On olive trees & the power of music in dark times
Palestinian-Canadian pianist and composer John Kameel Farah shares how he rediscovered his creative spark
On a cold Sunday evening in January, a motley crowd of music fans, academics and kaffiyeh-wearing activists gathered at the Monarch Tavern in Little Italy for an intimate performance by John Kameel Farah.
Dark and sticky-floored, the Monarch felt like a surprising venue for the renowned Palestinian-Canadian pianist and composer, whose bold and experimental approach to classical music has made him a regular at cathedrals and prestigious concert halls across Europe.
The show marked one of the first times Farah had performed since the outbreak of Israel’s offensive in Gaza, the spectre of which seemed to float suspended in the background as the audience filtered into the room.
“In dark times I am forcing myself to play a concert to try to bring myself hope and purpose, and, hopefully, bring some to you if you need,” Farah had written in a caption beneath a hand-drawn poster for the gig shared on Instagram.
Sitting at a grand piano in the centre of the tavern, flanked by stacks of synthesizers, Farah embarked on two-hour musical journey that bounced between Western classical music, Middle Eastern folk songs and original compositions — each adorned with improvisational flourishes and bolstered by blaring synth loops and lurching, asymmetrical beats.
Tall and squarely built, Farah performs with an almost rapturous physicality, his body lifting slightly, as if by hydroplane, as he attacks his instruments with astonishing speed and virtuosic precision. Between songs, he stood, bowing courteously before introducing what was to come: a “Fugue in G Minor” by Bach, a reimagined Palestinian folk song, an ancient Andalusian muwashshah.
Interspersed throughout the set, he delivered a series of mini-lectures on Middle Eastern history and the deep-rooted mosaic of Palestinian identity, “stretching back to the ancient Canaanites” — subjects he says have been obscured by occidental perspectives and colonial frameworks.
Near the end of the performance, Farah stopped to address the “elephant in the room,” sending a ripple of catharsis as he spoke of resilience, solidarity and the importance of celebrating music — even in the midst of unprecedented violence.
“We need to be uplifted,” he would later tell me. “Music has the power to give people the energy and the strength to go on.”
Two months after the Monarch show, I caught up with Farah at Cafe Pamenar in Kensington Market. I asked him about his work as a visual artist; over the years, Farah has developed a unique style of intricate line drawings, inspired by astronomy, sound waves and mythology.
But since the outbreak of war in Gaza, Farah says he’s only been able to draw olive trees, a symbol of Palestinian identity representing permanence, resistance and a deep connectedness to the land.
“It’s all I’ve done for the last five months: just olive branches in different forms, over and over,” he said pensively, cradling his mug of coffee.
“Creating art is the only thing I know how to do,” he continued, reflecting on the weeks following Oct. 7, when he was plunged into hopelessness, mixed with feelings of depression. It was only with the support of his friends and family, he says, that he rediscovered his creative spark.
He recalled something his father told him: “It’s in the darkest times that we need our artists the most.”
Farah, 50, was born in Brampton to Palestinian parents from the Haifa region, who fled to Canada during the political turmoil of the 1960s. Even as a toddler, he loved music; he recalls being fixated on the Bach records his mother borrowed from the library.
He was also drawn to the Arabic music his parents played around the house.
“I was immersed in it, but I could only understand it from a purely instrumental perspective,” said Farah, explaining that he never learned Arabic because his parents wanted their children to fully integrate into Canadian society.
“The poetry was always hidden from me.”
Farah studied composition and piano at the University of Toronto, where he twice received the Glenn Gould Composition Award. Despite his success as a student, Farah found the parameters of classical composition “suffocating.”
In the early ’90s, his roommate introduced him to Aphex Twin and Squarepusher — experimental electronic artists and producers known for their highly complex, asymmetrical rhythms — who opened his mind to the idea of creating beats as a form of composition.
Over time, he developed an unorthodox sound — he describes it as “baroque Arabic cyberpunk” — a blend of western classical music, Middle Eastern folk music and electronic production.
“An artist has to be playful,” Farah said. “I’m not trying to destroy the classical world, but I’m definitely not trying to keep it together, either.
