Alongside his brother Wamid, he is sitting in the incense thick, terracotta-red Kemia Bar, below Momo’s Moroccan restaurant in the West End. In a couple of hours they are due on stage with their seven-piece band, but are taking a break from soundcheck to discuss their new album Elnar, and to muse on recent events that have shaken the foundations of their beloved homeland.

Séverine — a native of Rennes with a low, snake-like blues drawl that slides its way around your cerebral cortex

Aïwa was formed in Rennes, where the brothers have lived since childhood. Their parents moved to France in 1972 due to their father’s long-held ambition to study French Law. As the elder brother, Wamid is the only one who was actually born in Iraq, his parents having moved when he was two. “They weren’t refugees. In fact my father had already finished his studies,” says Naufalle, the most fluent English speaker. “Saddam had just come to power a few years before and he began thinking that he was at the beginning of his career, in a country where law has just been broken down. So he thought that it would be better for him and his family to try and find a better life somewhere else.”

“During Saddam’s regime all the lawyers, doctors, and university professors could have a good professional career if they were involved, or malleable to the wishes of the party,” says Wamid. “He thought that if he didn’t leave then, he would never go.”

Seeing their sons picking up samplers and penning stinging social diatribes didn’t seem the ideal vocation to their middle class, education-minded parents. “Our parents weren’t musicians, but when you are far from home you try to get some connection through music, or cinema, or books. They were listening to a lot of Lebanese and Egyptian music, and we’d hear the likes of Oum Kalsoum, Abdel Halim Hafez, or Fairuz, which certainly inspired us,” says Naufalle. “But they wanted us to study, so we both got diplomas and masters degrees.” Wamid attained a diploma in sociology, and Naufalle in communications. “My parents certainly didn’t want us to be musicians; they don’t consider it a proper job. But they understood that it was our choice and that we had fulfilled our side of the bargain.”

The band was formed in 1998, but started life as more of sampled affair with beats and live instrumentation added to the mix. “We’d just bought samplers and electronic equipment, but had already been playing instruments for ten years, so didn’t want to just press buttons and dance in the background. We really wanted to play with the concept, so we brought in a drummer, DJ, saxophonist, flute player, and singer.”

It’s not just to make Iraqi people free, it’s not only to build a kind of democracy in Iraq; it’s also to exploit our oil reserves

The intention was to “make cultures meet together” partly due to their Iraqi descent and French upbringing, but also because their diverse musical influences, from hip hop, to jazz, to drum and bass, Arabic traditional, and Asian beats. Their self-titled debut album reflected this mix, although at times it was less of a coherent whole, than an assault on the senses. “There would be a drum n bass track, next to a hip hop track, next to a more traditional Arabic track; we moved between styles so much. There wasn’t any real progression.”

Amongst the many attractions of the Aïwa sound is their young singer Séverine — a native of Rennes with a low, snake-like blues drawl that slides its way around your cerebral cortex. She also contributes lyrics and beats. “She involves herself much more personally in her lyrics, whereas I tend to talk about social issues; about chronicling life in the West, and what’s happening in Iraq,” say Naufaulle. “On the new album Elnar there’s a song called ‘Dioud’ which is about integration. In the lyrics, Séverine is trying to understand how a foreigner can be accepted into society, because in France if you don’t drink wine then people want to know why, even if you are a Muslim. You feel uncomfortable when everyone is judging what you’re doing.”

The new album dovetails together far more neatly than their sophomore effort. The edgy title track tackles the horrors of war with lyrics such as “one third of the world doesn’t care about what the third world puts up with.” “It’s for all the people that are suffering in Iraq,” says Naufalle. “Elnar means ‘fire’ in Arabic, and symbolises their lives being burnt, and their families torn apart, whilst bombs are exploding on the corner of every street. And we sit in our comfortable armchairs watching the violence being played out each night on the news.”

These people have been forgotten for the past thirty years. It’s only when their children burn cars and go on violent protest marches that the government sits up and takes notice

“Everybody should be happy that Saddam is gone,” he says. “It’s a positive move. But there are so many problems facing innocent people each day. If this is necessary to reach long lasting peace, then we must accept it, and hope that the problems will end.”

“All the people in Iraq expected change,” Wamid continues. “But even if we wanted political change, this invasion wasn’t fair. It’s not just to make Iraqi people free, it’s not only to build a kind of democracy in Iraq; it’s also to exploit our oil reserves. That’s what I think. The US wants to control everything that’s happening in the Middle East. It’s about economic and political motivation, not just about making people free. Of course we are happy to see Saddam out, but we are not happy with the military invasion.”

Their frustration at the social restrictions imposed on immigrant families in France also boils over on many tracks. “In the French system integration means forgetting where you’re from. To be accepted as a Frenchman you have to act like a Frenchman, which is not asked of foreigners in England. If you’re an Indian woman you can keep your Sari and go shopping in Tescos, and no one will be watching you because that’s normal. It’s very easy to understand the recent riots, because you can compare them to the Brixton riots of the early eighties. It’s about people not feeling accepted in society, and seeing their issues being brushed under the carpet. Even when you have money it’s very hard to be accepted in France. You are placed in the suburbs of cities with no identity, no culture, and no help from the government. These people have been forgotten for the past thirty years. It’s only when their children burn cars and go on violent protest marches that the government sits up and takes notice.”

Aïwa claim that their idea for cultural fusion hails from the United Kingdom, and more specifically acts such as Transglobal Underground and Fun-Da-Mental, who set out the blueprint for mixing up world influences with club beats in the early nineties. “Seeing these bands in Rennes when we started out gave us so much courage. We feel much closer to the English scene than the French one. Even with French hip hop we don’t feel any close affinity, even though everything we do is rap related. There’s very little peace, not that much unity (unless it’s amongst your own crew), and fun … they’ve never heard of the word. We don’t relate to that because we love dancing, and having something to groove to. This is what unites us as a band.”

Links:
Elnar is out now on Wikkid Records
An edited version of this appeared in The Independent on 17 March 2006
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