4.3 Discussion: Sonic Exile and Bethlehem Echoes: Expanding Questions and Themes

As mentioned earlier in section 3.3, to analyze the data that emerged from both the Sonic Exile and Bethlehem Echoes case studies, I employed a combination of thematic analysis and coding. One striking commonality between the two case studies is how improvisation functions as a shared language—flexible, dynamic, and unbound by the constraints of structure. In Sonic Exile, improvisation emerged as a way to bridge cultural and emotional distances, allowing Jano and I to co-create a space where voices could coexist. Similarly, in Bethlehem Echoes, the improvisational process with Faris reflected a deep mutual understanding rooted in shared cultural heritage. This shared language of improvisation, while universal in its flexibility, is also deeply personal in its expression.

In analyzing the discussion with Faris in Bethlehem Echoes, I organized the data into thematic categories to centralize terms that shaped the improvisational process. These recurring themes became focal points in my analysis to explore how different aspects of our cultural and musical practices intersected with the individual and collective aspects of our Palestinian identities. This process also allowed me to reflect on how improvisation, as a dynamic and evolving practice, became a space where these themes could be navigated and expressed. Ultimately, this analytical framework helped me draw connections between the personal and the collective. 

However, these similarities prompt deeper questions: How does the context of collaboration shape the nature of improvisation? In Sonic Exile, the tension between my deeply personal connection to Palestinian identity and Jano’s external perspective created a fertile ground for discovery. In contrast, Bethlehem Echoes drew on the familiarity of a long-standing relationship, allowing for a more seamless merging of voices. Does familiarity deepen the improvisational process, or does the tension of navigating difference offer a richer creative potential?

Cultural memory is central to both projects, but it manifests in different ways. In Sonic Exile, the inclusion of Palestinian poetry and maqam structures created a sonic archive that preserved and reinterpreted cultural heritage. The modular synthesizer’s unpredictable frequencies juxtaposed with the qanun’s rootedness highlighted the tension between tradition and modernity. This raises broader questions about the boundaries of identity: How do collaborative practices challenge fixed notions of selfhood? When working across cultures and traditions, how do we navigate the balance between honoring our roots and embracing change? These questions are particularly pertinent in the context of displacement, where identity often becomes a site of negotiation and transformation.

Both case studies draw attention to the importance of presence—not merely as a physical state but as a deep attunement to the moment. In Sonic Exile, presence was a central theme, reflected in the spontaneous unfolding of sound and the emotional resonance of each gesture. In Bethlehem Echoes, Faris’s insights into pulse and stillness emphasized how presence anchors improvisation, allowing the music to flow effortlessly. These reflections invite further inquiry: How does presence influence the quality of collaboration? In what ways does the act of being fully present challenge or enhance the process of creating music? Moreover, can presence be taught or cultivated, or is it an intuitive state that emerges organically?

Ultimately, Sonic Exile and Bethlehem Echoes are united by their exploration of connection—between people, histories, and ideas. They challenge the boundaries of what music can achieve, transforming sound into a medium of discovery. Yet, they also leave open questions about the nature of collaboration, the role of tradition, and the possibilities of improvisation.

As these case studies converge, they invite a broader inquiry into the themes of this thesis: How can music create spaces for dialogue and understanding in a fragmented world? What does it mean to truly listen—to ourselves, to each other, and to the stories embedded in our memory? For me, improvisation has always been a sacred act, unplanned and unfiltered. It is where my fragmented identity as a Palestinian and a global artist finds coherence, albeit momentarily. Faris, too, acknowledged the transformative power of improvisation: “Harmony wants to happen by itself. Music wants to happen by itself.” This shared understanding affirms that improvisation transcends technical mastery or preconceived notions; it is an act of being fully present, allowing the music to unfold naturally.  

The questions that have arised  are not merely academic; they are lived experiences. They are the heartbeat of my artistic inquiry, echoing every conversation I have, and every moment I spend reconnecting to the land, the people.