Abadi Al-Johar: The Life Story Behind Saudi Arabia's Oud Master

There is a nickname in Arab music that tells you everything about the man who carries it. Abadi Al-Johar is called the Octopus of the Oud, and the name was given to him by the great Saudi singer Talal Maddah, because his fingers move across the strings of the oud with a speed and a skill that seem almost impossible. The oud is a difficult instrument, with a short neck and a round body, and it takes years to master. Abadi mastered it as a boy, and he has played it for more than fifty years, as a singer, as a composer, and as a musician who has shaped the sound of the Gulf.

He was born in Jeddah, the port city on the Red Sea, and he grew up with the music of the Hijaz, the western region of Saudi Arabia. As a boy, he heard the old songs of Jeddah, the songs of the sea, of the pilgrims, and of the merchants who came from all over the world. He learned the oud, and he learned to sing, and he began a career in 1968 that has lasted for more than five decades. He has recorded more than fifty albums, he has composed for some of the greatest singers in the Arab world, and he has become known as the Musician of the Arabian Peninsula.

What makes his story worth telling is not only his skill on the oud. It is the way he used that skill to serve the music of others, composing songs for Talal Maddah, for Najat Al Saghira, for Samira Said, and for Asala, and the way he built a career that has lasted from the 1960s to today. He is a musician’s musician, a man respected by other musicians more than by anyone else, and his life shows how a single instrument, played with love and with mastery, can shape the music of a whole region.

A Boy From Jeddah and the Sound of the Sea

Abadi Al-Johar was born in Jeddah in 1953, in the old port city on the Red Sea, a city that has always been open to the world. Jeddah was a place where pilgrims arrived from every country, where merchants came from Africa and Asia, and where music from many places mixed together. A child growing up in Jeddah heard the songs of the Hijaz, the songs of Egypt, the songs of the Gulf, and the songs of faraway lands, all in the same streets. Abadi grew up in that world of sound, and it shaped his ear. He learned to hear many kinds of music, and to love them all.

His family was not a family of famous musicians, and his childhood was simple. He went to school in Jeddah, he played with other children, and he listened to the music that was part of life in the city. He was drawn to the oud from an early age, and he began to learn it as a boy. The oud was not an easy instrument to learn. It has no frets, which means the player must find the notes by ear, and it needs a strong hand and a sensitive touch. Abadi practised for hours, and he learned quickly, because he had a natural gift for the instrument. His fingers found the notes, his ear found the melody, and his heart found the feeling.

Jeddah also gave him his first sense of what it means to be a musician in the Arab world. In Jeddah, music was not a hobby. It was a part of weddings, of gatherings, of religious festivals, and of daily life. A musician was a person who was needed, who was respected, and who was called upon to make life’s important moments more beautiful. Abadi wanted to be such a person, and he worked towards it with a seriousness that was unusual for a boy. He did not play the oud for fun and then forget about it. He played it because he wanted to become a musician, and he knew that it would take years of work.

He also learned to sing, and his voice, though not as famous as his oud playing, was warm and emotional. He sang the old songs of Jeddah, and he sang them with the same feeling he brought to the oud. He was becoming a complete musician, a man who could play, sing, and compose, and who understood music from the inside. That completeness would define his career, and it would make him one of the most respected musicians in the Gulf.

Talal Maddah Discovers a Young Oud Player

Abadi Al-Johar’s life changed when he was discovered by Talal Maddah, the great Saudi singer known as the Voice of the Earth. Talal heard the young Abadi play the oud, and he recognised at once that this boy had a rare talent. Talal was not only a singer. He was a man who loved music, who understood it deeply, and who wanted to help young musicians. He took Abadi under his wing, he supported him, and he helped him to begin his professional career in 1968. Abadi was still a teenager, but he was already playing with one of the greatest singers in Saudi Arabia.

Talal gave him more than a chance. He gave him a nickname, “Ikhtabout Al-Oud”, the Octopus of the Oud, because of the way Abadi’s fingers moved across the strings, fast, precise, and seemingly everywhere at once. The nickname stuck, and it became the name by which Abadi was known across the Arab world. It was a name given by a master to a young man he believed in, and it was a sign of the trust between them. Talal did not give nicknames lightly, and the fact that he gave this one to Abadi showed how much he respected the boy’s skill.

