Saudi director Khalid Fahad discusses his Netflix hit ‘From the Ashes’ 

Saudi director Khalid Fahad discusses his Netflix hit ‘From the Ashes’ 
Khalid Fahad is a Saudi filmmaker. (Supplied)
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Updated 23 February 2024
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Saudi director Khalid Fahad discusses his Netflix hit ‘From the Ashes’ 

Saudi director Khalid Fahad discusses his Netflix hit ‘From the Ashes’ 
  • ‘It’s a great time to be a Saudi filmmaker,’ said Khalid Fahad

 

DUBAI: When Saudi filmmaker Khalid Fahad received the script for his latest project — the Netflix movie “From the Ashes” — it didn’t take him long to sign up. 

“I got attached to the characters, I got attached to the ‘villains,’ I got attached to the idea that we, as a society, make a villain, then we judge him or her for their badness,” Fahad tells Arab News. “I related to the idea that parental pressure can make someone make a mistake. And I wanted to tell people that what happens in a school can be because of what we do in our homes. The school is responsible for educating children, but kids learn a lot from each other, and kids can be aggressive or very kind depending on their parents’ guidance.” 

The film garnered attention ahead of its January release in part because of the real-life events that inspired it. It is set on the campus of an all-girls’ school in Saudi Arabia in which a fire breaks out, resulting in several deaths — echoing the 2002 fire at a school for girls in Makkah that left 15 students dead and many more injured. 




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However, Fahad is quick to stress that “From the Ashes” is not a retelling of that incident.  

“The writers went with their own — different — story,” he says. “The film’s not really about the fire; it’s about the relationship between the schoolgirls and the teachers and the parents. Some of the girls get bullied, and if we don’t address bullying in schools, then bad things can happen. That’s the real message that we wanted to deliver. These incidents — bullying, or arson, or vandalism — we wanted to show that they happen because of relationships between people and to look at why they’re doing this to each other. What’s the real reason for harming other people?” 

There are several such reasons raised in the film — from parental pressure to outperform one’s peers to institutionalized tendencies to label kids as ‘good’ or ‘bad’ without really trying to understand their circumstances or the underlying causes of their behavior. 




Fahad on the set of 'From the Ashes.' (Supplied)

For a film dealing with such nuanced topics, and so many strong emotions, Fahad knew the casting, particularly for the students, would be crucial. 

“For the teachers, it wasn’t hard because we have some expert actresses,” he says. “But for the students, it was very hard to find new people who fit these roles. It took five or six days of auditioning to find the right people.”  

When they did find them, Fahad’s experience of working with young actors (as he did in his debut feature, last year’s fantasy adventure “Valley Road”) came to the fore.  




Saudi actress Shaima Al Tayeb in 'From the Ashes.' (Supplied)

“My previous project taught me a lot about how to work with kids, which was very hard for me at first. It taught me what they need from me: I need to be their best friend, to tell them what I need and they’ll do their best to give that to me, in terms of emotion. All of them were very talented and I think this film will open the door for them to enter the industry.” 

The Kingdom’s still-nascent movie industry can only benefit from the younger generation picking up valuable experience on well-funded projects such as “From the Ashes,” which — despite the rapid growth — are still relatively thin on the ground.  

“Our industry is still young,” Fahad says. “It’s hard enough just making one film. In terms of capacity, I think it’s very hard to do, like, 10 movies in one year in Saudi Arabia.” 

Despite that, Fahad is only optimistic about the near future. 

 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 

A post shared by Khalid Fahad (@khalidf11)

“It’s a great time to be a Saudi filmmaker,” he says. “Everything is open, everything is new. And it’s OK to make mistakes. If you go into the industry in any other country — say, Egypt or Bollywood — there’s no way you can make mistakes, because there’s history there. But for us, mistakes are OK; we’ve just started and we want to learn from our mistakes.  

“But we also have to respect those companies that want to invest in our country and tell our stories,” he adds. “So there’s a balance necessary — we have to take those projects very seriously and deal with them respectfully and professionally.” 

That was clearly the case with “From the Ashes,” and Netflix has been well rewarded for its faith in the film. It made the list of the Top 10 non-English movies on Netflix in 37 countries, accumulating more than 7 million views in a little over a fortnight. 

