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Arabic electronic experimentalism is thriving. In recent years, diaspora artists such as Egyptian producer Abdullah Miniawy, singer Nadah El Shazly and Lebanese singer-songwriter Mayssa Jallad have each released records that combine the Arabic musical tradition of maqam and its slippery melodies with granular electronic sound design, rumbling bass and metallic drum programming to create a dramatic new proposition.
Beirut-born and Amsterdam-based composer Toni Geitani is the latest to contribute to this growing scene with his masterfully produced second album Wahj (“radiance” in Arabic). Working as a visual artist and sound designer, Geitani is well versed in creating imaginative soundscapes for films such as 2024 sci-fi Radius Collapse, as well as referencing the shadowy nocturnal hiss of producers such as Burial on his dabke-sampling 2018 debut album Al Roujoou Ilal Qamar. On Wahj, he harnesses soaring layali vocalisations, reverb-laden drums and analogue synths to leave a cinematic impression.
Opener Hal sets a plaintive tone with a yearning cello solo from Nia Ralinova and Geitani’s melismatic vocals meandering over the slow, thrumming notes of a synthesiser. Its gentle mood is soon shattered, however, by the thundering drums and doomy synths of following numbers Ya Sah and La, the blast beat cacophony of Tuyoor and the industrial techno distortions of Fawqa al Ghaym. With its bellowing vocals and clattering percussive motif, Ya Aman and some similar fare can veer into Hans Zimmer-style heightened melodrama. But Geitani otherwise keeps a deft handle on his world-building, ensuring that threads of unease keep listeners guessing. Highlight Ruwaydan Ruwaydan tempers a pleasant jazz swing groove with an unexpected beat-switch and piercing ney flute line, while closing track Madda Mudadda builds from calming ambience into a crushing chaos of static and whispered melody. Geitani revels in this state of dark tension, creating an album that challenges us to find beauty in a ruinous sound.
Also out this month
Tuareg group Imarhan release their latest album, Essam (City Slang). Moving beyond the psychedelic guitars and yearning vocals of Tuareg assouf (desert blues) pioneers Tinariwen, Essam sees Imarhan including an electronic thump on tracks such as the earworming Derhan N’Oulhine and dancefloor-focused drum programming on Okcheur. Palestinian rapper Tamer Nafar’s first English-language album In the Name of the Father, the Imam & John Lennon (Levantine Music) channels everything from a James Brown funk swagger on Rock It Like a Palestinian to 808 trap bass on Nana, delivering a brash yet tonally uneven set of tracks. Brazilian jazz group Grupo Um’s Nineteen Seventy Seven (Far Out Recordings) is a rare gem of a rediscovery. Comprised of members from Hermeto Pascoal’s mid-70s São Paulo band, the quintet’s previously lost second album is a crate-diggers’ delight of propulsive funk-jazz fusion, analogue synths and soaring horns.
