Words & Portraits: Bethany Burgoyne

Alsarah and the Nubatones are a five-piece band whose sound is an amalgamation of old school Arabic retro, traditional Sudanese choral arrangements and a sprinkle of jazzy pop melodies. It is Alsarah herself, the frontwoman of this quintet, who is the mastermind behind the band’s sound and storytelling style. Inspired by her days of studying ethnomusicology and a fondness for the traditional songs of Sudan where Alsarah was born and raised, the Nubian style becomes a rich tapestry of tonality and tempos meshed together through vocals, percussion, oud, keys and bass guitar to create a dynamic and distinct sound. Located in the US, it was during their European Tour and visit to London that Reform The Funk met with Alsarah to discuss the ways in which her upbringing and education have helped shape the narrative she speaks of today.

Describing herself as “an artist, a musician, a songwriter, an obsessive observer of history”, Alsarah’s acknowledgement for the music she makes and the role she plays in telling stories is driven with self-assurance and defiance, projected with a sense of humility. Born and raised in Sudan until the age of 8, when her family moved to Yemen before settling in Boston, it is a combination of this rich landscape of influences plus an understanding of constant cyclical growth that make up the voice she projects today.

“I am someone who uses their art and music to document their thoughts in ways that are not necessarily linear because my life is not linear. I was raised (by my parents) who are incredible activists, being told to never settle for a status quo. I was forced to explain why I felt a certain way, why was I thinking certain thoughts and where I think they came from. When your parents raise you that way, it becomes a way of approaching the world.” Alsarah’s manner of challenging the status quo is witnessed in her on-stage dialogue, using this space to discuss an array of topics including refugee and immigration statuses, yet she is clear to point out “I don’t call myself an activist because I know how much work goes into that; it’s a job just as being an artist is a job. To do it all the time takes a certain type of dedication and work. “

Alsarah’s own commitment to developing her skill and craft as a musician has taken her down multiple avenues, including studying ethnomusicology (the studying of music from different cultures, especially non-Western cultures). It was through this education that Alsarah was able to contextualise the music industry that she is part of today. “For me, it helped me understand the anthropological structure which the white gaze is centered around (when seeing) me. It was important to know that, because then you’re not as confused as to why things don’t make sense.” Asking Alsarah to expand on this, she continues “You don’t get treated like other artists, you definitely don’t get treated like white artists, you don’t get treated like artists that make western music who are divorced from anything but that westernisation.” This discrimination doesn’t stop there; her female identity has also resulted in challenges throughout her career. “Being a woman always has an effect. Your sex and gender are an inherent part of the conversation, just like your race and your class. So you can't divorce it from the facts.”

Alsarah recognises how a lot of changes have happened in the musicology world, “a result of people from the third world growing up in the diaspora education system reclaiming the knowledge and their approach to it.” However, she is quick to point out that “it’s become cool to tote your brand of “otherness” and to tote it only from a space of diaspora and assimilation as someone who is essentially western approachable. If your too ethnic you get cornered off into traditional and if you’re somewhere in-between the two, people don’t know how to make sense of it.” This is an experience that Alsarah has personally had. “I've seen the struggle around my music, and people (saying) “Because you sing in Arabic and because your music seems very traditionally inspired and has no electronic sound, we wish you would look more traditional” or “Couldn’t you possibly be more westernised and do x, y or z”. You’re either considered too ethnic or not ethnic enough. It is all about the idea of how to become digestible from a western centred point of view.”

It is clear that Alsarah is interrupting the norm of western and male dominated cultures and the ways in which she achieves this is by broadening the lens through which narratives are created and received. “My whole approach to life is the more versions of a story we have the higher the hope of us thriving is.” One such story which Alsarah is powerfully retelling is the understanding that there are no female composers within Sudan. “This idea comes inherently from History being told in a one-sided way. I am actively trying to tell the truth, to say no! There has been no lack of female composers in Sudan and as a result, look at this entire genre of music.” This genre which she refers to is the women's’ music in Sudan “which is music that’s made by women for women” - rich in melodies, harmonies, poetic stories of sisterhood and mythology. However, such music is often disregarded as a true artform. “The fact that it’s been deemed as low brow even tho it’s the most popular form of music (in Sudan) says a lot about the kind of story trying to be told. It creates elitism and it’s a reflection of the hierarchical approach taken when looking at our Sudanese culture. And that hierarchy comes in many forms – in racism, in sexism, in classism, elitism – all of the isms stack up together to create lines to block the full prism of a story.”

Alsarah discussed how she has reinterpreted and personalised the traditional female songs of Sudan to “reimagine these stories in the space of agency because I've seen this agency in the women around me when I was growing up and it didn’t match the stories I was being told.” One example is of the track ‘3roos Elnee’, “This story is about a woman being sacrificed to become the bride of the Nile, it ends with her being thrown in the river. Why not think of this story in a female space, why does it have to end with the woman just being thrown in. Maybe this woman that gets sacrificed has some masterplan we don’t understand, maybe she becomes an eternal goddess, free from the Nile gods after doing this ritual or tradition.” By changing the narrative, it adds a new hope or sense of fictionalised believability. If we are a reflection of what is around us, then why not change the story to offer a new narrative and example to live by. “It’s empowering to me which is why I choose to approach it this way. I’ve always felt empowered by my roots, not trapped. It feels like when you come from certain parts of the world, modernism and progress seems to encompass a certain westernisation, whereas why can’t I be modern and progressive within a rooted space.”

This attitude of highlighting all the perspectives that already exist opposed to looking at life through one narrow vision is something which can inspire audiences as well as individuals in and out of the industry. In a typically Alsarah manner of humoured humility, she claims “not to say I should be anyone’s role model because I’m kind of crazy and not everyone works in the same way! But at the same time, I want you to look at me and see it’s possible to do things another way. It just is.”

Follow Alsarah on Instagram here.

Words & Portraits by Bethany Burgoyne