Q&A with Sami Yusuf

Where are You From?

I get this question a lot. Probably more than any other question. In one way the answer to the question is very simple: I’m British. I’m a citizen of the United Kingdom. I’m from London.

But often there’s an implication when someone asks me this. There is a kind of a question within the question. And a statement of nationality isn’t enough. It doesn’t really satisfy the questioner.

It could be: if you’re British, why do you sing in so many languages? Why is so much of your music based in traditions of Andalusia, the Middle East, or Central Asia?

Or there may be an implication that I’m not really British — or British enough. I get that sometimes from people who don’t recognise and embrace the amazing multi-cultural society that Britain is today. They want to know: ‘Where is that name from?’ ‘You can’t be from here. You must be from someplace else.’

Or there may be a question about the authenticity of my compositions, the implication being that only a person born and raised in a certain tradition can communicate the arts of that tradition with authenticity. So since I’m British, should I stick to Christmas carols or Western classical music or pop music that doesn’t have any roots? I don’t think so.

But back to the answer. I was brought to London as a very small child when my parents, who are of Azerbaijani origin, moved here. Sadly, I have no memories of any other country. Like many first-generation Brits, I truly love my British homeland. There’s so much to love about the UK, from its beautiful countryside to its Gothic architecture to its famous humor (you’ve got to love British sarcasm) to English folk music to its idealism, and so much more.

And I also treasure the legacy passed down to me from my Azerbaijani parents. They come from a land at a crossroads of East and West, a land of spiritual poetry and exquisite music. Perhaps it’s my Azerbaijani roots that have made me a lover of mystical poetry and music of many cultures, and especially of the Sufi world. These arts have penetrated my heart, so when I compose, when I pick up an instrument, when I sing, there’s often a distant echo of these sounds. They’re very much part of my being.

Cultural identity informs so much of what we do and who we are. It comes from everything around us that teaches us, and moulds us ,and shapes us until we can say

‘I am…..’  ‘I am British, I am Arab, I am German, or Indian, or etc, ….’

But many of us have been formed by more than one culture. Many of us have more than one identity, more than one  ‘I am….’, more than a one word answer to the question, ‘Where are you from?’

As for me: I’m from London – unbelievably diverse and noisy and amazing London. I’m proudly British and Muslim with Azerbaijani roots at the same time. And I see no contradiction in that.

But still, I find myself at home in other places that have formed me, too. My heart can catch fire at the Persian poetry of Shams-i Tabriz and Sa’adi; in the old streets of Germany I can hear echoes of Meister Eckhart. And of course there’s music of Bach and Corelli to the Sufi chants of Morocco and sacred mughams of Azerbaijan to the qawwali music of Pakistan and India. I’ve always found a welcome, a sense of place in all these sounds that speak straight to my soul.

So where am I from? I’m from all these. These are all part of me.

But there’s one more answer to the question. And that answer is the same for all of us. Because ultimately we’re all immigrants. We all came here from the world before this one. As the Persian mystic Rumi says –

Your homeland was the heavens,
but you thought
That you belonged here,
in the world of dust.
In the dust you sketched out your own face,
But left out just one thing—
that first, true place.