Sabah Abu Qaws was born and raised in Aleppo. He studied at the Academy of Arab Music in Aleppo, and moved to the Damascus Academy, graduating in 1948. The nationalist leader Fakhri al-Barudi appreciated his voice, describing it as ΓÇ£majestic,ΓÇ¥ and took him under his wing, fostering his abilities and facilitating his entry to the Syrian Broadcasting Station. Under BarudiΓÇÖs influence, Abu Qaws began to record traditional Aleppine songs and chants, excelling in muwashahat (songs of Andalusian origin). He was influenced by the grand traditions of Arabic song and practiced singing the Arabic mawal, a poem delivered in dramatic tone. In appreciation for his mentor's help, the 17-year old artist dropped his last name Abu Qaws and renamed himself Sabah Fakhri. He quickly established a wide audience in Damascus and Aleppo, and rose to overnight fame in 1960 when he began to appear on national television. Fakhri concentrated on classical Arabic tunes and traditional Aleppine music, performing all- time classics like Sayd al-Asari, Ya Mal al-Cham, and IbΓÇÖatli Ghawab. By the early 1960s, he was appeared on television comedies starring the Syrian duet Doreid Lahham and Nihad Quali. He also performed in television programs like Nagham al-Ams (The Tune of Yesterday) and al-Wadi al-Kabir (The Greatl Valley) with the Algerian singer Warda. 


Over a 50-year career, Sabah Fakhri managed to bring Aleppine music into every corner of the Arab world and preserve a music style that is being discarded by a new generation of Arab artists, who are using techno-music and video clips to promote their songs, rather than a strong voice, proper tunes, and lyrics. He has established himself as the king of tarab, an Arabic term for music that is soo good that it seizes the listner and music lover. In the 1960s Fakhri helped co-found the Artist Syndicate in Syria and served as a deputy for Aleppo in Parliament in 1990. In 1992, he entered the Guiness Book of World Records for being the first performer to perform non-stop, for ten hours. A journalist who attended Sabah Fakhri at the Citadel of Aleppo, a monument that the people of Aleppo take great pride in and which serves as FakhriΓÇÖs favorite venue, described the concert saying: ΓÇ£Sure enough, down there on the stage, a rather rotund man of somewhat diminutive stature had appeared from nowhere. He stared at the crowd for a while, then strolled slowly towards the musicians, with whom he unhurriedly exchanged a few words. Finally the show seemed about to begin. Sabah Fakhri, dressed in a dark suit and tie and looking more like a businessman than my idea of an adulated star, grabbed the old-fashioned microphone, unravelling its cord as he measured his steps around the stage; then, without warning, his voice soared towards the skies. It was strong and pure and very distinctive. There is no way one can ever confuse his voice with anyone else's after hearing him even once. It bestows on listeners one of these rare moments of grace during which they are confronted with perfection. The singer, at one with his musicians, was transubstantiated: they formed an uncorrupted composition, an entirely harmonious whole. This kind of music does not touch the intellect, but something far more primordial. It is as pure and nostalgic as the sound of the nay in the twilight, or a call to prayer at dawn. The concert lasted more than four hours, at the end of which the singer, as if in a trance, began to twirl to the music, faster and faster, not unlike a zikr performer, bringing the audience's enthusiasm to a paroxysm.ΓÇ¥