We reach our modest hotel, and each scatters to his room, only to gather again the next day in the concert hall, dressed in black and blue. We are musicians who play for liberty, not as a slogan, but as a reality. A loud first note launches our program, and an attentive audience listens deeply. We flip the page to the next city. Lined up again, like a music score on a white page, we enter one by one as the computer allows, and head to another simple hotel.
More concerts are yet to come.
We turn the pages from one city to the next, and though our mission is difficult, we are certain of our success, for everything is organized to perfection. My Father, I am Yusif . The charge itself seems ridiculous, as this song appears on an album that was released a year ago, and has been distributed in the Lebanese, Arab and world markets. In other words, music was written to a poem, not to a Koranic verse and, certainly, not to ridicule anyone s religion. We received the news the day we were scheduled to perform at the Brooklyn Museum in New York City.