The Sound Researcher: Meet Safeya Alblooshi, Sonic Ethnographer

by Alexandra Mansilla

The Sound Researcher: Meet Safeya Alblooshi, Sonic Ethnographer

28 Mar 2025

The sound of trees rustling, rain falling, cars passing, people chatting, dogs barking, the usual back-and-forth at the market, birds singing early in the morning, kids laughing after school, desert winds, static from the radio — these aren't just random noises. They are part of a bigger picture. They make up the sound of a place. And every place sounds different. Every city has its own rhythm.

That is what ethnomusicologists are all about — they are part musicians, part researchers, and they dive deep into this world of sound. They listen, record, and hold on to what might otherwise disappear.

That is exactly what Safeya Alblooshi does. She is a sound artist and researcher (you can learn more about her on the CIFRA platform).

Her work has been shown and heard in Expo 2020 Dubai, Louvre Abu Dhabi, Alserkal Avenue, IRCAM Forum, the London Design Biennale, Festival X, Sharjah Art Foundation, and the Smithsonian Folklife Festival. She was also a Kawader Fellow and a Research Assistant at NYU Abu Dhabi, working with the Music and Sound Cultures research group.

We talked to her about how she first got into sound research, how each Emirate has its own unique soundscape (they really do), and the unexpected things she has discovered about the sound along the way.

— Hi Safeya! I just found out you are Emirati and Russian — wow, what a beautiful blend!

— Yeah, I was born and raised in Dubai. My mom is Russian, and my dad is Emirati. I do speak Russian — not fluently, maybe, but I can manage.

— Can you describe your childhood a bit? What was your home like growing up? Were you immersed in Russian culture in any way? You have a very interesting blend of cultures.

— There was a lot of Russian food, definitely. Lots of blini, Russian salads, hearty meat dishes... though now I don't eat meat! But back then, it was all the usual: plov, all that stuff.

We also observed some Russian traditions — not religiously, but culturally. We always acknowledged Orthodox Easter and New Year’s was big things. We would put up the tree and exchange presents — but without the religious aspects. We still do that every year, actually, as a way to honour my mother’s culture.

And, of course, Russian TV was kind of always on in the background, too.

As I got older, I started to connect more deeply with my Arab roots too — really trying to understand that side of my heritage. So my cultural identity kind of bridges both worlds now.

— You said Russian TV was always playing in the background. Since you are working with sound now, I will ask you to describe sounds quite a bit — so, what did that one sound like to you?

— Yeah, for me, it is the jingles — those classic TV program jingles. They really stand out in my memory. There is a certain cheerfulness I associate with them.

Also, when you think of Russian popular music, especially what was shown on state TV, it is a lot of the same iconic voices. Even now, a lot of the veteran Russian pop artists are still around — still performing, still celebrated. Their music is still the soundtrack of holidays like New Year’s or Mother’s Day. Their songs never really go away.

— You got into ethnomusicology because you were drawn to music from the region. Was there a moment when that interest really clicked — when you realised you genuinely wanted to explore the music of your own culture?

— There were actually two moments. One of them was kind of unconscious — it happened when I was still in school. I was taking music as a higher level course, and I just got tired of the curriculum. It was always about the Romantic period, Classical period... the same Western trajectory of music history, from Bach to the 20th century.

I remember thinking, I actually want to learn more about other types of music — like music from India, for example. It is rhythmically and melodically more complex and harder for me to understand, which made it more exciting. I just wanted that challenge.

Then, when I got to university, I ended up taking a course on Arab music cultures. During that course, everything really shifted. We even took a trip to Kuwait, where we met a pearl diving music group — and that was a turning point for me.

That is also where I met someone who later became my professor. He is an ethnomusicologist who specialises in Kuwaiti pearl diving music. Through him, I started to understand how rich and interconnected the region’s music is — how it shares influences with East Africa and the Indian Ocean trading world.

I also realised how much of our musical heritage isn’t documented in written form. We transmit knowledge orally, through performance, through sound — and maybe that is why people outside the region sometimes perceive us as “less cultured.” But it is not about a lack of culture — it is about different priorities. Our tradition runs deep, but it is deeply verbal.

That is really what sparked my interest to keep studying. I even took a course called Listening to Islam, which ended up being one of the most fascinating classes I have ever had.

