Kinan Azmeh: Live in Berlin, Rooted in Damascus
The celebrated clarinetist shares how compositions written during Syria's darkest years have taken on new meaning following recent political changes, and why he considers making art an essential act of freedom.
Today, the Spotlight shines on clarinetist and composer Kinan Azmeh.
Earlier this year, Kinan released Live in Berlin, his fourteenth album with his CityBand quartet. The album captures music he wrote during Syria’s 2011 uprising—pieces that carry the weight of watching your homeland torn apart from thousands of miles away. Born in Damascus and now based in Brooklyn, Kinan has spent decades crossing the world with his clarinet, performing with Yo-Yo Ma’s Silk Road Ensemble, the New York Philharmonic, and countless others.
What makes this release particularly powerful is its timing. As Syrians celebrate newfound freedom after years of struggle, Kinan’s music—born from grief and anger—now carries notes of hope. We spoke about these deeply personal compositions and how his twenty-year collaboration with CityBand has evolved into music that encompasses classical, jazz, and Arabic influences.
A technical note: Kinan joined me from Beirut, Lebanon, and although I couldn’t tell while we were recording, I later discovered that our internet connection was not always stable. There are some dropouts and garbles in this episode that we have done our best to clean up; however, even with those, we thought this conversation was worth sharing with you. I know you will agree.
(The musical excerpts heard in the interview are from the album Live in Berlin by Kinan Azmeh and CityBand)
Dig Deeper
• Visit Kinan Azmeh at kinanazmeh.com and follow him on Instagram, Facebook, and YouTube
• Purchase Kinan Azmeh and CityBand’s Live in Berlin from Qobuz and listen on your streaming platform of choice
• Kinan Azmeh: Berlin and Beyond
Educational Institutions:
• Damascus High Institute of Music
• The Juilliard School
• City University of New York
Collaborators and Ensembles:
• Yo-Yo Ma
• Silk Road Ensemble (Grammy-winning album Sing Me Home)
• Kyle Sanna, guitarist
• Josh Myers, bassist
• John Hadfield, drummer
Musical References:
• John Coltrane Quartet - Africa Brass
• Meet the Syrians behind the music that inspired a revolution
• Arabic maqam traditions
• Jazz improvisation techniques
Syrian Context:
• Daraa - birthplace of Syrian uprising
• The massacre of the town of Jisreen
• Syrian uprising timeline
• Recent political changes in Syria
Opera and Major Works:
• ‘Songs for Days to Come’ - opera premiered in Germany
• Clarinet concertos with major orchestras
• Chamber music collaborations
• Kinan Azmeh - List of Works
Notable Venues Mentioned:
• Carnegie Hall
• Berlin venues
• Damascus Opera House
(This transcript has been lightly edited for clarity.)
Lawrence Peryer: I found and was reading through your doctoral dissertation, and I'm very curious about the relationship between your research and how your academic life informs your compositions. What you learned that you are able to apply in the artistic part of your life.
Kinan Azmeh: It's a wonderful question because my whole academic life, starting when I was a little kid playing clarinet, I think I felt I was surrounded by a group of friends and mentors who believed that the whole world is their playground in a way. I have always been surrounded by people who enjoy culture and life. As a student who played clarinet in a city like Damascus—a city that is not necessarily famous for Western classical music, but that's what I studied—I think by default, having that as the backbone, my curiosity led me to ask, "What's out there? Where is the clarinet? Where can I find the clarinet?"
And of course, the clarinet is found in a variety of musical styles: jazz, Balkan music, Turkish traditional music. Of course, there was the classical repertoire, but I continued to have interest in contemporary music that is coming from Syria specifically, where I'm from. Moving fast forward, I was touring, playing my own music, but also I commissioned lots of composers to write music for me. When I wanted to do my doctorate, this is towards the end of my academic life, at least as a student, I wanted to focus on what I have been focusing on as a performer throughout my life. I wanted to do something that did not stop me from touring and being the touring musician that I am, both as a performer and as a composer.
