Iran
The Golden Age of Persian Pop
“It was a very modern country. Everyone was free to live as they wished, and women were free to dress as they wished. We had clubs, cabarets, and plenty of opportunities for people, just like everywhere else in the world”
(Googoosh, Iranian singer)
“There is no difference between music and opium. Opium brings about a kind of apathy and numbness, and so does music. […] Music is a betrayal of the country, a betrayal of our youth; eliminate music altogether”
(Ayatollah Khomeini)
“They wanted me to be silent. That was my life after I got out of prison, for 20 years. Because they killed my feelings for art, I thought: I will never sing again”
(Googoosh)
Index
- Iran between modernity and contradiction, 1960–1979
- Viguen, the evolution of Sound and the "New Song" (Tarane-ye Novin)
- Record industry and media (Forough Farrokhzad)
- Divas, idols, media and the aesthetics of glamour (Googoosh, Aref, Haydeh, Ebi, Moein, etc...)
- The creators of the sound: the masters, the poets behind the scenes
- Audience and reception: enthusiasm and condemnation
- Censorship, limits and the Protest Song (Dariush, Farhad Mehrad and Fereydoun Foroughi)
- The Psychedelic Rock Revolution and the "Tehran Sound" (Shahram Brothers, Kourosh Yaghmaei, Habib, Faramarz Aslani, Siavash Ghomayshi, Amir Aram, etc.)
- The curtain falls: The Revolution of '79 and the birth of "Tehrangeles" (Faramarz Assef)
- A soundtrack of resistance and shared identity
- Essential discography of Persian pop
1. Iran between modernity and contradiction, 1960-1979
For anyone looking at Iran today, it can be hard to imagine the golden age of Persian pop, and that, between the Sixties and Seventies, the country was one of the most dynamic cultural centres in the Middle East, marked by a strong and surprising female presence, and visually one of the most modern. In the streets of Tehran, miniskirts, nightclubs, international festivals and a booming music scene all coexisted, while radio and television spread an increasingly global imagery.
This picture, however, tells only part of the story. Behind its modernising surface, the Shah's Iran was riven by deep tensions: the same drive towards Westernisation and economic development coexisted with an authoritarian political system and increasingly visible social fractures.
The Shah's modernisation
In the 1960s and 70s, Iran went through a period of radical socio-economic transformation and deep contradictions under the rule of Mohammad Reza Shah Pahlavi. Through a programme of reforms known as the “White Revolution”, launched in 1963, the Shah pushed for rapid modernisation, industrialisation, land reform and intense urbanisation, fuelling the growth of a new middle class. The Sixties and Seventies were the most productive decades for Iranian art and culture: art and literature moved towards modernity, transforming both in form and content.
Women's emancipation was a central and highly visible part of this project: women won the right to vote, access to university, public office and greater legal protections under the Family Protection Law. In the cities, young women began wearing Western-style clothes, sporting miniskirts, make-up and uncovered hair, in stark contrast with traditional Islamic codes; from 1965 onward, beauty pageants such as “Miss Iran” were even held.
The government invested heavily in promoting a national identity that was at once proudly Persian – reconnecting with its pre-Islamic heritage – and firmly embedded in global modernity, staging lavish events such as the Shiraz Arts Festival. The introduction of television (1959) and the spread of radio hugely broadened the country's cultural horizons, making mass culture accessible to everyone.
The contradictions of modernity
However, this rapid, top-down modernization widened the gap between rich and poor, sharpening the divide between Westernized urban elites and rural or working classes more tied to tradition. The swift changes to the social and economic fabric fueled the growth of a middle class that found itself enjoying greater wealth and knowledge, yet less political freedom. On the political front, reforms went hand in hand with iron-fisted authoritarianism: the Shah imposed single-party rule and crushed dissent through the feared secret police, the Savak. Perceiving this forced Westernization as a form of cultural colonization eroding Iranian identity, many intellectuals, as well as the Shiite clergy, began speaking of "Gharbzadegi" (Westoxification, or intoxication with the West).
The birth of modern Persian pop
It was precisely in this climate of vibrancy, imposed modernity and political censorship that Persian pop music (musiqi-ye pāp) took hold. Young musicians of the era began fusing the rich melodic and lyrical tradition of Persian poetry with emerging Western sounds, from pop and rock to jazz and electronic music. Pioneers like Viguen, dubbed the "Sultan of Pop and Jazz," blazed the trail as early as the 1950s, performing with a guitar in hand. In the 1970s, the entertainment scene flourished in Tehran's clubs and cabarets and on television programs (such as Rangarang), launching absolute pop icons like Googoosh, Ebi, Dariush, and Shahram Shabpareh.
This music embodied a glamorous, aspirational aesthetic, offering young people an escape from the country's complex and pressing realities, freely exploring themes of love, desire and romantic individuality. The cabarets where pop music reigned, and the Iranians who mingled there, looked no different from their counterparts in Paris or London.
But not all of this pop was pure entertainment. The regime's heavy repression and strict censorship pushed singer-songwriters, poets and musicians to develop an influential strand known as "protest song" (Tarane-ye Eterazi). Artists with a rawer, more blues-inflected voice, such as Farhad Mehrad, Dariush and Fereydoun Foroughi, became the voice of widespread discontent. To evade the Savak, their lyrics relied on allegories and metaphors drawn from nature (winter, cold, night) to denounce oppression, social injustice and the climate of fear, all while calling out for freedom.
In a short time, Persian pop became the soundtrack of a fractured era: on one hand, a shining mirror of the Shah's pro-Western modernization; on the other, a means of melancholic protest for a disillusioned youth that would soon rise up en masse to overthrow the regime in the 1979 Revolution.
2. Viguen, the evolution of the sound and the "New Song" (Tarane-ye Novin)
Before the 1950s, Iran's musical landscape was dominated almost exclusively by Persian classical music (musiqi-e assil) and regional folk traditions. It was a highly codified system, built around the dastgāh, featuring long, complex performances aimed at an educated audience or ceremonial settings.
The very idea of a short, accessible song built on modern popular models was essentially nonexistent.
The transformation was not gradual but disruptive, coinciding with the emergence of a new media infrastructure – radio and, shortly after, television – which made possible the birth of a true mass audience.
Within this context, the figure who, more than any other, triggered the change was Viguen Derderian, destined to permanently redefine the boundaries of Iranian music.
Viguen and the breaking of the mold
Born in 1929 in Hamadan into an Iranian-Armenian family, Viguen Derderian developed his musical sensibility in an already hybrid environment, but it was a seemingly minor episode that truly marked the start of his trajectory.
During the Second World War, when his family moved to Tabriz, he came into contact with the Soviet military presence: it was from a Russian soldier that he bought his first guitar. A biographical detail that, in hindsight, takes on an almost symbolic value: a foreign instrument, introduced in a peripheral setting, destined to become the vehicle for a national cultural transformation.
A devotee of American, Italian and Spanish music, Viguen soon developed a decisive insight. He didn't merely imitate Western models, but began reworking their melodies and structures to fit them into a Persian linguistic and cultural context. That was the crucial step: transposition, not copying.
For his lyrics he often turned to his brother, the poet Karo Derderian – author of, among others, the celebrated "Lala'ee" – but he also collaborated with prominent lyricists such as Parveez Vakili and Kareem Fakkour. In doing so, he managed to build a bridge between the Persian literary tradition and an entirely new musical format.
In a landscape still rigidly anchored to classical music, Viguen was the first to achieve a stable synthesis of Persian poetry, pop and jazz. But the break wasn't just sonic: it was also visual and performative. The image of a singer standing with a guitar slung over his shoulder marked a radical departure from the static, ritualistic posture of traditional masters.
The turning point came in 1951, when he began performing at Café Shemiran, one of the most popular venues in the emerging Tehran scene. It was there that he was noticed by a producer from the national radio station. The 1954 broadcast of the song "Mahtab" quickly turned him into a popular phenomenon, marking one of the earliest cases of a modern radio hit in Iran.
From that moment on, his public persona took on a dimension that went beyond music. Compared to Elvis Presley for his charisma, looks and stage presence, Viguen became the country's first true male pop idol. His success was especially significant among female audiences, at a time when models of emancipation were beginning to redefine social relations in urban areas.
His crowning as the "Sultan of Pop and Jazz" was not merely a journalistic label, but the recognition of an already irreversible shift. His impact was such that even established figures from traditional music – such as Delkash, Pouran and Elaheh – began to gravitate toward his world, seeking collaborations and cross-pollination.
With over 600 recorded songs and a repertoire that includes classics such as "Gole Sorkh," "Raghib" and "Dele Divaneh," Viguen did more than build a successful career. He directly reshaped public taste, altering audience expectations and opening up space for a new music industry.
In hindsight, Viguen's centrality is not merely a narrative construct, but is borne out by a series of concrete elements that define his structural role within postwar Iranian music.
The first concerns the use of the guitar. Being among the first to perform standing with an instrument slung over the shoulder was not a mere stylistic detail, but a symbolic break with tradition. As Shahbal Shabpareh (founder of the band Black Cats) has recalled, at the time seeing an artist perform standing with a guitar strap seemed strange compared to traditional masters like Banan, but Viguen's novelty changed the public's taste forever, sparking a desire for something different.
