Grief is hereditary. It is collective and more than mere streams of tears – as countless generations of oppressed Palestinians can attest. On the album Karakoz, the Rome-based musician Mai Mai Mai creates a resonance of this collective sorrow and attempts to grasp the desperate hope of the Palestinian people. Not through political slogans, but through dark spiritualism and synthesizers.
Karakoz is an ancient form of shadow theatre with roots in the Ottoman Empire, and the album title serves as an omen of the musical pulse that sets in from the opening track, »Grief«. Here the music sounds like an archaic folk hymn: slow, repetitive percussion creates a tear-soaked minimalism, and the piece feels like a ceremony passed down through generations. With synthesizers slowly coiling around Maya Al Khaldi’s yearning vocals, »Grief« becomes a cultural bridge between forgotten traditions and the painfully current tragedy that today envelops Palestine in an all-consuming darkness.
Across the seven tracks, one hears trauma like a wind murmuring through the streets and among the olive trees. This may be because the album was created in collaboration with local artists and includes archival material from The Palestinian Sound Archive – an archive of decades of forgotten music, poetry, and album covers. Karakoz is a reinterpretation of Middle Eastern spiritualism and forgotten music. It is a testament to grief as lived experience, and as an archival bulwark, Karakoz thus takes part in the struggle for a free Palestine.
English translation: Andreo Michaelo Mielczarek
