Breath Of Life: Nazar Interviewed – clashmusic.com

Nazar, the Amsterdam-based Angolan electronic artist who bubbled under-the-radar with the dark, dubby sound clashes of pandemic-era LP ‘Guerrilla’, is ready for you to hear him sing. Whether it’s an augmented harmony, a recitation that doubles as incantation, a low, resonant mumble submerged in the mix, or a sharp, staccato phrasing that pulls from the rhythmic contours of RnB beatmaking, Alcides Simões’ new vocal-based work is both an oral history and a beacon of truth-telling expression. 
On second album, ‘Demilitarize’, which sounds like shards of prismatic light piercing the murky ether, violence is wrought from the inside, the live organism, the consciousness; from peals of breath and blood and not the crackling cacophony of wartime artillery, sirens and drones that was documented on the ethnographic ‘Guerrilla’. Conceived and recorded in the aftermath of a crippling sickness that left him incapacitated just as his relationship with his now fiancé bloomed in isolation, ‘Demilitarize’ chronicles Nazar’s insular fears, the unspoken truths and trauma of a family living in the throes of factional war, and long suppressed feelings surrounding his sexual identity. 
‘Demilitarize’ emerged from sustained internal pressure and gradually became an act of rapture and quiet resistance. “All of these long buried feelings and memories came back to me,” he says. “It became easier to ask my family hard questions about death and grief. That’s where the album title came from; I was in a process of demilitarizing my identity and the weight of my Angolan culture and traditions. I had to be honest with my partner. I had to accept myself for who I was.” 
Like its predecessor, rough kudoro – an abrasive industrial inversion of the electronic dance music originated during Angola’s protracted civil war – is a foundation and not a feature. Yet, this time melodic refrains, pockets of atmospheric haze and a sense of kinetic propulsion courses through songs that tickle the mind and electrify the body.  
Just as ‘Demilitarize’ soundtracks a steady process of healing and recalibration evident in track titles (‘Unlearn’, ‘Disarm’, ‘Safe’) that signal hope and optimism, Nazar readily harnesses this mindfulness in conversation. Moments of raw candour and rousing self-examination illustrate a renewed zest for life and a desire to be more open and accessible. This is Nazar stepping into the light. 
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Congrats on what I believe is one of the best electronic records I’ve heard this year. How are you feeling about a work that has been incubating for a while?
I feel anxious but relieved. I’ve put all these emotions into something physical. I guess the anxiety comes from releasing another album after five years. It’s taxing to be outside. It’s vulnerable. I’ve grappled with making a work that is more accessible, an album that is violent but still melodic. I’m looking forward to people making it their own.
For chronology’s sake but also for context, where do we find you just after the release of ‘Guerrilla’ just as the pandemic rages?
After ‘Guerrilla’ I was mentally affected by the pandemic because I had so many plans for my art. I thought I’d lost all my momentum. But I also met my fiancé around this time, and I got engaged recently. We were very lucky to have each other, so we made the jump and started living together. We were alone and shielded. It was nice to have that experience where we were isolated from the outside world but growing together. I was able to be more introspective and create something out of that honesty. 
The concept of the album was starting to form but I wasn’t yet making the full jump. Then the scene started to open up, and I was performing a bit whilst doing some labour work. It was quite hectic and I felt invincible but my body didn’t like the late nights and the flights back and forth. I collapsed one day out of exhaustion and then I got Covid. My immune system was really weak and I got tuberculosis which had remained latent from when I was younger. I was very sick during this period. I felt there was some negligence with my diagnosis, and that happens a lot when you’re black or brown. I kept insisting that it was something more serious because my temperature was so high and I was so weak. I felt relief when I got the diagnosis from a specialist but also deep concern because it’s a serious disease. I stopped everything and focused on healing. 