The second element is strictly musical in nature. Viguen's project was not simply an opening to the West, but the construction of a hybrid language: Italian, Spanish or Latin American melodies were reworked and made compatible with Persian prosody and sensibility, often through the lyrics of his brother Karo Derderian. This is where we can trace the origin of a genuine form of modern Persian pop.
From long-form to the modern song
From the moment of his breakthrough, the Iranian musical system began to change rapidly. The long, structured compositions of tradition gave way to 3-4 minute tracks, in line with international standards.
This shift was not merely formal. It implied a different conception of listening: from contemplation to immediate consumption, from a ritual dimension to a media-driven one.
At the same time, Tehran's recording studios became laboratories of experimentation. The integration of Western and traditional instruments generated a new sonic language, built on an unstable but fertile balance: electric guitars, pianos and, later, synthesizers, set alongside Persian instruments such as tar, santur and ney, all underpinned by orchestral arrangements influenced by jazz and European music.
The result was not simple Westernization, but an original synthesis that scholars often describe as "classic Persian pop."
Figures like Pari Zangeneh exemplify this phase well: the former introduces R&B and rock elements, the latter reworks folklore in an orchestral, almost psychedelic key, showing just how broad the spectrum of this transformation was.
The Tarane-ye Novin: a revolution in lyrics
The sonic revolution was accompanied by an equally radical shift in lyrics.
Iranian music had historically drawn on classical poetry, marked by elevated, symbolic language often removed from everyday experience. With the birth of the Tarane-ye Novin ("New Song"), this model was gradually abandoned.
The new lyricists adopted a more direct, colloquial and contemporary language. The themes shifted:
- from poetic abstraction to individual experience
- from classical metaphor to raw feeling
- from idealized love to desire, loss, and frustration
This transition is crucial because it marks the entry of modern subjectivity into Iranian music. Songs become a space for identification, especially for a rapidly changing urban generation.
In this sense, Viguen is not just a musical innovator but also a cultural mediator: his early "light" lyrics paved the way for an entire tradition of pop songwriting that would come to full fruition in the Sixties and Seventies.
A new cultural paradigm
The emergence of the Tarane-ye Novin cannot be separated from its social context. In those years Iran was undergoing processes of urbanization, modernization and cultural opening.
Pop music became the soundtrack to this transformation:
- accompanies the rise of the middle class
- reflects new gender dynamics
- builds an urban, cosmopolitan imagery
Within this picture, Viguen's role remains central. He is not the sole protagonist of this change – and it would be reductive to read him as such – but he is the trigger point without which the entire system would likely have followed different timelines and forms.
His importance is thus less "quantitative" (he is not the most dominant artist of the Seventies) and more structural: he is the one who makes everything that follows possible.
3. Record industry and media
The sonic revolution launched by pioneers like Viguen Derderian would never have reached the scale of a mass phenomenon without the simultaneous development of the mass media. Between the Sixties and Seventies, Iran experienced an unprecedented media expansion, one capable of turning singers into genuine national icons.
Forough Farrokhzad: television, radio and the birth of the star system
The main engine of this spread was the introduction of television, launched in 1959 and consolidated after the 1967 nationalization under the National Iranian Radio and Television (NIRT). Together with radio, already widespread, television brought music and entertainment directly into the homes of the urban middle class, redefining the relationship between artist and audience.
In this new ecosystem, variety shows became the primary engine of celebrity-building. The most emblematic case is Mikhak-e Noghrei ("The Silver Carnation"), hosted by Fereydoon Farrokhzad, one of the most multifaceted and fascinating figures of the entire era.
An intellectual educated in Germany, with a doctorate in political science earned in Munich, an award-winning poet and brother of the celebrated Forough Farrokhzad, Farrokhzad embodied a rare synthesis of high culture and popular entertainment. His show was not simply a hit program, but a genuine hub of the music system: it launched the careers of artists destined to dominate the scene, including Ebi, Leila Forouhar, Shohreh and Sattar.
Mikhak-e Noghrei was conceived as a cutting-edge variety show that made Farrokhzad the symbol of pre-revolutionary entertainment. The host did more than simply present: he recorded solo tracks to perform on air and made use of playback to construct theatrical, often flamboyant duets with the divas of the day. His performances alongside singers like Ramesh, Shohreh, Marjan and Nooshafarin, complete with elaborate costume changes, perfectly embodied the lavish, free-spirited aesthetic of the decade.
At the same time, Farrokhzad was also a prolific singer-songwriter, especially active in the first half of the Seventies, a period in which he released numerous singles and an album, published in 1974, achieving considerable success with songs like "Ashyaneh."
The distinctive feature of his persona lies precisely in his integrated use of the televisual medium: he did not merely introduce other artists, but occupied the stage himself, crafting hybrid performances that blended singing, theatre and spectacle. With his elegant style – invariably in a tuxedo – he also established himself as an aesthetic model, embodying a sophisticated, cosmopolitan idea of modernity and anticipating the figure of the all-round entertainer, equally at home in music, television and the construction of a public image.
Alongside Mikhak-e Noghrei, another pillar of the era was Rangarang ("Colorful"), a television programme that rapidly became one of the main showcases for Iranian pop music. If Farrokhzad's show stood out for its host's strong authorial stamp, Rangarang instead represented the more spectacular, collective dimension of the media system: a vessel for lavish, visually rich performances geared toward pure entertainment, in which stars consolidated their public image.
The term itself was nothing new to Iranian audiences. Already on the radio, "Golha-ye Rangarang" ("Colorful Flowers") had named one of the most prestigious programmes devoted to classical Persian music, marking a symbolic continuity between high tradition and mass culture.
In the Seventies, however, Rangarang came to be identified above all with the aesthetic of pre-revolutionary pop: a universe of colour, lush orchestration and stylistic cross-pollination. It's no accident that the name has been revived in contemporary times to title compilations dedicated to that period, effectively becoming a retrospective synthesis of its sonic and visual identity.
The birth of celebrity culture
At the same time, the print press played a decisive role in shaping the pop imagination. Youth magazines such as "Javanan" and "Zan-e Rooz" didn't just cover the music: they actively helped define the social status of stars, turning them into cultural role models for the new urban generation.
The data from the period speaks for itself: Googoosh and Aref were voted "most famous pop icons" for seven years running in a poll run by "Javanan" magazine, while "Zan-e Rooz" went as far as naming Aref "Man of the Year", placing him alongside the country's leading political figures, with the sole exception of the Shah.
The popstar was no longer just a musical performer: she or he became a point of reference for identity itself.
The record industry and the technological revolution
This growing demand was met by the rapid structuring of the record industry. Labels such as Apollo, Ahange Rooz and Royal began producing and distributing on a large scale the new sounds of the Iranian scene, from orchestral pop to rock and the emerging funk.
Apollo, in particular, established itself as the central hub for bands of the so-called "Tehran Sound", while other labels helped maintain a balance between innovation and tradition, also releasing works tied to sung poetry.
From a technological standpoint, the market initially remained dominated by 45 and 33 rpm vinyl records. It was cassette tapes, however, that brought the real break: cheap, portable and easy to duplicate, they allowed music to spread far and wide, making their way into middle-class homes and cars.
This shift marks a crucial turning point. Music was no longer tied to specific places of consumption — radio, venues, events — but became an integral part of everyday life, accompanying urban existence and definitively cementing the star system.
4. Divas, idols, media and the aesthetics of glamour
"The feeling Hayedeh's voice evokes is that of losing everything you've ever loved — that is, Hayedeh herself..."
(Pejman Akbarzadeh, Iranian journalist and filmmaker)
The stages of luxury and the kings of pop
In the Seventies, the cult of youth celebrity found its fullest physical expression in Tehran's lavish nightclubs and cabarets, such as the Miami or the Bakara, veritable temples of entertainment where the country's best-paid and best-loved stars performed. At the very top of this star system stood Aref and Googoosh. Aref, crowned by the public as the "Sultan of Hearts", was one of the foremost pioneers in pairing Western-style melodies with romantic Farsi lyrics. With his first great radio and TV hit, "Daryacheye Noor", he radically transformed Iranian romantic pop. His stature as a singer and his immense popularity led him not only to dominate the soundtracks of the era's most celebrated films, but also to earn the prestigious honour of performing live at the 1974 Tehran Asian Games, singing accompanied by the Philharmonic Orchestra in front of a hundred thousand people.
The myth of Googoosh
At the very centre of this dazzling media and cultural revolution sat an untouchable figure: Faegheh Atashin, universally known as Googoosh. Performing from the age of four as a child prodigy, in the Seventies she established herself as the undisputed queen and the most popular, prolific entertainer in the entire history of Persian pop.
Her musical impact was overwhelming. Googoosh commanded an enormously wide-ranging repertoire, blending Farsi lyrics with pop arrangements, disco rhythms and blues with total naturalness, alternating them with ballads of tremendous emotional impact. Records such as "Mordab" (1971) and "Pol" (1975) are emblematic of this versatility: the former, built around the famous title track composed by Hassan Shamaizadeh, introduced funk elements and modern grooves into Iranian pop, while the latter, the fruit of her collaboration with arranger Varoujan and lyricist Iraj Janati Ataei, is one of the most sophisticated records in the history of Iranian pop, with Googoosh's warm, seductive voice moving over anything but obvious harmonic structures. Her arrangements are masterpieces of orchestration, using symphonic strings, flutes, saxophones and intricate percussion to conjure an atmosphere some critics have compared to the chanson style of Édith Piaf, but with the rhythmic complexity of jazz and bossa nova.