So when I was doing my research about Arabic identity and Arabic music vocabularies in clarinet works by Syrian composers—that's what I wrote about—it was a wonderful way for me to also juxtapose my own works against the works of other composers who are from Syria, who are also like me, who have been exposed to a variety of musical traditions. There is, which one came first? It's impossible for me to know because it's not that I studied these musical elements in a deep way separately. All of these things happen in parallel. All my educational life was happening in parallel: the parallel of the composer and the performer, and also the parallels of traditions—studying Mozart, Bach, Brahms, and Beethoven while being surrounded on a day-to-day basis by ancient Syriac music, Armenian music, Kurdish music, and Arabic music. That's what you hear in the streets of Damascus.
It's impossible to tell. I think I'm so close to my own works to realize which part is coming from where. The only way I can describe it in a meaningful way is looking at whether I'm writing for a jazz quartet or if I'm writing for a symphony orchestra—it has always been music that I like to hear. I write what I like to hear, and I happen to like lots of things. I think I happen to also have a certain degree of closeness and proximity to many musical traditions because I grew up in a household that valued very much the diverse culture that is Syria.
Lawrence: What was it that was intriguing to you or maybe important to you about continuing your education? And I'm curious if pursuing an academic path as far as you did—did you find that there were sacrifices you had to make with your music in order to pursue your education?
Kinan: Again, it's a wonderful question. I think when I was doing it—when I went to university, the Higher Institute of Music in Damascus, but also electrical engineering at the Faculty of Electrical Engineering at the University of Damascus—when I was doing both, I was simply thinking, "I want to learn everything. I want to try everything." I think I continue to have this kind of attitude about life. I want to try everything. I want to expand my set of tools to the maximum.
Sometimes now when I'm playing, for example, I wonder—had I spent more time just simply practicing rather than being obsessed with physics and cinema and politics and sports, maybe I would've been a much more technically advanced player. When you talk about sacrifice, I love the idea. Music, as important as it is for me, is not the only thing that makes life exciting for me. Music is the way through which I interact with the world and through which I can understand the world, and I understand myself the best. But I can say the same about nature, and I can say the same about science, and I can say the same when I go and play soccer with friends. All of these activities are incredibly important.
So when you use the word sacrifice, I think the more things you do and the more well-rounded background you develop around yourself—of course, your attention is divided because that's the path that I chose. I think the more in touch you are with life at large—I personally don't understand when people apply the single lane approach. People spend all their lives in a practice room, and sometimes they forget, "Why are we in this practice room? What am I trying to share? What am I trying to understand?" I think life has more to offer than just a single pathway that some people choose. So I don't think of it as sacrifice. I think of all of it as accumulating incredible lessons about life. Music is an aspect of it, and it's not the final destination for me.
Lawrence: It's not dissimilar from a lot of other creative fields where writers in particular are encouraged to go out into the world and live so that you have material to bring to your work. And that's very much how I'm hearing what you say—that you interact with other fields, other topics, other life experiences, and that just enriches what you're able to create.
Kinan: Exactly. Because music is an incredibly abstract art form. It might be one of the most abstract art forms. We do it and it brings us pleasure. It moves us fundamentally when we have that physical phenomenon. But I have to be—if you put me on a rainy day, and I love rain, by the coast, I'm also fundamentally moved. And that's why, for me, just like all of us, I think humans have this capacity of how we are receiving the world. And it cannot be one way. I think people who choose just one way are missing a lot about life.
Of course, what you said is also true. Music doesn't stand by itself. It's either in reaction to the world we live in, or it's an attempt by the artist to recreate the world in their ideal way, according to them. Or it might be just a tool to communicate. In all of these scenarios, you have to be able to interact with the world itself so you can have something to share, something to say in the music you're creating.
Lawrence: There's a quote of yours I would love to talk about a little bit. You said there's absolutely no difference in technique or performance between Eastern folk-inspired music and music from the Western classical tradition, and that the difference is simply in how you hear the music. I love the notion there on a lot of levels. One, because there's a universalist message in that, which I think is so important, but also the notion of our ears and being ready for certain musics at different times in our development. I talk a lot with improvising artists about our early experiences with certain music and about how we couldn't hear it. My example was always—people who have listened to this podcast have heard me say this—the first time I heard John Coltrane, the album I was given was Africa Brass, and I was a teenager. And as a fifteen-year-old, I found it pretty impenetrable.
