Fabric Presents Sama Abdulhadi
The melodies rarely deviate from followable two-note sequences, and the uniformity of Abdelhadi's selections, combined with his layered reception, means that there are few standout pieces. Viennese psytrance producers Cycrine and CAT offer a brief interlude with “Gas Bombs,” a slow piano and sax. It's a welcome break from the rhythmic juggernaut. Berlin-born Palestinian producer YAZ AN's "NADA-R" is a hit thanks to its sparkling high notes, even if it's overshadowed by heavy riffs.
The list includes Syria, Mexico, Chile, Argentina, Brazil, Panama, Italy, France, Switzerland and Germany. These passport stamps reflect the nature of technological globalization in the 21st century. Abdul Hadi's only clear reference to the Tswana region comes late in the set, on Arab Acid, a duet track that combines mournful Arabic vocals with reed reeds and a throbbing electronic groove. It's a multicultural issue: the pickled Arabs are a bunch of white French people; The famous singer Radia Manil is Algerian; Ammar 808, the remixer of the song, is Tunisian and based in Denmark. “[We] want to build a bridge between East and West,” Asid Arab said. Their own experiences show how difficult this process is. They have been accused of cultural appropriation, but they have also collaborated with artists in the region and pledged in 2017 to boycott Israeli sites run by Palestinians and Israeli Arabs – drawing criticism from BDS activists.
The timing of giving textile gifts to Abdul Hadi is poignant: in late November 2023, a Hamas attack on Israel on October 7 killed nearly 1,200 people, including 700 civilians, and Israel is expected to retaliate. It killed more than 1,000 people. 22,000 people, mostly women and children, as well as settlers have increased their violence against Palestinians in the West Bank. The release of the mixtape was supposed to be a celebratory event and proved that the next step in the DJ's career is possible for the Palestinian. Perhaps the feeling of optimism around his hammam was an illusion. “There was a time when Germans bought tickets and went to concerts in Palestine,” Abdul Hadi told the Guardian last January. But now no one comes. No one is interested in throwing a party. No one thinks about preparing for their birthday. Yet even in this legacy of false optimism, there is a sense of hope, and perhaps its power. Before being killed by an Israeli rocket, Palestinian poet Raafat Al-Eir wrote a poem of hope for orphans here, comparing his death to a kite flying over Gaza. “If I’m going to die, let this be history,” he said.
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