Nostalgia and Identity in Egyptian Music

Echos of Cairo: Nostalgia & Identity in Contemporary Egyptian Music Introduction Within an environment of rapid change and cultural unease, two musical genres stand in stark contrast in contemporary Egyptian music: Mahraganat and “nostalgic”, Spanish tinge pop. Mahraganat, which emerged in the late 2000s, became a defining feature of Egyptian music, celebrated for its ability to voice subaltern experiences. However, this once-dominant genre has recently declined, as evidenced by changing chart trends and shifts in its signature sound. In contrast, nostalgic pop, led by rising artists like TUL8TE, offers a romanticized alternative. Drawing from the styles of established figures like Amr Diab, TUL8TE incorporates Spanish influences in his music, a trend rooted in Egypt’s complex history with Spanish musical styles. This nostalgic turn often features visuals of an idealized Cairo, serving as a response to the anxieties of modernization and socio-economic upheaval. This paper argues that it reflects two key dynamics: first, nostalgia adapts 90s Egyptian pop by integrating elements from the Spanish tinge; second, it resists the erasure of Egypt’s cultural identity amid the government’s dismantling of historic sites. Emerging artists like TUL8TE use these elements to craft a new sonic identity, presenting nostalgia not just as a longing for the past but as a psychological resource and tool for reclaiming cultural agency. The paper will analyze the decline of Mahraganat, the rise of nostalgic pop, and the symbolic significance of romanticized Cairo. I will explore how these movements reveal nostalgia’s recontextualized role as both a cultural resistance strategy and a way to reimagine identity in the face of economic and social transformation. The Decline of Mahraganat Mahraganat’s trajectory in the Egyptian music scene is marked by a rapid rise to prominence followed by a noticeable decline in recent years. Emerging in the late 2000s from the underprivileged neighborhoods of Cairo, most prominently Madinat al-Salaam, Mahraganat swiftly became a dominant force in the Egyptian soundscape (Elfeky 2022, 2). Its popularity stemmed from its lively, localized beats and lyrics reflecting the experiences of lower-class communities. One of the genre’s earliest artists, DJ Sadat, further propelled Mahraganat into the spotlight during the 2011 revolution with politically charged songs that resonated with a wider audience (El Sayed 2021, 463).[1][2] Apple Music[3] YouTube[4] Google Trends for مهرجانات (Mahraganat) However, despite its initial widespread appeal, Mahraganat has faced decline evidenced by evolving musical trends and sonic changes within the genre itself. And it was not the vehement state, Music Syndicate-sanctioned censorship that brought that about—rather, shifting audience tastes has been the most significant contributor to the decline of Mahraganat.[5] As per the charts above, Mahraganat has experienced a significant decline in popularity on Apple Music (predominantly filled with pop music and that of the Spanish tinge, which is discussed later), consistent with the user base of the platform that tends to be of the wealthier Egyptian class, and barely remains of prominence on the YouTube charts. Notably, searches for Mahraganat (in Arabic) on Google—a platform widely used by Egyptian listeners to search for music—have declined by 81% since their peak in September 2016. Even the top “Mahraganat” song on YouTube, Rawa’an, integrates various Sha’bi elements, including multiple Zaghrootat (sing.: Zaghroota, Egyptian ululation of joy), which is evidence for shifting tastes, even when it comes to the sonic composition of a Mahraganat song.[6] Defining the Spanish Tinge & TUL8TE The “Spanish tinge” is a key characteristic of this arising nostalgic pop music, which refers to the incorporation of Latin and Spanish musical elements into Egyptian pop music (Frishkopf 2003). This fusion, as observed in the music of artists like Amr Diab, creates a sonic identity that blends globalized sounds with traditional Egyptian pop, reflecting a historical trend in the country’s music scene. As Frishkopf notes, this influence manifests in various ways, including “instrumental, timbral, melodic, harmonic, rhythmic, textural, and occasionally linguistic resources”.[7] This trend goes beyond mere imitation of Western trends, as Egyptian artists have actively incorporated and adapted these elements to create a unique and distinctly Egyptian sound with their incorporation of Maqamat in their melodies on top of the Spanish-tingey arrangements. The popularity of the Spanish tinge is also linked to the concept of globalization and the desire of Egyptian musicians to reach a wider audience. Egyptian music producers want to create a sound that is both “Western” and “global,” and Latin music, with its European roots and worldwide popularity, fits this bill. The use of the Spanish tinge is also seen as a way to market Egyptian music to foreign audiences, particularly those of Arab descent living abroad. This trend towards globalization is further enhanced