Beyond dominating stages and cabarets, her presence also spilled over into cinema: she appeared in more than 25 films over the course of the decade, some of which became the biggest commercial hits in Iranian film history at the time.
Yet the true "myth of Googoosh" transcended music alone to make a disruptive mark on fashion and style. With her flamboyant outfits, her hip-elegant look and her glamorous aesthetic, Googoosh embodied the absolute aspiration to modernity and emancipation for Iranian women. Her iconic miniskirts and, above all, her famous, widely imitated short, jaunty haircut — which literally came to be known as the "Googooshi cut" — set the rules for an entire decade. Millions of young women across Iran flocked to beauty salons to recreate her daring hairstyles, ranging from cropped cuts to layered blonde looks inspired by Farrah Fawcett, and copied her looks, turning her into a reference figure capable of steering the aesthetic tastes of an entire generation.
This profound influence made Googoosh not only a singer of unrivalled success, but the ultimate symbol of the modern Pahlavi era. Her cultural and emotional weight would prove so deep that, when the 1979 Revolution sought to erase this glittering showcase, Googoosh chose not to flee: she stayed in Tehran out of love for her homeland, enduring an absolute ban on performing that lasted 21 years. And yet, throughout all those years of silence, her legend continued to live on clandestinely in the living rooms of Iranians through hidden cassette and video tapes, keeping intact her status as "daughter of Iran".
Hayedeh and Mahasti: the queens of Iranian pop
Alongside the kings of pop and style, the scene was dominated by artists with extraordinary vocal gifts, capable of filling the largest cabarets and theatres. On the female side, the two sisters Hayedeh and Mahasti were the undisputed queens of vocal artistry. Hayedeh, in particular, reigned over the scene unchallenged: after debuting on the strict, classical Gol-ha radio programmes, in the Seventies she fully embraced pop music, working with great composers such as Anoushiravan Rohani, Jahanbakhsh Pazouki and Mohammad Heydari. With her majestic, powerful vocal range, she gave audiences unforgettable, timeless masterpieces such as "Soghati" and "Gol-e Sang". By unanimous acclaim, she thus became one of the most influential, beloved and legendary voices in all of Iranian history. Standing beside her was her younger sister Mahasti, who captivated crowds by uniting light pop melody with the legacy of traditional music with rare elegance.
Ebi and Moein: the great male voices
On the male side, two figures established themselves in those years as true musical monuments. Ebrahim Hamedi, universally known by his stage name Ebi, is one of the most influential and prolific Iranian pop singers of all time, affectionately dubbed by the public "Mr. Voice Of The World". Having taken his very first steps singing and reciting the Quran in his youth, Ebi was struck deeply by the music of the Beatles. This Western influence led him, in the mid-Sixties, to found the beat band "The Rebels" alongside two other future legends of Persian music: Shahram Shabpareh and Siavash Ghomayshi. After cutting his teeth in outfits such as the Sunboys and the storied rock band Black Cats, Ebi launched a dazzling solo career that would go on to dominate theatre stages. Already important in the Seventies, he became even more so, as we'll see later, during the post-revolution diaspora.
Moein, hailed as "the eternal voice of love", began his career instead singing at a young age on Radio Isfahan. His rigorous training was honed under legendary masters of traditional music such as Taj Esfahani and Hassan Kasaei. At just 18 he started out singing on Radio Isfahan and in prestigious venues like the Hotel Shah Abbas and the "A Thousand and One Nights" cabaret. His vocal timbre has a singular ability to convey romantic and melancholic material, thanks to a sense of "burning sorrow" built into his voice. The real turning point came on the eve of the Revolution, in 1978, with the release of the towering hit "Yeki Ra Doost Midaram", written by Masoud Amini and set to music by Moein himself. The success was so overwhelming and immediate that it crossed Iran's borders, so much so that celebrated colleagues already in exile, such as Hayedeh, Aref and Ebi, recorded their own versions of it.
Entertainment, style and the other stars
Adding further depth and variety to the scene were artists capable of pushing the aesthetic and the sound toward even more modern territory. A leading role was played by Shohreh, who became the undisputed star of the most rhythmic and energetic pop-dance music of those years.
Feeding this extraordinarily rich recording industry still further were idols adored by the crowds such as Leila Forouhar, a former child film prodigy turned beloved pop star, and the celebrated Sattar, whose sweet, wistful voice gave voice to the decade's most poetic and emotional lyrics. This lavish ecosystem was also fed by a constellation of other formidable talents who rounded out the television and recording landscape.
Female performers with sophisticated voices such as Simin Ghanem, immortalized in the masterpiece "Gole Goldoone Man", and Homeyra stood alongside multifaceted figures such as Giti Pashaei, a rare case of a performer who was also a formally trained composer, educated in New York. The scene also acted as a bridge to the beloved stars of the previous generation, such as Delkash, Marzieh, Pooran and Elaheh, monumental voices who successfully guided the transition from romantic tradition to pop.
Bringing modern R&B and soft rock sounds into the mix instead was Martik, who enriched the era's arrangements thanks to his great skill on guitar. Finally, popular television compilation shows made the fortune of hugely popular young faces such as Afshin Moghaddam, Neli, Beti and Soli, whose romantic hits made them a constant presence in the homes of a youth ever more hungry for music, fashion and modernity.
5. The makers of the sound: the masters, the poets and poetesses behind the scenes
"I love Googoosh passionately. But mine isn't the love of a man for a woman; it's the love of Hassan Shamaizadeh, the composer, for Googoosh, the singer"
(Hassan Shamaizadeh)
The "Golden Triangle" of Persian pop
In the Seventies, Iranian pop was shaped by an artistic partnership as brief as it was legendary, one that has gone down in history as the "Golden Triangle". At the heart of this collaboration were Googoosh's voice, the music of Hassan Shamaizadeh and the lyrics of Ardalan Sarfaraz; often completing the sonic picture were the masterful orchestral arrangements of Varoujan. This encounter produced seventeen songs destined to leave a deep mark on the Iranian musical imagination, including essential tracks such as "Mordab", "Kavir" and "Do Panjereh".
What makes this partnership even more extraordinary is its creative concentration. Although the songs born from this project were released and distributed over the course of five years, between 1973 and 1978, Hassan Shamaizadeh later revealed an illuminating detail: the entire creative core of those works was conceived in an extremely short span of time, just one year and eight months. This isn't a mere anecdote — it helps us understand the unrepeatable intensity of a collaboration that, in such a short time, managed to define the sound of an entire era.
Hassan Shamaizadeh, the architect of pop
Hassan Shamaizadeh deserves a place of honour as a true architect of 1970s Iranian music. His initial training was as an instrumentalist: he played wind instruments such as saxophone and clarinet. However, the gruelling pace of live performances – up to fifteen or sixteen hours a day carrying heavy instruments – caused him a severe herniated disc in his neck, forcing him to abandon that path. What might have looked like a setback instead became the decisive turning point of his career. In 1972 Shamaizadeh devoted himself to composing, and within a few years became one of the most sought-after, prolific and influential songwriters on the entire Iranian pop scene. From his pen and his melodic sensibility came not only some of Googoosh's most celebrated songs, but also pivotal tracks for artists such as Dariush, Ebi, Shohreh, Aref and many others. More than simply a successful composer, Shamaizadeh was one of the minds who codified the emotional and sonic language of modern Persian pop.
Varoujan and the art of arrangement
If Shamaizadeh was one of the great melodic architects of that era, Varoujan was one of its most refined sonic craftsmen. His role was crucial in defining the "clothing" of the songs, that combination of orchestration, tone and arrangement choices that turned a good composition into an instantly recognizable track. He became especially celebrated for his work with Googoosh and Dariush, but his importance extends well beyond those names.
A particularly telling example of his talent can be found on the 1976 album "Ahangha-ye Mahalli", released in the West as "The Series Of Music For Young Adults: Iranian Folk Songs", performed by soprano Pari Zangeneh and commissioned by the Institute for the Intellectual Development of Children and Young Adults. On this record Varoujan reworked old Persian folk songs, giving them a fresh flavour suspended between the recovery of tradition and modern sensibility: strings, flutes, organ and refined percussion intertwine in arrangements that at times brush up against a genuinely psychedelic atmosphere.
Varoujan wasn't merely a master of orchestral or melodic pop. Alongside figures such as Babak Bayat and Esfandiar Monfaredzadeh, he also helped shape the musical language of Iranian protest song, showing how arrangers were not mere sound technicians but true protagonists of the era's cultural transformation.
A school of composers
A formidable array of other minds helped forge that decade's unique sound. One pivotal figure was Siavash Ghomayshi: though also a much-loved singer in his own right, Ghomayshi stood out as an exceptional composer. Working in tandem with great lyricists, he wrote and composed melodies that became pillars of Persian pop (including Ebi's future masterpiece “Setarehaye Sorbi”). The scene teemed with talent behind the scenes: masters of arrangement and composition of the calibre of Fereydoun Shahbazian and Kazem Alemi, who alongside giants such as Anoushiravan Rohani, Mohammad Heydari, Sadegh Nojouki, Farid Zoland and Andranik dominated the record credits of the era, crafting the hits of the biggest stars.
