In recent decades, part of the work on music from other corners of the world, when it has emerged from the horrible lure that is the term “world music”, has been to discover a very rich past, which fascinates either because of its distance or because of the way it encompasses certain ideas that we thought we knew in a completely different guise. This is without neglecting how the traditional, the culture or the instruments of each country/region come into the conversation. The idea here is that the process of fascination often involves what has already happened and is now being remembered, whether it’s the discovery of the music or the realization that the musicians are still alive, still playing, and there is some fascinating history – for us so-called Westerners – that enlightens us. What if the past wasn’t the basis, but the present? This is the proposal of Mohammad Syfkhan and his bouzouki.
Born in Syria, he now lives in Ireland. The story between the two is fascinating, heartbreaking and increasingly part of these narratives. Syfkhan studied to be a specialist in medical-surgical nursing, a profession he practiced since the early 1980s, alongside a musical career in the band The Al-Rabie Ban, which played all over Syria, whether at festivals, weddings or other types of celebrations. The war in his country brought the worst news: one of his sons was brutally killed by ISIS and, afraid that it would happen again so close to his heart, he left his country. Part of the family went to Germany, another to Ireland. He’s been there since 2016. It’s in these two countries that he’s been playing ever since, first at private parties, and then, as the myth grew, he started giving concerts, even opening for Lankum at the Cork Opera House in 2023. The audience, most of whom didn’t know him, loved it.
He has collaborated with artists such as Martin Hayes, Cormac Begley, Eimear Reidy, Cathal Roche and Vincent Woods, and last year he released his first album, I Am Kurdish, with Reidhy and Roche collaborating with him and adding to the bouzouki and his voice. This is where we get to the initial idea, that of the music of the present, Syfkhan doesn’t just create from tradition, he adds elements of the Balkans, Turkish psychedelia and that visionary desert music from North Africa. The result doesn’t have a hint of nostalgia, or the usual festive stamp – although there is one too – associated with this type of discovery, which is a bit of a departure from our false first-world innocence. Not at all. Mohammad Syfkhan’s dynamics overcome these preconceptions, he is full of vision and pain, he carries a melancholy that is expressed without knowing his story, or even where he comes from. It works without understanding the language, the communication is sonorous and contagious. And in between, departure, pain and distance are celebrated as evils that can be overcome. You can’t imagine how this moves live. AS