With Talal’s support, Abadi began to work as a professional musician. He played the oud in concerts, he recorded songs, and he learned how the music world worked. He worked with the producer Lotfi Zaini, who helped to introduce him to the Gulf music industry, and he began to build a reputation as a musician who could be trusted with the most difficult work. He was not only a young prodigy. He was a professional, and he behaved like one, arriving on time, practising hard, and playing with care.

His early songs, including “Ya Ghazal”, showed his talent as a singer as well as a player. He sang with a voice that was emotional and sincere, and he played the oud with a skill that made other musicians stop and listen. He was building a career that would last for decades, and he was building it on the foundation of Talal Maddah’s trust. That trust was the most important gift he received, because it opened doors that would otherwise have stayed closed. He never forgot it, and he honoured Talal’s memory for the rest of his life.

The Octopus of the Oud and Fifty Albums

The nickname “Octopus of the Oud” describes Abadi Al-Johar’s playing perfectly, because his fingers seem to be everywhere on the instrument at once. The oud has eleven strings, and it needs a player who can move quickly, who can find the right note without looking, and who can make the instrument sing. Abadi can do all of that, and he has done it for more than fifty years. His playing is not only fast. It is also beautiful, with a feeling that comes from the heart. He does not play to show off. He plays to make the music speak, and the oud speaks through him.

He has recorded more than fifty albums in his career, which is a very large body of work. Each album needed new songs, new ideas, and new arrangements, and he provided them all. His albums include songs that have become classics in the Gulf, songs that people know by heart, and songs that are still played on the radio today. His song “Ayounak”, which means “Your Eyes”, is one of his best known, and it shows his style at its best: a beautiful melody, a warm voice, and an oud that sings alongside him. His song “Khalas”, which means “It Is Over”, is another favourite, and it speaks about the end of a love with a sadness that listeners recognise as true.

He has also composed for other singers, and that work is as important as his own recordings. He has written music for Talal Maddah, for Najat Al Saghira, for Samira Said, and for Asala, and for many other artists in the Gulf and the Arab world. To compose for a great singer is a great honour, and it is also a great responsibility, because the composer must understand the singer’s voice, the singer’s style, and the singer’s heart. Abadi understood all of that, and his compositions for others are among the best work of his career. He gave his music to other voices, and those voices carried it to audiences he might never have reached alone.

His work as a composer has made him one of the most respected musicians in the Arab world. Other musicians listen to him, they study his playing, and they try to learn from him. He is a member of the Saudi Arabian Society for Culture and Arts, and he has been honoured for his work in many countries. He has won an honorary doctorate from the Academy of Arts in Egypt, the Best Khaleeji Musician Award from Egypt, and the Golden Oud from Rotana. Those honours are a recognition of what his fellow musicians have always known: that he is a master, and that his mastery is rare.

Composing for the Greats of Arab Music

Abadi Al-Johar’s work as a composer for other singers deserves to be understood on its own, because it shows a different side of his talent. A singer-composer writes for his own voice, but a composer for others must write for many voices, and must understand each one. Abadi has done that for decades, and he has written songs that have become famous in the voices of others. He composed for Talal Maddah, the man who had discovered him, and that was a full circle: the student had become a composer for his teacher, and the teacher sang the student’s music with pride.

He also composed for Najat Al Saghira, one of the great Egyptian singers, and for Samira Said, the Moroccan singer, and for Asala, the Syrian singer. Each of those singers has a different voice, a different style, and a different audience, and Abadi wrote for each of them with care. He did not give them all the same kind of song. He listened to their voices, he understood their strengths, and he wrote music that fitted them. That is the mark of a great composer, and it is why he has been sought after by singers across the Arab world.

His compositions are known for their melodies, which are beautiful and memorable, and for their arrangements, which give the oud a central place. He does not hide the oud behind other instruments. He lets it sing, and he builds the song around it. That is his style, and it is a style that other composers have learned from. He has shown that the oud is not only an instrument for accompaniment. It is an instrument that can lead a song, that can tell a story, and that can move an audience on its own.

