Etaf, a Kuwaiti singer-songwriter with Palestinian and Lebanese roots, is known for seamlessly mixing Kuwaiti Arabic and British English sounds, layered over catchy alternative pop riffs.
Vulnerability engulfs their voice, while minimalistic musical arrangements bring in Khaleeji inflexions, creating a musical world that feels transitional and shifting.
But their path hasn’t been easy.
From Kuwait to Belfast, and Belfast to London, Etaf has had to carve a space for themselves in an industry that imposes strict standards on the bodies of those assigned female at birth – especially through a hegemonic and patriarchal lens.
With an imposing yet mesmerising presence, Etaf’s musical charisma could not — and still cannot — be ignored. The moment they decided to bring their music to London’s audiences, it became clear that something powerful was taking shape.
Recently making a name for themselves in the music scene, Etaf’s sound is unlike anything currently emerging, as evidenced by their meticulously crafted music videos that accompany their upcoming album, exploring bold topics such as gender diversity, body positivity, and challenges to rigid cultural framings.
Don’t Call Me Baby, scheduled for release on 26 September, is a culmination of the artist’s experience and maturation, as the rising star navigates East London’s spaces, diasporic themes, gender-bending topics, and genre-widening melodies.
With two singles already out, Hey Habibi and I Got You, the album brings forth uncharted territories into the ever-widening repertoire of music created by artists who have moved between the SWANA region and the global north, carving out their own histories outside of both spaces.
The New Arab spoke with Etaf in more detail about their musical evolution so far. Here’s what they had to say:
Humble beginnings
“I started singing when I was nine years old, and the first musical instrument I learned was the guitar,” Etaf reminisces when asked about their musical beginnings in Kuwait.
Etaf adds, “I used my savings to pay for my music classes to learn the guitar, and I did that at first at a cultural institution called Beit Lothan (بيت لوذان) in Kuwait City, which was a great cultural centre that enabled many young Kuwaitis to practise music and other types of art.”
But since music does not “feed bread,” as the saying goes in Arabic, Etaf decided to pursue their studies in law and moved to Belfast, where the initial stages were dark and lonely.
Etaf explains, “It was a very difficult time for me, as I was depressed and lonely, and so I resorted to music. I wanted to know everything about music, so I started reading about it and using an international radio app. Via the app’s maps, I would ‘visit’ different territories to find out about the music of that region.”
Having left Kuwait with their oud, and seeing that music was an easy conversation starter while connecting to new people, Etaf began building a network of musician friends with whom they jammed and performed.
At that point, music stopped being a performative activity confined to indoors and private spaces. Instead, it took on a wider social and geographic role, as Etaf carried their oud into the streets of Belfast and started singing on street corners among daily commuters and passers-by.
“I had to fund my PhD, so I turned to singing. And the songs of Umm Kulthum were the closest to my heart. I love the quarter tones and her resonant voice, and I thought to myself: my voice is my instrument. So I sang Abdel Halim, Warda and many other gems from the Arabic repertoire to the people walking by, and they were all curious about my voice and instrument,” Etaf recalls.
At the time, no licences were needed to perform in public, and one could choose a spot and perform. Etaf adds with a mischievous smile, “Once I made £70 in thirty minutes, which was great for a student.”
Finding authenticity
There is a ‘bluesy’ quality to Etaf’s voice that brings forth both sorrow and joy in a way that touches the heart, which is clearly audible in their more melancholic creations — and it was exactly that quality that touched audiences, who began wanting more of that voice.
Etaf’s heart wanted to follow their love, and so just as the COVID-19 pandemic struck, they decided to move to London, where the cultural scene was much richer than in Belfast and offered more potential for their development.
“Busking became really complicated, though, because of the licences,” Etaf says.
With the knowledge of someone holding a PhD in law, they soon sought to make a name for themselves in London’s music scene. It wasn’t long before they signed up for an open-mic event at the iconic Water Rats — a venue where legends like Bob Dylan have performed — and took the stage with their keyboard to captivate the audience.
Etaf recounts, “Palestinian-American singer-songwriter Lina Makoul was there at the time, and I sang two songs on stage and then left. When I look back, I feel I had zero identity on stage, but it’s a great learning experience, and I have developed a lot since then.”
The next stop in their journey was to write and compose their own music, but Etaf admits, “I didn’t think that I could make it. I couldn’t write music: I could compose, but I couldn’t write.