It was these masters who wrote, orchestrated and shaped the melodies that would carry performers like Hayedeh, Martik and Moein to success, helping build a repertoire that still today defines the very idea of Persian pop's golden age.
The poets of the musical revolution
If Iranian pop grew more modern on the musical side, an equally important transformation was taking place in its lyrics. Words stopped being mere ornamental accompaniment and became one of the most vital spaces for artistic creativity. Leading this change was a generation of lyricists of extraordinary calibre, among them Shahyar Ghanbari, Iraj Jannati Ataei and Ardalan Sarfaraz.
Their contribution wasn't limited to writing romantic lyrics steeped in Persian melancholy. In a context marked by censorship, social tension and political repression, these writers began loading songs with further layers of meaning, drawing on allegory, natural imagery, existential metaphor and double readings. In doing so they made possible the birth of a new kind of pop writing, one able to combine lyrical intensity, introspection and social critique. It was they, to a large extent, who supplied the language for the protest songs performed by the era's great rock and pop voices.
Alongside these central figures, the lyrical landscape was further broadened by other writers of great importance, such as Bijan Samandar and Homa Mirafshar, who helped enrich the repertoire with a vast and varied output, further extending the expressive possibilities of Iranian pop song.
Leila Kasra and the fundamental role of women
Behind the scenes of this extraordinarily rich recording industry, women's contribution also proved decisive. One central figure was Leila Kasra, known by the pen name Hedieh, who was not only Hayedeh's closest friend but also her most important writer. Their relationship stands as one of the most intense partnerships in the history of Iranian pop: Kasra wrote more than thirty highly successful songs for Hayedeh, playing a substantial role in shaping her artistic identity.
Their collaboration also had a rare feature: Kasra didn't remain confined to the invisible role of writer, but actively took part in recording sessions, even reciting her own verses within the singer's albums. This direct dialogue between authorial voice and performance helped create a particularly intense expressive dimension, in which lyrics and performance ended up tightly intertwined.
Kasra's talent, however, wasn't confined to this partnership. She also collaborated with other leading performers, in particular with Moein, for whom she wrote much-loved songs such as “Safar”, set to music by Farid Zoland. Even after the revolution, in exile, she continued to act as a key figure of the Iranian musical diaspora: in 1988 she wrote the lyrics for “Tanin-e Solh” (“Echo of Peace”), a choral piece performed by numerous Iranian artists to mark the end of the Iran-Iraq war.
Her personal story also carries a deeply melancholy epilogue, one that reinforces the symbolic bond with Hayedeh. Struck down by a serious illness, Kasra died just seven months before the singer. That bond found a kind of final, moving echo in Hayedeh's last concert, in January 1990 at the Casablanca Club near San Francisco, when she performed one of the last songs her friend had written for her, bearing the almost prophetic title “Man Mikham Be Khoune Ye Khoda Beram” (“I Want to Go to the House of God”).
Alongside her worked other notable figures, such as Zoya Zakarian, a trusted collaborator of artists like Martik and Moein, and the poet Mina Assadi, who helped further broaden the lyrical landscape of Iranian pop music. Their presence confirms just how far the work behind the scenes was from being a male monopoly, instead reflecting a plurality of voices and sensibilities.
Finally, it's essential to recall the influence of Forough Farrokhzad, a great intellectual and poet whose work crossed over from literature into the popular musical repertoire as well. Her poems were set to music and performed by artists of the era such as Ramesh, in the song “Payiz”, and by her brother Fereydoon Farrokhzad in “Aftab Mishavad”. Here too we glimpse one of the most fascinating aspects of the pre-revolutionary scene: the possibility that high poetry, pop song and mass culture could meet without cancelling each other out.
6. Audience and reception: enthusiasm and condemnation
Kucheh-bazari: street music
Persian pop of the Sixties and Seventies established itself as a cross-cutting mass phenomenon, yet the spaces in which it was consumed clearly reflected the country's deep social and economic divides.
On one side stood the working and popular classes of southern Tehran, who packed the cabarets of Lalehzar Street or the venues of the Shahre Now red-light district, such as the celebrated Shokufeh-ye Now. In these spaces, kucheh-bazari music reigned – literally “street” or “market” music – brought to success by hugely popular artists such as Mahvash, Susan and Aghasi.
These performers spoke to a less Westernised audience, singing of love, everyday hardship and often precarious living conditions in direct, immediate language. Aghasi in particular helped renew this urban repertoire by blending it with the bandari sounds of southern Iran, building a bridge between popular culture and regional traditions.
At the opposite extreme stood the elite and the new urban middle class, who frequented exclusive cabarets such as the Bakara, the Miami or the Moulin Rouge. In these lavish settings, modelled on European and American examples, the leading stars of modern pop performed, offering sophisticated, visually elaborate shows that embodied a cosmopolitan ideal of entertainment.
Emulation and the youthful imagination
For the urban youth, buoyed by the period's economic expansion, pop stars weren't mere performers but genuine life models. Their influence went well beyond music, extending to how people dressed, moved and presented themselves in public.
As we saw with Googoosh, this dynamic could take on extremely concrete and pervasive forms. Yet the phenomenon wasn't confined to a single figure: the entire entertainment system helped spread a shared imagery, in which aesthetics, consumption and personal identity tended to blur into one another.
For a generation raised in the big cities, fashion and style thus became tools of self-representation, ways of expressing belonging to a culture perceived as modern and globalised. Emulation, then, wasn't simple imitation, but an integral part of a broader process of social and cultural transformation.
Moral condemnation and cultural critique
Against this enthusiastic embrace, however, stood an equally firm reaction from the more traditional and religious sectors of society. The entire world of cabarets and night-clubs was seen as a space of moral corruption, where the mixing of the sexes, the consumption of alcohol and the spectacle made of the body violated established social and religious norms.
Pop music was often branded haram (forbidden), accused of leading young people away from supposedly fundamental values and of fostering a shallow, disengaged culture.
Alongside this religiously-rooted condemnation ran an equally sharp one from part of the intelligentsia critical of the Shah's regime. For many intellectuals, the spread of pro-Western pop culture represented not a process of emancipation but a form of cultural alienation.
It was in this context that the term Gharbzadegi – “West-toxification” – began to spread, used to describe a modernization perceived as imitative and destructive toward Iranian identity.
Persian pop thus came to occupy an ambiguous and deeply significant position: on one hand, an expression of urban modernity and the aspirations of a new generation; on the other, the target of a twofold critique – moral and cultural – that called its very legitimacy into question. More than a simple musical phenomenon, it became a genuine field of symbolic tension, reflecting the contradictions of a society suspended between openness and resistance, transformation and rejection.
7. Censorship, Limits and the Protest Song
The shadow of Savak and the birth of a new sound
The 1960s and 1970s in Iran were not only the stage for an extraordinary cultural ferment, but also an era marked by deep contradictions and the iron fist of the Pahlavi regime. While the Shah's so-called “White Revolution” imposed rapid modernization on the country, it ended up widening the social divide: wealth became concentrated in the hands of the elite close to the royal family, while the working class continued to face widespread poverty.
In this climate of mounting unrest, the fearsome secret police, Savak, established with the support of the FBI and Mossad, exercised pervasive repression, censoring the media and brutally silencing any form of political or intellectual dissent. It was precisely in this fault line between splendor and censorship that popular music gradually stopped being pure entertainment and turned into a tool of resistance. It thus settled into an intellectual grey zone, halfway between the clandestine songs of armed guerrillas and the glossy, romantic pop of the cabarets. It was in this context that the genre of “protest song” (Tarane-ye Eterazi) was born, destined to break sharply with Persian musical tradition not only in its lyrics, but also – and above all – in its sound.
The voices of rebellion
Giving voice to this disillusionment were singers who were anomalies by the standards of the time, such as Farhad Mehrad, Fereydoun Foroughi and Dariush Eghbali, artists who had cut their teeth in clubs playing covers of English and American rock, blues and jazz songs. Their approach to the microphone was therefore radically different from the dominant style: deep, virile voices, often harsh and, above all, deliberately stripped of tahrir, those vocal trills and embellishments that formed the very heart of traditional Persian singing.
At first, to a public accustomed to sophisticated, melodious performances, this near-total absence of ornamentation felt unusual, if not outright unpleasant. Yet as political tension intensified throughout the 1970s, that “raw,” dark, unadorned singing gradually proved to be the most effective expressive medium: these performers ceased to be mere singers and became representative figures, their raspy voices physically embodying the unease and protest of an entire generation.
Yet the urgency to denounce the country's social conditions was not the exclusive domain of these “rough” voices: it ended up actively involving already established figures from the pop and intellectual scene as well. For instance, an absolute popstar of Ebi's caliber began recording numerous songs charged with strong political and social weight even before the Revolution. Likewise, dissent found vital nourishment in literature: the disruptive, nonconformist verses of the great poet Forough Farrokhzad were set to music and turned into full-fledged protest songs, performed by celebrated artists and, notably, by her brother, the showman Fereydoun Farrokhzad, an “educated patriot” himself known for his fervent, outspoken political activism.