He has also worked with the singer Warda Al-Jazairia, in a duet, and with many other artists, and his work with them has added to his reputation. He is not a musician who works alone. He is a musician who works with others, who shares his talent, and who helps other artists to be their best. That generosity is part of why he is so respected. He has given his music to many voices, and those voices have carried his name to places he has never been. His compositions are his legacy, as much as his own recordings are.

A Long Career, Honours, and the Musician of the Peninsula

Abadi Al-Johar’s career has lasted for more than fifty years, from 1968 to today, and that length is itself a remarkable achievement. He began as a teenager, he worked through the 1970s, the 1980s, the 1990s, and into the twenty-first century, and he is still performing and recording. He has seen the music world change completely, from vinyl records to cassettes, from CDs to streaming, and he has adapted to each change without losing his art. His oud has stayed the same, even as the world around it has changed, and that steadiness is part of his greatness.

He has been honoured in many ways for his work. He has received an honorary doctorate from the Academy of Arts in Egypt, which is a recognition of his contribution to Arab music. He has won the Best Khaleeji Musician Award from Egypt, and the Golden Oud from Rotana, the great Arab music company. He has also been called the Musician of the Arabian Peninsula, a title that reflects his place in the music of the Gulf and of Arabia. Those honours are not given lightly, and they show how much his work has meant to the Arab world.

He has also been a member of the Saudi Arabian Society for Culture and Arts, and he has taken part in the cultural life of his country. He has performed at festivals, at concerts, and at national events, and his music has been part of the soundtrack of Saudi Arabia for decades. He is not only a performer. He is a cultural figure, a man whose work represents the music of his nation, and who is respected as a keeper of its tradition.

His concerts in recent years have shown that his popularity has not faded. He has performed at the Khorfakkan Amphitheatre in Sharjah, at festivals in Saudi Arabia, and at events across the Gulf, and his audiences have included young people as well as older fans. He has played his oud, he has sung his songs, and he has shown that a musician in his seventies can still move an audience. His career is a lesson in longevity, in dedication, and in the power of a single instrument played with love.

The Oud as a Partner, Not Only an Instrument

Abadi Al-Johar has said, in the way he plays, that the oud is not only an instrument for him. It is a partner in his artistic journey, a companion that has been with him for more than fifty years. He does not see the oud as a tool that he uses and puts away. He sees it as a living thing, with a voice of its own, and he listens to it as much as he plays it. That relationship between a musician and his instrument is a rare thing, and it is one of the reasons his playing is so moving. He does not force the oud to do what he wants. He works with it, and the music grows from that partnership.

He has played the oud in many settings: in small rooms, in large concert halls, in studios, and on festival stages. In each setting, the oud has sounded different, but it has always sounded like Abadi. He has a touch that other players recognise at once, a way of plucking the strings that is both strong and gentle, and a way of finding a melody that is both simple and deep. Young oud players in the Gulf listen to him, they try to copy his touch, and they learn from his example. He is a teacher, even if he has never called himself one, because his recordings are lessons in themselves.

The oud is also a symbol of Arab music, and Abadi’s mastery of it has made him a symbol as well. When people think of the oud in Saudi Arabia, they think of Abadi Al-Johar. When they think of Gulf music, they think of his playing. That is a great responsibility, and he has carried it well. He has not used his skill to show off, or to make himself rich, or to become famous for its own sake. He has used it to serve the music, to help other singers, and to keep the tradition of the oud alive for a new generation. That service is his greatest achievement.

He has also shown that the oud can be a modern instrument, not only an old one. He has played it in new arrangements, with new musicians, and in new settings, and he has shown that it can speak to young audiences as well as to older ones. The oud is not a museum piece in his hands. It is a living instrument, and it grows with him. That is a lesson for any musician who plays a traditional instrument: tradition is not a cage. It is a foundation, and on that foundation, new music can be built.

Later Years, New Albums, and a Living Legend

In his later years, Abadi Al-Johar has continued to record, to perform, and to compose, and his work has not become weaker with age. He released the album “Sheft El Waham” in 2021, and an album under his own name in 2022, showing that he was still making new music in his late sixties. Those albums were welcomed by his fans, and they showed that a musician who has worked for more than fifty years can still find new songs, new feelings, and new audiences. He has not stopped, and he has not retired. He is still working, still playing, and still singing.