“There’s also an element of outreach in my music,” he continued. “I want my music to diffuse inside of people and maybe pique their interest about Arabic music in all its complexity. Maybe then they’ll be more interested in the culture and that civilization as a whole.”
Since 2010, Farah has split his time between Toronto and Berlin. He’s released several albums and performed at some of the most prestigious concert halls in Europe, from the Berliner Philharmonie to Sadler’s Wells in London. In November, he received the Johanna Metcalf Performing Arts Prize, awarded to Ontario’s top creators in the performing arts.
“I’m most alive when I’m performing in front of people,” he said, explaining how he is drawn to the vastness of churches and cathedrals, which he sees as “giant canvases” for his art. “I want to pull people into a poetic, kaleidoscopic kind of experience.”
Last January, he performed both books of Bach’s “The Well-Tempered Clavier” from memory at Studio Orpheo in Berlin. The performance, which consists of 48 preludes and fugues, lasted six-and-ahalf hours, incorporating dazzling sections of improvisation and thunderous electronics.
“Bach has been my whole life,” Farah said, describing the German composer’s music as “galactic architecture.”
“Maybe it was a bit of a stunt,” he admitted. “But it was something that felt important to do before I turned 50. I felt like, if I don’t do anything else, I know I have this achievement.”
Just over a year later, Farah is considering moving back to Canada full-time. On Friday, he’ll release “Farahser,” a new collaborative album with Canadian jazz drummer Nick Fraser.
But in recent months, his shows have taken on a more political tenor. In addition to being outspoken on social media, he’s performed at fundraisers for medical aid in Gaza and lent his support to Palestinian cultural organizations.
“I’ve always had strong beliefs about identity and justice,” Farah explained, “but I never saw myself as an activist musician.
“I thought that by virtue of just simply being a good musician, creating something unique, I thought that in and of itself would be a positive enough contribution. But I realize that’s not enough now, you have to address injustice specifically. It’s been a wake-up call. I feel I have a responsibility to other humans, to use my voice for something.”
In April at an event paying tribute to Palestinian artists killed in Gaza, Farah performed a new song titled “Lullaby for the Children of Gaza.”
Farah dedicated the piano composition — “a gentle, caressing lullaby, written to convey the feeling of infinity” — to Lubna Alyaan, a 14year-old aspiring violinist, who was killed alongside dozens of her family members in an Israeli airstrike last November. Alyaan is one of the more than 14,500 children killed in Gaza since October, according to health authorities. An estimated 35,000 total Palestinians have been killed since Oct. 7, following a Hamas attack that killed some 1,200 Israelis and took hundreds of hostages.
“It’s just impossible to process,” Farah told me over the phone. “She was a musical sponge. You could just tell that she was going to be not only an excellent performer, but a creative, adventurous individual.
“And then one bomb comes and in an instant wipes out her and dozens of her family members,” he continued. “It’s just devastatingly sad.”
Farah is also writing a pianobased concerto, which he’ll perform with a full orchestra at the National Arts Centre in Ottawa later this year.
Titled “(In The Life of An) Olive Tree,” the gorgeous, sprawling composition, which Farah has been performing at recent shows, charts the birth and evolution of an olive tree.
“Olive trees are hundreds, sometimes thousands of years old; they have a much longer arc than humans or even nations,” Farah pointed out.
“An adult olive tree sees the passing of civilizations. It witnesses beautiful things, it witnesses horrible tragedies and the passing of generations who care for the tree.”
The concerto, which starts with a tender piano melody but builds toward a rousing crescendo, ends with a powerful moment of defiance.
“Even in the face of being burned or uprooted, the olive tree blazes forth, in all its radiance.”
An artist has to be playful. I’m not trying to destroy the classical world, but I’m definitely not trying to keep it together, either.
JOHN KAMEEL FARAH
JOHN KAMEEL FARAH AND DRUMMER NICK FRASER WILL PERFORM THEIR NEW ALBUM “FARAHSER” AT THE MONARCH TAVERN ON MAY 29.