Kinan: (laughter)
Lawrence: And now it's some of my favorite music. But this idea that as we encounter the musics of other cultures, especially music that we weren't conditioned on or prepared for, we have to learn how to hear it. I would love for you to reflect on that statement that you made because I think there's a lot in there. I wonder if you could talk about the universalist element inherent in that as well as the developmental element.
Kinan: Absolutely. As somebody who grew up in a multitude of traditions, encouraged by my parents to embrace what the world has to offer, I used Western classical music as a main path because it was systemized in a way that gave me access to it. Also, it was available in Damascus, and my dad loved classical music. My mom loved Arabic music, so I grew up listening to both kinds of music at home.
For me, learning a musical vocabulary—the vocabulary itself was not the end goal. It was simply vocabulary. I think if you think of all the differences between all kinds of music, I understand there's some kind of geographical specification. This music is maybe more prominent here; this music is more prominent there. But at the heart and the core of it, it's simply about an artist, a human trying to overcome the limitations of their instrument, including that person's voice if that person is a singer, in order to express an idea. For me, every music is about that.
The idea is the most important, and of course, you need to have the tools such as the clarinet in my case, or your voice, to extract an idea and have language. I think the more languages you speak, the better you are able to articulate ideas. The more cultural references you have, the better you are able to work into all of these different references at any given moment. I think it gives you better ground for an argument, let's put it this way.
So for me, music—I would go even beyond that—I would think of every artistic expression, including music, as about that. You learn as much vocabulary as you can, but then you apply it to the world. The idea for me continues to be the most important. And I think that's where the universality of art-making lies.
But to understand what somebody was trying to introduce, the idea that another artist is trying to explain to you, you have to spend some time with that idea, especially in abstract music. To be able to appreciate a Beethoven Symphony or a John Coltrane solo saxophone, you have to spend time with this music because only when you spend time with it do you understand the novelty of it. And also, you start to appreciate how it continues to surprise you. So I think for me, music that has an idea and it has a strong character behind it that mixes the familiar with innovation—that continues to speak to me. And again, I think that's a universal idea also.
Lawrence: The album that brought us together to talk is your newest release, Live in Berlin. My understanding is that the music featured here has been a long time coming in terms of being released—the compositions date back to the earliest days of the Syrian uprising. I'm curious if you could tell me a little bit about not only the evolution of the pieces but the evolution of your relationship to that work. That's a substantial body of time, and a lot happens in a life, a lot happens in the world, a lot happens to the people that you were thinking of when you created this music. I'm so curious about the path you took with that music over the last almost decade and a half.
Kinan: Some of the music—I think maybe one track on that album was written before 2011, before the uprising began. All the other works were written somewhere between 2012 and 2018 or 2019. When the context changes, and I played these pieces around the world—I never played these pieces in Damascus, where I'm from, or in Syria at large, where I'm from, not yet—sharing all these pieces over the last fourteen years, as they've been added to the repertoire, has always been meaningful because I was trying to keep the story of home alive, especially pieces that have direct geographical connection.
There are two pieces on the album, "Daraa" and "Jisreen"—track number three and number four. Jisreen is this little village, for example, outside of Damascus where, growing up, every weekend my grandparents would invite the whole family to go and work in the land. Of course, the cousins would play around, but also work with the soil. I always like to say the soil and the soul of the place. It is the place where I developed my most meaningful sense of home, really.
Lawrence: Wow.
Kinan: And that village, Jisreen, was largely devastated. It witnessed one of the chemical attacks, for example, and the whole village has been destroyed. For me, taking that piece and playing it was very therapeutic. That sense that I'm trying to keep the name of that village alive, but also I want to contribute to what was happening at home. I didn't want to become the expatriate in a way, even though I know this music would not change the situation on the ground. But it was meaningful for me, even when I knew one hundred percent that nobody in the audience knows where Jisreen was.