"At the time, I didn’t realise that this was what I was telling myself, so of course I couldn’t write. I wasn’t being my true self. I was still finding ways to feel confident in my body, but my voice and freedom of expression felt really restricted at the time.
"That’s why I felt I couldn’t write. To be honest, I started asking: I’m connected to multiple cultures, there’s so much going on here; I speak in three accents, why am I not doing anything about it?”
But then the winter of 2023 came, and choking on words or remaining silent was not an option for those who believe in freedom.
That is when Etaf wrote their first song, titled Taboot, which they wrote for their Gaza-born grandmother. Since then, the flood of words has not stopped.
“Growing up and going to school, it always felt a bit controversial to mention any Palestinian element to my identity. When I mention that my grandmother is from Palestine, I get different reactions compared to saying that my other grandmother is from Lebanon. There was a lot of shame around it. And for a long time, I struggled to tell people where my name comes from. I was named after my Palestinian grandmother,” Etaf reveals.
That winter, Etaf also visited Kuwait after a long absence and recorded Taboot at the home studio of esteemed artist, composer and singer Hassa Elhumeithi. It was one month into the genocide, and everyone was grappling with a multitude of emotions about what was unfolding.
“The song was then mixed and mastered by Mohammad Alowaisi from Galaxy Juice. It was topical, but also personal. It’s the only acoustic song I've released, and my voice really shines through. I noticed that people connect strongly to my voice. That’s why my next album is fully produced. I don’t want to give you what you want. I just want to express myself,” Etaf says.
Simply put, there is a playfulness to Etaf’s character that wants to challenge any presuppositions and make us think beyond the ‘conventional’.
Confronting criticism
A second watershed moment came when Etaf had their top surgery. That is when they wrote their song Small Details.
Etaf explains, “I met producer Eve Singleton, who was the sound engineer at RichMix, and Eve asked if I wanted to work with them.”
As Etaf puts it, Small Details cemented their musical presence not only on the London scene but in Kuwait as well, though “many women hated the song; I received so much hate for it, as many women were wondering how I could dare call Arab women oppressed,” they reveal.
The gender-defying aspect of Etaf’s lyrics and the topics they broach have also caused uproar in many circles, as critics question the gender concepts being raised.
At that point, Etaf knew they wanted to create music that is more Kuwaiti, bringing their heritage and its intricate richness to the forefront through catchy music and song, while staying true to their authentic self.
“Because I really enjoy performing live, and I want to enjoy my music with audiences, I decided to dedicate my time to creating a body of work that I can share with everyone,” Etaf explains.
This is how the album began to take shape, and Etaf shares, “We recorded Hey Habibi in Kuwait, and it was a reaction to all the hate that I received.”
Characterised by its mellow yet joyful melodic structures, the accompanying video art has early noughties vibes, veering between playfulness and sassiness.
These qualities shine throughout the album, as Etaf contemplates questions about relationships, talking openly about personal experiences like break-up songs and love songs, all the while being publicly queer.
While working on the album, Etaf also visited Egypt, where they headlined a sold-out show at Cairo’s ug.social.
They then drove to Dahab with friends, where they were inspired to write the song Fake Prada, which will be released with the album this coming September.
Etaf says enthusiastically, “It wasn’t a big venue, but the people knew who I was. There were people who really appreciated my music, and I was able to perform songs from my upcoming album, and people sang along!”
This so-called 'poly-polyness' of sounds, voices, cultures and persons is perhaps the most essential ingredient of the album, and is reflected in its most recently released audio-visual artwork, I Got You, directed by award-winning writer, director and visual artist Bangladeshi-Bahraini-British director Riffy Ahmed.
Etaf explains, “The song is about romanticising friendship, and not letting go of our lovers just because the dynamics have changed. We can always create a new dynamic. The song is another poly anthem where we build intimacy around friends and lovers, and while there is hierarchy, we practise non-hierarchical relationships to create our utopia of egalitarian love for everyone.”
Don’t Call Me Baby is full of cultural references from the Arabic-speaking world and Britain. It captures the spirit of love, relationships, and the playfully rich world Etaf is trying to portray through a meticulously crafted musical wealth accumulated by working with a wide array of producers, artists and music professionals from many walks of life.
Prepare to be mesmerised, and prepare to be challenged, as Etaf takes basic cultural concepts to alternative spheres through their music.
Christina Hazboun is a Palestinian writer, researcher, and music manager specialising in independent, non-mainstream music from South West Asia and North Africa. She is also the founder of the music discovery platform @thesonicagent
Follow her on Instagram: @chrishazboun