What’s interesting is the mental aspect. The nights were always intense. I was so tired and weak during this period. Manifesting and self-talk helped me as did my partner who really cared for me during this period. I was listening to ambient tracks but also my own tracks. They put me at ease. I felt like a new person. My relationship with mortality completely changed. I lost a sister when I was younger and we never really talked about it then. All of these long buried feelings and memories came back to me. It became easier to ask my family these hard questions about death and grief. I dug deeper. I had also suppressed my sexuality and I was embracing that part of my identity. That’s where the album title came from; I was in a process of demilitarizing my identity and the weight of my Angolan culture and traditions. I had to be honest with my partner. I had to accept myself for who I was. ‘Demilitarize’ came to be then. 
What does chronic illness do to the psyche of someone who is by their very nature creative? How did your illness and period of inactivity affect your artistry?
Right after ‘Guerrilla’ I was feeling very productive and I’d made a few demos, so it was frustrating that I couldn’t continue. But I felt my imagination become more vivid during this time. I was revisiting memories. I was paradoxically peaceful, if that makes sense? I was more scared about how my family and partner were reacting to my illness; their relationship with the disease was heightened because it’s still a thing in Angola. I was very thin and my face was swollen. My lungs were perforated and I was coughing blood. So, it was scary for them. The sickness was violent in nature. 
When I got better I found a new sense of confidence. When I released ‘Guerrilla’ I wanted to prove myself.  I felt like I was capable but I had a lot to prove. When I healed from the sickness I didn’t feel that pressure as much. Now, I let my experiences dictate my process, whereas before I felt I had to be more diligent. This is an album for myself and the people around me. My perception of music completely changed. My own music became a balm. 
If ‘Guerrilla’ outlined what you coined ‘rough kuduro’ – this dark and jaunty inversion of a genre native to Angola – in what ways are you invoking and manipulating kuduro on this album? It’s still in your DNA, it still feels embedded, and as a result both albums feel like companion pieces. 
I was in my head because I couldn’t move around, so my activity came through my state of mind. ‘Guerrilla’ is a very geographical experience in terms of sound and texture, whereas ‘Demilitarize’ is an introspective album but it was hard to give it a sense of being physical. I relied less on field recordings and leaned more into intricate and rhythmic melodies. I was listening to Atlanta artists like SahBabii but also Kuduro lament – a kuduro made to express your pain. It’s so melodic. If you don’t understand the lyrics you’d think it’s a party or communal song but it expresses the pain of daily life. I’m pleased you can pick up on the rough kuduro thing connecting my works. I feel like there’s still so much to be explored there. Kuduro is such a core part of my Angolan identity and I don’t want to give it up. 
If ‘Guerrilla’ is a reckoning with familial history, Angolan history and what factional war being raged does to the psyche, what does ‘Demilitarize’ reckon with? Are you moving from confrontation and conflict to a place of catharsis?
That’s a fair description. It’s open to many interpretations. I was really just following my emotions and feelings and I didn’t overly conceptualise this project. I still feel like I’m still picking up different interpretations when I listen to it. What I will say is I wanted a different listening experience than ‘Guerrilla’. The violence and confrontation doesn’t come from conflict necessarily but from me, from within. The methods were similar to ‘Guerrilla’ but the outcome was different. 
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The track ‘War Games’ captures the essence of the album. Even though it’s densely constructed it feels redemptive and beatific. 
‘War Games’ gave me a sense of direction. It was the first track I had when my concept was more or less there. It encompasses the whole experience of the album. I still wanted to explore the militaristic aspects of my history as it’s so engrained in me through my family who were born into military zones. It affected everything; the structure of my family and my relationship with my parents.
It’s meant to signify a safe space, a safe zone. Metaphorically it spoke to me stripping things down. It had an atmospheric vibe, the synths were noticeable and the melodies were not traditional or western. I’m not classically-trained in any way so I just improvised these melodies. It came from traditional African and Arabic singers my parents listened to. 
Let’s talk about that aspect of your repertoire: your singing. Your voice on ‘Demilitarize’ is foregrounded at times, other times it’s spliced and submerged but it’s always there. Talk to me about incorporating your voice as an effect and a narratorial device? 