The other one that I want to mention in this part of our conversation is "Daraa," which is the only non-original melody in the album. That's a melody that millions of Syrians used to sing during the early years of the uprising. So it's to keep in mind that at some point in the Syrian uprising in 2011, 2012, millions of Syrians were singing that melody in the streets. It took me a while to be able to reflect on that melody and to put it in a beautiful context. But for me, it was just—I wanted to keep their voices alive as well. It's not only commemorating the moment, but it was just very inspiring for me to hear millions of people singing that melody.
And now when the context changed—the dictator fled the country—to play this music again has a totally different meaning. So living with some of these pieces while the context changes, I'm reminded that most artworks actually go through this kind of change of context. All the music that has survived decades and, in some cases, millennia—the context is bound to change. But for me, this change happened in a relatively short time. Music that was inspired by, I would like to say, composed in spite of the dictatorship—now to be able to play it gives me tremendous pleasure. When I announce this piece in the live concert and when I say that the dictator is gone and the melody survived, it just gives me an incredible moment of happiness when I say that.
Lawrence: That's powerful. When you tell me about the period of time over which you wrote these compositions, roughly 2011 to 2018, it strikes me that you're in dialogue with the situation, or you are perhaps a documentarian in a way of the situation. I'm curious how deep those analogies can go. Is this, on the one hand, an artist processing as witness, or is there a documentary element to it? I'm very curious about you ingesting this situation. What are you doing musically?
Kinan: The thing is, in my work on this album—yes, there are these pieces written between 2011 and 2018, but during that same period, I wrote maybe twenty or twenty-five other works. I noticed actually that the first few years of the Syrian uprising, lots of my music was about that, about what's going on, how do I contribute to the situation in any way. But then I also noticed that maybe around 2016 or 2017, it came to me again that making art should continue to be an act of freedom. And this freedom also includes not being held hostage by the tragedy.
The fact that your country or your people or any people in the world are going through dark times—that has been the case forever in humanity. I wanted also to try to practice, "Can I free myself just for a second from that and write a piece about, I don't know, just a beautiful flower that I saw in the street?" Do I have that luxury or not? For example, in 2018, I wrote a clarinet concerto for myself with the Seattle Symphony, and the title—I didn't choose anything from home. It was just simply "Clarinet Concerto" because I wanted that space of freedom to play with.
So I think the documentary aspect, of course it exists. All of us are witnesses to things, and when we create, it's about owning our narrative. Anything you produce is actually part of the document. If you see what Syria produced artistically in the last fifteen years, it's inspiring. Some pieces or some films or some theater pieces are about the situation, about the dictator, about the prisons, about the atrocities. But also, there were lots of stories that came out—films that discuss basic human conditions, stories such as falling in love. For me, these stories should also be included in the document that we're leaving behind.
So it's not only documenting the tragedy but documenting how life includes tragedy. Yes, some of these pieces are part of the larger document, but I wouldn't put them as the only document, not even for me to really understand what did I do musically over the last fifteen years. This album is maybe thirty percent of what I created. And like I said earlier, I will be in it, then I'll step out of it. I'll be in it, I'll step out of it.
Lawrence: I understand. Before we move on, I wanted to ask, if you don't mind, about a couple of the pieces in particular on the record. As I was listening through the album over the last week or so, there are many striking elements to it. One is not necessarily related to the music, but the engineering is beautiful. The record sounds so good. There's a separation and a depth to it that I'm attracted to, especially in a live recording. It sounds very alive.
Kinan: Thank you.
Lawrence: I love that element of it, but something in particular is I feel the narrative on the album. There are a lot of delicate moments earlier in the record, but I have to say I was completely captivated by the two epic pieces that close out the album, "Galileo Galilei" and "Wedding." I'm a sucker for those big, momentous, powerful, expansive compositions. I'm wondering if you might tell me a little bit about those two tracks. Is there a narrative that goes with either or both of them? I'm very curious because they seem to be saying something.
Kinan: "Galileo" is a piece that was composed—this is the only track that is composed by Kyle Sanna, the guitarist in the quartet.
Lawrence: Oh, fascinating.
Kinan: He brought it to me, and I loved it. There's a middle section, which is for me one of my favorite parts actually of the whole album. It just goes totally out, and I absolutely—every time this piece comes in the program, I'm waiting for it. It's my space to scream in a way.