“I’ve had comments from Mexico, from Spain, talking about bullies and how girls get into fights in schools — it’s similar to their schools,” says Fahad. “And this tells me that we’ve so much in common with other societies. It’s relatable for other people, which is very good. The message that we wanted to deliver is delivered.” 


Imposing ‘dala’ pickup trucks symbolize Pakistan’s power gulf

Imposing ‘dala’ pickup trucks symbolize Pakistan’s power gulf
Updated 20 December 2024
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Imposing ‘dala’ pickup trucks symbolize Pakistan’s power gulf

Imposing ‘dala’ pickup trucks symbolize Pakistan’s power gulf
  • Hilux has become a symbol of power, affluence and intimidation in a society marked by significant class divisions
  • “Dala,” as it is locally known, also serves as euphemism for military intelligence agencies involved in covert operations

KARACHI: In Pakistan’s largest city, cars inch forward in bumper-to-bumper traffic. But some seamlessly carve through the jam: SUVs flanked by Toyota Hilux pickup trucks.
The Hilux has become a symbol of power, affluence and intimidation in a society marked by significant class divisions.
“The vehicle carries an image that suggests anyone escorted by one must be an important figure,” 40-year-old politician Usman Perhyar told AFP.
“It has everything — showiness, added security and enough space for several people to sit in the open cargo bed.”

This photograph taken on November 12, 2024 shows security personnel riding on the back of a Toyota Hilux pick-up truck locally known as 'Dala', bearing a flag of Pakistan Peoples Party (PPP), along a street in Karachi. (AFP)

On Karachi’s chaotic roads, Hiluxes part the traffic, speeding up behind cars and flashing their lights demanding drivers move out of their way.
The Hilux first became popular among feudal elites for its reliability in rural and mountain regions.
But in recent years, the “Dala,” as it is locally known, has soared in popularity as an escort vehicle among newly successful urban business owners.
Guards with faces wrapped in scarves and armed with AK-47s can be packed into the back of the truck, its windows blacked out.
“It is a status symbol. People have one or two pickups behind them,” said Fahad Nazir, a car dealer based in Karachi.

This photograph taken on November 11, 2024 shows local politician Usman Perhyar (L) driving a Toyota Hilux pick-up truck locally known as 'Dala', along a street in Karachi. (AFP)

The Hilux debuted in 1968, but the model that became popular in Pakistan was the mid-2000s Hilux Vigo.
It was later upgraded and rebranded as the Revo, with prices ranging from 10 to 15 million rupees (approximately $36,000 to $54,000).
Their prices have remained steady and they retain excellent resale value in a market traditionally dominated by their manufacturer, Toyota.
“Amongst whatever luxury items we have, this is the fastest-selling item,” car seller Nazir told AFP.

This photograph taken on November 20, 2024 shows politician Ali Warraich escorted by his private security personnel on a fleet of Toyota vehicles, to a meeting with residents in Gujrat, Punjab province. (AFP)

Dealers say there was a spike in rentals during February’s national elections.
“I swear to God, you can’t run an election without a Revo,” said Sajjad Ali Soomro, a provincial parliamentarian from Imran Khan’s Pakistan Tehreek-e-Insaf (PTI) party.
In the eastern city of Gujrat, politician Ali Warraich — from the ruling Pakistan Muslim League-Nawaz party — finds it essential to travel with an escort of two of the trucks.
They allow him to navigate off-road terrain to attend dozens of weddings and funerals a month.
“Politics without this vehicle has become nearly impossible,” he tells AFP. Without one, he argues, potential supporters could question his influence and turn toward competitors.
“As a result, it has become a basic necessity,” he said.

This photograph taken on November 12, 2024 shows paramilitary personnel riding on the back of a Toyota Hilux pick-up truck locally known as 'Dala', as they patrol along a street in Karachi. (AFP)

