Name: Maya Youssef
Occupation: Qanun player, composer, educator
Nationality: Syrian
Current release: Maya Youssef's Finding Home is out now. She is also one of the artists performing at the UK’s longest running Arab Arts Festival, Liverpool Arab Arts Festival (LAAF). Other artists include Aar Maanta, Ahmed Mukhtar, The Ayoub Sisters, as well as Nxdia.
Recommendations: You need to know the work of Syrian contemporary artist Sara Shamma. I first saw her work in an old Damascene house in I think 2005. And I've never been touched by a painting like that and my whole life. Her work is revolutionary.
And I highly encourage you to seek the work Aziza Mustafa Zadeh. She is an incredible vocalist, pianist, and composer from Azerbaijan and her work really transformed my life in so many ways.

[Read our Aar Maanta interview]
[Read our Nxdia interview]

If you enjoyed this Maya Youssef interview and would like to stay up to date with her music, visit her official homepage. She is also on Instagram, and Facebook.  



When I listen to music, I see shapes, objects and colours. What happens in your body when you're listening? Do you listen with your eyes open or closed?

It depends on what I'm listening to. But the more I make music, the more I listen while focusing on my Christ centre or my third eye because music to me is connected to prayer. So if the music is prayerful, then I will close my eyes and I'll just go within. And if the music is healing, sometimes, I feel that every single cell of my body is is awake and vibrant and electrified.

Whereas, if the music is joyful, then my eyes will definitely be open. And beaming. I'll be beaming basically.

What were your very first steps in music like? And how do you rate gains made through experience versus the the naivety of this first steps?

I grew up in a house full of music. The main components of my home were CDs, cassettes, vinyl LPs and books. These were more like furniture basically. And my dad used to bring home all sorts of eclectic music, like all the ECM releases, a lot of Western classical orchestras, a lot of Deutsche Grammophon releases. Miles Davis, Philip Glass.

I remember used to listen to very, very, very interesting fusions. Jazz musicians jamming with Tibetan monks or an African choir doing their rendition of jazz. We used to have listening sessions every night, before dinner, and every single night we'd listen to something completely different. So I was really, really lucky to have that rich sonic environment to grow up.



When it came to starting with music, because I was tapping and singing all the time, my parents put me in a Music Institute. My first steps were very unsure. I knew I loved the instruments. Because, you know, I was told that I was not. When I heard that instrument, I fell in love with it. And I was told that I shouldn't be playing it because I'm a girl. But I went on, and I chose it anyway. And I was the only girl in the class. So there was a lot of excitement, a lot of doubt. I think more excitement than doubt.

I started when I was eight and starting something new is gorgeous. It's stunning, so tender and so sweet. It's so fragile. It's full of joy. It's full of hope. It's very uninhibited. You just go with it, you know? Obviously you have to fall on your face, hundreds and hundreds and hundreds of times which comes with experience. I think both are really beautiful, you know?

I had so many obstacles in my music career. But each of those obstacles taught me great lessons as a human and as a musician and made me grow.

According to scientific studies, we make our deepest and most inclusive musical experiences between the ages of 13 to 16. With music mean to that age and what's changed since then?

Music meant love, possibility, freedom, joy at that age. It still does. It really still does, you know?

Sometimes life makes you jaded and not sensitive to things. But music just continues to deepen our sensitivity to the small miracles of life. If you're have having a hard day and you listen to a tune, you just drop from your logical mind, into your heart, and you might even smile or shed a tear or just have a sigh of relief. So it's still the same and I still feel like that eight year old Maya on a roller coaster or in a toy shop. I'm so lucky to be able to do what I do.

But over time, music to me also became a tool to heal. I was completely uninhibited as a child. But that changed after the war. I started writing music when the war broke back home. I had no choice - I was living through domestic abuse with a child. Nothing made sense. It felt like if my life was a bag, then somebody had turned that bag inside out, and shook it violently. Everything inside was scattered all over the place.

There were two things that still made sense and kept me going: Music and my son. Music turned into a way to heal and into a prayer to connect to the divine.

Over the course of your development What have been your most important instruments and tools? And how have they shaped your perspective on music?

