<b>Live updates: Follow the latest news on</b><a href="https://www.thenationalnews.com/news/mena/2024/10/11/live-israel-gaza-war-lebanon-beirut/" target="_blank"><b> Israel-Gaza</b></a> What’s the difference between the sound of a gunshot and a distant rocket attack? It's a topic Palestinian rapper Shamaly, 23, discussed with fellow Gaza residents trapped amid the onslaught from the Israeli military. Since the war began, about <a href="https://www.thenationalnews.com/arts-culture/books/2024/10/20/gaza-israel-war-atef-abu-saif/" target="_blank">42,800 Palestinians</a> have been killed, most of them civilians. Shamaly, full name is Ahmed Shamaly, chronicled some of that traumatic experience in his debut EP <i>Bdl Faqed</i> (Replacement of the Lost). It is a searing and taut collection of four songs, half of which were recorded in the Jabalia <a href="https://www.thenationalnews.com/news/mena/2024/06/20/world-refugee-day-palestinians-gaza/" target="_blank">refugee camp</a> in Gaza, while the other two were completed in Egypt, where Shamaly and his siblings have been residing since March. As for the sonic difference between the two explosive rounds, the opening track <i>Ta5</i>, an Arabic word similar to the English version of "bang", shows he is still not sure. "Am I hearing it right or not? I only heard the airstrike. Who made the decision? Where are we going and is this what the world has become?" he raps over a claustrophobic production of a dark piano riff and stuttering percussion. Shamaly tells <i>The National: </i>“It’s interesting what I remember from Gaza now that I am here in Egypt, where I finished that song, is the constant sounds of explosions and gunshots. Whenever we heard them in and around Gaza, I would turn to my family and friends and ask what sound they thought it was. I didn’t know why I asked, because would it have made a difference?” <i>Bdl Faqed</i> often wrestles between that fatalism and the resilience allowing Shamaly, and producer Adam Ghanim, to work on the project in the war zone. Throughout the nine minutes of the EP, released by Gazan record label Manjam, the lyrics oscillate between helplessness – “There’s no mercy, no repentance / Our days are repeated on the same note” – and self-empowerment – “When you make a mistake, forgive yourself”. Shamaly says he wasn’t seeking a sense of clarity or insight from the songs; the fact he put pen to paper is the point. “Working on the music and writing the songs is what kept me going and holding on to life. It gave me some space to express what I was going through,” he says. “I remember my friends in Gaza would joke and ask me: ‘How will we record it?’ But I had a computer to work on the beats.” He says playing early versions of the songs to friends provided rare moments of levity in Gaza. “The youth still live their lives," he adds. "We listen to music, walk around and share jokes. We knew the risks, but we tried to be happy as much as we could.” In <i>Bastana Feek</i>, the production is lively, with jazzy keyboards layered over a swaggering drum loop. Shamaly’s lyrics ponder what it means to connect with someone when the world is seemingly falling apart: “How many times did I speak? How many times did I feel? My heart is full and hungry and I found my smile in you.” Shamaly says the song required him to dig deep into what he was feeling at the time. “It required a total shift in mindset because I realised I was writing a love song during a particularly intense period,” he says. “I met someone in the shelter, and we have remained friends. It made me reflect on whether feelings like love are relevant when the world is unstable.” Meanwhile, there is nothing ambiguous about <i>Falatan</i>, a track in which Shamaly pours his heart out regarding the plight of Gaza. Certain lines read like a chilling epitaph in case he didn’t survive. “And from my north to my south, my city loves my resistance. I really hope you return,” he raps. “I’ve entrusted my matters to God. I wrote an idea, release me. I preserved a memory, protect me. I wrote my lines with my hand, freeing myself from all my doubts. I did everything that was necessary. The world spins and turns.” Shamaly has nothing new to add to the song’s meaning. “It was written during what we were going through every day,” he says. “I was just so angry about everything happening around me, and I felt if I didn’t speak about it, who would? It was a direct message.” With <i>Bdl Faqed</i> available this week on major <a href="https://www.thenationalnews.com/arts-culture/music-stage/2023/12/30/palestine-songs-peace/" target="_blank">streaming platforms</a>, Shamaly views the EP as an example of resilience to inspire fellow young Gazans and displaced Arab youth. He says: “I stay resilient by doing simple things – getting food, seeing my friends and helping my family. In my eyes, resisting is just surviving, continuing and making sure I contribute something to the world. The most important thing is to always have hope for the next day. That’s the theme I tried to convey in all the songs. I especially appreciate that, even though I know I may not see someone again, I still have hope that I might. I just want to build something sweet in my heart.”