The truck has also become a trademark in the suppression of dissenting voices, activists told AFP, with the word “Dala” serving as a euphemism for military intelligence agencies involved in covert operations.
The unmarked cars with plainclothes men inside were used extensively by authorities rounding up senior PTI leaders and officials in recent crackdowns — reinforcing the vehicle’s notorious reputation.
“Every time I see this vehicle on the road, I go through the same trauma I endured during my custody with agencies,” said one PTI member who was picked up earlier this year.
Former leader Khan was bundled into a black Dala by paramilitary soldiers when he was arrested in May 2023 in the capital Islamabad, a detention he blamed on the powerful military leadership.
He later accused political heavyweight and three-time prime minister Nawaz Sharif of trying to win the election “through Vigo Dala” — a swipe alleging the military was “carrying” his campaign.
Pakistani poet and activist Ahmad Farhad, known for criticizing the military’s involvement in politics, was taken away in a Hilux after a raid on his home in May by what he said were intelligence agencies.
“Sometimes, they park these vehicles around or behind my car, sending a clear message: ‘We are around’,” he told AFP. “A Dala aligns with their business of spreading fear, which they take great satisfaction in.”
In Karachi, a city rife with street crimes, the imposing Dala deters even outlaws.
“A typical mobile snatcher would opt for maybe looting a car as opposed to a truck,” said 35-year-old automobile enthusiast Zohaib Khan.
Increased street crime has led to more security checks by police, further slowing down movement across the city. But Hiluxes are immune.
Police “don’t typically stop me because they feel that I might be someone who might impact them in a bad way or harm them in some way or the other,” Khan said.


Sister act: Saudi sibling filmmakers Raneem and Dana Almohandes talk musicals, inspiration and telepathy 

Sister act: Saudi sibling filmmakers Raneem and Dana Almohandes talk musicals, inspiration and telepathy 
Updated 20 December 2024
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Sister act: Saudi sibling filmmakers Raneem and Dana Almohandes talk musicals, inspiration and telepathy 

Sister act: Saudi sibling filmmakers Raneem and Dana Almohandes talk musicals, inspiration and telepathy 

JEDDAH: A trip to Saudi Arabia’s AlUla, a chance encounter with a persistent mosquito on the streets of New York and an enduring love for musicals inspired Saudi filmmaking sisters Dana and Raneem Almohandes to create their animated short film “A Mosquito,” which screened at the recently concluded Red Sea International Film Festival in Jeddah. 

“We were walking in New York, having a good time, and there was this mosquito who kept coming back to me,” explained older sister Raneem. “This is how it all started, with one question: ‘What does this mosquito want?’ We thought, ‘She wants to talk to us, but we’re not giving her the chance.’ So, that’s where the story was born.” 

Set in 1969, “A Mosquito” follows Zozo — a tiny mosquito with big dreams. While her peers are content with ordinary life in the majestic landscapes of AlUla, Zozo dares to dream of becoming a famous singer — heading to Egypt to sing before the legendary Umm Kulthum. 

“A Mosquito” began life as a two-minute short — part of Raneem’s university project. It turned into its fully realized version after they took their idea to the AlUla Creates program, a local initiative that provides funding, mentorship and networking opportunities for Saudi filmmakers and fashion designers. 

“When AlUla invited us to apply, we had this idea already, and we wanted to expand on it, because, you know, university projects are victims of time and resources. We developed the story with the AlUla Creates team,” said Raneem.  

“We went to AlUla earlier, and we captured the aesthetics from there. The frames that you see in the film are identical to the pictures we took during our trip,” added Dana. 

 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 

A post shared by Raneem (@ralmohandes)

Raneem graduated from New York University in musical theater writing (Dana, the younger of the two, is studying filmmaking at Princess Nourah Bint Abdul Rahman University in Riyadh). “We grew up watching musicals, but we felt like we don’t have any that are in the Saudi dialect, so we wanted to create (them),” said Raneem. “That’s why I studied musical theater writing. 

“We’ve always loved expressing ourselves through art. For example, Dana will do a dance whenever she wants to express how she feels about someone. Like, for my birthday, she would do a choreographed dance. I used to do small videos for our family — sometimes they’re music videos, sometimes short films … this is how we started. And then I started an Instagram page for DIY videos, and we worked together on it. It was one of the first (Instagram accounts) to reach 1 million followers in the Middle East,” said Raneem. “Dana was, like, 10 years old back then.” 

Before they had received any formal training, the duo were chosen as For Change Ambassadors of Saudi Arabia. The screenplay for their first musical feature (“Dandana”) was shortlisted in the second round of Sundance’s Screenwriters Lab 2020. Their first short, “A Human,” was funded by Google and premiered in Riyadh. 

The sisters reiterate that their filmmaking career is closely tied to the history of cinema in the Kingdom. 

