Heartland music -- you know: Bob Seger, John Mellencamp, that sort of thing. Oh, and the swirling sounds of ouds, neys and qanuns. That's what you'll get at the Heartland Seminar for Arabic Music, on the Lake Michigan shore locale of the DeKoven Center, between Milwaukee and Chicago, starting Saturday. The annual program has become one of the leading sites of Arabic music instruction in the West and is an outgrowth of the burgeoning Midwestern Arabic music community, arguably one of the most vital regions for this scene outside the Middle East.

In fact, says qanun instructor Hicham Chami, you're more likely to hear truly authentic Egyptian classical music in Chicago than in Cairo. That's a consuming passion for Moroccan-born Chami, not just via these seminars but in performance and recording as founder of the Arabesque Music Ensemble. In fact, he says the material on the group's new album 'The Music of the Three Musketeers' -- the title referring to a trio of key composers of the early and mid 20th century Egypt -- makes this point:

"These are some of the finest compositions I've ever heard, some of the finest composers in the Arab world," he says. "And some of this had been recorded only once, and that's it. The only other time was uptown Chicago a few months ago."

In the '20s, '30s and '40s, Zakariyya Ahmad, Muhammad al Qasabji and Riyad al Subati composed some of the key music for Uum Kulthum, the Egyptian singer who more than 30 years after her death remains the dominant presence of modern Arabic music, someone who was to her culture a sort of Billie Holiday, Judy Garland and Maria Callas combined. Naturally, the composers were obscured by her significant shadow. But even beyond that, their music arguably was never captured as it was meant to be heard, largely due to limitations of recording technology of the '30s and '40s, when most of this music was written.

"There were few attempts to record this music in the past, and at times there was an underlying attempt to modernize it," Chami says. "Some of the recordings are really obscure and we had trouble finding a real source. For others it was the opposite: There were too many sources to choose from. We had original recordings, but live versions were not the same. Verses, sections of melodies disappeared."

The inquiries resulted in more questions than answers: "What was the original idea the composer had in mind? Are we supposed to have all the musicians playing behind the singer? Or maybe just with the violins following the vocals? What is the role of the cello, to do a bass line or accompany the singer?"

They found someone who could address those matters, though: Youssef Kassab, a 75-year-old singer and professor today based in New York but half a century ago a member of the Syrian National Orchestra and intimately familiar with the original works and approaches. He transcribed the pieces for the Arabesque lineup and supervised the sessions -- with an iron fist.

"It's not only a matter of familiarity with the composers but the era and the sound, and that's where Youssef's input was most dramatic," says Chami. "There would be times he'd say, 'OK, that sounds good, but do not tell me that's traditional. In order to be traditional, we have to redo this.' "

Sometimes it was the ensemble dynamics that he rejected, other times the playing styles of the individual musicians, often in ways that went totally counter to their ingrained training and instincts. It could be very frustrating.

"'Very frustrating' doesn't explain it," Chami says with a laugh. "It was extremely frustrating! And challenging and sometimes intimidating. To listen to this music, music we recorded, music we put together, to try to listen to it through someone else's ears was a very difficult exercise."

With his zither-like qanun, it was particularly acute. "I happen to play an instrument that has a very bright sound, almost metallic sound," Chami says. "I have always thought if myself playing in an ensemble as playing something that floated on top. But Youssef said he wanted to hear it at the exact opposite end of the spectrum -- more percussive. I know how to do that, be less melodic, so translating that was not the hardest thing to do. It's understanding the why and the how that was hard. He made me record my entire part again. I produced music polished, well done, extremely nice -- and he made me do it all over again! For five or six hours I had no idea what I was doing, why I was doing it. I did what he asked, but had to bite my lip, not voice discontent. It was only at the end, when I heard the final product, how we blended the instruments and the vocalist that I understood the message behind what he said. And that coming to fruition is a great experience, not the easiest but one of the most rewarding."

It's also quite rewarding that he's been able to accomplish all this from his Midwestern base, where he's lived since coming to do graduate studies in marketing at DePaul University's Kellstadt School of Business in 1999. The Ensemble, until recently called the Chicago Classical Oriental Ensemble, consists of musicians who originate from Egypt, Syria, Lebanon and Israel, as well as his Morocco. And he's finding interest in Arab culture growing tremendously in parts of the U.S. where it might not be expected.

"We're getting more and more requests for concerts from places like Portland, Oregon, somewhere up in Maine, in Oklahoma," Chami says. "The Arabic music scene has always been present in places like New York and Chicago, but I'm not sure any performances of classical Arabic music have ever taken place in Fairbanks, Alaska. With everything happening in the world, people are more curious. Fortunately."

And that's really showing in the success of the Heartland Seminars, with people flying in from France and Canada as well as from across the United States. Chami is incredibly proud that the music has found such a home there. But he's also a bit dismayed that it is so necessary.

"It angers me to some extent that this fantastic music has not been given the exposure it deserves in the Arab countries. If you turn on the radio in Damascus or Algiers, you're likely to hear all kinds of crappy music."