Recourse to allegory: poetry as a weapon
To circumvent the regime's rigid controls and the tight net of the secret police, the new generation of lyricists was forced to sharpen its literary weapons. Writers such as Shahyar Ghanbari, Iraj Jannati Ataei and Ardalan Sarfaraz gradually abandoned direct political references, drawing instead on a long Persian tradition of ambiguity and layered language – a practice rooted in the classical poetry of figures such as Hafez.
Lyrics thus filled with a genuine coded vocabulary, built through natural allegories and atmospheric metaphors. As several studies point out, these writers consciously exploited “literary ambiguity” and the polysemy of the language to disguise political content behind seemingly innocent images. Recurring elements such as winter, cold, night, walls or chains became tools for evoking, without ever naming it outright, the condition of oppression under the Pahlavi regime.
“Night,” in particular, took on a central role: with its symbolic charge of darkness and cold, it was used to represent a space of censorship, ignorance and fear, often set against day or spring, images of illumination and freedom. Likewise, natural contrasts – such as that between a stagnant swamp and the open sea – turned into transparent metaphors for an audience by now well used to reading between the lines: the former as a symbol of stagnation and imprisonment, the latter as a promise of escape and liberation.
The Shah's irritation with “melancholic music”
This allusive language proved so effective and so widespread that, by the mid-1970s, musical output had come to be dominated by recurring themes such as sadness, disillusionment, poverty and lost hope. Social unease and the lack of freedom were reflected in increasingly bleak songs, helping to create a shared emotional climate that began to openly worry the authorities.
A particularly revealing anecdote tells how the Shah himself, irritated by this mood, complained to his Minister of Culture about the spread of what he called a rampant “melancholic music.” Behind that definition lay a deeper awareness: discontent was no longer confined to the margins, but was finding in music a vehicle capable of reaching and mobilizing urban youth.
Precisely for this reason, the Shah explicitly called for action to curb the phenomenon. What emerges from this episode is not merely a sovereign's personal irritation, but the implicit recognition of a change that had already taken place: through the poets' metaphors and the performers' raw voices, pop music had turned into a powerful vehicle of collective expression, capable of giving shape and voice to a widespread feeling of unrest and opposition.
Dariush: idol of the crowds, metaphors, and the clash with the regime
Bursting onto the scene at just twenty years old in 1971, Dariush Eghbali quickly became the political and social singer par excellence of the Shah's era. Drawing on a direct, unembellished vocal style, and collaborating with composers such as Hassan Shamaizadeh and Babak Bayat, as well as with Varoujan's refined arrangements, he specialized in emotionally powerful songs that expressed a subtle yet incisive opposition to the status quo.
Alongside Googoosh, he was regarded as one of the most beloved and influential artists of his generation, so much so that he was voted “most popular singer” in 1977 by Javanan, a leading youth magazine. Working closely with some of the era's most important lyricists, he produced commercially successful albums such as “Cheshme Man” (1973), “Shaghayegh” (1976) and “Faryad Zire Ab” (1977).
It was precisely in 1977, at the height of his popularity, that his personal story was marked by a traumatic episode with enormous public impact. During a live performance at the famous Khorram cabaret in Tehran, Dariush was attacked by an obsessed fan, Maryam, who threw acid on his face. According to what later emerged, the act stemmed from morbid jealousy and unrequited love: the woman reportedly declared she wanted to disfigure him so that no other woman could have him. The attack left him with severe burns to his face and body, forcing him to halt his career to undergo a long and painful medical journey, including reconstructive plastic surgery and specialist treatment, some of it abroad. Although the episode was not directly linked to political repression, it helped reinforce the tragic aura already surrounding his public figure: Dariush increasingly appeared as a wounded, vulnerable idol, scarred in the flesh as well as in the voice. That personal trauma thus became entwined with the melancholic imagery of his songs, cementing the myth of the "singer of sorrow" and, in later years, deepening his own personal frailties, including the addictions from which he would eventually recover, culminating in the founding of the Ayeneh association (a non-profit supporting drug addicts) in 2002.
His melodies, steeped in melancholy and tension, often functioned as complex political allegories: the chained fairies of "Pariya" or the hearts likened to blood-red poppies in "Shaqayeq" became powerful, widely circulated images used to denounce social inequality and the pervasive oppression in the country. His role as a mouthpiece for public discontent quickly made him a direct target of the Savak. Dariush was not simply a politically engaged singer, but one of the nation's most revered pop stars, able to hold "a special place in the heart of every Iranian." Precisely for this reason, his arrest triggered a cultural shock of enormous scale: the fact that the regime was willing to imprison even such a beloved figure showed that no one could truly consider themselves safe.
He ended up in prison on several occasions because of his most overtly political songs, including "Jangal" – a tribute to the armed uprising of Marxist guerrillas in the Siahkal forest –, "Booye Gandom," a critique of economic disparity, and "Ali Konkuri," in which imprisonment was evoked through a university-exam metaphor.
Despite his immense popular support, his fate at home was inevitably shaped by the approaching Revolution. Faced with unrest, violence and the growing "absence of any form of tolerance" that would accompany the birth of the Islamic Republic, Dariush left Iran in 1978. From exile, first in Europe and then in the United States, he has continued to produce oppositional music and to campaign for civil rights, cementing over time his role as one of the most influential and enduring figures in contemporary Iranian music.
Farhad Mehrad and the anthem "Jomeh"
An absolute giant of this scene and one of the pioneers of Iranian rock was Farhad Mehrad. Unlike most of his peers, Farhad began his career singing exclusively in English, French and Italian. His impeccable pronunciation and a voice deeply steeped in blues earned him, during his years as frontman and pianist for Black Cats in the smoky rooms of the Couchini Club, a telling nickname: the Americans who frequented the venue dubbed him the "Ray Charles of Iran."
The switch to Farsi came relatively late, but marked a decisive turning point. His first major hit, "Marde Tanha" ("A Lonely Man"), written in 1969 for the film "Reza Motori," inaugurated a new artistic phase, defined by a radical choice unusual for the record industry of the time: Farhad would only perform songs carrying a message he deeply believed in. It was precisely this integrity that led him to record very few tracks in the early Seventies, yet each one went on to take on the weight of a true generational anthem.
His most celebrated masterpiece remains "Jomeh" ("Friday"), released in 1971 as the soundtrack to the film "Khodahafez Rafigh." Built on a rock-blues structure, the song depicts a leaden, melancholic Friday in which "blood rains from the clouds": an image the public immediately read as a powerful political allegory for the Siahkal massacre, which had taken place on that very day of the week.
The relationship between Farhad and those in power took a dramatic turn with the 1979 Revolution. On February 11th, the day after the Shah's fall, Iranian television broadcast his song "Vahdat" ("Unity") to celebrate the revolution and its promise of freedom. However, the new Islamic regime quickly grasped the scale of his influence over the masses and, fearing its impact, banned him from performing. Censorship was immediate and systematic: even the release of "Vahdat" itself was blocked, in a clear attempt to erase his voice from public life and collective memory.
A long, painful silence followed, lasting some fifteen years. Only in 1993 did Farhad manage to release his first post-revolution album, "Khab Dar Bidari," before losing all faith in the regime's licensing system once and for all. He then decided to leave the country, relocating abroad, where he released "Barf" ("Snow") in the United States in 1999. He died prematurely in Paris in 2002, following a serious illness.
Fereydoun Foroughi: the pioneer of rock-blues
Another giant of this rebellious scene was Fereydoun Foroughi. A multi-instrumentalist able to play guitar, piano and organ, and also trained in theatre, he began his professional career in 1971 lending his voice to the soundtrack of the film "Adamak." His style, deeply steeped in jazz and blues, found full expression with his 1972 debut album, "Zendoone Del" ("The Prison of the Heart"), now considered one of the first and most important examples of blues-rock in the history of Iranian music.
What made him instantly recognizable was his vocal timbre: a hoarse, deep, scratchy voice, capable of conveying intense drama and a genuine sense of despair. Working with lyrics by writers such as Shahyar Ghanbari and music by Esfandiar Monfaredzadeh, Foroughi built a repertoire of powerful emotional impact. Songs like "Niyaaz," "Tangna" and "Ghoozak'e Pa" cemented his popularity, but it was in the mid-Seventies that his role became truly central.
His performance of "Yar'e Dabestani'e Man" ("My School Companion") spread rapidly among young people, turning into a true generational anthem. Sung at the top of their lungs by university students and the anti-Shah youth movements, the song came to embody one of the most immediate symbols of dissent.
Influence on such a scale could not go unnoticed. The regime began to see him as an inconvenient figure, going so far as to bar him from lending his voice to new film soundtracks through direct intervention by the Ministry of Culture.
Foroughi's fate proved even bitterer with the 1979 Revolution. Despite having been one of the musical symbols of opposition to the Pahlavi regime, the new Islamic Republic left no room for his voice: his rock style and his past made him incompatible with the new cultural order. His career was thus abruptly cut short. He was never again allowed to release music, condemned to a long forced silence that lasted until his premature death.
And yet, his legacy did not disappear. Decades later, "Yar'e Dabestani'e Man" was rediscovered and reclaimed by new generations of university students, once again becoming a protest anthem – this time against the Islamic Republic itself. A paradoxical fate, one that confirms the symbolic power and historical persistence of his music.