When I was 14, my first encounter with music was through the voice. I’d record melodies and harmonies over the songs. I enjoy singing. After I had tuberculosis – a respiratory disease – I was a lot more aware of my breathing. It influenced my tone and what tone I was comfortable singing. I always loved the singing aspect of kuduro lament. Normal kuduro is more rapid and rhythmic, the lament features vocals that are almost out of time with the beat and juxtaposed. That forced me to get out of my comfort zone. Compared to ‘Guerrilla’, the melody became a more integral part of the process. 
There’s a Drexciya feel about the record; that icy blend of sci-fi futurism, mythology and aquatic electronics on this album. What works from the pantheon of underground electronic music were you listening to that inspired the creation of ‘Demilitarize’?
I was born in Belgium but grew up in Angola, and that affected the way I consume electronic music. My entry to electronic music is unconventional and I’m actually doing a lot of my learning in real-time. I have a good friend of mine who influenced a lot of the process. I travelled to Egypt with her and trekked through Mount Sinai. She listened to a lot of my demos and introduced me to A Guy Called Gerald and his album ‘Black Secret Technology’. It’s regarded as one of the most influential jungle albums, and it impacted me greatly. 
In what does language and linguistics manifest on this record, considering it’s a vocal-based work? 
I sing mostly in Portuguese and English. There are also some Angolan expressions that express concern and sorrow. It’s such an important part of my growth because I can picture my Mum saying certain phrases. My Dad would always sing on Sundays and my Uncle was in a punk band in Portugal. It runs in the family. The connection to Angola comes through in the words.
Like ‘Guerrilla’, ‘Demilitarize’ has an added poignancy given our current world order, especially the subjugation of the global south by nuclear powers who are exporting terror and violence. Did the state of the world factor into the making of this album? Were you thinking macro just as much as you were thinking micro? 
I already had the framework but of course what was happening in Gaza and around the world, especially in the Global South, affected me. When the ethnic cleansing accelerated I knew the best I could do was to honour my history because there are parallels. I thought about delving into the history of genocide but I felt I wouldn’t be able to do it justice. There are some direct references like on ‘Open’ where I talk about bombing churches – we all know churches were bombed alongside other places of worship in Palestine. I kept it vague but there’s a shared history of colonialism and the violence it wreaks that will resonate. 
Three years ago, I had someone send me a very long DM about how they found refuge in my music when thinking back to their experience in the Kosovo war. It made me very emotional. The album helped them to process the nuances of their own history. Whilst I want to make people dance, that’s also what I want to focus on. 
What will the ‘Demilitarize’ live experience entail? You’re not an anonymous electronic artist on stage, behind the decks or even in your visuals. You’re visible, vocal and interactive.
That’s been stressing me out a bit to be honest. I want to push it further with my performances and visuals. Have you seen the visualizer for ‘Anticipate’? 
I have. 
When you don’t have many resources you’ve got to be creative. For the first time, I’m dropping a song and video at the same time. For me, the video for ‘Open’ answers the questions that the song asks. It’s a video I put my whole soul into. I collaborated with Blackhaine for the movement. 
That’s interesting. Did you ever cross paths with the likes of Blackhaine, Space Afrika and Rainy Miller – this exciting industrial electronic movement born in the harsher climate of Northern England – when you were living in Manchester? 
I was fresh in town when I was in Manchester and I was a little timid about collaborating then. After I left, my relationship with them changed and I became closer with them. I travelled to Manchester to meet Blackhaine and he changed my whole perception of my music. It opened my world up completely. The video is a prelude to what I want to do with the live show. I don’t want to shield myself on the stage, and it be all about the light show or the graphics. I want to be centre stage; I want something interactive and interesting. 
Final words on what ‘Demilitarize’ means to you and how it sets you up for the future? 
I’m much happier than I was a few years ago. I’m unlearning a lot of things. It feels like a safe space I can be immersed in completely. The track ‘Mantra’ is a reminder of the things I want to do and who I want to be. I want to impact people in a positive way. I carry a lot of guilt when it comes to my parents and the expectations they had for their kids. Have I done enough? That question used to affect me negatively. Now, there’s a degree of letting things go.
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‘Demilitarize’ is out now.
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Words: Shahzaib Hussain
Photo Credit: Marieke Bosma

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