Berlin-based artist MADANii welcomed us with warmth and chai in her sunlit Schöneberg apartment. Her home felt lived-in and full of personality –cosy cushions, instruments leaning against the walls, a glass decanter filled with crystals, Shibari ropes hanging calmly, and her cat casually weaving between us. As the afternoon unfolded, we spoke about her upcoming EP BiiLINGUAL, the feeling of being unseen in the country you call home, and how all of this finds its way into her music.
Öykü Naz Gümüş: BiiLINGUAL feels so much like a personal story. What feelings or memories have shaped it?
When I looked at everything that came up, I realized I’m writing about my life and my journey. I was, and probably still am, holding on to a lot of anger, disappointment, and sadness from my youth. This is because of feeling ostracized by German society.
I grew up in Bavaria, where I was the only brown kid in every room. All my friends were German. So, I never saw myself as a brown kid. I looked around, saw all these white people, and that’s how I perceived myself. I was doing all the same things as them, had the same hobbies, and went to the same school. Yet I was treated differently and always given the feeling that I didn’t truly belong. As a child, that was very hard to understand. I didn’t know anything about racism, so I took it deeply personally. I thought people were mean to me because I wasn’t a good person, so I must be unlovable. That’s something I’ve carried around for a very long time. The songs in the EP truly reflect the journey from starting young, feeling angry, sad, and all of that.
“I Embraced My Heritage”
How did those early experiences of exclusion shape your understanding of identity and belonging and ultimately your songwriting?
I think another aspect was the shame or ambiguity I felt toward Iran–my parents’ homeland–because on one hand, I connected it with my family, but on the other, it was something I felt I had to hide. In recent years, I’ve been able to make peace with it. I embraced my heritage and became proud of it. However, I am also trying to escape various expectations. Embracing my heritage doesn’t mean I now have to be an expert on Iran. I have my experiences, and that’s all. These experiences find expression in my songwriting, especially in the song “Fire.”
I had been reflecting on Zoroastrianism, the ancient Persian religion, and its fire temples where flames were never allowed to die out. I had this image of keeping the fire going as a metaphor for my own resilience. So, my songwriting became a tool for being more hopeful about the future and reassuring myself.
The Story of “Dast”
“Dast” blends different musical genres from reggaeton to traditional Iranian rhythms. What drew you to this kind of fusion?
One of the themes in “Dast” is the question: if the Islamic Revolution had never happened in 1979, what would Iranian pop music sound like today? There was such a thriving pop culture and music scene in the ’60s and ’70s with amazing music and musicians like Googoosh, Dariush, and Hayedeh. However, after the revolution, there was a significant severing of pop culture influences and freedom of expression. There are still amazing musicians in Iran, some abroad, but many underground. While I was working on the EP, I was also listening to a lot of reggaeton. I realized that reggaeton rhythms are actually quite similar to traditional Iranian and Kurdish rhythms. I thought it would be interesting to create a Persian reggaeton song that incorporated these elements.
“Dast” means “clap” in Farsi and is often used at gatherings to encourage dancers. What does this word symbolize to you?
When I think about Iranians dancing at a party, or how my family and friends gather, you put on a good song, and everyone dances, jumps, and claps. That’s my personal experience of Iranian celebrations through my family. Also, the core of Iranian pop music often features very sad lyrics, usually about love or desperation, songs about lovers who feel they can’t live without each other, but the music itself is upbeat. This paradox is very present in Iranian pop music, and it was fun to explore it in “Dast.”.
In the lyrics “After 30 years in Germany, this is what remains for me as a souvenir,” you touch on a personal realization. What is that ‘souvenir’?
I felt very depleted and hopeless because of the racist murders in Hanau. Despite this, I made the conscious decision to infuse the song with defiance, rebellion, and joy. I wanted these elements to be present in my life, my activism, and the way I choose to live, instead of creating another sad song about hopelessness.
After 30 years of living, working, and having friends in this country, the lasting feeling is that I’m not safe, my life doesn’t matter, and I’m not protected. The moment you need support from the system, the judicial system specifically, you’re in trouble if you’re not a white German person. It made me feel like, “this is what I get?” So, that was the souvenir.
Reimagining Community in Music
At the end of “Dast”, you say, “Dance, guys, dance”, and it feels like a call to collective energy. How do you see the role of community in your music?
Community is something that’s very much on my mind these days. I’m asking myself: how can we create community in our lives? Especially now, in this political climate, I think community has never been more important. The younger generations are realizing life can’t continue as it has in the past. Many things our parents and grandparents did aren’t possible for us anymore, whether for financial or ideological reasons. Life and how we live must change. And a significant part of that change will happen through going back to community-focused living.
