Strange Vibes from the Levant

My eyes filled with tears during a classical music concert in Ramallah performed by children the same age as me. After several failed attempts at trying to convince my parents to allow me to study music, I felt empty and helpless. Musical education was very expensive for my parents, being Palestinian refugees who had constantly been on the move from Lebanon to Syria and Palestine. It was painful for me to watch the serene eyes of those children performing so calmly and proudly, without a care in the world.

My family’s inability to provide such luxuries was a turning point for me, which prompted me to begin thinking about the production of music and its commercial aspects. It was also at that time that I started developing an interest in experimental music, and questioned not only music, but also sound in general. Full of questions and yearning to create, I soon asked myself, who is eligible to produce music? Afterwards, I began recording different sounds in my surroundings, which I found ripe for experimentation. A space such as Palestine is full of influences that make one think about the very meaning of sound itself.

Sound in Palestine is affected by instantaneous elements. During the Intifada, the sonic experience was terrifying. A tank moving on a street would produce the feeling of an earthquake. The sounds made by these instruments of war relied heavily on momentary experiences, which gave a feeling of unpredictability as to what would happen next. I find the state of being in Palestine very similar to experimental sound production, as the latter is not independent, but rather unstable, broken, volatile, disturbing, and quite cacophonous, not unlike the sounds of war.

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Strange Vibes from the Levant