The last track has been a signature track of ours. We've made it the closer of every single concert we did. We kept, actually, for this recording, we kept the original order in place. This is exactly how we played the concert in Berlin. We did two shows actually in Berlin during that tour, and we recorded both, but we ended up using just one concert as is.
Lawrence: Oh wow.
Kinan: Because first, we were very happy to be playing. This is during COVID, or just slightly after the peak of COVID. The audience was masked, and we were just super excited to be playing a live concert. This is actually the first time where I told the quartet, I said, "Guys, let's not stop at all between pieces this time." Usually we play, I speak, and we play. I speak, we play. There's lots of talking, and I give people background to the pieces. This time we decided not to say anything. "Let's just continue." Of course, in the editing process, we took out some intros where we felt that they might be too long, but I think the recording we have—of course, I'm too close to it to be objective—reflects how the excitement of us being on stage actually increases over the course of the whole album.
That's why I think the last three pieces on the CD and in the concert—I think maybe it's the longest time we ever played this piece. I think it's maybe eleven minutes or something. It's ridiculously long. The thing also I have to tell you is that we didn't think, when we were playing these shows, "Let's record these to release them." Not at all. I just felt that when we got to that point—it's been maybe fifteen years that the band has been playing together, or a bit more—I wanted to capture something. We're talking about documenting earlier. I just wanted to document how the quartet—I wanted to see how we started to play with the music and not only playing the music. I just wanted to keep that as a document.
Then I listened to it maybe a year later and thought, "Actually, this is not too bad." Then maybe it's a good document of how we play at a certain point. So I played it with Kyle, John, and Josh, and then we said, "Yeah, sure, let's put it out. Let's put it out also so we can move on." I think the timing is incredible that we released the album. We decided to release an album maybe seven or eight months ago, and by the time it was out, the Syrian context changed. So it just felt wonderful. The timing is great.
I have to add also to this that when I say the timing is great, I don't mean that Syria suddenly became Switzerland and that everything is great. I'm just very happy that the dictator is gone, and I'm waiting for accountability and justice for all of those who were wronged for decades. I just hope that time now is time to work, all of us collectively—not only the Syrians but the world community—to build a country we all would like to see. I just want to be mindful that it's not only where I stand now as a Syrian. It's not only, "Oh yeah, it's great." No, I realize the difficulties and the tragedies that are going on even today.
Lawrence: Something else I'm very interested in is the fact that you've got a band here that's been together now for the better part of two decades. That seems like such a luxury. I'm curious how having that group, that ensemble of players, makes its way into your compositional approach. Are you thinking about the band members, or would that be a distraction for you? How do you go about composing now, knowing these particular people are going to be interpreting the pieces?
Kinan: I always write for people, not for instruments, and Kyle, John, and Josh are no different. So basically, when I think of a musical device or a musical idea or a concept that I would like—again, an idea comes, I would like to share with the world—I write down whatever I write down. But I know very well that once I bring this to the lab, as I describe it, which is these three wonderful musicians, I know that something unexpected can happen. We start playing pieces, and then a few ideas are created on the spot, and then they become part of the composition.
So if I have to analyze all these pieces note for note, everybody has contributed so much to what you hear now on the album. This band and I, we are not only a band. We have been brothers for many years, and we've shared so many stories—laughter, missed luggage, missed connections, sleeping on trains. We used to share rooms in hotels in the early days of the career. We just had wonderful times every single time.
Again, what is really incredible, and I feel so lucky that we got to this point, is the fact that we can now play with the music without just playing the music. We don't stop at playing the music. All the concerts actually happen without any music sheets. Everybody's playing from memory, and we can easily bring a piece out, if we want, in the middle of another piece. So this is the luxury of playing with people who continue to surprise you.
But also I have to tell you that lots of the music that I write for orchestras, for example—lots of it sometimes ends up being tested with the band, and some pieces that I write for the band eventually I end up finishing it with the orchestra version. There's lots of overlapping between what I'm doing with the quartet in relation to the rest of what I do in more classical composition situations.