by technological advancements such as multitrack studio technology, videoclips, and the internet, which made it easier for Egyptian musicians to incorporate foreign influences into their music and to reach a wider audience (Frishkopf 2003). Emerging artists like TUL8TE draw inspiration from established figures like Amr Diab, who has long experimented with incorporating and popularizing the Spanish tinge through his music. Diab’s career, spanning several decades, exemplifies the evolution and enduring appeal of this trend. From imitating the “Lambada” in “Leeli” (1990) to incorporating flamenco sounds in “Ahlif bi il-layali” and “Wi yilumun” (1995), Diab has consistently pushed the boundaries of Egyptian pop music by fusing global influences with local aesthetics—a proven formula for success, which TUL8TE embraces in songs such as Mateegy A’ady Aleeky (2024).[8] Musical Analysis: Comparing TUL8TE & Amr Diab Nour El Ain by Amr Diab (1996) Mateegy Aa’ady Aleeky by TUL8TE (2024) The sheet music excerpts provided reveal notable melodic parallels between two songs—TUL8TE’s 2024 Mateegy Aa’ady Aleeky and Diab’s iconic 1996 hit Nour el Ain. Both exhibit a similar structure: four consecutive notes of the same pitch, followed by a rise-and-fall pattern typical of the Arabic musical tradition. Harmonically, the parallels are equally striking—Nour El Ain employs a i–iv–V–iv progression, while TUL8TE uses a closely related i–iv–v–iv structure. Both compositions also draw on Arabic maqam, with Diab’s in Hijaz and TUL8TE’s in Nahawand, enabling distinctly “traditional” Arabic tonalities in their vocal lines; Frishkopf highlights that the compatibility between Arab and Spanish music—especially through their shared use of specific maqamat and rhythmic patterns—has been a key factor in the success of the Spanish tinge (Frishkopf 2003, 14). The arrangements are also strikingly similar, both featuring Latin grooves and rhythms, with each starting similarly—an acoustic guitar playing their nearly identical chord progressions over the grooves.[9] These parallels signify the extent to which TUL8TE reinterprets Amr Diab-style, Spanish tinge Egyptian pop within a contemporary framework—which speaks to a larger cultural phenomenon as employed by both artists: it represents a conscious effort to engage with global musical trends, while simultaneously reaffirming an Egyptian identity. This fusion, as Frishkopf highlights, can be interpreted as a form of cultural resistance, rejecting the notion of a homogenous globalized sound and instead creating a hybridized musical identity that is both modern and distinctly Egyptian. Visual Analysis: Cairo’s Romanticized Aesthetic The visual elements accompanying TUL8TE’s music play a crucial role in constructing its narrative of longing and belonging. The use of romanticized imagery of Cairo evokes a sense of “retrospective nostalgia,” a longing for a past that is often idealized and reimagined. Imagery such as public transport buses, commonly used by the lower class, positions TUL8TE as a representative of the average Egyptian. This choice contrasts with media often produced by the upper class,[10] which has historically marginalized lower-class experiences—a dynamic that fueled the rise of Mahraganat, a phenomenon TUL8TE appears to consciously acknowledge.[11] Amusement park dates reminiscent of romantic teenage heartthrob Abdel Halim Hafez music video and movie plots such as in the music video for Mateegy A’ady Aleeky, paired with the 80s-inspired fonts in TUL8TE’s visuals—similar to those used in 70s/80s Egyptian music posters—evoke the golden age of Egyptian cinema and music; the intentional nostalgia in TUL8TE’s work is very evident. His masked anonymity further amplifies this, transforming him into a blank canvas for listeners to project their emotions and experiences. This universal relatability mirrors the nostalgic themes in his music, connecting audiences to a romanticized vision of Egypt’s past. Thus the nostalgic turn in Egyptian music can be seen as a reaction—deliberate on both the ends of the artists and the audience—as society undergoes periods of socioeconomic turbulence and constant threats to that romanticized imagery of Cairo Egyptians maintain a deep attachment to. Egyptians are facing rising inflation, unemployment, and political uncertainty that have reached unprecedented levels. In addition, the government is gentrifying and attempting to “modernize” much of downtown Cairo—in ways that erode cultural landmarks, as in the City of the Dead, a necropolis in the heart of Cairo dating back to the year 642 CE, to “build parking lots” for new neighborhoods, which caused a tremendous amount of outrage.