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PEACOCK DREAMS


After the resounding success of his project Le Cri du Caire, whose eponymous album was awarded a Victoire du Jazz in the “World Music Album” category, Abdullah Miniawy returns with ‘Peacock Dreams’, the first opus of his new trio formation released on the label PPL Songs Aghani Al-Khalq.


Accompanied by trombonists Robinson Khoury (2024 Django Reinhardt Prize from the Academy of Jazz) and Jules Boittin, Abdullah Miniawy presents an unconventional combination of three tenor instruments. The lyrical depth of the voice of the Egyptian poet, singer, and composer merges with the bold expressive capabilities of the two trombones, allowing him to explore unprecedented sound ranges that connect Western and Eastern musical traditions.


The Trio performs Abdullah Miniawy's latest musical compositions, as well as adapts former work stemming from the Egyptian revolution and his previous formation Le Cri du Caire, while highlighting collaborations by inviting trumpeter Erik Truffaz, flamenco singer Niño de Elche, and danish-indian producer Hvad on some tracks.


‘Peacock Dreams’ engages the audience in a unique musical experience that freely combines baroque and operatic influences, Sufi and Coptic themes, and musical motifs from the Arabian Peninsula, infused with the jazzy cacophony of Egyptian traffic jams, once more revealing the transcendental and communional power of Abdullah Miniawy's music.


ALBUM PITCH


A peacock dreams of being a poet. It concentrates, trying to shed its colors, turning its feathers into a gradient of flesh. On the other hand, a poet longs for the peacock’s colors—a galactic blend of earth, forest, sea, and sky, seen from a high vantage point.


A poet can close their eyes and absorb the knowledge of the finite, and absorb the knowledge of the finite, yet miss much, trapped in monotone concentration, eyebrows plucked down to 111.


The peacock, dipping in the ink drops from the poet's pen, sails through a tube into the poet's body. A fluttering storm erupts, reversing the roles: the peacock finds itself under an arrest warrant, while the poet, reducing his expression to a roaring "Wak-wak," struggles to describe the world.

Black Vinyl LP. The world has changed, we shouldn't try and pretend otherwise. While we were shut away in isolation our routines shifted, social patterns evolved, and our hopes and dreams were twisted into cobwebs we're still trying to wipe from our fingers. Ziúr tentatively approached this on her last album Antifate, an ambitious and complex hybrid pop fever dream that looked back to a Medieval escapist fantasy as the scent of revolution seemed to hum in the air. But when restrictions were eased, she found herself staring down a discombobulated society that had trapped itself in a spiral of microwaved nostalgia and detached, narcotic repetition. Eyeroll then is Ziúr's musical panacea, a tincture to wake us from our creative slumber and prompt external connection and reflection. It's a polyphonous hex that demands human interaction, and Ziúr's hand-picked alliance of collaborators - Elvin Brandhi, Abdullah Miniawy, Iceboy Violet, Juliana Huxtable, Ledef, and James Ginzburg - each provide distinct voices that together herald a bewildering sonic epoch. Ziúr's palette had to evolve to match the scope of the project, but it was pure necessity that informed the album's defining tone. Recording mostly at night, Ziúr was conscious of the noise she was making so developed a unique way to record organic percussion. Using a set of rototoms - low profile tunable drums - she scratched, scraped and gently tapped the skins to build up the undulating and unstable rhythmic backdrop for each track. It's the first sound we hear on the opener 'Eyeroll', rattling like lost marbles against Elvin Brandhi's primal croaks and screams. And when Brandhi's twisted articulations form words, Ziúr matches the energy with chaotic thuds and serrated blasts of saturated electronics. "I roll the shittiest cigarette," she squeals like she's about to start a mosh pit at Paris's GRM Studios. Without pause, Abdullah Miniawy takes over on 'Malikan', building on the promise of material with Simo Cell, Carl Gari and HVAD with corrosive trumpet blasts and charged, politically incendiary Arabic vocals. Inspired by pre-Islamic poetry and the Qu'ranic chanters he heard growing up in Saudi Arabia and Egypt, he spins labyrinthine stories that cross between the worlds, breaking down physical and spiritual borders simultaneously. Miniawy's scope is expanded even further on his second collaboration, 'If The City Burns I Will Not Run'. "If it rains and the city drowns," he utters over gaseous electronics, "I will not run away, but I will be anxious for the heart of one close to me." After a supple vocal turn from Manchester's Iceboy Violet on 'Move On' and a surreal interlude from poet- DJ-artist-theorist Juliana Huxtable on '99 Favor Taste', Brandhi returns with two more hyperactive collaborations: ,'Nontrivial Differential' and 'Cut Cut Quote'. On the former she slices into Ziúr's skeletal jazz eruptions, screaming and crooning interchangeably, fluxing between the rap battle and the cabaret. The latter is completely different meanwhile, with Brandhi settling into her role as front-woman and groaning dizzying improvised passages that sound like grunge crossed with psychedelic no-wave. Brandhi's spiky musical history has prepared her well for this collaboration; she's a prolific producer and has been using her voice spontaneously since debuting with father-daughter improv duo Yeah You in the mid 2020s. She's found an ideal foil in Ziúr, a producer who matches her restless energy and willingness to bend formality, and leaves an indelible mark on Eyeroll. But the album's most tender moments are from Ziúr herself, who winds the album down on 'Hasty Revisionism', growling over collapsible beats and cascading strings, and comes to an unexpected conclusion with country coda 'Lacrymaturity'. Its feverish amalgamation of country music and euphoric, experimental electronics might seem incongruous at first, but in context with the rest of the album is the only possible conclusion. With Eyeroll Ziúr is making a firm statement about togetherness, humanity, and the renewal of hope when all seems lost. By bringing together such a wide but philosophically harmonic team of collaborators, she's conducted a body of work that speaks to the creative fringe in no uncertain terms. Now's the time to throw away what you think you know, and build bridges you didn't think you need. Now's the time for action. She may have spent her entire career avoiding the solipsistic trappings of "queer art", but by assembling a communal statement that questions so many normative assumptions about music, politics, and beyond, Ziúr has chanced upon her queerest album yet. Cringe? Eyeroll.