But yeah, I write for people, and I think it's the best way of writing because of what people can contribute. You're additionally lucky if the people you're playing for are also composers themselves. Josh, Kyle, and John are wonderful composers too. We have an incredibly stimulating musical conversation. And also I have to say that spending time with these guys off stage and outside of music is also lots of fun. I think that's why we have been a band for at least fifteen years, and we're not only a band but we're also really close friends.
Lawrence: Tell me a little bit about how you move through the world as a collaborator. You've worked with some fascinating artists in some really amazing situations, and I'm curious about how those collaborations shape and impact your musical identity, your philosophies. I'm really curious about that.
Kinan: I think the nature of my instrument as a single-voice instrument—it's standard practice for me to collaborate. I sometimes tour as a solo artist, but I'm playing with an orchestra, so it's not exactly on my own. Collaboration, I think, is maybe the best way one can use to learn a new musical vocabulary. I started, for example, my Arabic jazz trio in Damascus in 2002, and with that I learned so much about Arabic music. I'm learning from the quartet, from the CityBand, a lot of jazz idioms from working with that group.
One of the most incredible collaborators that I had over the years has been the wonderful Yo-Yo Ma, whom I met through the Silk Road Ensemble. He is somebody I worked with up close, and he is somebody who continues wanting to learn. It's incredible that somebody at where he stands artistically is still somebody with his ears and eyes and brain totally open and just receiving all the time.
For me, collaboration is not only "What can you contribute to this conversation?" Actually, the opposite is true. I would like to listen to this person. It's an overused cliché, but you learn more when you listen more than when you speak. These collaborations take you elsewhere. I don't mean elsewhere in terms of where you stand in your career, but what do you want to say? It sharpens the idea of what you want to contribute to the world. It allows you to see what's important also more. Juxtaposing your ideas against somebody else's ideas, I think, sharpens both ideas.
This conversation we're having, you and I—for me, I can formulate my ideas better this way rather than just me trying to put these ideas into sentences on my own. I think all of us are collaborators by nature, and music has a wonderful way—collaboration means something else and something very deep in music. I also noticed that in my life, all my collaborators have been collaborators for many, many years. I rarely do a one-off because I always think that to collaborate on a deep level, it also takes time. That's the nature of the art form itself and also the nature of human connection. To become collaborators, not only acquaintances, you need time.
Lawrence: Speaking of that idea of collaborators and the different forms it can take, I think of the audience as collaborators as well. I'm curious what, if any, differences you encounter when you perform your music in different geographies. Do audiences react differently? We talked earlier about when people grow up or are accustomed to different situations and traditions in music, they hear the music differently, or they have to learn to hear it. Do any of those elements appear as you are around the world performing?
Kinan: I notice usually audiences where there's more sun generally are warmer (laughter)—it's just a total generalization, obviously. But the music I do, I think, is foreign to everybody because when I bring it to the Arab world, it's music inspired by some music from the Arab world, but it's by no means traditional. When I play, let's say, for just jazz lovers, it also would sound not very familiar either. I think that gives me the luxury of being myself all the time, and the way the audience receives it is totally up to them.
Actually, I love this about art-making. You mentioned the audience as collaborators. Of course, the connection between somebody who is sitting in the audience—between their brain and their senses and their ears—that's where art gets created really. My job is to be as honest as possible doing what I'm doing and to make the connection between my brain and the tool I'm using to express an idea as short as possible so that nothing is wasted on additional stuff that doesn't contribute to the storytelling.
But I'm sure even within the same concert, two people sitting next to each other will have totally different understandings of pieces and will have totally different emotional paths. I welcome that because I think had I been wanting to impose one thought on the audience from a music piece, I would simply just tell them how they feel, and we don't need the music. I think the music allows us to go and take separate paths, but all of these paths can be equally meaningful and deep.
I try not to worry too much about the audience. I know that I will give it 500 percent every time I'm on stage. That's what I promised myself I want to do, and I'm always hoping that this music that I'm playing might open a window into somebody's brain or maybe move somebody. There are lots of possibilities of what this piece of music can do.