[12] Framework Analysis Clay Routledge’s work on nostalgia provides a framework for understanding the popularity of nostalgic pop in Egypt. He describes nostalgia as a “bittersweet emotion”, recognizing its capacity to evoke both positive feelings and a sense of loss. Furthermore, Routledge emphasizes that nostalgia often arises in response to negative experiences, serving as a coping mechanism for psychological distress. He argues that “when people experience negative states (such as loneliness or meaninglessness), they use nostalgia to regulate distress” (Routledge 2016). It is then more clear how the romanticized imagery of a bygone Cairo speaks to a yearning for a sense of place and belonging in the face of socio-economic turbulence and urban transformation; the visuals simply provide a psychological refuge from these anxieties. By evoking a past perceived as more stable and culturally grounded, nostalgic pop provides solace and a sense of continuity for individuals navigating a sense of cultural dislocation. And, while Routledge primarily focuses on the individual psychological benefits of nostalgia, he acknowledges its broader cultural significance. He notes that “nostalgia serves similar functions across cultures and age groups” (Routledge, 10). Therefore, examining the popularity of nostalgic pop in Egypt requires consideration of its connection to broader cultural values and historical narratives within Egyptian society. What specific aspects of the past are being romanticized, and how do those choices reflect collective anxieties and aspirations? Raymond Williams’ framework on studying the evolution of certain words sheds light on this. For example, he highlights the inherent complexities of the word “tradition,” arguing that it is not simply a static inheritance from the past; instead, tradition is constantly being reinterpreted and reshaped in the present, often serving to legitimize particular social agendas (Williams 1976). The use of the Spanish tinge in contemporary Egyptian pop can be seen as a form of selective remembrance, where certain aspects of the past are highlighted to construct a narrative of cultural continuity and authenticity—nostalgia could have been similarly evoked through imagery of Umm Kulthum, for example, but it would not have been as effective perhaps due to the rise of musika shababiyya (youth music) during the tail-end of the Umm Kulthum era (Frishkopf 2003, 10), which marked a departure from the tarab style she epitomized. Egyptian listeners choosing to selectively engage with tradition in this way reinforces belonging in a culture constantly grappling with rapid social change. “Culture” is also another word he traces the evolution of—demonstrating how its meaning shifted from a focus on individual cultivation and refinement to encompass a broader understanding of shared practices. Thus, the romanticized imagery often seen in contemporary Egyptian music can also be understood as a reaction against perceived cultural homogenization brought about by globalization and modernization—a culture not even recognized by most Egyptians. The yearning for a past associated with a distinct Egyptian identity reflects a desire to reclaim a sense of cultural agency in a rapidly changing world. Finally, Shannon’s work on Nostalgia in Performing: al-Andalus also provides a valuable lens through which to understand the cultural significance of this arising nostalgic pop music. In his work, Shannon discusses nostalgia’s ability to orient itself towards “referents that are outside the sphere of experience of the remembering/nostalgic subject,” creating a “longing that of necessity is inauthentic because it does not take part in lived experience” (Shannon 2015, 12) The idealized portrayal of the past in nostalgic pop in Egypt can be seen as a form of “reflective nostalgia”, acknowledging the impossibility of returning to a bygone era while still drawing strength and inspiration from it.[13] Conclusion The nostalgic turn in Egyptian music is more than a longing for the past; it is a strategic response to rapid modernization and cultural erosion. Amid rising socio-economic pressures, artists like TUL8TE blend traditional sounds with global influences, crafting music that connects listeners to shared memories while adapting heritage to contemporary realities. And through evocative visuals and melodies, music is used as both resistance and a bridge between past and present. This research contributes to the understanding of how music reflects and shapes cultural identity during periods of societal change. It emphasizes the significance of nostalgia in fostering resilience and a sense of belonging amid turbulence and perceived threat of identity. Future research could perhaps delve further into the social dimensions of this nostalgia. How do these images reflect collective aspirations? Do they represent a longing for social harmony perceived to be lost? And how popular is this sentiment in the Egyptian context? Ultimately, in the context of contemporary Egypt, nostalgic music represents more than a mere reflection on the past; it aims to redefine modern identity, offering resilience in an evolving and often fragmented world. References: 1. Elfeky, Mohammed. 2022. “‘The People are Tired, and Just Want to Have Fun’: Mahraganat Music and the Struggle for Sonic Presence in Post-2013 Egypt.” Master’s Thesis, City University of New York. 2. Racy, Ali Jihad. 1981. “Music in Contemporary Cairo: A Comparative Overview.” Asian Music 13, No. 1: 4-26. 3. Williams, Raymond. 