The trajectory of Alevi-Kurdish rapper Ebow.

Still taken from Es Ist Okay music video. Directed by Jens Sage. 2022.

Words by Larena Amin.

Ebow: I did this rap battle. It was like the time of 8 Mile (2002) you know, I won against this guy and his best friend. He thought I was so good that he said, ‘hey come to the studio with us’. Back then nobody had a studio, only white dudes, execs, they were the ones who had studios. And the only way to get in was mostly if they think you're cute… That's how I got into making music for the first time.

Personal circumstances and diasporic tendencies have brought me to a life spent between London and North West Germany. I started listening to a lot more Deutschrap (German rap) over this transition. It’s a broad umbrella genre, with ranges spanning easy-going rappers quipping over nostalgic samples, UK-drill-inspired beats, and heavy gangster rap. 

Ebow is situated in a cultural landscape that reveres its Kurdish spearheads such as Xatar, Azad, and Haftbefehl. The names of whom respectively translate as Danger, Free, and Arrest Warrant. Their impact and talent cannot be dissuaded, however, their auspicious women counterparts tend to be overlooked. Being sat with Ebow was humbling. Ten years since her first official release, her consistency is clear.  

AZEEMA: What do you want for Deutschrap?

Less student white guys…

We laugh, but I can gauge the types Ebow is alluding to. The hobby rappers with privileged means to access the craft, honed by three decades of struggling and marginalised artists, rapping about not much else besides the regurgitated scripts of Instagram-approved breakout artists. 

…An alternative scene with BIPOC and queer people. Then the scene can grow.

IDENTITY FORMATION

We’re at a Kurdish restaurant, in close proximity to Kotti metro. We immediately dive into the obvious. Her grandparents were amongst the many Northern Kurdish Gastarbeiter (guest workers) invited to Germany throughout the mid-20th century, due to the country’s ties with Turkey. Ebow tells me that her family are one of the largest Kurdish families in her native Munich. They also belong to the Alevi faith.

Alevism is practised by millions across Northern Kurdistan, Turkey, and their diasporas. The faith’s distinction is widely considered to belong under the Shi’a umbrella, though also bearing some similarities of practise and interpretation to Sufism and Sunni Islam. Followers have historically faced marginalisation and Sunni Islamisation. Communities have vocalised the intolerance of societies they belong to, allowing us to understand the intersectionality of being Alevi in West Asia and Europe. Ebow details growing up with a mother strongly involved in Alevi community organising.

“I always saw my mum give speeches in front of thousands of people, so the thought of getting on a stage and sharing my message wasn't far away. There was no fear around that. I didn't have any male figures around me that told me that women couldn't do this or that. My mum also moved that way, how she spoke on stage and spoke to other men… the confidence she had. I totally adopted that from her. It also helped me navigate the music industry as a queer Kurdish Alevi woman without compromising myself, because I saw my mum doing that in an organisation of few women. My family also pushed me being in theatre and music, for them it was something important. They didn't stop me doing these things because they ‘had no value’.”

Her tone assures her beliefs. There is a hypnotising certainty instilled in her, backed by the space to flourish. Despite this, the hard-shelled lyricist opens up to me about instances of prejudice she experienced as a child that she didn’t feel equipped to respond to. It is clear that Ebow is a fast learner. Growing into an artist renowned for shunning fascism and corruption. There’s simply a limit to the harsh realities a parent can prepare their child for. 

“It's interesting though because I have some Alevi friends whose parents were more in Kurdish organisations, so my friends identified with Kurdish identity way before me. The first thing I was othered for was being Alevi, it was more about what being part of this religion meant to me. Later on, when I got in contact with people who are against Kurds, that was the first time that I was like ‘ok but I'm Kurdish’.  Because you always identify yourself as what you want to protect.”

SINGLE :  K4L (KANAKE 4 LIFE)

“On my third album, where I have a song called K4L… I don't know if you know it?”