He has performed at major events in recent years, including the opening of the Khorfakkan season in Sharjah, where he headlined a concert that celebrated Gulf and Arabic music. He has performed at the Sharjah International Book Fair, where he shared his journey with an audience that wanted to learn from him. He has performed in Saudi Arabia, in the Gulf, and in other Arab countries, and his concerts have drawn audiences of all ages. He has become a living legend, a musician whose name is known to every generation in the Gulf.

His legacy is also in the musicians he has influenced. Young oud players, young composers, and young singers in Saudi Arabia and the Gulf listen to his work, they study his playing, and they try to learn from his example. He has set a standard for oud playing, for composing, and for a long career in music. He has shown that a musician can be successful for more than fifty years, that he can be respected by his fellow musicians, and that he can keep his art honest. Those are lessons that will outlive him.

Today, Abadi Al-Johar is still active, still playing his oud, and still respected as the Octopus of the Oud and the Musician of the Arabian Peninsula. His story is still being written, and his music is still part of the life of the Gulf. The boy from Jeddah who learned the oud has become one of the great musicians of the Arab world, and his work will be remembered long after he has stopped playing. His legacy is secure, because it is built on an instrument, on songs, and on a mastery that cannot be forgotten.

The Saudi Society for Culture and Arts and a National Role

Abadi Al-Johar has also played a role in the cultural life of Saudi Arabia through his membership in the Saudi Arabian Society for Culture and Arts. The Society is an institution that supports artists, organises events, and helps to keep Saudi culture alive. Abadi’s membership shows that he is not only a performer. He is a man who takes part in the cultural life of his country, who supports other artists, and who helps to build the institutions that make art possible. He has taken that role seriously, and he has used it to help young musicians find their way.

His work with the Society has also connected him to the wider cultural world of Saudi Arabia. He has met writers, painters, actors, and other musicians, and he has learned from them, just as they have learned from him. That exchange between artists is important, because it keeps art alive and growing. A musician who only meets other musicians can become narrow. A musician who meets writers and painters learns new ways of thinking, and his music grows richer. Abadi’s music has grown richer because of those connections, and his work with the Society is part of that growth.

He has also been a bridge between the old Saudi music and the new. He knows the old songs of Jeddah, the old styles of the Hijaz, and the old masters of the oud, and he also knows the new singers, the new styles, and the new audiences. He has helped the old and the new to meet, and he has shown young musicians that the old music is not dead. It is alive, and it can be played today, with new energy and new feeling. That bridge is one of his most important contributions to Saudi culture, and it is a contribution that will last.

My Take:

When I think about Abadi Al-Johar, the first thing I think about is his hands, and how they move across the oud. I have watched oud players, and I know how hard the instrument is. It has no frets, it needs a strong hand, and it needs an ear that can find the right note without looking. Abadi’s hands do all of that with a speed and a grace that seem almost impossible, and that is why Talal Maddah called him the Octopus of the Oud. I admire that skill, because it was not given to him. It was earned, through years of practice, through hours of playing, and through a love for the instrument that has never faded.

What I admire most about him is that he used his skill to serve others. He did not only play for himself. He composed for Talal Maddah, for Najat Al Saghira, for Samira Said, and for Asala, and he gave his best music to their voices. That generosity is rare, because many talented musicians keep their best work for themselves. Abadi shared his talent, and he helped other singers to be their best. I think that is a noble way to live a life in music, and it is one of the reasons he is so respected by other musicians. They know that he is not only a master. He is a generous master.

I also think about Talal Maddah, and about the trust between the two men. Talal discovered Abadi, he supported him, and he gave him his nickname. Abadi honoured that trust by working hard, by composing for Talal, and by carrying his teacher’s memory with respect. That relationship between a master and a student is a beautiful thing, and it is one of the oldest stories in music. A master finds a young talent, he helps him, and the young talent grows up to honour the master. Abadi lived that story, and he lived it well. I hope young musicians learn from it, and understand that a career is not built alone. It is built with the help of those who believe in you.