8. The Psychedelic Rock Revolution and the "Tehran Sound"
"Without the Couchini Restaurant, rock music would never have grown in Iran, and we would never have heard singers like Ebi and Farhad"
(Ebrahim Nabavi, Iranian music critic)
The explosion of rock in Iran and the "Tehran Sound"
As we have seen, the raw, gravelly voices of artists like Farhad had given protest its soul, but their revolution had actually begun in the smoky rock clubs of the capital. While romantic pop dominated television, another, purely musical revolution was taking hold in the underground clubs. Legendary venues like the Couchini Restaurant, founded in the early Sixties by actress Vida Ghahremani, were not simply bars, but became a vital incubator for the musicians of the era. Guided by the influence of Western bands such as the Beatles, the Rolling Stones and The Ventures, young Iranians began picking up electric guitars and experimenting with new rhythms.
This pioneering scene became the training ground for artists who would go on to dominate the record industry in the decades that followed. In the mid-Sixties, particularly inspired by the music of the Beatles, the very young Shahram Shabpareh, Ebi and Siavash Ghomayshi joined forces to found the beat band The Rebels. The energy was such that countless beat and garage rock groups began springing up, among which names like The Raptures, The Dangers, Golden Ring and Scorpio stand out. Together, these Tehran garage bands, who released their records almost exclusively on the Apollo label, gave rise to the specific movement and genre known as the "Tehran Sound."
Black Cats, the academy of Iranian rock
From this fertile ground, the legendary Black Cats came to life in 1966, founded and produced by drummer Shahbal Shabpareh, Shahram's brother. Black Cats were not simply a band, but became a true, ever-evolving "academy" of rock and pop, destined to discover and launch the country's greatest talents.
The group's first historic lineup came close to the modern concept of a "supergroup": alongside brothers Shahbal and Shahram Shabpareh on guitar, the band featured the young Ebi, Hassan Shamaizadeh — the future, brilliant composer for Googoosh and Dariush — on saxophone, and the towering Farhad Mehrad as lead vocalist and pianist. Another historic member of the group, trumpeter Manouchehr Eslami, described Farhad as by far the most important member: despite being unable to read sheet music, all he needed was to hear a piece a couple of times to blend it in perfect harmony with the rest of the instruments.
The Black Cats' goal was extremely bold for its time: to raise Iranian music to international standards by recording rock and blues covers of giants like Ray Charles, James Brown and the Rolling Stones. Farhad, in particular, had mastered English, French and Italian with a care for pronunciation and literature so perfect that the expat and American crowds who packed the Couchini Club could hardly believe his mother tongue was Farsi. It was precisely because of his formidable English-language performances with the Black Cats that he earned the celebrated nickname "the Ray Charles of Iran".
This band was so far ahead of its time that it also produced what is remembered as one of the very first music videos in Iranian history. During a performance for the television show Studio B, the Black Cats didn't just play music: they acted out a full scene around a gaming table while masterfully playing and singing an English-language cover of "The House Of The Rising Sun" by the Animals, fusing visual storytelling with rock performance for the first time.
After leaving the Black Cats, Shahram Shabpareh launched a solo career and, over the course of the Seventies, quickly established himself as the undisputed king of danceable pop and a familiar face in several youth films of the era.
Kourosh Yaghmaei, the godfather of psychedelic rock
The figure who, more than any other, defined and brought this strand to maturity was Kourosh Yaghmaei, universally recognised as the "godfather of Iranian psychedelic rock". His insight was as simple as it was revolutionary: fusing Western rock guitar riffs — inspired by figures like Jimi Hendrix and bands such as Pink Floyd and Led Zeppelin — with Persian folklore and poetry.
To this hybrid framework Yaghmaei added a further element, introducing the keyboard as the main rhythmic engine in place of the guitar, an unprecedented choice for the Iranian scene of the time. The result of this experimentation was "Gol-e Yakh" ("Ice Flower"), released in 1973: a melancholic, psychedelic track that became a huge hit at home and went on to cross national borders, eventually turning into an international reference point. Its influence is also demonstrated by a telling episode: in 2018 American rapper Nas sampled part of it in the track "Adam And Eve".
Habib, the virtuoso of the 12-string guitar
Alongside Yaghmaei's psychedelic rock and the rebellious voices of Farhad and Foroughi, the musical landscape of the late Seventies was further enriched by the figure of Habib Mohebian. Fascinated since adolescence by the guitar and by the global explosion of the Beatles, Habib nonetheless developed a more structured musical grounding, studying composition under Morteza Hannaneh, founder of the Tehran Symphony Orchestra.
This solid theoretical foundation allowed him to establish himself as one of the founders of Iranian rock and blues. Unlike most pop singers of the time — often mere performers of songs written and arranged by others — Habib emerged as a fully-fledged singer-songwriter: he composed his own works independently and was known for his virtuoso use of the 12-string acoustic guitar in live performances, an instrument almost unheard of on the Iranian music scene.
His 1975 debut album, "1", later reissued under the title of its best-known track "Mard-e Tanha-ye Shab" ("The Lonely Man Of The Night"), is now regarded not only as a cornerstone of Iranian blues-rock, but also as one of the most original albums of the entire pre-revolutionary period. The record struck listeners with its ability to move beyond genre boundaries: alongside acoustic and blues structures, it incorporated funk elements and unexpected electronic textures, giving rise to a wholly original sonic blend. This distinctive sound was made even more recognisable by Habib's voice: far removed from traditional melodic conventions, his was a "muscular", powerful and dramatic voice, whose timbre and delivery recalled, in intensity, that of Polish singer-songwriter Czesław Niemen. Propelled by the popularity of the title track, by songs like "Shahlaye Man" and by a poignant song simply titled "Madre" ("Mother") — dedicated to his recently deceased mother — the album cemented his status as one of the scene's most important figures.
He just had time to release a second successful record, "Salam Hamsayeh", in 1978, before the Islamic Revolution abruptly brought that era to a close. After attempting to remain in his homeland for a few years, the new regime's ban on public performance forced him to leave Iran, going into exile in Los Angeles in 1983.
Faramarz Aslani: the aesthetics of subtraction
The extraordinary musical diversity of the late Seventies found one of its most elegant expressions in Faramarz Aslani. A journalism graduate from the University of London, Aslani returned to Iran in the early Seventies to work as a reporter for the Tehran Journal, bringing with him a sensibility that was already deeply international.
Unlike a scene dominated by lush orchestral arrangements and grand vocal productions, Aslani introduced a genuine "aesthetics of subtraction": a musical language built almost exclusively around acoustic guitar and crystal-clear diction, partly shaped by his journalistic training. His recording career began almost by chance, when he was noticed by the president of Cbs Records Iran while performing at a reception in Tehran hosted by the celebrated singer Pari Zangeneh.
Under Cbs, however, Aslani had to fight hard to impose his own vision against resistance from producers, defending a deliberately minimal sound: two or three Spanish guitars, including that of guitarist Armik, bass and percussion. The result was his 1977 debut album, "Delmashghooliha" ("Occupation Of The Heart"), an essential, direct record shot through with Latin rhythms and a deep Persian melancholy.
The record proved to be a treasure trove of hits built around the theme of nostos — nostalgia, return, escape from loneliness — reaching its peak with the track "Age Ye Rooz". With its melancholic, enveloping arpeggios, the song became a generational phenomenon, leading Aslani to perform eleven consecutive concerts in Tehran. At the same time, the entire tracklist of the album was dotted with instant classics. Among these were tracks with striking cross-genre influences, such as "Divar" ("The Wall"), enriched by an elegant jazz arrangement, "Del Asireh", with its driving rhythm centred on romantic captivity, and the explicit rumba influences of the lively "Yaaram Koo". The album also had room for more intimate moments, with short, poignant ballads of regret like "Darigh", or atmospheric tracks such as "Obour" ("Passage") and "Shab" ("Night"), including an early experiment by Aslani with classical texts in the track "Aahooye Vahshi".
If the first record represented a form of urban, sentimental introspection, the following project marked a decisive turning point. With "Hafez, A Memorandum" (1978), Aslani established himself as a genuine cultural mediator, setting to music eight ghazals by the great mystic poet Hafez. Partly abandoning his Latin influences to move toward a more essential singer-songwriter folk, tinged with acoustic jazz, his guitar took on a more narrative role, capable of accompanying the semantic complexity and solemnity of these classic 14th-century verses. In doing so, Aslani showed that pop could rise to the level of high art without losing touch with its audience.
Shortly after the release of this second work, the 1979 Revolution radically changed the context. His music was branded taghouti, that is, tied to the previous regime, leading to the closure of Cbs in Iran and forcing him into exile.
Siavash Ghomayshi: a career in constant evolution
This decade of intense experimentation also saw the rise of Siavash Ghomayshi, already encountered as a composer in chapter 5. His path stands out for a particularly international background: he studied classical jazz and pop music in London, where he performed as a singer and lead guitarist in English bands such as the Avengers and the Insects.
Returning to Iran at the age of twenty-five, and further honing his craft on the local circuit alongside the Rebels, Ghomayshi brought with him a pop-rock sensibility deeply rooted in the Anglo-Saxon context. Alongside his work as a composer for other artists, in 1972 he released his first hit single as a performer, "Farangis", establishing himself as a sophisticated singer-songwriter and helping to define a new, more open and international idea of Iranian pop. Although he had made his name in the Seventies for his refined pop-rock ballads and a background rooted in guitar and piano, in the following decades — and especially from the 2000s onward — Ghomayshi did not rest on his classic style, but began actively exploring electronic music. This trajectory would, in the decades to come in exile, lead him to be regarded as one of the fathers of Iranian trance music.