1976. “Keywords: A Vocabulary of Culture and Society.” New York: Oxford University Press. 4. Frishkopf, Michael. 2003. “Some Meanings of the Spanish Tinge in Contemporary Egyptian music.” Mediterranean Mosaic 1: 143-77. 5. Routledge, Clay. 2016. “Nostalgia: A Psychological Resource.” New York: Psychology Press. 6. Shannon, Jonathan. 2015. “Performing al-Andalus: Music and Nostalgia across the Mediterranean.” Indiana: Indiana University Press. 7. El Sayed, Nadine. 2021. “The Rise of Indie Music from the Heart of Tahrir Square.” In Routledge Handbook on Contemporary Egypt, edited By Robert Springborg, Amr Adly, Anthony Gorman, Tamir Moustafa, Aisha Saad, Naomi Sakr, Sarah Smierciak, 457-66. Boston: Routledge. 8. TUL8TE. “TUL8TE - MATEEGY A3ADY ALEIKY | توو ليت - ماتيجي اعدي عليكي (Official Music Video).” YouTube video, 3:54. September 20, 2024. https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=8T9h62s62WQ. 9. TUL8TE. “TUL8TE - HABEEBY LEH | توو ليت - حبيبي ليه (Official Music Video).” YouTube video, 2:19. July 24, 2024. https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=MCbM1PwjA5Y. 10. Amin, Shahira. 2023. “Egypt is killing the history of its City of the Dead.” Atlantic Council, September 7, 2023. https://www.atlanticcouncil.org/blogs/menasource/egypt-city-of-the-dead-sisi. 11. El-Tabei, Haitham. 2024. “Painful ordeal for families as Egypt exhumes the dead at historic cemetery.” The Arab Weekly, November 10, 2024. https://thearabweekly.com/painful-ordeal-families-egypt-exhumes-dead-historic-cemetery. 12. Hassan, Mahmoud. 2024. “The oppression of trees in Egypt.” Middle East Monitor, June 26, 2024. https://www.middleeastmonitor.com/20240626-the-oppression-of-trees-in-egypt/ ________________ [1] One of Sadat’s most popular songs, “The people demand LE 5 phone credit,” riffed on the popular revolutionary chant “The people demand the fall of the regime” and resonated with lower-income Egyptians. His music addressed everyday concerns that many Egyptians felt were more pressing than abstract political ideals—then a hall-mark of Mahraganat music. [2] While DJ Sadat popularized Mahraganat during the 2011 revolution, Elfeky points to “Mahragan el-Salaam” by Fifty al Ostora, recorded in the early 2000s, as evidence of the genre's pre-existing presence [3] Screenshots of charts and Google Trends were taken on November 16, 2024. [4] Both YouTube video views & YouTube Music streams are accounted for in YouTube charts. [5] The Syndicate, in collaboration with other state institutions like the Cultural Ministry and the Central Authority for the Censorship of Artistic Works, banned Mahraganat artists from performing officially in Egypt in 2020. Artists circumvented the ban by uploading music to platforms like YouTube and streaming services, which were outside the Syndicate’s control (Elfeky 2022, 4), showing how representative YouTube is (and more broadly Google—and other online platforms are) of the Egyptian tastes. [6] Racy further explains that even within seemingly distinct genres like Tarab and Sha’bi, there are overlaps and ambiguities—I argue that such is the case for an evolving modern-day parallel between Mahraganat and Sha’bi. [7] Frishkopf attributes this influence to many things—for one, he says Egyptians view Spanish and Latin music as being indebted to Arab culture, referencing similarities like the use of the ‘ud and the flamenco “ole” (which they see as a corruption of “Allah”) (Frishkopf 2003, 12). [8] Other shabbabi music veterans like Angham, Hakim, Hisham ‘Abbas, Ihab Tawfiq, and Mustafa Qamar have also incorporated Spanish and Latin sounds into their music. [9] Frishkopf identifies several factors contributing to the success of the Spanish tinge in Egyptian music, highlighting compatibility in timbre (both traditions utilize stringed instruments like the oud and guitar), rhythm (Arabic rhythmic cycles, such as the bamb and malfuf, can be integrated with Latin rhythms, particularly the clave), and form (while traditional Arab music is primarily modal and monophonic, Spanish music employs harmony.) [10]Another popular (and highly controversial) artist, Mohammed Ramadan, contrasts this by showcasing wealth in his music and imagery, symbolizing success. This has drawn criticism for glorifying materialism and alienating lower classes, despite his claims of representing their struggles. [11] Racy argues that Egypt’s political history, specifically the long domination of various foreign powers, likely created a musical disconnect between the ruling class and the people of Cairo (Racy 1981, 7)—an argument could be made that this disconnect ultimately led to the popularity of Mahraganat as it gave voice to the layman who was unpleased with the creative output of the bourgeois, which TUL8TE clearly distances himself from. [12] See: Amin, Shahira 2023, El-Tabei, Haitham 2024 & Hassan, Mahmoud 2024. [13]The destruction of cultural heritage can also evoke “anticipatory nostalgia,” where individuals mourn the perceived impending loss of something still present; in this case, Cairo’s iconic neighborhoods remain intact but are feared to be at risk (Shannon 2015, 72-3).

