in my memory, not only because it was an important artistic occasion, but because it made me reflect on a different meaning of a concert, and on the idea of an audience going to see an artist knowing that he will give them something worth waiting for.
Sabah Fakhri was not an artist whose concerts took place every month, nor was he a name that repeated itself on our stages three or four times a year, to the point where attending his shows became akin to rewatching the exact same scene, as is the case with some singers in recent years. His presence was different. When he began to sing, no one asked, “When will the concert end?” Instead, the real question that occupied us was: “Where will this great artist take us?”
Because Fakhri’s audience was accustomed to his concerts extending into the late hours, perhaps until dawn, fatigue did not overwhelm us as much as the musical ecstasy was present in everyone’s hearts. The issue was not the number of songs he would perform, but what he would add to each song, how he would perform it, and how a single voice could make the audience hear a song they already knew as if they were hearing it for the first time.
Here, I always remember the difference between an artist who possesses an artistic vision and one who merely has a concert schedule. The former tries to make each concert a special event, even if he sings a song he has performed dozens of times before. Renewal does not necessarily mean introducing a new song each time; it can lie in the arrangement, the performance, improvisation, or the artist’s own feeling while singing. This was precisely one of the secrets of Sabah Fakhri.
In the second model, we watch some concerts and feel that we are facing a repeated version of a previous show. We find the same songs, the same order, the same appearance, and perhaps even the same gestures and remarks. It is as if the artist is not presenting a new concert but rather replaying an old one in front of a new audience. I understand that concerts have become an industry, that the artist has a team, a company, organizers, and costs, and that profit is a natural part of any artistic endeavor, which is legitimate. However, when financial return becomes the primary and ultimate motive, the audience takes a back seat, and art becomes merely a means to reach the box office or achieve a new record in the number of concerts.
Strangest of all to me is that some of these concerts find an audience that attends them repeatedly, even when tickets are free, invitations are extended without charge, or even when they are broadcast on television. Here, I am not criticizing the audience so much as I am wondering: Have we come to concerts because we want to experience an artistic event, or because we feel obliged to be present and activate our social media accounts?!
In the past, concerts carried a different dignity. We would wait for the artist, seek news about him, and know that his appearance on stage was not an everyday occurrence. Therefore, the moment was worth celebrating and anticipating. There was a longing that preceded the concert and a memory that remained afterward. Now, however, the frequency of concerts by some singers has diminished the value of waiting.
In the end, some concerts are forgotten, while a single concert may never be.
