12 hours ago
Why Can't Egypt Throw a Proper Music Festival — Like, Ever?
With Morocco's Mawazine Festival kicking off — 24 years strong since its birth in 2001 — a nagging question echoes louder than ever:
Why doesn't Egypt, the country that gave the planet Umm Kulthum, Abdel Halim, and Amr Diab, have a single proper music festival that represents us?
And no, it's not about talent. That excuse expired long ago.
We have range. The fans are here. The artists are here. The sound is here.
So what's missing?
Simple answer: the platform.
Sandbox in Gouna is the only festival with consistency, but let's be real. It's niche, expensive, and curated for a very specific crowd. It doesn't represent the larger Egyptian music culture or reach the wider audience that's craving it.
Other concerts happen occasionally, but they're scattered and usually brand-led. No identity. No community. No long-term vision. Just noise.
And while Egypt fumbles through one-off concerts and disconnected sponsor activations, Saudi Arabia went from zero to MDLBEAST, a multi-stage EDM empire that doesn't just pull global headliners but also exports a whole new Saudi cultural identity through music.
Tunisia has been hosting the Carthage International Festival since the 1960s. That's decades of investing in music as national pride. And Morocco? Morocco has Mawazine, a festival so massive it regularly attracts both Arab legends and global icons.
What's Egypt's excuse?
Let's be honest:
Bureaucracy is a nightmare. Organizing a live music event in Egypt feels less like planning a cultural experience and more like navigating a minefield of paperwork, paranoia, and unpredictable shutdowns. You're more likely to get a 'no' than a permit.
There's no infrastructure to build on. No designated festival grounds. No streamlined logistics. No real investment in stage design, safety, or long-term systems.
The music scene itself operates in silos. Artists are blowing up online, selling out shows, making noise, but they're disconnected. It feels like almost no one is staying to build something here, collectively.
Then there's the sponsorship problem: brands jump in for a product drop, a hashtag, or a flashy Instagram moment, and disappear the second the campaign ends. No one's sticking around to nurture the scene or invest in the long run.
And looming over it all is cultural fear. Anything too 'Western' or unpredictable? Shut it down.
Need proof?
Let's talk about Travis Scott's cancelled 2023 concert at the Pyramids. It was set to be a global moment, the kind that brings international attention, tourism, and cash. But Egypt's Musicians Syndicate shut it down before it even happened, citing 'moral concerns' and 'threats to Egyptian traditions.' A once-in-a-lifetime event, gone. Out of fear.
We're not just lacking festivals, we're blocking them.
And at the same time, Egypt still doesn't have publishing royalties or proper collection systems. Music that plays in cafes, concerts, or clubs barely translates into revenue for artists.
But let's imagine, just for a second, what a real Egyptian music festival could look like.
Picture this: stages across the desert or the Nile, each one dedicated to a different sound — trap, shaabi, indie, electro, jazz — all coexisting without apology. Local legends, rising stars, regional collabs, and international names, all in one lineup.
We're talking real Egyptian energy: food, art, dialect, movement. The sounds of the street and the pulse of the underground on full display. Brands that actually care about the scene — not just their billboard presence.
And no, it's not just about the music. It's about jobs. Stylists, sound engineers, stage designers, filmmakers, vendors, photographers, editors, transport, tourism, the whole creative economy gets a boost.
A festival is infrastructure. A festival is storytelling. A festival is soft power.
That could be Egypt. That should be Egypt.
So what exactly are we waiting for?