Amir Aram: the nuances of experimentation
Among the most interesting artists is also Amir Aram, who carved out a space of great importance in the Iranian music scene of the Seventies, standing out both as a performer and as a skilled composer — he is, for instance, the author of the song "Kalaghaye Khabarchin", made a hit by Leila Forouhar in 1971.
His true consecration as a solo singer-songwriter came in the middle of the decade with the release of records that became iconic for the pop scene of the period, most notably the 1975 album "Haft Rooz Hafteh". Among its finest tracks, "Emshab Shabe Mahtabe" stands out without question as a perfect example of the experimental spirit of the era: Aram took the poetry and imagery of the great Persian tradition and reworked them with extremely modern arrangements, blending them with complex progressive structures and pronounced psychedelic touches.
Forced to leave Iran after the 1979 Revolution, Amir Aram moved to the United States. Far from home, he continued recording for the historic labels of the diaspora, never ceasing to make music and steering his prolific career toward increasingly mystical and introspective projects.
Sonic diversity: from sitar funk to the moog
On the more forward-thinking side, the sonic diversity of the Seventies reached remarkable heights thanks to a series of musical explorers who made the Tehran scene increasingly cosmopolitan. Among them stands out Abbas Mehrpouya, a sitar master and tireless innovator, capable of fusing sitar funk – in the wake of Ananda Shankar – with afrobeat rhythms inspired by Fela Kuti.
This trend also found expression in the underground clubs, where artists like Soli and singer Neli brought hybrid sounds to the stage, made of psychedelic distortion and danceable rhythms, helping to turn the language of pop into something more dynamic and experimental.
In this context, a particularly significant role was played by Ramesh. Although one of television's great divas, her music pushed progressively into bolder territory: working with visionary composers and arrangers like Manouchehr Cheshm Azar, Ramesh became a central figure in Persian funk. She was among the first to introduce Western electronic instruments, such as drum machines and Moog synths, combining them with brass sections (brass funk) and Latin rhythms – from bossa nova to rumba – in avant-garde tracks like "Roodkhooneha" and "Vasvaseh".
Tehran had by now established itself as an extremely open musical crossroads, capable of attracting and generating international collaborations that can seem surprising today. An emblematic example is that of Dia Prometido, a duo formed by a Chilean guitarist and an Iranian percussionist, who experimented with crossover forms, also making use of traditional instruments like the tar lute.
Likewise, foreign musicians found room within the local scene: the French musician of African descent Erik (musician), active in Tehran as an arranger and bandleader, among others for Googoosh, helped introduce funk, soul and samba elements into Iranian pop songs, further strengthening the global dimension of this musical ecosystem.
9. The curtain falls: The Revolution of '79 and the birth of "Tehrangeles"
"I believed that if I had changed profession, it would have been disrespectful toward my music and toward myself, and it would have meant betraying my cultural roots. [...] I believe that, even in an unequal battle, resistance is preferable to surrender."
(Kourosh Yaghmaei)
The ban and the end of an era
The golden age of Persian pop came to an end as abruptly as it was definitive. With the victory of the Islamic Revolution in 1979, the new theocratic regime led by Ruhollah Khomeini radically transformed the country's cultural landscape, and music was among the first victims of the new order.
Pop and rock, once symbols of modernity, were quickly branded as tools of Western corruption – an expression of that so-reviled "Westoxification" – and were strictly banned. Record labels were shut down, clubs dismantled, records destroyed.
The repression hit women particularly hard: under the new interpretations of Islamic law, female solo voices were forbidden in public, being considered a source of temptation and immorality. Within a few months, the entire Iranian music ecosystem had effectively been wiped out.
Opposing fates: silence at home
Faced with this upheaval, artists' paths diverged sharply. Some of the most iconic figures remained in Iran, enduring years of isolation and censorship. Googoosh, the very symbol of the previous era, decided to return to Tehran despite being in the United States during the months of the Revolution. Her choice, driven by a strong bond with her country, had harsh consequences: she endured a brief period of detention, the confiscation of her assets, and above all an absolute ban on performing. Iran's greatest pop star was thus condemned to twenty-one years of silence, until her departure for North America in 2000.
A similar fate befell some of the most significant voices of protest song and rock. Farhad Mehrad, despite having sung anthems celebrating the fall of the Shah, was soon opposed by the new regime, which feared his influence: he was barred from releasing music for over fifteen years.
Kourosh Yaghmaei also chose to stay in Iran, rejecting exile. That decision cost him seventeen years of total censorship and a ban on performing, deeply marking his career.
The diaspora and the birth of "Tehrangeles"
While silence fell over Tehran, a significant part of the music industry managed to rebuild itself abroad, finding a new center under the California sun.
Los Angeles, already home to a large Iranian exile community, quickly became the beating heart of the diaspora, earning the nickname "Tehrangeles". In this context, far from censorship, Persian pop music was reborn. Artists who had fled into exile, such as Viguen, Moein, Dariush, and divas Hayedeh and Mahasti, did not simply rehash old hits, but rebuilt a genuine independent record industry. They resumed recording dozens of new albums, collaborating with one another – as in the case of the celebrated recording partnership between Moein and Hayedeh – and performing on the new satellite networks born in Los Angeles, while Dariush used his new songs to actively denounce the political system established in Iran.
Habib, Ebi, and the impossible need to return
For Habib Mohebian too, California was a space of continuity and renewed success. Having settled in Los Angeles in the Eighties, he became one of the most recognizable voices of the Tehrangeles scene, with a string of highly successful albums in the Nineties. Yet, despite his success in the diaspora, the pull of Iran remained central. In 2009 he decided to return to live in the country, asking the authorities for permission to release music and perform. The request was denied, effectively preventing any artistic comeback. He thus withdrew into private life in northern Iran, where he remained until his death in 2016. His story sums up, in emblematic fashion, one of the deepest tensions of post-revolutionary Iranian music: success abroad does not erase the need to return, but that return, in most cases, remains impossible.
Forced into exile in the United States after leaving Iran on the eve of the Revolution, Ebi managed to build an impressive career abroad, releasing dozens of albums and establishing himself as one of the most representative voices of the diaspora. What set him apart above all was the strong political and patriotic component of his songs, which made him a point of reference for a community denied the possibility of expressing itself at home. Songs like "Khalij-e Hamishegi-ye Fars", as well as pieces more explicitly tied to current political events – from "Hala" (1999) to "Tasmim" (2009) – cemented his role as a voice of protest in exile. Over the years, his path has repeatedly intertwined with that of other key figures of the scene, particularly Dariush Eghbali and Googoosh, with whom he has shared collaborations and hugely popular tours.
Labels, cassettes and clandestine memory
Backed by labels born in the diaspora, such as Caltex Records and above all Taraneh Records, the Tehrangeles scene did not simply entertain the émigré audience and churn out new tracks. These record companies played a crucial role in safeguarding a pre-revolutionary musical heritage, taking on the responsibility of preserving a cultural identity whose narrative the regime would otherwise have rewritten or erased. Besides releasing new material, the Californian labels — joined by independent projects founded by the exiled artists themselves, such as Rfaye, created by Aref — devoted themselves to a vital work of recovery: remastering old hits, pressing monumental anthology collections, and reissuing the classic Sixties and Seventies recordings of giants like Googoosh, Hayedeh and Ebi, rescuing from oblivion records that back home had been destroyed or censored.
These anthologies, together with the new songs, were recorded onto cassette tapes — a cheap, portable format that was extremely hard for the authorities to control — and smuggled into Iran. There they were listened to in secret in homes and cars, often at the risk of severe punishment, which in the early years of the Islamic Republic could mean hefty fines or even flogging for anyone caught in possession of such material. By passing on to new generations a musical era that would otherwise have been erased, this music became a concrete form of resistance, keeping alive and beyond the reach of censorship the bond with the free spirit of the past.
Faramarz Assef and the new generation of Tehrangeles
In this scenario, Shahram Shabpareh played a crucial role, not only as an artist but as a bridge between generations. With his catchy, rhythmic pop he helped keep the diaspora's musical identity alive, distinguishing himself above all for his knack for discovering new talent, launching figures destined to dominate the scene in the years that followed. Among them stand out Andy Madadian, who later formed the historic duo with Kouros Shahmiri, and Siavash Shams, key figures of the new Tehrangeles wave. In parallel, his brother Shahbal Shabpareh turned Black Cats into a genuine musical incubator, from which emerged stars of the following generation such as Pyruz, Kamran & Hooman and Sami Beigi.
Alongside these names came a generation that definitively modernised the language of the diaspora, cementing a fusion of Western pop, dance and Persian tradition capable of winning over an ever-wider audience.
The most singular case, though — not so much for popularity as for artistic quality and consistency — is that of Faramarz Assef. Unlike his colleagues, Assef did not come from the world of music: in Iran he was known as a top-level athlete, national triple jump champion and bronze medallist at the 1974 Asian Games. Having moved to the United States on a scholarship to study architecture at the University of Southern California, it was in Los Angeles, immersed in the ferment of the post-1979 exodus, that he chose to devote himself to his true calling.
