Sama Abdulhadi Is Bringing The Sounds Of Palestines Underground Techno Scene To Electric Island In Toronto
Known as the "Queen of Palestinian Techno", Abdulhadi has established herself as one of the most popular DJs in the Middle East.
Inspired by the viral success of his electrifying Boiler Room show in his hometown of Ramallah in 2018, which recently surpassed 10 million views on YouTube, Abdulhadi is currently in the midst of a massive world tour, including appearances at the Coachella festival. At Glastonbury. and the famous Warung Beach Club in Brazil.
But Abdulhadi's journey from the Palestinian underground electronic scene to international stardom has been tense, tumultuous and politically charged. Pursuing a creative career in the Israeli-occupied West Bank means complying with curfews and travel restrictions, enduring bouts of violence and risking arrest.
Abdulhadi drew the ire of conservative Palestinians last December after speaking at the Makam Nabi Musa compound, which is located next to a mosque near Jerusalem. Abdulhad spent more than a week in Jericho prison after his speech was interrupted by protesters.
But none of these challenges prepared him for his unique work at world music festivals.
"I wonder how these DJs live," Abdulhadi told the Star in a phone interview this week. “All the flights, travel and crazy hours. "You're juggling a thousand things at once."
The 32-year-old looked tired but grateful as he performed in London, England, days before his first Canadian show, scheduled for Sunday at Toronto's Electric Island.
“I think it's a bit surreal. "I've never been to a better summer festival in my life," he said. But it really is magic.
Based on social media posts, Abdulhadi's recent concerts have been both emotional and cathartic, but for his fans around the world, his music is more than just music. A proud and politically outspoken Palestinian woman has been hailed as a symbol of freedom and resistance to what Amnesty International recently called apartheid.
"(Electronic music) is a lifeline for people in Palestine," he said. "But to the rest of the world, what we're doing is a political statement."
Growing up in the West Bank, Abdulhadi experienced the trauma of the Israeli-Palestinian conflict from an early age.
As a teenager, she experienced violence during the Second Intifada, a major Palestinian uprising against the occupation that lasted from 2000 to 2005.
Music became his refuge.
“It was where I got away from it all,” he said. “It became my meditation and my place to disconnect from everything else; Don't think about politics, because every day is politics."
In his youth, Abdulhadi traveled around the region. He lived in Beirut, where he immersed himself in the Lebanese techno scene; Studied sound engineering in Jordan; then worked as a sound engineer for television and film in Egypt.
Eventually, honing his skills as a DJ and producer, he returned to Ramallah not to become a professional musician, but simply to share his love of music with his community.
“I never thought of becoming a DJ. "I didn't think it was a real thing that people could do as a business."
Less than an hour's drive north of Jerusalem is the small town of Ramallah, with a unique mix of Middle Eastern and Western restaurants, cafes serving Arabic coffee and bars serving beer from the nearby Taybeh Brewery.
Although under Israeli occupation since 1967, Ramallah is one of Palestine's largest cultural centers, home to a thriving hip-hop scene, film festivals, CrossFit gyms and museums.
Along with Jerusalem, Bethlehem, Nablus, Jaffa, Nazareth and Haifa, it forms a constellation of creative and artistic spaces that have influenced Palestinian identity in the region and around the world.
It was here, in temporary spaces in bars, restaurants and other underground parts of the city, that the scene, which Abdulhadi calls "the mutual agony and despair of tomorrow," first gained popularity.
"It's very raw," he said. “That's what happens when you're very short. Life is too beautiful to be ruined by small details. You also see it in Egypt. "The poorer people are, the more damage they do, because in a sense they have nothing to lose."
Abdulhaddin's Cauldron set, a now legendary 58-minute sunset sound, is without a doubt the perfect quintessence of Ramallah's electronic scene. Surrounded by an incredibly diverse audience of friends and family, Abdulhadi's captivating ensemble takes the viewer through a range of emotions, with moments of intense concentration followed by moments of overwhelming joy.
He explained that unlike European cities like Berlin or Amsterdam, the crowds in Ramallah never know when the next party will be.
"We didn't record (Boiler Set) for months before that, and then nothing happened for a long time," he said. “So when people come here for an event, we don't even set an end time. We just dance until someone comes along and shuts us down."
"This is how we survive," he said.
Despite the controversy surrounding last year's show at Maqam Nabi Musa, Abdulhadi believes the scene he knows as Palestine will continue to grow.
"Everything takes time," he said. “What gives me hope is that it wasn't very normal to play techno in England in the 80s, so we're OK. We are moving in the right direction. The first with the first intifada were Palestinian rock bands, and it took people a long time to accept them. But now it's just a different genre. It takes time."
Early in his career, Abdulhadi was reluctant to speak openly about the Israeli-Palestinian conflict. "I just want to be a DJ," he told DJ Mag.
But over time, he came to terms with his role as a defender of Palestinian freedom. On Instagram, he frequently posts with 172,000 media followers criticizing Israel's involvement in Gaza and the West Bank. He is outspoken on social media, with fans waving giant Palestinian flags during his performances, a symbol of nationalism that has increasingly come under attack from Israeli authorities.
"Whenever they say to me, 'You're an artist, stop talking about politics,' I usually say, 'Yes, but I'm human.' This is my home and my family." It's the first time in the world for me.
“Forget about music and the rest of the world. At the end of the day, we're human... and I always feel like I'm not doing much, but that's what I can do, what I can offer for now. And I try to do my best."
While Abdulhadi sees techno music, with its hypnotic rhythms and expansive soundscapes, as a means of transcendence, he also sees it as a means of creating a space of freedom and solidarity.
"Free people who can't find a safe place to express themselves," he explained. "That alone is very important and very useful."
Abdulhadi also sees a connection between the Palestinian struggle and the marginalized communities that paved the way for electronic and dance scenes in places like Detroit, Chicago and Berlin.
"That's the feeling. It's the connection between people on the dance floor that creates a revolution. For example, when you go to a protest, you know you have this adrenaline rush and it makes you come into contact with whoever you're hitting. It's the same when everyone on the dance floor is shaking to the same beat; it just creates this connection between people who have never met. It gives them that kind of power."
Abdulhadi currently lives in France, but his heart remains in Ramallah, a difficult and expensive city to reach and travel to.
"Unfortunately, there is no balance at the moment. You have to sacrifice each other in some way. So I don't travel home as much as I can, but I'm trying to make a name for myself in the West so I can finally go home and travel from home and work more. I feel more comfortable at home and in life.
Although the tour was exhausting, Abdulhadi was excited about Sunday's concert at Electric Island.
“The guy who taught me how to DJ (in Jordan) taught him in Montreal. So I learned about the scenes in Montreal, Toronto and Vancouver during my university studies. I have wanted to come and check out Canada for 13 years. And finally I will come."
Correction - 2 September 2022: Ramallah has been under Israeli occupation since 1967. An earlier version of this file incorrectly stated that it had been under Israeli occupation for 75 years.
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