Yes, it’s sick. It’s non-contextual for an English speaking audience though, which partly motivated me to interview you. 

“Oh, nice. Yeah, Kanake is a word used for mostly SWANA people in Germany, to discriminate them. It has coloniser history behind it. There are people who say we shouldn't use it, but I feel like that's out of context. The way that you reclaim it is something different. It's still a living reality for a lot of people…  With this song, I changed my perspective from ’I want to tell people to stop being so racist’ to; ‘I want to empower my people’. Because you can work against one thing, or you can work for another. I don't want to say one is better than the other but at some point, you need to choose where to invest your energy.“

K4L is layered and thrilling. A carousel of pounding bass, joyous keys, and adlib chopping tucked under self-affirming statements. It’s almost alchemic how a song can immediately inject spring into step and make you want to fight for your family. Ebow signs off the anthem by shouting out her people, bespeaking their longevity - an underrated feature of our favourite hip-hop and rap pieces.

THE COME UP IN AN EARLY DIGITAL SPHERE

“When I was 16/17, like 2006, it was so important to record stuff. Back then MySpace was a thing, so you had to upload stuff. You had to put music out. when I put out my first album, M.I.A. was new back then, she was blowing up and she was the first person to me who connected talking about political stuff and making nice music without being a boring conscious rapper… Not that all conscious rappers are boring, but you know.”

Comparisons almost invited themselves. The vigour with which Ebow’s words and presence cuts, naturally stuck out in the German scene - and with what is unfamiliar, sense-making comes lazily. The then ‘German M.I.A.’ felt resistant to unwarranted nominative determination. Regardless, Ebow maintains her admiration for the British-Tamil rapper’s finesse in production and storytelling. 

“Because it's so difficult to break down a political context, making it not sound like you're writing a thesis, and not making it sound like you're trying to educate people on force. And then not forgetting that you're still a musician, so the song needs to be good. I always wanted to do political music, but I couldn't find the right way to do it. My mom was always like, don't be too political in your music if you're not big already, they will hold you small really quick. But if you're bigger, then you can talk about stuff, people can't hurt you that much.”

Who is ‘they’?

“Racist people, fascist people.”

PROJECT: GADDAFI GALS 

The day before meeting Ebow, I was invited to make Christmas biscuits with a group of people I hadn't met before. Getting home and unpacking the wholesome day I’d relished, I realised our poised and generous host Nalan is known to many as Slim Girl Fat. One-third of GADDAFI GALS alongside Ebru (as herself,) and producer Walter P99 Arke$tra. 

I had caught some of their work and felt they had an organic and earnest musical set-up, I was hung up on the name however. Conversations with a mutual friend, then with Ebow, allowed me to piece together the glaring themes. Abstract visuals of the solemn crew are aesthetically inoffensive, gentle on the eyes. Their lyrics stripped back, expressing evolution and morbid grief. Collectively exploring and avenging, under a name re-imagining the felled dictator's all-woman protection unit in the 2016 internet arena.  

“We wanted to do something where we could concentrate on the sound of the music. Ebow is a project that focuses a lot on me, my perspective, topics that are important to me. GADDAFI GALS isn't about the lyrics that much, it's funny working with them because both of them aren't listening much to the lyrics. They can’t tell you what a song was about, but they can tell you how the beat was, what instruments there were. So GADDAFI GALS is really nice to experiment with sounds and structures of songs, it's more like a playground.“

EBOW IN THE BIG CITY

Berlin as a creative metropole holds a less professional space for Ebow - she has relocated on a few occasions and still has family in Munich - she owes her permanence in the city to her interpersonal connections. ’If it wasn't for my friends and the people I know here I probably wouldn't be here’. She notes the hedonistic nature of the city as redundant in her creative process. The city’s endless churning of left-field art movements and the crux of identity in scene formation has, however, proposed new environments for the artist. 

Courtesy of Ebow: CANÊ promotional artwork. Shot by Marko Mestrovic. 2022.