However, despite its initial widespread appeal, Mahraganat has faced decline evidenced by evolving musical trends and sonic changes within the genre itself.  And it was not the vehement state, Music Syndicate-sanctioned censorship that brought that about—rather, shifting audience tastes has been the most significant contributor to the decline of Mahraganat.[5] As per the charts above, Mahraganat has experienced a significant decline in popularity on Apple Music (predominantly filled with pop music and that of the Spanish tinge, which is discussed later), consistent with the user base of the platform that tends to be of the wealthier Egyptian class, and barely remains of prominence on the YouTube charts. Notably, searches for Mahraganat (in Arabic) on Google—a platform widely used by Egyptian listeners to search for music—have declined by 81% since their peak in September 2016. Even the top “Mahraganat” song on YouTube, Rawa’an, integrates various Sha’bi elements, including multiple Zaghrootat (sing.: Zaghroota, Egyptian ululation of joy), which is evidence for shifting tastes, even when it comes to the sonic composition of a Mahraganat song.[6]
Defining the Spanish Tinge & TUL8TE
The “Spanish tinge” is a key characteristic of this arising nostalgic pop music, which refers to the incorporation of Latin and Spanish musical elements into Egyptian pop music (Frishkopf 2003). This fusion, as observed in the music of artists like Amr Diab, creates a sonic identity that blends globalized sounds with traditional Egyptian pop, reflecting a historical trend in the country’s music scene. As Frishkopf notes, this influence manifests in various ways, including “instrumental, timbral, melodic, harmonic, rhythmic, textural, and occasionally linguistic resources”.[7] This trend goes beyond mere imitation of Western trends, as Egyptian artists have actively incorporated and adapted these elements to create a unique and distinctly Egyptian sound with their incorporation of Maqamat in their melodies on top of the Spanish-tingey arrangements. 
The popularity of the Spanish tinge is also linked to the concept of globalization and the desire of Egyptian musicians to reach a wider audience. Egyptian music producers want to create a sound that is both “Western” and “global,” and Latin music, with its European roots and worldwide popularity, fits this bill. The use of the Spanish tinge is also seen as a way to market Egyptian music to foreign audiences, particularly those of Arab descent living abroad. This trend towards globalization is further enhanced by technological advancements such as multitrack studio technology, videoclips, and the internet, which made it easier for Egyptian musicians to incorporate foreign influences into their music and to reach a wider audience (Frishkopf 2003).