I don't think it's a logical tool here. It's more of a spiritual tool basically. When the war in Syria broke nothing made sense. I just started to pray, pray, pray, pray, pray. And it turned to music.

So I would say that the process of phrasing music became more about the music and less about me. It really isn't about me. I am a conduit. And my job is to listen to whatever wants to come up. Listening carefully to what life wants me to do is is my top tool, really.

Sometimes this takes you to very surprising musical spaces. There have been so many times when I write something after I have listened. And I'm like, What on earth? Where did this come from? I've never seen it and never done anything like this. But I try not to question it. And so I pray before I write music, I pray before I play on a stage, I pray before I teach.

What would you say are the key ideas behind your approach to music and what motivates you to create?

I believe if you do anything with prayerful intention, even if it's sweeping the streets, that can create something beautiful. It's not just about music. Music is particularly potent in that respect, because it allows you to bypass the logical and just go straight to the heart. Even when I start to orchestrate a piece or arrange it, I'm always listening to what other textures, what other shapes, what other colours need to be brought to express its emotional fingerprint.

It all started with loss and grief. It started from a place of utter shock and heartbreak - sweet sadness as I called it. I think my prayer over the past couple of years has made me an instrument for peace. I really see myself as a humble servant.

Paul Simon said: “The way that I listen to my own records is not for the chords or the lyrics. My first impression is the overall sound.” What's your own take on that? And how would you define your personal sound?

Absolutely, I do agree with Paul. For me, it always starts with the heart of the piece which usually, for me, starts with the qanun. So it's just me, the qanun and my room and then I start to hear the textures.

In terms of how I define my personal sound, it's ever evolving, ever expanding. Ever explorative, fierce, joyful. Healing can be also playful. It depends on what I'm playing because I really go for the whole thin, for the full charge of the music. And if you listen to my music, it's not just about mourning. I'm capable of writing very joyful music because I have been in the depths of sadness, so I know how to access joy.

It has so many colours, so many shades. I's a never ending exploration that will continue to evolve forever.That's where the magic lies.

Sound song and rhythm are all around us from animal noises to the waves of the ocean. What if any, are some of the most moving experiences you've had with these non human made sounds? And how far would you describe them as musical?

Oh my gosh. You know, nature is so, so important to me. I'm someone who used to talk to plants when I was little. I still do actually. I always like listen to birdsong, too. It's a way to access the infinite and so present.

On Finding Home, there are three or four tracks inspired by nature whether it's trees or plants or jasmine or you know, just walking in nature ... I think there is deep wisdom in the sounds of nature. There are musical codes that bring us back to presence and bring us back to truth.

As the human human race, I think with music, we can open up more to that infinite wisdom and beauty and innocence and joy. A little robin singing or a Blackbird singing ... just listening to them is a is a masterclass in music. Even abstract sounds help us get into that deepest state. In our heart of hearts, we are goodness, we are stillness, we are a calmness, we are joy. We are peace. Nature helps us elevate to that state.

From very deep/high/loud/quiet sounds to very long/short/simple/complex compositions - are there extremes in music you feel drawn to and what response do they elicit?

I love variety and complexity and I love simplicity and I love everything in between. Life is peaks and valleys, there is loud and quiet, there is deep and high, long and short. A

If you listen to my work, it covers all of this. I wouldn't call them extremes, I would say colours or shades. For me music represents my own life experience as a composer and a musician and a human really. And my life is very colourful, and therefore my music reflects that.

From symphonies and traditional verse/chorus-songs to linear techno tracks and free jazz, there are myriads ways to structure a piece of music. Which approaches work best for you – and why?

I don't think about genres at all.

I've heard conversations between some musicians who are trying to fit a certain niche or a certain market. But that doesn't work for me at all. Music is about seeing what textures will serve the emotional fingerprint of the piece and if it will help the music shine, then I'll just go with that, regardless of whether it is techno or a symphony orchestra or orchestration or a chamber ensemble.

There is no logic to how that will unfold.

Could you describe your creative process and the wsf of one of your pieces, live performances or albums that are particularly dear to you, please?