His long career is another part of his story that moves me. He began in 1968, and he is still working more than fifty years later. That is a lifetime of music, and it is a lifetime that has seen the world change completely. He has seen records become cassettes, cassettes become CDs, and CDs become streaming, and he has adapted to each change without losing his art. That steadiness is a form of greatness, because it shows a man who is not blown about by fashion. He knows who he is, he knows his instrument, and he keeps playing, no matter what changes around him.

I think about the oud itself, and about how Abadi sees it as a partner, not only as an instrument. That way of thinking tells me something about his character. He does not treat his oud as a tool. He treats it as a living thing, with a voice of its own, and he listens to it. That respect for his instrument is a form of humility, and it is a humility that I admire. A musician who respects his instrument will never play it carelessly, and Abadi has never played carelessly. Every note he plays is played with care, and that care is what his audiences hear.

If I am honest, I also think about the fact that Abadi is more famous among musicians than among the general public, and I wonder if that is fair. He is a master, but he is not a pop star, and his name is not as widely known as the names of the singers he composed for. I think that is a sadness, because a man who has given so much to Arab music deserves to be known by everyone, not only by other musicians. But I also think that his fellow musicians’ respect is the highest honour a musician can receive, because they know what they are hearing. They know the skill, the hard work, and the mastery, and they honour it. That honour matters more than fame.

I think about his fifty albums, and about what it takes to make that much music. Each album needs new songs, new ideas, and new work, and Abadi has provided them all, for more than fifty years. That is a remarkable amount of work, and it shows a man who has never stopped creating. He did not make a few good albums and then rest. He kept working, kept composing, and kept recording, year after year. That work ethic is a lesson for any young artist: talent is a gift, but work is a choice, and Abadi has chosen to work, every day, for his whole life.

What I learn from his life is that mastery is a long road, and that it is worth walking. He did not become the Octopus of the Oud in a year. He became it through decades of practice, through playing with Talal Maddah, through composing for others, and through recording fifty albums. That road is long, and it is hard, but it leads to a place where a musician can be called a master, and where his work will be remembered. I think young musicians should learn from that, and should not expect to become masters in a short time. Mastery takes a lifetime, and Abadi’s life proves it.

I also learn from him that generosity is a form of greatness. He gave his music to other singers, he helped young musicians, and he shared his talent with the Arab world. That generosity did not make him poorer. It made him richer, in respect, in honour, and in legacy. A musician who keeps his talent to himself will be forgotten. A musician who shares it will be remembered, because his music lives in the voices of others. Abadi’s music lives in many voices, and it will live on in them long after he has stopped playing.

I think about Jeddah, and about the sea, and about how a port city can shape a musician. Jeddah is open to the world, and Abadi’s music is open as well. He has listened to many kinds of music, he has worked with singers from many countries, and he has made his oud speak to many audiences. That openness is part of why his music has travelled so far. He did not close himself in one place. He opened himself to the world, and the world came to him. That is a lesson for any artist: to be open is to grow, and to grow is to live.

I also think about his honours, the doctorate from Egypt, the Best Khaleeji Musician Award, and the Golden Oud from Rotana, and about what they mean. An honour is not only a prize. It is a sign that a person’s work has been seen, and that it has mattered to others. Abadi’s honours show that his work has mattered to Egypt, to Saudi Arabia, and to the Arab world. That is a wide recognition, and it is one that he earned through fifty years of playing, composing, and singing. I hope he is proud of those honours, because he should be.

If I had to choose one of his songs to show to someone who had never heard him, I would choose “Ayounak”, because it shows everything he does well: a beautiful melody, a warm voice, and an oud that sings alongside him. The song is about eyes, about love, and about the way a look can say more than words. It is a simple song, but it is a beautiful one, and it is a good introduction to his art. A person who hears it will understand why he is called the Octopus of the Oud, and why his fellow musicians respect him so much.

I think about the future, and about what his legacy will be. His records will remain, his compositions will be sung by others, and his oud playing will be studied by young musicians. But his greatest legacy may be the standard he set: that a musician can be a master, that he can be generous, and that he can work for more than fifty years without losing his art. That standard will guide the next generation, and it will remind them that mastery takes time, that generosity matters, and that a long career is possible if you work hard and stay true.