Emerging artists like TUL8TE draw inspiration from established figures like Amr Diab, who has long experimented with incorporating and popularizing the Spanish tinge through his music. Diab’s career, spanning several decades, exemplifies the evolution and enduring appeal of this trend. From imitating the “Lambada” in “Leeli” (1990) to incorporating flamenco sounds in “Ahlif bi il-layali” and “Wi yilumun” (1995), Diab has consistently pushed the boundaries of Egyptian pop music by fusing global influences with local aesthetics—a proven formula for success, which TUL8TE embraces in songs such as Mateegy A’ady Aleeky (2024).[8]
Musical Analysis: Comparing TUL8TE & Amr Diab
Nour El Ain by Amr Diab (1996)

Mateegy Aa’ady Aleeky by TUL8TE (2024)

The sheet music excerpts provided reveal notable melodic parallels between two songs—TUL8TE’s 2024 Mateegy Aa’ady Aleeky and Diab’s iconic 1996 hit Nour el Ain. Both exhibit a similar structure: four consecutive notes of the same pitch, followed by a rise-and-fall pattern typical of the Arabic musical tradition. Harmonically, the parallels are equally striking—Nour El Ain employs a i–iv–V–iv progression, while TUL8TE uses a closely related i–iv–v–iv structure. Both compositions also draw on Arabic maqam, with Diab’s in Hijaz and TUL8TE’s in Nahawand, enabling distinctly “traditional” Arabic tonalities in their vocal lines; Frishkopf highlights that the compatibility between Arab and Spanish music—especially through their shared use of specific maqamat and rhythmic patterns—has been a key factor in the success of the Spanish tinge (Frishkopf 2003, 14). The arrangements are also strikingly similar, both featuring Latin grooves and rhythms, with each starting similarly—an acoustic guitar playing their nearly identical chord progressions over the grooves.[9]  These parallels signify the extent to which TUL8TE reinterprets Amr Diab-style, Spanish tinge Egyptian pop within a contemporary framework—which speaks to a larger cultural phenomenon as employed by both artists: it represents a conscious effort to engage with global musical trends, while simultaneously reaffirming an Egyptian identity. This fusion, as Frishkopf highlights, can be interpreted as a form of cultural resistance, rejecting the notion of a homogenous globalized sound and instead creating a hybridized musical identity that is both modern and distinctly Egyptian.
Visual Analysis: Cairo’s Romanticized Aesthetic
The visual elements accompanying TUL8TE’s music play a crucial role in constructing its narrative of longing and belonging. The use of romanticized imagery of Cairo evokes a sense of “retrospective nostalgia,” a longing for a past that is often idealized and reimagined. Imagery such as public transport buses, commonly used by the lower class, positions TUL8TE as a representative of the average Egyptian. This choice contrasts with media often produced by the upper class,[10] which has historically marginalized lower-class experiences—a dynamic that fueled the rise of Mahraganat, a phenomenon TUL8TE appears to consciously acknowledge.[11]
Amusement park dates reminiscent of romantic teenage heartthrob Abdel Halim Hafez music video and movie plots such as in the music video for Mateegy A’ady Aleeky, paired with the 80s-inspired fonts in TUL8TE’s visuals—similar to those used in 70s/80s Egyptian music posters—evoke the golden age of Egyptian cinema and music; the intentional nostalgia in TUL8TE’s work is very evident. His masked anonymity further amplifies this, transforming him into a blank canvas for listeners to project their emotions and experiences. This universal relatability mirrors the nostalgic themes in his music, connecting audiences to a romanticized vision of Egypt’s past. 
Thus the nostalgic turn in Egyptian music can be seen as a reaction—deliberate on both the ends of the artists and the audience—as society undergoes periods of socioeconomic turbulence and constant threats to that romanticized imagery of Cairo Egyptians maintain a deep attachment to. Egyptians are facing rising inflation, unemployment, and political uncertainty that have reached unprecedented levels. In addition, the government is gentrifying and attempting to “modernize” much of downtown Cairo—in ways that erode cultural landmarks, as in the City of the Dead, a necropolis in the heart of Cairo dating back to the year 642 CE, to “build parking lots” for new neighborhoods, which caused a tremendous amount of outrage.[12]
Framework Analysis
Clay Routledge’s work on nostalgia provides a framework for understanding the popularity of nostalgic pop in Egypt. He describes nostalgia as a “bittersweet emotion”, recognizing its capacity to evoke both positive feelings and a sense of loss. Furthermore, Routledge emphasizes that nostalgia often arises in response to negative experiences, serving as a coping mechanism for psychological distress. He argues that “when people experience negative states (such as loneliness or meaninglessness), they use nostalgia to regulate distress” (Routledge 2016). It is then more clear how the romanticized imagery of a bygone Cairo speaks to a yearning for a sense of place and belonging in the face of socio-economic turbulence and urban transformation; the visuals simply provide a psychological refuge from these anxieties. By evoking a past perceived as more stable and culturally grounded, nostalgic pop provides solace and a sense of continuity for individuals navigating a sense of cultural dislocation. And, while Routledge primarily focuses on the individual psychological benefits of nostalgia, he acknowledges its broader cultural significance. He notes that “nostalgia serves similar functions across cultures and age groups” (Routledge, 10). Therefore, examining the popularity of nostalgic pop in Egypt requires consideration of its connection to broader cultural values and historical narratives within Egyptian society. What specific aspects of the past are being romanticized, and how do those choices reflect collective anxieties and aspirations? 