Field recording. Photo: Safeya's archive

— Do you remember any specific investigation or discovery you made while studying musicology that really surprised you?

— Definitely. One of the most surprising things was just how connected our traditional music is — like, really interconnected. For example, some of the traditional songs we perform in the UAE use lyrics that come from Zanzibar. That blew my mind.

There are also so many dialects within the Emirates — even some that other Emiratis can’t understand. Like, there is a language called Jabali that is spoken only by mountain communities in the region. And then you have the Shihuh tribe — they speak a distinct dialect too. I couldn’t understand it at all, and I think that is beautiful.

That made me start questioning ideas around national identity — especially how it is curated in public spaces. What we often see in public performances is a polished, controlled version of culture. But when you attend a performance in someone’s private majlis, it is totally different — people are dancing freely, really moving, enjoying themselves.

That tension between the private and public spheres in Gulf music — what is performed, what is hidden — really stayed with me. It made me reflect on how identity is shaped, shown, and sometimes edited, depending on where it is shared.

Field recording. Photo: Safeya's archive

— You also mentioned that each of the Emirates has its own unique soundscape. Could you try to describe the sound of each one?

— That is interesting! I actually once had the idea to create an album with a track for each Emirate.

When it comes to Abu Dhabi, the capital — which also includes Al Ain — I would want to focus on natural elements. There are mangroves, the sea, the desert, and the oasis. I would probably center on the oasis, since Al Ain is the birthplace of our founding father. The sounds of the oasis really set it apart from the rest of the UAE.

For Dubai, it would definitely be the urban infrastructure — the rapid development. Of course, that is happening in all the Emirates, but in Dubai it’s really visible, really felt. Every time I drive through, I see new bridges, new structures — so that urban soundscape is strong. But I would also want to focus on Old Dubai — the souks, the traditional areas. That side really fascinates me.

With Ras Al Khaimah, I would want to focus on the landscape of the mountains. It is an important part of UAE geography and history. There is also a lot of unique culture there that is shared across the border with Oman.

In Sharjah... hmm, I think I would focus on the sounds of water. There are lots of boats along the waterways. Every time I go to Sharjah, I pass that area, and it is something personal — the seagulls, the coast, all of that.

For Umm Al Quwain — it is a small, kind of quiet Emirate — I would focus on poetry. The sound of people reciting poems and the way poetry connects to land, to the sea, to the fishermen. Songs of the water. So, it would be all about the sounds of words and language.

Ajman — also a small Emirate — I would probably focus on the adhan, the call to prayer, and how it echoes across the space. I have noticed, for example, that in Ras Al Khaimah, the call to prayer bounces off the walls more than in Dubai. It is something really unique to each Emirate.

Fujairah is a bit more difficult. But I think I would try to capture the narrative — the movement, the environment, people’s stories. There is interesting history there, too. And just like Ras Al Khaimah, there are communities that live near the border, so personal narratives of place would be really powerful.

— Okay, kind of a random question — are there any sounds you can’t stand? And the second part: have you ever thought of making a track using those irritating sounds?

— Oh, Styrofoam. That sound of it tearing or breaking — horrible! Also, I think the absence of sound can be disturbing, too — like when you are expecting to hear something, and it just doesn't come. That silence can be unsettling.

I am also really sensitive to loud noise — maybe we all are. But for me, when I am in a space where sound could be controlled but isn’t, that is the worst. Like when a sound system is just way too loud for the room. It makes the whole experience uncomfortable.

As for creating a track with those kinds of sounds, I haven’t thought about it, but it is an interesting idea. In my field recording work, I often come across unwanted sounds — like I would be recording mangroves, and suddenly there is construction noise. It is annoying, but I have realised I need to be honest about the soundscape. If construction is happening, then that is part of the reality of that space — even if it ruins the “perfect” recording.

The other thing is that we live in a time where we are constantly exposed to noise — sometimes even traumatic noise. Like, you hear sounds of war on the news. Maybe you have never experienced it, but that sound reaches you through other people’s recordings. I may not use it in my own work, but I am exposed to it. It becomes part of your sound memory, whether you want it or not.

