Lebanon Mourns Ziad Rahbani, a Bold Voice for Art and Justice
It’s a heavy moment for Lebanon and the Arab world as we come to terms with the loss of a giant—Ziad Rahbani. The celebrated composer, playwright, and political commentator passed away on Saturday at the age of 69. His death was confirmed by Lebanon’s state news agency, although the cause hasn't been made public just yet. Regardless, the impact of this loss is deeply felt, not just in artistic circles, but across the entire cultural and political landscape of the region.
Ziad wasn’t just any artist. He was born into musical royalty—his mother is none other than Fayrouz, one of the most iconic voices in the Arab world, and his father, Assi Rahbani, was half of the legendary Rahbani Brothers duo. From a very young age, Ziad showed signs of brilliance. At just 17, he had already written his first theatrical play, and his path forward was set—one that would boldly blend art, resistance, satire, and truth.
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While his parents helped define Lebanon’s golden age of musical theater—filled with nostalgia, romance, and hope—Ziad came with something completely different. His work was raw, rebellious, and incredibly honest. He tackled injustice head-on, using humor and music as his tools. One of his earliest plays, Nazl el-Sourour , shook audiences with its unapologetic depiction of class struggles and societal hypocrisy. It was clear from the beginning—Ziad wasn’t here to entertain; he was here to challenge, provoke, and reflect.
His unique sound came from mixing traditional Arabic music with jazz, funk, and classical influences—something that wasn’t always accepted by conservative ears, but ended up creating a distinct genre all his own. His compositions, many of which were performed by Fayrouz herself, marked a more politically charged chapter in her career. Songs like Kifak Inta and Bala Wala Shi carried not just melodies, but messages—sometimes melancholic, sometimes defiant, always deeply human.
Tributes have poured in from across the country. President Joseph Aoun called Ziad a “complete intellectual and cultural phenomenon,” and Speaker Nabih Berri said that without him, “Lebanon’s melody is sad.” That says it all, really. Ziad wasn’t just making music—he was giving voice to a wounded country, reflecting its struggles, dreams, and contradictions.
He may have passed, but his voice—sharp, soulful, and unrelentingly honest—will echo for generations.
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