I also think about the young oud players who listen to him today, and I hope they learn the right lessons. They should learn that the oud is not only an instrument for showing off. It is an instrument for telling a story, for moving an audience, and for serving the music. Abadi’s playing teaches that lesson, because he never plays to show off. He plays to serve the song, and the song is always more important than the player. That humility is part of his mastery, and it is a lesson that every young musician should learn.

In the end, I think Abadi Al-Johar’s life is a reminder that a single instrument, played with love and with mastery, can shape the music of a whole region. He did not need a big band, or a loud stage, or a famous name. He needed an oud, a voice, and a willingness to work. That was enough, and it was enough for more than fifty years. I hope he keeps playing, and I hope his oud is heard for many more years, because the Gulf needs its Octopus of the Oud, and it has found him in Abadi.

I also think about the Society for Culture and Arts, and about how Abadi’s work there shows a man who cares about more than his own career. He could have spent all his time on his own albums and his own concerts, but he also gave time to an institution that helps other artists. That is a generous act, and it shows that he understands something important: that art needs institutions, and that institutions need artists who are willing to help. I respect him for that, because it is easy to care only about yourself, and hard to care about the whole culture.

Another lesson I take from his life is about the value of a long apprenticeship. He did not become a master overnight. He learned from Talal Maddah, he worked with Lotfi Zaini, he played in concerts, and he recorded album after album. Each step taught him something, and each step made him better. Young musicians today often want to become famous quickly, but Abadi’s life shows that mastery takes time, and that the time is worth spending. A lifetime of learning is not a waste. It is the only way to become a master.

I think about the duet he sang with Warda Al-Jazairia, and about how it shows his willingness to work with singers from other countries. Music does not belong to one country, and Abadi’s work with Warda, with Najat, with Samira, and with Asala shows that he understood that. He was a Saudi musician, but he was also an Arab musician, and his music belonged to the whole Arab world. That openness is part of why his work has travelled so far, and why it is loved in so many countries.

His story also reminds me that a musician’s greatest instrument is not always his voice. For Abadi, the greatest instrument is the oud, and his voice is second to it. That is unusual, because most singers are known for their voices first. Abadi is known for his hands, for his oud, and for his compositions. That tells me that there are many ways to be a great musician, and that the voice is only one of them. A pair of hands, a wooden instrument, and a lifetime of practice can be just as powerful as a voice.

Finally, I want to say that I hope his oud playing is recorded and studied for future generations. A master’s touch cannot be written down in a book, but it can be heard in a recording, and it can be learned by listening. Young oud players should listen to Abadi’s records, not only to copy him, but to understand what mastery sounds like. His playing is a school, and it is open to anyone who is willing to listen. That is a gift, and it will keep giving for many years.

I will remember him as a man who held an oud and made it sing, who composed for the greats, and who worked for more than fifty years without losing his love for music. His playing is the sound of the Gulf at its most beautiful, and it is a sound that has moved millions of people. That is a legacy to be proud of, and it is a story worth telling in full.

Frequently Asked Questions

When and where was Abadi Al-Johar born?

Abadi Al-Johar was born in Jeddah, Saudi Arabia, in 1953, and he grew up in the port city, where he learned the oud as a boy.

Why is Abadi Al-Johar called the Octopus of the Oud?

He was given the nickname “Ikhtabout Al-Oud”, the Octopus of the Oud, by Talal Maddah, because of the speed and skill with which his fingers move across the oud’s strings.

When did Abadi Al-Johar start his career?

He began his professional career in 1968 as a teenager, after being discovered and supported by Talal Maddah, and he has worked in music for more than fifty years.

How many albums has Abadi Al-Johar recorded?

He has recorded more than fifty albums in his career, as a singer, composer, and oud player, and he has also composed for many other famous singers.

Which singers did Abadi Al-Johar compose for?

He has composed for Talal Maddah, Najat Al Saghira, Samira Said, Asala, and many other artists across the Arab world, as well as recording his own songs.

What honours has Abadi Al-Johar received?

He has received an honorary doctorate from the Academy of Arts in Egypt, the Best Khaleeji Musician Award from Egypt, and the Golden Oud from Rotana.

Is Abadi Al-Johar still performing today?

Yes, he is still active, performing at festivals such as Khorfakkan in Sharjah and releasing new albums, including work in 2021 and 2022.