30.06.2025
Sound as Resistance
A conversation with Asifeh
By
Samuel Ryan - interviewer & editor
S: You’ve moved through many sonic vocabularies—rap, experimental electronics, sampling, noise. How has your approach to sound evolved?
A: I’ve always been open to different genres. Early on I was into Trip Hop, Downtempo, Hip Hop, IDM—you can hear that in my early work. Hip Hop was the core, but not in the classical sense. I’ve always felt drawn to bending rules, and the scene in Ramallah encouraged that. Over the years, I’ve added ambient, noise, and vintage gear into the mix. Today, it’s all about blending those influences into one sound.
S: Your tracks feel raw and complex. Do you start from emotion, concept, or something technical?
A: Usually, I hook up my gear, start experimenting, and record everything. Then I sample the good bits and build from there. Lyrics come when I have something specific in mind, sometimes just writing on my phone. I’m drawn to improvisation—I often record live at home. I avoid screens when I can; they kill the inspiration for me.
S: You’ve said music can be a form of resistance. Has it felt like the most potent tool at times?
A:
Absolutely. Music, art, and culture are vital in the Palestinian struggle. They resist erasure. When I connect with people globally or hear from young listeners that my music moved them—that’s powerful. That keeps me going.
S:
Your work carries tension—between rhythm and collapse, speech and static. Are these dynamics intuitive?
A: They’re a direct reaction to lived political realities. The occupation, the genocide in Gaza, and our collective experiences—both in Palestine and the diaspora—shape those sounds. It’s intuitive because it’s lived.
S: What have you carried with you from underground movements and networks?
A: Mainly a DIY, collective approach—making things happen without industry backing. It’s built a global network of like-minded people, constantly expanding, leading to more collaboration and community-rooted art.
S: How do you keep track of your work? Do things sit for years?
A: I have too much unreleased material. Sometimes I revisit older work and give it a new life. I’m picky with releases—less is more. But some of that unfinished work makes it into DJ sets, leaked in a way.
S: In a world of instant output, what does it mean to keep things private or unreleased?
A: I don’t feel the pressure to constantly drop music. That’s a capitalist mindset. I release when I have something to say. My music isn’t a product—it’s art.
A: They’re a direct reaction to lived political realities. The occupation, the genocide in Gaza, and our collective experiences—both in Palestine and the diaspora—shape those sounds. It’s intuitive because it’s lived.
S: What have you carried with you from underground movements and networks?
A: Mainly a DIY, collective approach—making things happen without industry backing. It’s built a global network of like-minded people, constantly expanding, leading to more collaboration and community-rooted art.
S: How do you keep track of your work? Do things sit for years?
A: I have too much unreleased material. Sometimes I revisit older work and give it a new life. I’m picky with releases—less is more. But some of that unfinished work makes it into DJ sets, leaked in a way.
S: In a world of instant output, what does it mean to keep things private or unreleased?
A: I don’t feel the pressure to constantly drop music. That’s a capitalist mindset. I release when I have something to say. My music isn’t a product—it’s art.
S: You collaborate often. What does it bring to your process?
A:Collaboration gives me motivation and inspiration. It challenges me. From Ramallah Underground till now, I’ve grown through jam sessions, open mics, constant exchange. That interaction is key. S: Has your relationship to your Palestinian identity changed in your work?
A: It’s always been present. I started by writing about life under occupation during the Second Intifada. Even in instrumental work, my identity and our politics are embedded in the sound.
S: If someone found one of your works in 50 years, what should it be?
A: My 2012 album Iradeh. I said a lot in that one—things that still ring true today. It’s a message that holds weight no matter when it’s heard