“We put ‘A Human’ up on YouTube in parallel with Saudi Arabia opening its cinemas again,” Raneem said. It went on to become one of the first 100 films to be shown in cinemas after they reopened in the country and, according to Raneem, the very first short film. 

In 2022, the pair wrote and directed the musical short “A Swing,” which was selected for the official competition at the Saudi Film Festival and was screened as part of the Kingdom’s participation at Cannes in 2022. 

Despite the eight-year age gap between the two sisters, the duo say they have a seamless working relationship. 

“We sometimes fight, as all sisters do, but we have telepathy most of the time,” said Raneem. “We are in sync in terms of ideas. Filmmaking is all about communication.” 

Working as two young women in the Saudi film industry is, Dana said, “magical.” Raneem agreed.  

“It’s overwhelmingly beautiful, because the support is magnificent,” she said. “Each and every project and idea that we’ve had, we knew for a fact that if we approached the right decision maker, it would happen.” 


British historian explores Nabateans’ ‘cool culture’ in documentary 

British historian explores Nabateans’ ‘cool culture’ in documentary 
Updated 19 December 2024
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British historian explores Nabateans’ ‘cool culture’ in documentary 

British historian explores Nabateans’ ‘cool culture’ in documentary 
  • Bettany Hughes’ series ‘Lost Worlds’ travels through AlUla, Europe and Petra 

JEDDAH: For British historian Bettany Hughes, the story of the Nabateans is as vital as those of the ancient Greeks, Romans or Egyptians. 

In a new three-part series, “Bettany Hughes' Lost Worlds: The Nabataeans,” Hughes traces the titular civilization’s incense trade routes from the Arabian Peninsula to the Mediterranean, accessing newly revealed research across Saudi Arabia’s Al Ula, Jordan, Greece, Italy and Oman. 

“For me, you can’t understand the classical world unless you understand the Nabataeans — they are the missing link in the story of society, because, in many ways, they were the engine that drove many other civilizations. They connected the far edges of the Arabian Peninsula with the center of Europe, and without them, that line of connection wouldn’t have happened,” Hughes told Arab News on the sidelines of this month’s Red Sea International Film Festival, where the show’s first episode was screened.  

Her decades of research have revealed that Petra, the Nabateans’ iconic capital, was just a small part of a vast empire that is only now revealing its secrets. 

“When you say, ‘These are the guys that built Petra,’ then people go, ‘Oh, yeah. I always wondered.’ But that’s why we’re doing this series; to remind the world that they have this whole other story, whole other centers of operation. And to try to write them back into history. They’re a very cool culture. I’m very impressed by them. 

“They love happiness. They love liberty. Women seem to have a really strong role in their society. They’re all about trade and communication — and therefore understanding people beyond borders and boundaries. So, I think there’s a lot that we can learn from them as a culture,” she continued. 

Hughes’ entry point to the Nabateans came almost three decades ago. 

Hughes with local desert guides in Wadi AlFann, AlUla. (Supplied)

“It was initially through trying to do detective work on the trade network,” she explained. “I knew that the Romans were obsessed with incense. I knew that Tutankhamun was buried with incense balls in his tomb. And I thought, ‘So, who’s delivering that?’ Because I also knew that incense came from that southern edge of the Arabian Peninsula. So, who was in charge? 

“And then I saw this coin of Aretas IV, who was probably the most powerful of all the Nabatean kings. And Huldu, his queen, was also on the coin. And I just thought that that doesn’t happen often. That’s really interesting, so I needed to get to the bottom of their story,” Hughes added. 

And since Saudi Arabia’s AlUla has been opened up to the outside world over the past few years, Hughes jumped on the opportunity to learn more about the civilization that’s recurrently appeared on the edges of her research efforts.  

She first travelled to the historic site in 2022, heading deep into the deserts of AlUla, even spending time with the still-existing Bedouin communities there, tracing how the Nabateans traversed the harsh landscape with their camels and the stars as guides. 

The first episode of “Lost Worlds” is dedicated entirely to AlUla, in the second episode they visit Europe, before heading to Petra in the third and final episode.  

Hughes credited her love for history to one of her schoolteachers. 