Raymond Williams’ framework on studying the evolution of certain words sheds light on this. For example, he highlights the inherent complexities of the word “tradition,” arguing that it is not simply a static inheritance from the past; instead, tradition is constantly being reinterpreted and reshaped in the present, often serving to legitimize particular social agendas (Williams 1976). The use of the Spanish tinge in contemporary Egyptian pop can be seen as a form of selective remembrance, where certain aspects of the past are highlighted to construct a narrative of cultural continuity and authenticity—nostalgia could have been similarly evoked through imagery of Umm Kulthum, for example, but it would not have been as effective perhaps due to the rise of musika shababiyya (youth music) during the tail-end of the Umm Kulthum era  (Frishkopf 2003, 10), which marked a departure from the tarab style she epitomized. Egyptian listeners choosing to selectively engage with tradition in this way reinforces belonging in a culture constantly grappling with rapid social change. “Culture” is also another word he traces the evolution of—demonstrating how its meaning shifted from a focus on individual cultivation and refinement to encompass a broader understanding of shared practices. Thus, the romanticized imagery often seen in contemporary Egyptian music can also be understood as a reaction against perceived cultural homogenization brought about by globalization and modernization—a culture not even recognized by most Egyptians. The yearning for a past associated with a distinct Egyptian identity reflects a desire to reclaim a sense of cultural agency in a rapidly changing world. 
Finally, Shannon’s work on Nostalgia in Performing: al-Andalus also provides a valuable lens through which to understand the cultural significance of this arising nostalgic pop music. In his work, Shannon discusses nostalgia’s ability to orient itself towards “referents that are outside the sphere of experience of the remembering/nostalgic subject,” creating a “longing that of necessity is inauthentic because it does not take part in lived experience” (Shannon 2015, 12) The idealized portrayal of the past in nostalgic pop in Egypt can be seen as a form of “reflective nostalgia”, acknowledging the impossibility of returning to a bygone era while still drawing strength and inspiration from it.[13]
Conclusion
The nostalgic turn in Egyptian music is more than a longing for the past; it is a strategic response to rapid modernization and cultural erosion. Amid rising socio-economic pressures, artists like TUL8TE blend traditional sounds with global influences, crafting music that connects listeners to shared memories while adapting heritage to contemporary realities. And through evocative visuals and melodies, music is used as both resistance and a bridge between past and present. This research contributes to the understanding of how music reflects and shapes cultural identity during periods of societal change. It emphasizes the significance of nostalgia in fostering resilience and a sense of belonging amid turbulence and perceived threat of identity. Future research could perhaps delve further into the social dimensions of this nostalgia. How do these images reflect collective aspirations? Do they represent a longing for social harmony perceived to be lost? And how popular is this sentiment in the Egyptian context? Ultimately, in the context of contemporary Egypt, nostalgic music represents more than a mere reflection on the past; it aims to redefine modern identity, offering resilience in an evolving and often fragmented world.
References:
1. Elfeky, Mohammed. 2022. “‘The People are Tired, and Just Want to Have Fun’: Mahraganat Music and the Struggle for Sonic Presence in Post-2013 Egypt.” Master’s Thesis, City University of New York.
2. Racy, Ali Jihad. 1981. “Music in Contemporary Cairo: A Comparative Overview.” Asian Music 13, No. 1: 4-26.
3. Williams, Raymond. 1976. “Keywords: A Vocabulary of Culture and Society.” New York: Oxford University Press.
4. Frishkopf, Michael. 2003. “Some Meanings of the Spanish Tinge in Contemporary Egyptian music.” Mediterranean Mosaic 1: 143-77.
5. Routledge, Clay. 2016. “Nostalgia: A Psychological Resource.” New York: Psychology Press.
6. Shannon, Jonathan. 2015. “Performing al-Andalus: Music and Nostalgia across the Mediterranean.” Indiana: Indiana University Press.
7. El Sayed, Nadine. 2021. “The Rise of Indie Music from the Heart of Tahrir Square.” In Routledge Handbook on Contemporary Egypt, edited By Robert Springborg, Amr Adly, Anthony Gorman, Tamir Moustafa, Aisha Saad, Naomi Sakr, Sarah Smierciak, 457-66. Boston: Routledge.