When I play in Damascus, for example, I know they have expectations because they have heard me a million times since I was a little kid. So it's a different emotional context, but I feel now the same in New York, the city that I've been living in for the last twenty-five years. When I play in a city where I don't know anybody, even though usually these concerts feel the most relaxed—just because I feel I don't know anybody, so I can be as experimental as I can be. I don't need to impress anyone—but usually they end up, halfway through the concert, I notice that I'm trying to leave a good impression on these people because they meet me for the first time.
So this is the difference I feel—how much of a stranger am I to the audience I'm playing for, and how can I change that relationship within the timeframe of one concert? Switching from total strangers to at least acquaintances by the end of the concert, because at the end, what I do in my job is I go on stage and I share my deepest secrets with a bunch of strangers. So I'm hoping that by the end, they relate to some of the secrets that I told them over the course of the night.
Lawrence: That's incredible. I saw another quote of yours about taking kids on tour. You've advised other musician parents to take your kids on tour as much as you can before they start going to school. I'm fascinated by that in two realms. One, I'd love to hear your further thoughts on the importance of doing that, but I'm also curious about, insofar as everything that happens in life impacts the artistic impulse and the artistic output, how parenthood more specifically has impacted you as a musician and performer.
Kinan: I give so much credit to my parents who, when I was starting music, first decided that my sister and I should learn an instrument because they thought it would contribute to our well-being in our lives, regardless if we choose it as a profession or not. So I'm very thankful that I was lucky to have such parents. Also, they had to endure a few years of me trying to make dissonance out of the instrument. They went through a lot until I managed to be at a decent level, especially given the geographical complexity. It wasn't common to have an instrumentalist in Syria. That's your full-time job? Everybody had to do something else in addition to being an artist, and my parents supported me throughout my path.
So this whole connection between you and the parents—the intergenerational connection for me is very important because it impacted me deeply. Now that I think of my son—I have a son who is four years old, and my wife is also a violinist and composer—he sees us do an activity that is very abstract. We hold an instrument and we play, we produce sounds on an instrument, in a time where everything is valued according to the financial contribution to the world economy. Music is not something that you think would be at the top of the list.
So we're doing something that is very personal, and we love doing that. This passion is what I want my son to have. The only way he can actually understand this passion is by seeing it. We can talk to him about how wonderful mountain climbing is; you can tell him incredible stories about world traveling. He's not going to understand any of it unless he does it, and he should do it with people who are very passionate about it. We are both, my wife and I, very passionate about what we do. So it's only natural that we introduce our kids to the things we like. I mean, these are things that we adore and we love, and that's how we live our life.
So the statement about taking your kids on tour with you—I don't think this should come as a surprise, because it's wonderful. For me, it's one of some of the most inspiring moments when I'm doing a soundcheck and I see my son running around the theater. Also, just I have to tell you that my connection with the audience changed after I have my son. I used to be totally bothered if I heard a kid scream in the middle of a slow and soft piece. Now actually, I welcome it. It just reminds me that this is also an audience, and kids do appreciate music, and they are fascinated by it. We have to give them a chance to listen to music on this kind of scale. It doesn't have to be only nursery rhymes on the bus. I think kids who are three can equally be fascinated by a symphony, but the adults around them should give them a chance to try and sit through it.
It just puts work in the right spot. Playing music is what I love to do, but also I love spending time with my kid. So sometimes the connection between the two—I finish playing and then I have to run to change his diaper when he was two years old. The switch between real life and stage life becomes even smaller, and I love that.
Kinan Azmeh
Composer/Clarinetist
Hailed as “intensely soulful (The New York Times)” and “spellbinding (The New Yorker),” Syrian-born, Brooklyn-based composer/clarinetist Kinan Azmeh has announced the February 28th release of his 14th album Live in Berlin (Dreyer Gaido), for which he reconvened his New York-based genre-bending CityBand quartet featuring guitarist Kyle Sanna, bassist Josh Myers, and drummer John Hadfield. Influenced by the music of Azmeh’s homeland of Syria, Live in Berlin captures the arc of personal and collective anger, frustration, sadness and hope felt in the face of atrocities. Conceived during the 2011 Syrian uprising, the album presents six of Azmeh’s own deeply personal compositions (in addition to a piece by Kyle Sanna) recorded in front of a live audience 10 years later on the Pierre Boulez Saal stage in Berlin.