Finding Home was a follow up to Syrian Dreams and Syrian Dreams was a response to the war. So a lot of the stuff on Syrian Dreams came from the experience of being bombed, or knowing that you're never going to see your home or your loved ones ever again.



But Finding Home was much sweeter. I was in a better place in my life. You know, like some of the tracks of the album. Take “My homeland,” which is the only non original track on on the album. When I wrote it, my routine was that I would cycle my son to school, go back, make tea or coffee, and then I'd head to my desk where my qanun and my laptop were set up. And I would basically, you know, sit and write for the whole day.

So that day, I had made coffee, and just before I even sat down, I still had my coffee in my left hand, I just came up with a simple riff. I thought to myself, Hmm, interesting. So I put the coffee down and recorded the riff on the laptop. And then I started to improvise with it. Out of that improvisation emerged a very well known tune called “Multani” - my homeland. And I started to cry because this felt like a eulogy to this lost world. The whole thing happened in the span of like, three, four minutes. And I just knew that it needed to be there.

That said, every piece of music obviously unfolds in its own way. Some of them take time to reveal themselves, and some of them are very immediate, like this one. What you have to do is continue on with your life and just continue working.

I can't talk about my creative process without talking about my amazing collaborators. After I'd written the music, it was time to bring it to musicians. It was really delicious to explore the music with them and to bring it to life. Each of them added their own human experience, their own touch to the music. One of them was Elizabeth Nott on Arabic percussion. She's incredible and has worked with me almost throughout my entire musical career. She plays Arabic percussion. Or Mikele Montolli - he brought so much to the music, such an unconventional way of thinking about the bass lines. There's so much innovation and pizazz and grace in there.

The whole process of making Finding Home was full of magic. I didn't sleep for that whole period. I think because I felt like I was plugged in into something higher.

Sometimes, science and art converge in unexpected ways. Do you conduct “experiments” or make use of scientific insights when you're making music?

I've never been great with with science or maths but I'm very intrigued by it. The closest thing I would say is how music helps humans become better. And I mean this in every way, not just music therapy in capital letters. Al of the ancient cultures of the world use music as a tool to further community, to bring about healing, to bring an increase in well being. This is one of the few areas of convergence between science and music that completely fascinates me.

How does the way you make music reflect the way you live your life? Can we learn lessons about life by understanding music on a deeper level?

They're interchangeable really. I make music as a reflection of my spiritual and human experience. As I mentioned, I make music as prayer. And it's very powerful prayer. Perhaps one of the most powerful prayers anybody can put into the ether really.

Do you feel as though writing or performing a piece of music is inherently different from something like making a great cup of coffee?

Yes.

What do you express in your music that you couldn't or wouldn't in, in more mundane tasks?

Well, the mundane tasks are mundane. And music is there - for me at least - to go to these dark places that are too difficult to visit during our regular life. The depth and the scope of music are infinite really.

Obviously, you can make everything you do a work of art, even if it's cleaning up or making a cup of coffee. But there's nothing like music for me. To go to the heart of sadness and replace it with light: to go to the heart of joy, and bring more joy to it; to go to the heart of stillness and bring more stillness.

There's nothing like it. It's one of the biggest gifts I've been given in my life.

Every time I listen to "Albedo 0.39" by Vangelis, I choke up. But the lyrics are made up of nothing but numbers and values. Do you, too, have a song or piece of music that affects you in a way that you can't explain?

There are many but if I had to choose, I would always go to the collaboration between Jan Garbarek and the Hilliard Ensemble and their album Officium. Particularly the track “Parce Mihi Domine”. It is of profound beauty that is out of this world. That track that almost always brings me to tears.



If you could make a wish for the future, what are developments and music they would like to see in here?

Fair pay for artists for what they are worth and profound respect. Artists and musicians were the healers of communities in ancient cultures, and I really believe that artists are the filters of the human race in a way. We are the alchemists and we basically combine human experiences into something beautiful, or provocative or meaningful, or something that we can relate to.

Like in this piece I wrote, “Bombs turn into Roses,” I feel that in my body, I feel that I am actually alchemising bombs to rose petals. And it's not easy work. But it's the work that we are born here to do.