Starting in 1984 he launched a monumental eight-volume record project titled “Afra”. Refusing to westernise his style to please the American market, Assef kept his Persian soul intact, turning out irresistibly rhythmic hits such as “Haji” and the energetic “Vay Vay”, which became the unmissable soundtrack of community parties abroad. The brilliance of his music lay in its contrasts: behind rhythms designed to make the diaspora dance and come together lurked an intimate melancholy, turning his songs into a powerful emotional bridge between the painful memory of a lost homeland and the hope of a new life in America.
The Broken Silver Carnation
Exile, however, left deep wounds on a symbolic level too. The fate of the famous show “Mikhak-e Noghrei” embodies this rupture. Forced to leave Iran, showman Fereydoun Farrokhzad tried to recreate in Europe the experience of his television programme, staging between 1982 and 1984 a series of shows titled “Mikhak-e Noqreyi Shekaste” (“The Broken Silver Carnation”). The title, heavily symbolic, turned the programme that had once embodied the golden age of Iranian pop into a sign of loss and longing. No longer the expression of a national mass culture, but the diasporic memory of a vanished world: a people who kept singing, now far from home.
10. A soundtrack of resistance and shared identity
"If we do not take responsibility for preserving and cataloguing our own culture, others will shape the narrative in our place" (Asdourian, Iranian producer and archivist)
More than the soundtrack of a vanished world, Seventies Persian pop has become an emotional and political archive able to cross generations, borders and regimes. Studies on the diaspora show that these songs function as devices of collective memory and belonging; the concept of "inherited nostalgia" has mainly been used to describe the relationship between the second generation and a pre-revolutionary Iran they never directly experienced. If this insight is extended to young people who grew up within the Islamic Republic, however, it is more fitting to speak of a mediated memory: not the recollection of a lived experience, but sonic access to a denied past and, at the same time, a language through which to read the present.
Precisely for this reason, the survival of this music after 1979 should not be read as mere sentimental persistence. After pop was banned, smuggled cassettes, duplicated and listened to within private networks, became one of the main vehicles through which the pre-revolutionary repertoire kept circulating. Preserving those songs, copying them and passing them on meant defending a space of autonomy in everyday life against a power that sought to discipline even listening itself. In this sense, sonic memory immediately became a concrete form of cultural resistance.
Far from being mere dusty relics of the past, the protest songs of the Seventies have come back to life, taking on a new and explosive political meaning. Young Iranians have widely adopted pre-revolutionary songs to voice their frustration and dissent against the current religious establishment. Historic anthems such as “Yar-e Dabestani-e Man” (“My School Companion”), originally performed in the gravelly voice of Fereydoun Foroughi, were sung at the top of people's lungs in the streets as anthems of solidarity during the 1997 student movement and, later, during the massive protests of the Green Movement in 2009. The use of these songs shows that the allegorical narrative against oppression is universal, and adapted perfectly to the struggle against the new oppressors.
At the same time, the Islamic Republic has attempted to absorb part of this symbolic capital into its own official repertoire, using music as a propaganda tool and incorporating some of these songs into the state's commemorative calendar. It is precisely this contested circulation — in the streets and in official rituals, in private memory and in the public arena — that reveals what is truly at stake. Seventies Persian pop was never just entertainment, nor just nostalgia: it has remained one of the spaces in which Iran continues to negotiate, contest and reinvent its collective identity.
11. Essential discography of Persian pop
One effective first way into the repertoire of pre-revolutionary Iranian pop is the “40 Golden Hits Of…” or “40 [artist name] Golden Songs” series, released around the turn of the 2000s by Taraneh Records and Caltex Records respectively. These compilations cover the era's leading figures and offer a condensed picture of the heart of their repertoire.
For many artists they are also the most sensible way of approaching their output: Iranian pop between the Fifties and the Seventies developed mainly around the single format rather than the album. In this sense, these collections work not just as anthologies, but as genuine "ideal albums".
Alongside these, however, there are some works that offer a fuller picture of the period's different trajectories: albums such as Googoosh's “Pol”, Habib Mohebian's “Mard-e Tanha-ye Shab” or Faramarz Aslani's “Delmashghooliha” show how, even within a landscape dominated by singles, more structured forms of artistic expression already existed, capable of conveying a coherent and personal vision.
The selection offered in the dedicated "Discography" section takes into account not only the historical and artistic value of the works, but also their actual availability. In many cases, modern editions — compilations in particular — now represent the only practicable access to a musical heritage that was originally scattered or hard to find outside Iran and the diaspora.
The selection offered takes into account not only the historical and artistic value of the works, but also their actual availability. In many cases, modern editions — compilations in particular — now represent the only practicable access to a musical heritage that was originally scattered or hard to find outside Iran and the diaspora.
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14/06/2026
This article is an English translation of the original Italian text by Francesco Inglima, published on OndaRock.it. It was translated with the help of artificial intelligence, under the editorial responsibility of OndaRock's editor-in-chief, Claudio Fabretti.
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Discography
| ESSENTIAL DISCOGRAPHY OF PERSIAN POP | ||
| ★ = essential or particularly representative listen | ||
| Viguen | ||
| Be Yade Tehran (OF-OZ Records, 1982) | ||
 |
43 Golden Hits of Viguen [compilation] (Taraneh, 2004) | |
| Fereydoun Farrokhzad | ||
| Memories (Best of Farrokhzad Vol. 1) (Caltex Record, 2002) | ||
| Memories (Best of Farrokhzad Vol. 2) (2002) | ||
| Googoosh | ||
|
Mordab (Ahang Rooz, 1971) | |
|
Pol (Ahang Rooz, 1975) | |
| Fasle Tazeh [compilation] (Taraneh, 1991) | ||
|
40 Golden Hits of Googoosh [compilation] (Taraneh, 2008) | |
| Aref | ||
| Aref Golden Songs [compilation] (2008) | ||
| Hayedeh | ||
| Azedeh (Ahang Rooz, 1968) | ||
| Shabeh Eshgh [compilation] (Taraneh, 1990) | ||
|
Bezan [compilation] (Taraneh, 1991) | |
|
40 Golden Hits of Hayedeh [compilation] (Taraneh, 2008) | |
| Mahasti | ||
| 40 Golden Hits of Mahasti [compilation] (Taraneh, 2008) | ||
| Ebi | ||
| Ebi 1 (Avang, 1977) | ||
| Ebi 3 (Avang, 1979) | ||
|
Setarehaye Sorbi with Siavash Ghomayshi (Taraneh, 1995) | |
|
48 Golden Hits of Ebi [compilation] (Taraneh, 2008) | |
| Moein | ||
|
40 Golden Hits of Moein [compilation] (Taraneh, 2008) | |
| Pari Zanganeh | ||
|
Ahangha-ye Mahalli / The Series Of Music For Young Adults: Iranian Folk Songs (Center for the Intellectual Development of Child and Adolescent, 1976) | |
| Aghasi | ||
|
Labe Karoon (Pars Video, 1998) | |
| 40 Golden Hits of Sussan & Aghasi [compilation] (Taraneh, 2003) | ||
| Dariush | ||
|
Saale Dohezar / Dariush Vol. 6 (Ahang Rooz, 1976) | |
| Noon O Panir O Sabzi with Ebi (Pars Video, 1990) | ||
| Nazanin [compilation] (Taraneh, 1990) | ||
|
40 Golden Hits of Dariush [compilation] (Taraneh, 2008) | |
| Farhad Mehrad | ||
|
Jomeh [compilation] (Taraneh, 1991) | |
| Barf (Avang, 1999) | ||
| Fereydoun Foroughi | ||
|
Zendoone Del (Royal, 1972) | |
| Fetneh Chakmehpoosh [compilation] (2013) | ||
| Kourosh Yaghmaei | ||
|
Back From the Brink: Pre-Revolution Psychedelic Rock From Iran – 1973-1979 [compilation] (Now-Again, 2011) | |
| Habib | ||
|
1 [aka Mard-e Tanha-ye Shab"] (Avang, 1975) | |
| Salam Hamsayeh (Avang, 1978) | ||
| Bezan Baran (Taraneh, 1996) | ||
| Faramarz Aslani | ||
|
Delmashghooliha (Occupation of the Heart) (CBS, 1977) | |
|
"Hafez", A Memorandum (CBS, 1978) | |
| Siavash Ghomayshi | ||
| Farangis (Avang, 1978) | ||
|
Ghesseh Gol O Tagarg (Caltex, 1994) | |
| Shoukofehaye Kaviri (Caltex, 2000) | ||
| Amir Aram | ||
| Haft Rooze Hafte (Persepolis, 1975) | ||
| Rain (Taraneh, 1985) | ||
|
Hedyeh [compilation] (Taraneh, 1993) | |
| Abbas Mehrpouya | ||
| Aseman Migeryad Emshab [compilation] (Avakhorshid Records, 2013) | ||
| Faramarz Assef | ||
| Afra 1 (Of-Oz Records, 1984) | ||
| Afra 2 (Pejwak, 1988) | ||
|
Afra 1 & 2 [compilation] (Caltex Records, 1990) | |
| Afra 5: Termeh & Yaas (Afra Production, 2002) |
[embed]https://open.spotify.com/playlist/0RNxu43Gd8BLQGZaRJclBP?si=346294b131bd4361[/embed]
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