What a Year of Listening Taught Me About Mental Health in Arabic Music, Insha'Allah
Assalamu alaikum wa rahmatullah,
Arabic popular music nowadays rarely touches on the struggles within the heart and mind.
For many years, singers and songwriters across our region have focused on themes like love, heartbreak, hope, and faith, but seldom have they openly discussed depression, anxiety, or the challenge of staying strong through uncertain times.
This gap inspired me during my year-long Rosalynn Carter Fellowship for Mental Health Journalism. I wanted to explore how Muslim musicians in the Arab world are beginning to express mental health through their art. My goal was not to start a campaign or preach, but to quietly capture a change that is already happening.
For example, Palestinian-Jordanian rapper Laith Al Husseini, known as The Synaptik, shared how music became his way to hold himself together during the Israel-Gaza conflict. Speaking from Ramallah, where distant sounds of war still reach his village, he talked about releasing his album Al Taman while welcoming the blessing of his first son amidst hardship.
"Since the war began, I’ve stayed home with my family. Movement is limited. But despite it all, I feel deep happiness because I have my newborn son with me," he said. "I live between fear and loss, yet also find inner peace and hope through Allah’s mercy."
His 2018 song, Ritalin, was among the first in Arabic music to openly name a mental health condition. "From a young age, I struggled with depression and anxiety, as well as the effects of medication," he explained. "I wrote the song because I was tired of suffering in silence. I didn’t expect it to connect with so many people. It helped others share their own burdens, which can be very painful."
Many conversations with artists felt more like healing sessions than typical interviews. They spoke thoughtfully, with pauses that felt natural and meaningful - moments you can hear in episodes of The National’s podcast, Tarab.
Palestinian singer Lina Makoul explained her latest single, Radiya, meaning "contentment," was her way of finding emotional balance during chaos. Contentment is rarely a theme in Arabic pop because it doesn’t bring the dramatic highs fans expect. But Lina turned it into an uplifting dance-pop anthem and a form of spiritual resistance. "Whenever things didn’t go my way, I’d repeat to myself: 'I am content with whatever Allah’s decree brings. I trust that I am divinely protected.'"
Anthony Khoury from Lebanese band Adonis said their recent album, Wedyan, recorded during the 2024 invasion of Lebanon, intentionally stayed away from conflict themes. "We were deeply hurt by the war," he shared. "But our music took us elsewhere. We needed to protect something - maybe our joy, creativity, or even our sanity."
This desire to protect one’s inner peace is also clear in Lebanese singer Tania Saleh’s album Fragile, written after she left Beirut’s hardships for a new life in Paris. "I couldn’t bring my home with me," she said. "Just a few CDs and books. I closed the door behind me and left. Staying alone in Lebanon would have broken me emotionally."
"I love Paris," she added, "but there’s always something missing - the warmth, the weather, the little things in Lebanese life. When I have nothing to do, emotions creep in and overwhelm me. That’s why I turn to creativity - to avoid bad news, to avoid harsh reality, and to keep moving forward."
Bachir Ramadan, a Lebanese metal drummer who survived the 2020 Beirut port explosion and now lives in Doha, is releasing a memoir called Obsidian Tempo about his experience. "I never planned to write a book," he said. "But when I couldn’t play drums, I needed another way to express myself. Writing about August 4 was painful but also healing - almost better than therapy."
If artists are opening up about mental health, what support exists for them? Independent Arab musicians often face financial struggles without big label support, alongside the pressures of conflict and displacement. This makes support systems even more important.
We tend to see music as only entertainment or business, not as a form of therapy. While progress is being made in professionalizing the industry with royalty systems and government partnerships, we also need mentorship programs pairing established musicians with emerging ones dealing with burnout. Festivals could include workshops where artists openly discuss exhaustion and mental health.
My fellowship year was an effort to document this important shift. Though the year is over, these conversations continue to inspire my work. I hope this serves as a foundation for future artists, journalists, and organizations to explore mental health more deeply.
May Allah grant us all strength and healing.
Saeed Saeed
2024-25 Rosalynn Carter Mental Health Journalism Fellow
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