“When I was growing up, history wasn’t fashionable. People would say, ‘Oh, it’s irrelevant. All the answers lie in the future.’ And I just knew that couldn’t be true — that there was this reservoir of ideas and inspiration and understanding that came in the past,” she said. “And then I had a brilliant teacher who said, ‘Go for it. Even if you’re unpopular, even if people are saying no, make it happen.’ That kind of gave me the confidence to plow ahead. 

“I then went to Oxford to study history, and I was very aware that in the official stories of the world that I was reading as a student, women didn’t feature very much. Even though I knew, obviously, we’d been 50 percent of the human population forever, we only occupied a tiny percentage of recorded history. So I felt that was something I could help with,” she continued. “I don’t just write about women’s history, but I’m always looking for the gaps — and the story of the female role in history is one of those gaps that needs filling.” 


Review: ‘Carry-On’ fails to deliver on its festive promise 

Review: ‘Carry-On’ fails to deliver on its festive promise 
Updated 19 December 2024
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Review: ‘Carry-On’ fails to deliver on its festive promise 

Review: ‘Carry-On’ fails to deliver on its festive promise 
  • Netflix thriller with Taron Egerton and Jason Bateman starts strong, but fizzles 

LONDON: Netflix has absolutely missed a trick with the marketing for new thriller “Carry-On”. Instead of billing it as a slick, tense action-adjacent movie starring Taron Egerton and Jason Bateman, the bosses at the streaming giant should have pitched it as a modern interpretation of the greatest Christmas movie of all time — because for the first 45 minutes or so, “Carry-On” feels like the spiritual successor to “Die Hard” (or maybe “Die Harder,” given the airport setting). 

Egerton is Ethan, a disenfranchised TSA agent who dreams of being an LA cop. When monitoring bags at a packed Los Angeles airport on Christmas Eve, he is contacted by a mysterious traveler (Bateman) who gives him a simple choice: let a specific suitcase through the scanners, or the traveler will have Ethan’s pregnant girlfriend killed. What follows is a cat-and-mouse couple of hours with Ethan surreptitiously trying to raise the alarm and find out what’s in the bag, while his boss, colleagues, girlfriend and LAPD detective (Danielle Deadwyler) try to figure out why he’s acting so strangely. 

And for that first 45 minutes, it’s an absolute riot – the sparky back-and-forth between Egerton and Bateman sizzles, and the sense of futility is palpable as Ethan realizes that the traveler has predicted his every move. Then, there follows one of the most ludicrously staged highway set pieces in recent movie history which, rather than upping the ante, turns “Carry -On” from a cagey, sweaty thrill ride into a zany, cartoony mess. Ethan goes from terrified everyman to buff action hero in a way that worked for Bruce Willis in 1988, but simply falls flat here. The plot, such as it is, just sort of gives up — Bateman’s villain insists that he doesn’t know the reasons for the bag caper because he doesn’t need to know, which feels a little lazy, given the effort put into the convoluted web of blackmail. 

There is a positive though: despite coming off the rails in its second half, “Carry-On” is inarguably a Christmas movie. And as a result, it’s at least 10 times better than the majority of holiday dross currently cluttering up the streaming platforms. It’s just a shame that this isn’t going to be one of the best movies of the entire year— which seems like a possibility at one stage— rather than just the festive season. 


Saudi singer Fulana: ‘Music is my way to understand the world’ 

Saudi singer Fulana: ‘Music is my way to understand the world’ 
Updated 18 December 2024
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Saudi singer Fulana: ‘Music is my way to understand the world’ 

Saudi singer Fulana: ‘Music is my way to understand the world’ 
  • The Saudi singer-songwriter discusses her debut album

DUBAI: “I’m a nervous wreck, but I’m very excited,” admits singer, songwriter, and producer Nadine Lingawi. “I mean, I know that I need to sound like I’m poised and I have everything together, but look, it’s my first. This is my first bulk of work. It’s definitely not something that’s super commercial and one always wonders whether or not it’s going to succeed. But I think in the very bottom of my emotional cortex, I have this very strange sense of calmness and almost a sense of being undoubtful that this will do really well, because I love it.” 

Lingawi, better known by her stage name Fulana, is discussing her debut album, the collaborative project “ground:from.” Created with the electronic music duo Input/Output, it is the first of the conceptual album’s two musical chapters, and is described, rather morbidly, as a ‘letter to death’.  