8. TUL8TE. “TUL8TE - MATEEGY A3ADY ALEIKY | توو ليت - ماتيجي اعدي عليكي (Official Music Video).” YouTube video, 3:54. September 20, 2024. https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=8T9h62s62WQ. 
9. TUL8TE. “TUL8TE - HABEEBY LEH | توو ليت - حبيبي ليه (Official Music Video).” YouTube video, 2:19. July 24, 2024. https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=MCbM1PwjA5Y.
10. Amin, Shahira. 2023. “Egypt is killing the history of its City of the Dead.” Atlantic Council, September 7, 2023. https://www.atlanticcouncil.org/blogs/menasource/egypt-city-of-the-dead-sisi.
11. El-Tabei, Haitham. 2024.  “Painful ordeal for families as Egypt exhumes the dead at historic cemetery.” The Arab Weekly, November 10, 2024. https://thearabweekly.com/painful-ordeal-families-egypt-exhumes-dead-historic-cemetery.
12. Hassan, Mahmoud. 2024. “The oppression of trees in Egypt.” Middle East Monitor, June 26, 2024. https://www.middleeastmonitor.com/20240626-the-oppression-of-trees-in-egypt/

________________
[1] One of Sadat’s most popular songs, “The people demand LE 5 phone credit,” riffed on the popular revolutionary chant “The people demand the fall of the regime” and resonated with lower-income Egyptians. His music addressed everyday concerns that many Egyptians felt were more pressing than abstract political ideals—then a hall-mark of Mahraganat music.
[2] While DJ Sadat popularized Mahraganat during the 2011 revolution, Elfeky points to “Mahragan el-Salaam” by Fifty al Ostora, recorded in the early 2000s, as evidence of the genre's pre-existing presence
[3] Screenshots of charts and Google Trends were taken on November 16, 2024. 
[4] Both YouTube video views & YouTube Music streams are accounted for in YouTube charts.
[5] The Syndicate, in collaboration with other state institutions like the Cultural Ministry and the Central Authority for the Censorship of Artistic Works, banned Mahraganat artists from performing officially in Egypt in 2020. Artists circumvented the ban by uploading music to platforms like YouTube and streaming services, which were outside the Syndicate’s control (Elfeky 2022, 4), showing how representative YouTube is (and more broadly Google—and other online platforms are) of the Egyptian tastes.
[6] Racy further explains that even within seemingly distinct genres like Tarab and Sha’bi, there are overlaps and ambiguities—I argue that such is the case for an evolving modern-day parallel between Mahraganat and Sha’bi.
[7] Frishkopf attributes this influence to many things—for one, he says Egyptians view Spanish and Latin music as being indebted to Arab culture, referencing similarities like the use of the ‘ud and the flamenco “ole” (which they see as a corruption of “Allah”) (Frishkopf 2003, 12).
[8] Other shabbabi music veterans like Angham, Hakim, Hisham ‘Abbas, Ihab Tawfiq, and Mustafa Qamar have also incorporated Spanish and Latin sounds into their music.
[9] Frishkopf identifies several factors contributing to the success of the Spanish tinge in Egyptian music, highlighting compatibility in timbre (both traditions utilize stringed instruments like the oud and guitar), rhythm (Arabic rhythmic cycles, such as the bamb and malfuf, can be integrated with Latin rhythms, particularly the clave), and form (while traditional Arab music is primarily modal and monophonic, Spanish music employs harmony.) 
[10]Another popular (and highly controversial) artist, Mohammed Ramadan, contrasts this by showcasing wealth in his music and imagery, symbolizing success. This has drawn criticism for glorifying materialism and alienating lower classes, despite his claims of representing their struggles.
[11] Racy argues that Egypt’s political history, specifically the long domination of various foreign powers, likely created a musical disconnect between the ruling class and the people of Cairo (Racy 1981, 7)—an argument could be made that this disconnect ultimately led to the popularity of Mahraganat as it gave voice to the layman who was unpleased with the creative output of the bourgeois, which TUL8TE clearly distances himself from.
[12] See: Amin, Shahira 2023, El-Tabei, Haitham 2024 & Hassan, Mahmoud 2024.
[13]The destruction of cultural heritage can also evoke “anticipatory nostalgia,” where individuals mourn the perceived impending loss of something still present; in this case, Cairo’s iconic neighborhoods remain intact but are feared to be at risk (Shannon 2015, 72-3).

Transcript for:Nostalgia and Identity in Egyptian Music

Transcript for:
Nostalgia and Identity in Egyptian Music