“What I like about the city is the opportunities, what's really adding to it is all the people who moved here. It’s the first time for me living in a city where I have so many BIPOC around me who are queer. It's a new experience for me... I also work visually when I’m working on an album, I collect a lot of images and inspiration. I love the posters hanging around Berlin… All of these things add up to the way I work, creating a space for me where I can work freely. But it’s not the city itself.”

This still has its temporal limits considering Ebow is averse to the winters in Berlin. She explained that winter 2021 managed to feel gentler than others, having locked herself at home, warm, putting together her fourth album CANÊ drinking honey whisky and vanilla cola.

THE MACHINE 

I’m aware of the time, I give Ebow a moment to enjoy some of the food my questions had interrupted. We’re brought to reflect on the timeline of her career thus far. Looking back on a decade is no simple task, and I underestimated its sensitivity. In an appreciated candour, the ever-green Münchnerin meets my questions with more questions. 

“It was 10 years of really hard work. 10 years in I’m thinking about what the difference is to be a musician and being part of an industry that’s producing music. I’m in a niche where I’m not super famous, but I can live really good from my music because I get booked a lot. My last album was rated top three in music magazines, but I still know who the pushed music in the industry is for in Germany. When I started music I knew that I’d have a long wait until people will give me the space I need. Because of who I am, what I represent - how I want my music to sound, how I don't always go with the hype. How many albums will I still release? Do I still want to be a musician as a job? These are the questions I’m having after 10 years.“

You're quite pragmatic and it seems like you have been from the beginning, logic aside, how do these elements make you feel? 

“Sometimes it makes me frustrated. The people who are leading the industry are businessmen, not coming from a music perspective. The product is an emotional product, so we think if you're talented you’ll make it. Because you're selling emotion and connection. So it's draining understanding that the industry is not connected to the artistry, they maybe have nothing to do with each other. It’s still difficult for me to get a big deal. I’ll be offered a smaller deal than someone making something that's been out there a thousand times because you calculate you’ll get money out of it. Are you a music label or machinery? We all have this idea that if you're a successful artist, these are the criteria, you have to go platinum and get awards. I think that's all a lie.”

Is breaking down that criteria something you implement in your day-to-day?

“It comes from a place of wanting to change the industry also for other artists, my approach is taking care of something that I love. It's important that upcoming artists realise they have the power to get away from what is shown, and recreate their own ideas of success. Beginning of 2022 I wasn’t in a great place, I had 50 concerts lined up and I was hoping I can survive my own tour. Financially we couldn’t cancel, and ticket-holders had been holding on to them for two years. I talked to my therapist about it, I wanted to make this tour happen but it’s so vulnerable. A stage is not a safe space, it’s not somewhere you wanna be if you don’t feel well. My therapist said if you go on tour, and feel like you can’t give 100% that day, then don’t give the full 100, if the next day you really can’t go on, then you cancel. check your own boundaries. I was once at a Mykki Blanco concert, and he said ‘today I don’t really feel like performing music, I want to read poems’. People expect if they're going to a show from an artist that they entertain. I think it's this really American way of, the show must go on. A whole planned show, totally structured-”

-Fireworks 

“Yeah! And I don't do that. We cancelled like two shows in the end, the whole team wasn't in the place to do it. It was a lot for everyone to go on tour after two years away. Now it's about getting away from ‘I’m an artist and need to deliver a full experience of entertainment’, towards the space of ‘thank you for coming I want to share this night with you on my terms’.”

In her own words, and on her own accord, Ebow’s odyssey through German alternative hip-hop and rap has been unlike any other. Her foresight is strong. In November I’m told that she’s keen on time in Los Angeles in the future, lo and behold, at the time of writing I’m able to enjoy her instagram stories from a studio overlooking the ocean. It’s to be trusted that whatever calculated path Ebow’s heart decides on next, she will leave it better than she arrived, sure that it serves her people. It looks like more hits are coming though.

Follow Ebow here .