Abir Haronni has brought Arab pop music to the mainstream. Having honed her craft since adolescence singing, as she tells us, “wherever I possibly could, wherever anyone would let me,” her latest offering, Heat, released via Atlantic Records in the summer of 2020, sees her come into her own, complete with soulful vocals and joyful dance-pop beats.

Image Courtesy of Abir

“I’m a lot of things a Muslim Arab woman isn’t expected to be,” the 26-year-old reflects in the teaser video for the project. “The current narrative is uninformed, and honestly, it’s f*cking boring,” she adds. Fusing her Moroccan heritage and American upbringing for the first time, the seven-track EP and accompanying videos, shot in her home country of Morocco, are breathtaking and wholly empowering. Here, Abir chats with Egyptian-born London raised contributor Alya Mooro about learning to embrace duality in life and in music, some of the cultural challenges associated with being a visible artist, and her desire to add her perspective to the conversation, and in doing so, providing some much-needed representation. This interview has been edited and condensed for length and clarity.

AMAKA: When did you first start to feel like you could embrace your dual heritage in your life and in your music?Abir Haronni: Growing up, I was always attached to my culture but even more so when I got to 18 and took a trip to Morocco. I had been throughout my childhood but at 18, you're…I don't want to say adult because I was definitely not an adult, but more looking at it from a wiser lens. Not like, I’m here just to visit family, it’s like, Who the f*ck am I? It was also the first inkling of wanting to experience true Moroccan music live. We went and got some tapes, like old, vintage Moroccan music and I brought it home with such excitement to listen and scavenge through everything. America's obviously my home but I still feel some kind of disconnect with being American and being Moroccan; that's just being a kid of the diaspora. It became more of a mission for me to say, You know what? I'm going to include this sh*t in my music, I'm going to include this sh*t in everything that I do, because it's a way for me to get even closer to it, and then it's also a way for me to represent that's not some self-orientalism. This is just my way of connecting with who I am, and hopefully it touches others. 

Your latest EP, Heat, is when you really fused East and West in your music for the first time. What was that process like?

Mick [Schultz, the producer I worked with on the project] is such a great human. One thing I had pause about was finding someone who would actually do the work, because I would hate to create something that just sounded gimmicky and didn't sound authentic. He took the time to actually learn about the culture, learn about the music and not just like…a Google search. That was so inspiring to me because I’m like, Oh, you’re going to love this as much as I do, and he did. The process of making the songs was so natural but also, we were like, Wait, what the f*ck is this? Like, what are we making? There were moments where we felt such ease and then there were moments where we were like, this is legit a science experiment. 

Image Courtesy of Abir

I can imagine! Because there's no blueprint, you could do anything, you could mix it up in any way…

I had the don’ts so that led me a little bit closer to what I should do. The don'ts were like: do not sample. The first time I was listening to this music was Jay Z, “Big Pimpin,” all the samples from Aaliyah…It's so wild because, in some way, I still felt seen through that, even though it wasn't an Arab artist it was [still] your culture in the music. But I was like, You know what? You're an Arab artist, bring some actual fusion. I have nothing against samples, but like, try to really replace some of the instruments. Replace the drums that you would hear in a US pop song, replace the snare, replace the hi-hat…the strings are a little more orchestral in US pop, bring in the Umm Kulthoum strings...It was really such a great experience working with [Mick Schultz], he really understood where I was trying to go.

Sometimes it can be difficult being a female Arab artist because it can feel like you’re stuck between expectations and stereotypes from both the East and the West. What's the response to your work been like so far? 

I try to focus on the positive. People send me such love about the music and just seeing it grow in places that I never thought it would, I was like Wow! And there's also the side where people are like, Oh, you shouldn't be calling yourself a Muslim if you’re wearing what you're wearing and you're talking about what you’re talking about…Because [Heat] had opened up the doors for more people to come in, I [had gotten] a lot more Arab followers and I was so happy about it, and then I realised what that came with [in terms of] men especially. A few weeks after my project dropped, I posted a photo of myself in a bathing suit on Instagram and someone responded like, You're not Muslim. I posted it on my Instagram feed and oh my God, the amount of support versus the amount of backlash, it was just like…equal. There were so many supportive people like You go girl! and then there was like You really have to know the teachings of Islam to understand… I'm just someone that's like, your relationship with God is your relationship with God and mine is mine, so don't try to tell me how to live, don't try to tell me how to do my religion. People always want to police you, especially [as] not just an Arab woman — [but] being a woman. 

You've previously spoken about how your music is about living your truth so other people can live in theirs, too. What do you hope engaging with your music will do for young Arab girls listening?

I hope my music makes all people feel empowered and that they can do anything without any limitations. For young Arab girls in particular, it’s less about them engaging with the music as it is just to know that they have a place there too. That they can exist in a creative space — dream big, dance, and sing their hearts out. You don't have to be a lawyer, you don't have to be a doctor, you don't have to marry at 26 — you can if it's your choice — but you actually don't even have to have a family if you don’t want one. I’m just adding my perspective.

You’ve coined the phrase, “The New Arab.” What is a new Arab for you?

It's not coming for the old Arab, it’s not coming for the future Arab, it’s just a newer face that allows me to evolve without these restrictions or boundaries or limitations. A new Arab is someone that you cannot control and you cannot put some sort of dumbass narrative around. You just can't tell me who I am. I know who I am and part of it is being able to allow myself to grow and evolve and learn and not be in a box. Sometimes identity is restricting, but for me, it was more like, I just want people to know that I am these things for the sole purpose of challenging these narratives. It’s not what you see in the movies, we're not terrorists; we’re creatives, we’re dreamers, we think big, we have high hopes, we have beautiful families, we're not oppressed, we have freedom, we're strong. It's all of these things.

Who is the person you think of when you’re writing?

I think about us. I think about the younger us. The people looking for answers…I know that what I was thinking at 14 is exactly who I turned out to be; this free spirited human. There were so many barriers keeping me from actually trying to do that and I guess I see the audience being little me. And then in some regard, people who are not Arab [too], people who do not relate to the culture. It’s not just for representation but it's like, Yo, this music’s dope! Have you ever heard a bendir on the track? Have you heard an [ullulates]? Arab music is so loud and it's so beautiful and it's so intricate and it's here for you. It’s [for] both the Arab audiences, the younger audiences who are looking for an it’s okay to be who you are, and also the people who have no f*cking clue as to what Arab music is or what an Arab woman is.  

Alya Mooro is an Egyptian-born, London raised freelance journalist and author of the bestselling book, ‘The Greater Freedom: Life as a Middle Eastern Woman Outside the Stereotypes.’ Follow her on Twitter @alyamooro.