Festival X. Photo: Safeya's archive

— Now, I want to ask about your collaboration with Amir B. Ash. You are all about sound, he is all about visuals — how did you two end up working together? And did you feel like your sound needed that kind of visual layer?

— I met Amir at a festival in Dubai — Festival X. I was commissioned to do the opening show, and they needed visuals, so they sent Amir. He had worked with them before. That is how we met. We did a project together there — an audiovisual set — and then we collaborated again on a festival he co-directs called Mutek AE.

Later, I started working on a new set. It felt like a real shift sonically — I was experimenting with more intricate textures. Even though I don’t usually collaborate with visual artists, I thought, let’s try something new! Amir was the first person who came to mind. We both realised that this set would really benefit from a strong visual element. Amir’s work has this beautiful grain, this texture, and it complemented the sound perfectly.

It just worked. I recently performed the same set in Berlin, and I actually told him, “If you’re not there, I’m not doing it.” Because at this point, it doesn’t make sense to perform the set without the visuals. This is the only set where the visuals feel essential — like they are truly embedded in the performance.

Berlin. Photo: Safeya's archive

— Have you ever looked at a static artwork — like something in a museum or gallery — and felt it needed sound? Or imagined a sound for it?

— I think there is this need to rethink how visuals function — they don’t always have to be fast-paced or attention-grabbing. I have seen moving images without sound, and it worked — especially in spaces that are more entertainment-focused or made for public interaction.

But with static visuals... I have seen a lot of people post renders of digital artworks, sometimes just screenshots. And sometimes, those images instantly inspire me to imagine a sound that could go with them. Usually, they are grainy, black and white, maybe with a bit of grey. Sometimes, there is something natural in the background, and I start to think about how I would translate that into sound.

— Okay, let us do an exercise! If someone asked you to create music to accompany the Mona Lisa, what would it sound like?

— I would probably go for something drony, like a long, sustained drone with spatialised ambient textures. Some ambient textures. In my world of sound, that is what I would do.

— You have a project with Analog Amigo Records — found sound(s). First, can you tell me more about it? And second, why did you decide to release it on tape?

— I have been wanting to do a bigger project — a full album focused on the seven Emirates. But that is a long-term thing. It would take years of research, working with poets, field recordists, collaborators… so I thought, let us start smaller.

I was chatting with Jordan Cortez, the founder of Analog Amigo Records, a Dubai-based cassette label. He told me he had this short tape — about five minutes per side — and I thought, perfect. I had been wanting to release something like a “sound journal,” a mini-collection of field recordings, something compact.

Usually, I work on 30-minute soundscape projects, but this time, I just wanted to do something short — like the length of a single track but made of layered field recordings. I didn’t want to title the pieces. I just included the location and context of the recordings in the description.

We released it around National Day. Why on tape? Because analog culture is beautiful. I work with modular and analog synths — it just made sense. Tape forces people to hold on to something physical, something tactile. It slows things down. And I think people are slowly coming back to that — vinyl is already popular again, and cassettes are quietly making their return too.

Analog Amigo Records

— Do you have any other projects you would like to highlight?

— Yes, definitely. I just recently wrapped up a three-year fellowship with the Music and Sound Cultures Research Group at NYUAD. During that time, I was working on a research project focused on Mina Zayed, an industrial zone. I was asking how we can imagine the past, present, and future of that place, especially since the UAE is constantly evolving and shifting. It is a very liminal space.

I conducted fieldwork, wrote a paper, and presented it… but I am not really into publishing through traditional academic routes. So I am now working on a self-published printed matter — kind of a zine or artist book — based on that research. I am collaborating with other artists too, asking how they perceive Mina Zayed sonically, across time.

This is going to be an extension of my Resound UAE project. Originally, it was a two-month activation with workshops, film screenings, and events that I launched in 2024. But now I want to evolve it into something more long-term — maybe a year-long program with seasonal activations, new publications, and more collaborations. A space to explore sound in relation to place and memory.

— And the last question: for those who have never listened to your tracks — what would you want them to know going in? How would you introduce your sound?

— I would say: don’t expect a single genre. I move between ambient, experimental, field recording, electronic... but what ties it all together is an attention to texture and place. I’m interested in how sound holds memory — how it can root you in a space or transport you somewhere unexpected. So just listen openly. Let the sound guide you.

by Alexandra Mansilla