A kiss was enough to get Ragheb Alama suspended from one of the Arab world’s biggest music markets.
The 63-year-old Lebanese singer is currently banned from performing in Egypt following a decision by the country’s musicians syndicate. The move came after footage circulated online showing a female fan embracing and kissing him during a recent concert on the North Coast.
The syndicate described the moment as a “deliberate violation of Egyptian customs, traditions and societal values.” His permit, which is required for any live performance in Egypt, has been frozen pending an investigation.
Alama described the controversy as a misunderstanding, speaking in an interview this week with Egyptian broadcaster ExtraNews.
“I have always considered Egypt as my second home,” he said. “I’ve worked with the syndicate for over 30 years and there has not be a single issue. I feel that if I were banned from performing in Egypt, it would be a harsh decision. The whole situation wasn't planned and didn’t even occur on stage. As artists, our job is to really spread happinness. That’s the true meaning of music and live performance.”
Alama is not the first to fall foul of the syndicate. From veteran singers to international hip-hop stars, the powerful body has a long track record of intervening in who can perform, where and how.
Here’s what to know about the organisation.
What is Egypt’s musicians syndicate?
Founded in 1942 as the Syndicate of Musical Professions, it is a state-affiliated body that regulates Egypt’s live music industry.
Any artist wishing to appear on stage, whether Egyptian or foreign, must be licensed by the body with a remit spanning the approving concerts, issuing work permits, verifying musical credentials and the protection intellectual property.
Only Egyptian musicians can become members entitled to healthcare, pensions and legal support. The syndicate holds broad authority to suspend artists, fine venues, revoke performance permits and cancel shows – and it has done so often.
How much power does it have?
There are several cultural syndicates operating in Egypt, including those representing actors and filmmakers. These bodies aim to function as a bridge between the arts and the authorities, and they take on regulatory roles such as assessing which musician can qualify as a “professional” – a status that allows them to perform in key venues – as well as regulating what kind of performance is permissible in terms of genre, lyricism and appearance.
Working with cultural and tourism bodies, in addition to promoters, artists who perform without approval or cross cultural lines are subject to being barred from the country.
Why does it keep banning artists?
With a task it deems as preserving artistic standards and protecting Egypt’s cultural values, the syndicate is by no means a passive observer of the cultural scene. Its enforcement of these values – based on its own interpretations – has led to repeated controversy.
Other artists in the crosshairs of the body include Egyptian pop star Ahmed Saad, who in 2022 was reportedly fined 20,000 Egyptian pounds (about Dh1,496) for appearing with a quartet instead of the required minimum of 12 musicians.
That action was part of the syndicate’s broader campaign against “flasha” performances – playback sets without live instrumentation – framed as an effort to preserve the livelihoods of its members and maintain the standard of live shows. In the same year, Mohamed Ramadan received a warning after appearing shirtless on stage, which the syndicate described as behaviour “inconsistent with Egyptian values.”
This month’s Alama case is only the latest in a pattern of disciplinary measures rooted in the syndicate’s evolving definition of what is considered acceptable on stage.
Why does the syndicate have a problem with mahraganat?
If there’s one genre that has been a perennial sour note for the syndicate, it’s mahraganat – a style that blends street poetry, autotune and blistering electro synths.
Seen as a raw, working-class response to polished pop, the music gained a mass following through YouTube and social media. Its stripped-back production and reliance on DJs instead of full bands challenged the syndicate’s musical orthodoxy, creating a visible generational divide between the organisation and its audience.
In 2020, the syndicate issued a blanket ban on mahraganat performances. Veteran singer and then-syndicate head Hany Shaker led the charge, stating that the problem wasn’t the sound, but the lyrics.
“There are phrases and subject matter to these songs that have never been uttered in Egyptian music before,” he told The National. “Because something is popular on YouTube doesn’t mean it’s a good thing.”
The ban was later softened. Under Shaker’s leadership, the syndicate introduced a new licensing category – first called “monologist”, later rebranded as “vocal performer” – which allowed some mahraganat artists, including Hassan Shakosh, to return to the stage.
Can it block international stars too?
Travis Scott is used to running his own show – until he attempted to launch his 2023 album Utopia with a concert at the Giza Pyramids.
While promoter Live Nation cited “complex production issues” as the reason for the cancellation, local reports suggested the syndicate had withheld final approval, reportedly over concerns about the imagery and themes associated with Scott’s stage show.
Scott went on to bring the corresponding Circus Maximus tour to Saudi Arabia and Qatar without issue. He is scheduled to perform at Etihad Park in Abu Dhabi on November 15, as part of the Asian leg of the tour.
Is the syndicate’s changing its tune?
Since singer-songwriter Mostafa Kamel replaced Hany Shaker as head of the organisation in 2022, there have been reported efforts to improve the syndicate’s public image and limit its interventions to cases where it believes customs and traditions are at risk. This has informed its sanction of Alama, as well as its continued oversight of mahraganat artists.
Whether such actions preserve artistic standards or stifle creative expression remains open to debate. But in Egypt, long seen as the region’s cultural standard-bearer, music is rarely just about sound. It’s about maintaining, and at times jealously guarding, that venerated position.
