“United Colors of Emel”

Interview by Atifa Qazi

You have become a symbol of resistance with the folk song “Kelmti Horra” (“My word is free”) during the 2011 Arab Spring protests in Tunisia. And you have also been called the Fairuz of the new generation, referring to the iconic Lebanese singer. How would you define your music? 

I’m still trying to answer that question. I think my upbringing, where I grew up, and even my DNA have always made me feel I have multiple personas and identities. I grew up with Beethoven and Mozart, so it’s part of my upbringing and my identity. Classical music is a very important part of who I am.

So that’s my western side. And at the same time, I came to discover the beauty of our traditional instruments, our rhythms. They are also part of me. Coming from the Arab world and North Africa, it’s harder to truly be yourself and be accepted outside the Western narrative of the exotic Tunisian Arab.  

I was inspired by Fairuz because she mixed genres and created modern music that was both deep and interesting.  

My first band was metal, because I feel in rock and metal music, that’s where you find the outcasts, the people who say no. I would definitely define my music as resistance or revolutionary music. Beyond the lyrics and context, even the rhythms call for action and change

Do you feel a responsibility to speak out through your music, or are politics an inherent part of your work, making it impossible to separate from your output? 

I don’t see it as a responsibility. It’s instinctual. Every year, I’m still learning about myself. Earlier, during sound check, I realized my music makes me feel ready to fight. I’ve always felt a need to change things around me. We’re all searching for a goal, a purpose. My goal is to be useful to people, to help them see the truth, and to strive for a more just society. 

“I didn’t want to sing in Arabic because, to me, Arabic music was linked with a certain type of oppression”

We are currently witnessing brutal and extremely unjust events in the world. For me, the way to navigate this is to be present with my voice and my music, trying to bring some light, truth, and empathy. 

You sing in different languages, mostly Arabic but also in English, Kurdish or French. Why do you sing in different languages? 

It relates to having multiple influences. Growing up in Tunisia, we speak many languages. Being on the Mediterranean, we have a history of various cultures and people passing through. In Tunisia, our dialect is Arabic but includes many foreign words from Turkish, French, and Spanish.

We also speak French, which, even though we didn’t choose, is our second language and is present in schools and our daily life. I don’t sing much in French, because to me, it seems more suited to literature, poetry and writing rather than singing.  

I first started singing in English in my metal band. I didn’t want to sing in Arabic because, to me, Arabic music was linked with a certain type of oppression—stemming from the dictatorships in the Arab world, including my own country. Arabic music can be quite codified, and since I didn't come from a formal music school, I didn’t like the image of a woman being a diva on stage, with men composing for her while she just sang and followed the rules. I wanted to write my own music. It was the freedom I was looking for in music.

But now you also sing in Arabic… 

Eventually I turned to Arabic because both the language and the music are beautiful. I invented my own way of doing Arabic music. I don’t have to do it the same way as Umm Kulthum or Fairuz did. Being from Tunisia adds a different twist; we have a mix of European and African influences, so I developed a new way of singing and writing in Arabic. Now, I’m back to mixing English into it. 

“If you consider yourself a feminist, it's not enough to just present a beautiful image of being an independent, creative, and strong woman”

Your current and fourth studio album “MRA” which means woman in Tunisian Arabic is an all-female produced album. How come? 

I was signed to a record label, and they didn’t know exactly what to do with me. We tried working together, but they assigned a producer whose work I didn’t like. I questioned why it always had to be a male producer. I thought, what if I worked with a female producer instead? As I began asking around, it became quite challenging. Being stubborn, I refused to believe that women couldn’t be as capable as men in this field. I continued researching and eventually found my collaborators one by one, and each brought their own unique touch to the Album. 

We are a diverse group, around 30 women from about 20 different countries, including people from China, and my main co-producer who is half Indian and comes from Berlin. Another co-producer is half Brazilian. We also have the Swedish-Iraqi rapper Nayomi and people from Ukraine, and Iran. I love that diversity; the girls joke about it and call it the “united colours of Emel” and that’s how I see music. 

This time I didn’t want to just showcase myself. If you consider yourself a feminist, it's not enough to just present a beautiful image of being an independent, creative, and strong woman. True feminism involves more than that; it means giving opportunities to other women and sharing your platform. 

How frustrating can it be to do all this within patriarchal, sexist structures? 

In my naive view, I thought the world would be amazed by the fact that it was a 100 percent female-made album, with over 30 women coming together from all over the world. But we weren’t celebrated anywhere, and that highlights a larger issue: the world doesn’t seem to want loud women. They prefer women who think like men. There are many brilliant women doing amazing work, and progress has been made compared to ten or twenty years ago, but it’s still not enough.  

“I realized that I don’t hate everything about mainstream music. I like how efficient some of the tracks are”

I know that, unconsciously, we don’t always feel safe when there's a woman behind the board. We’re used to seeing female musicians, like string players, but female producers and female rappers are less common, and brown female producers and rappers even rarer. For me, it was crucial to use my platform to ensure representation.

Women in the music industry are underrepresented and receive fewer opportunities. Female musicians of colour face even more challenges. I also have a trans woman producer from South Africa, which adds another layer of complexity. As a non-white woman in the industry, things are not as easy, and these complications are real. 

In your album you experiment with different genres such as rock, African trap, Arabic reggaeton and rap. Was that a deliberate choice or a result of the collaboration with various artists? 

I have been criticized for making too deep music. For each album, I want to do something I haven’t done before. For this one, I decided to create a pop album. I wanted to make something more accessible, though I’m not entirely sure what that means, as to me, “accessible” simply means reaching the heart. This time, I wanted to play with different musical codes and had a playlist of mainstream pop songs that I liked. 

I had a playlist with tracks from Taylor Swift, Charli XCX, Ye (formerly known as Kanye West), and a few other artists. I realized that I don’t hate everything about mainstream music. I like how efficient some of the tracks are. I love the beats and rhythms, and occasionally, the simplest tracks can be the most effective, making you move in ways you can't quite explain. That’s what I aimed to achieve—I wanted to create my own style but make music that really hits, gets people moving, and which stimulates them.