For the Vancouver-born, Jeddah-raised songstress, it’s a moment of truth, having spent the past three years pushing outs tracks such as “Minarets,” “Lore,” “Trouble,” and “Reprobate” through the indie label Wall of Sound. Singing primarily in English, she inhabits a world of self-reflection and existentialism, yet has performed at some of Saudi Arabia’s biggest musical events, including the inaugural Riyadh International Jazz Festival earlier this year and MDLBeast XP. 

“I don’t think I ever had that idea — or want — to perform on stage; it was treated as more of a hobby growing up,” says Lingawi, whose family hail from Jeddah’s historic Al-Balad. “Music was just something that I did to express certain feelings or emotions. I was never really good with words or confrontation, and around people my age I felt things a little more deeply, and I struggled to express that. So music is more of my safe haven, or my way to understand the world.” 

Initially, “ground:from” was little more than a collection of songs written by Lingawi, who asked Abdulmajeed Alwazna (one half of Input/Output) to produce a single track for a partially-written album. Alwazna then reached out to Husam Al-Sayed, the second half of Input/Output and a friend of Lingawi’s, and together the three of them reviewed everything while Lingawi outlined her vision for the album.  

“I think of it as quite a magical moment, because it’s one thing when people want to help you create something,” says Lingawi. “It’s another thing when people want to have a sense of ownership, because then they come in with their full hearts.” 

The three worked together for two-and-a-half months, with Lingawi moving from Jeddah to Riyadh for the recording sessions. Meeting two or three times a week, sometimes simply to discuss the album’s direction, they dissected every single sound she had brought to the studio, deciding what would stay and what would go.  

“We looked at the anatomy of songs, and we decided together: ‘This doesn’t work here, we should shift it.’ Or ‘This sound does not work here, let’s recreate another sound,’” recalls Lingawi. “We wrote together, we produced together, we experimented together, and so we gave birth to this project.”  

The result is an atmospheric, contemplative exploration of mortality. In essence, a dialogue with death, the first chapter takes listeners on a journey above ground, incorporating audio elements such as the sounds of crickets, birds, thunder, and other natural sonic occurrences. Together, these sounds contribute to a sense of the “beginning of decomposition,” with Lingawi “speaking to death herself” in her trademark introspective, lyrical style.  

“I’ve always enjoyed the dichotomy of life,” she admits. “I’ve always enjoyed creating sounds that sound really cheerful, but what I’m saying is quite dreadful, or vice versa. I think it creates that sense of balance that we try to achieve while we’re alive. I think from a very young age I was very fascinated by the idea of endings and beginnings. It’s always been a part of how I view the world, or the things that I tend to think a little too much about.  

“But death, in this album, is not just the idea of decay or our souls leaving us. It also translates into the death of causes, the death of humanity, the death of feelings, the death of chapters. It’s more about endings and romanticizing those endings. In a sense, it is a reflection of me because I tend to romanticize endings a lot more than I enjoy the good parts of things. So, in chapter one, it’s about that longing for tension, that longing for the one thing I can never reach. And in chapter two, we’re kind of taking a step back and realizing the aftermath of that. Of not enjoying a moment for what it is when it is alive.” 

Lingawi’s vocals, sometimes mesmerizing in their emotional clarity, fuse beautifully with the deep synths and ambient guitar of Input/Output, whose fondness for rhythmic structure and cinematic soundscapes help to create a sonic environment rooted in the intensity of its subject matter. In the first chapter, that largely relates to the melancholy of love, the fleeting nature of life, and the cycles of loss and rebirth. In the second — due early next year — the trio head below ground, where the conversation with death will be darker and far more honest.  

Lingawi’s musical journey began as a child, listening to the radio on car journeys with her mother. Around the age of 17, she began to put her own music online, having experimented with GarageBand and having nurtured a love of slam poetry since the age of 14. 

To retain her anonymity, she chose the name Fulana, which means ‘anonymous female’ in Arabic.  

“Fulana was just my very cheeky way of saying, ‘I’m going to put my music online, and no one’s going to tell that it’s me.’ And I wanted to stick with it because through the name I was able to, I wouldn’t say dissociate, but to have people focus more on what I’m saying and the stories I’m telling, rather than on me as a person. And that remains a big part of who I am as a musician. I don’t really want people to care about me as a person. I’m not that interested really,” she says. “It’s the music itself, so if we could just focus on that and not me as a person, that would be amazing.”