I don’t want people to just passively consume my music. Playing live is a powerful way to bring people together. Ideally, we’re creating an experience together.
How are you reimagining ways to build a deeper connection with your audience?
I’ve been reflecting a lot on how the music industry and concerts need to evolve. Artists elevated on stage and audiences separated, the one-sided approach of sharing content on social media isn’t appealing to me. I envision something more interactive. Some artists turn to community-driven platforms like Discord to have real-time interaction with their audiences, which already feels like a step in this direction. I don’t have the answers yet, but I feel there’s a shift coming.
A Song for Migrant Mothers
In “Elahii,” we hear your mother humming, and you dedicated the song to migrant mothers and their children. Can you tell us about it?
“Elahii” is one of those songs… It doesn’t happen to me often, but sometimes I just have a song clearly in my head. With “Elahii,” the piano chorus was simply there. I woke up, it was in my head, and I immediately sat down and recorded it. The chorus “Elahi fadat sham Aziz” means “May I sacrifice myself for you”, and it’s an expression of affection. It’s deeply familial and maternal for me, like elders affectionately speaking this way to children.
What kind of emotional weight does Persian carry in this song?
I have a very complex relationship with the language. Growing up, I never wanted to speak Farsi with my parents in public, fearing people would realize we weren’t German and treat us badly. I was always very aware of this tension. There’s beauty in the language, but also pain. That is why the song carries melancholy while having positive lyrics. One of my favorite lines from the song is, “You made me ashamed of it, and now I’m proud of Maman’s accent.” When my mother spoke German, it was clear she wasn’t German. As a teenager, I was embarrassed because of this, and now I’m ashamed of that embarrassment. I embrace it now.
Visual Storytelling
You’ve built an audiovisual world where your music videos feel rich in cultural symbols and modern aesthetics. What role does visual storytelling play in your creative process?
When I write a song, I immediately have a visual in my head. For me, there’s always a clear narrative. It’s never just a song or a piece of music. You don’t always have the chance to sit down and explain precisely what the song is about. People might not listen to interviews or visit your social media. So, the question becomes: how can you help people see and feel the story you’re trying to tell? One of the most effective ways is visual storytelling. I constantly think about how things can look, what colours should be used. It’s important to me that everything visually makes sense together.
You incorporate Shibari into your visuals as part of your interdisciplinary practice. What does it allow you to express?
The EP is about feeling tied down and restricted, and then growing out of that–freeing yourself, almost like turning into a beautiful butterfly. In Shibari, you are literally tied down. For the EP, it is a strong visual metaphor.
Interestingly, in general, Shibari can mean the opposite. It allows people to experience absolute surrender and trust because you’re willingly and consensually placing yourself in a situation where you can’t move or run away. You’re just present with yourself, your feelings, and everything that’s there. You have to trust the other person completely to hold you safely and not accidentally harm you. I find that incredibly beautiful. So, it’s quite the opposite of how I’m using Shibari in the video, which shows restraint, vulnerability, and then breaking free from it.
Feeling Seen
What’s something you wish people asked about your music, but no one ever does?
I would have answered this question very differently in the past. Previously, it seemed people perceived me merely as a pop artist who happens to be Iranian, with some Persian elements mixed into the music. My message was there in the promotional texts, but I didn’t feel people truly understood or connected with it. Back then, I felt somewhat unseen. This EP is the first time I’m creating music exactly the way I imagined. And I feel seen. I think the emotions and my message now really come across.
Thank you so much for the conversation, MADANii. How do you imagine your music evolving after this EP?
I’d really like to reflect more deeply on the community aspect–how we can change the music industry, how we interact with and consume music. I’d like music to move away from being simply a consumable product to becoming something more communal.
I want to find ways to share music that make it accessible and healing for people. Just two days ago, I randomly attended a concert where several women were singing a cappella, and I immediately started crying. The human voice and music, in their rawest forms, speak directly to your soul, for lack of a better word. It’s incredibly powerful. I’m very interested in moving towards music as an experience that connects rather than simply as a performance.
Once this EP cycle –the concerts and promotional machinery– is finished, I really want to step back and ask myself: what do I truly want? What genuinely makes me feel good, and how can I express myself in ways that align more authentically with my current feelings and values?
All photos by Ilo Toerkell.
You can stay up to date with MADANii via Instagram and experience BiiLINGUAL live on May 16th at her release show at Kantine am Berghain in Berlin. Don’t miss it.