Hello, Mark. Thank you for adjusting the interview schedule multiple times.

No problem, I'm a late night person, so this time works for me. There's a general election tonight here in London, so you might hear fireworks in the background. By the way, where are you? It looks like a beautiful place.

This is "Fantasia," a project space we run. It's a place for business leaders, young entrepreneurs, artists, companies, and brands to create projects.

I see. Can you tell me the purpose of this interview again?

Sure, in this "GESTURES" project, we interview amazing project leaders from around the world. Rather than focusing on the project itself, we want to explore the personal motivations behind it.

That's interesting.

I hope that businesses aren't just chasing trends and market needs, but are ways for people to find happiness. I believe that businesses are an expression of the individual entrepreneur, which is why we named this project that way. It's a human-centered perspective.

Cool, I completely agree.

So, I've been wanting to ask you about the Syrian Cassette Archives for a while. When I first saw the website, I felt a deep love for Syrian music.

Thank you. It’s definitely a passionate project. This is the first time I’ve been interviewed about the Syrian Cassette Archives from Japan. I did a small live tour in Japan in 2013, and it was an amazing trip.

You toured Japan as a musician?

Yes, It was a tour where I gave talks and did DJ sets based around my work with Southeast Asian and Arabic music, including Syria.

Before founding the Syrian Cassette Archives, you’ve had a long career as a musician, right?

Yes, I am a producer, musician, and audiovisual archivist. I’m originally from Oakland, California, but now I live in London.

You handle various music from Southeast Asia and the Middle East.

I’ve been collecting music since the 1990s, focusing particularly on the Middle East and Southeast Asia. I collect ethnic music, pop music, and also do field recordings. My interest grew, and I started re-editing and releasing music from the regions I explored. I’ve released music on various labels, including Sublime Frequencies in Seattle.

I see, that’s quite a unique music activity. Can you tell us about the Syrian Cassette Archives? The many Syrian music pieces on the website are originally your personal collection, right?

Yes, I have about 700 cassette tapes that I bought during my visits to Syria. The last time I visited Syria was in 2010. The war that started in 2011 is still ongoing. Looking at the tapes I had, I began to think about how to share these 700 recordings. Instead of sitting on the collection, or slowly curating compilations for release, I wanted to do something on a wider public scale to preserve and share them.

The war in Syria made you reconsider the value of your collection.

I started by talking to people I had collaborated with on archives and members of the Syrian community. I thought it would be wonderful if people could experience the era when these tapes existed in Syria. The era of cassette tapes in Syria lasted from the 1970s until the war started in 2010.

Did records and CDs not become popular in Syria?

The peak period for cassettes in Syria was between the 1970s and 2000s. Records preceded cassettes in Syria, but they were expensive and catered to a specific class. Cassettes, on the other hand, were accessible to everyone. CDs appeared in the 1980s, but interestingly, they didn’t replace cassettes — the two formats coexisted. Even today, some people still drive cars with cassette players. CDs tend to skip on bumpy roads, so cassettes are preferred for that reason or for nostalgic reasons, though the market for cassettes is now microscopic compared to what it once was.

The need persisted and became part of the culture.

Unlike other countries, Syria continued to produce cassettes until around 2010. Now, we see a revival of cassettes in various countries. It’s cool to buy music on cassettes again, and bands are making them.

I’ve noticed a revival of cassette culture in Japan too. So, you digitized the cassettes you collected until 2010 and archived them on the website?

The website went live in 2021. We didn’t just want to dump all the tapes on a site without thought or context. If that was the case, an audio blog or YouTube are already there for that. We wanted to include stories about the tapes. Visually we wanted it to be as if you are standing in front of the collection.

The vibe of the website is great. The graphics on each cassette tape are mysterious and so much fun. I love the pink Arabic script too.

I’m glad you think so. Like you said, it's visually exciting, because these tapes speak for themselves. They’re just so vibrant that they don’t need any filter. When you see them all together on the website, it’s like an explosion of visual stimulus. Just like when I saw these on the shelf in the shops. We have been fortunate to work with a talented web developer, Amino Belyamani, a Moroccan musician living in New York. He helped us create something beautiful, handling both the front end and an archival-grade back end. We connected with him through his website, which archives Moroccan tapes.

This project is also closely tied to the academic field. However, the Syrian Cassette Archives doesn’t come across as overly serious. It feels friendlier and more open minded.

I think it reflects our personalities. While we do collaborate with researchers, we don’t have an academic background ourselves. We didn’t want the collection to feel like objects on a shelf in a library; we wanted it to be alive. Over-categorizing and over-contextualizing can sometimes kill the essence of something, even when the intent is to bring it to life.

The energy of the cassettes would be lost.

Yeah, it’s like a cemetery. Of course, academic archives have their merit, but these tapes deserve something different. Instead of just shelving them away, we wanted a platform that encourages people to engage with the tapes, whether they are Syrian or from anywhere else. We believe this is essential to bringing the collection to life.

What do you mean by bringing it to life?

We research who made the tapes, who the musicians are, what the label is like, how the tapes were distributed, and any interesting stories behind them. We also interview artists, designers, and distributors from the cassette era, feature these on the site, and help bring it to life that way. We also interview artists, designers, and distributors from the cassette era and feature these on the site, and help bring it life in that way.

I see. Who are the musicians behind these tapes? Are they amateur singers or popular artists?

Good question. At the cassette shops, I bought all kinds of cassette tapes. I wanted to hear folk tapes—very old, rough recordings—along with popular, religious, and political tapes. Here are many different ethnicities in Syria, including Armenians, Kurds, Assyrians, and Circassians, and I wanted to select tapes that represented all of these.

You must have been an unusual customer buying so many different tapes.

Yeah, a lot of the times in the music shops people would ask me, “How come you like Syrian music when you don’t speak Arabic?.” I said, “Well, I’m learning it. I’m a musician, so I just love the sound.” Particularly, I was looking for amateur folk and pop music tapes. Do you know Omar Souleyman?

He’s the Syrian techno artist who debuted in the US, right? I read that you introduced him internationally. He’s also collaborated with Björk.

Yes, on my first trip to Syria in 1997, I found an Omar tape. I loved the sound and bought it. I found more of his tapes in other shops and bought those too. I think I brought back 3-4 of his tapes from that first trip. My brother and I would listen to them a lot after I returned. They had such a special sound. They were mostly recorded live at wedding parties and featured a fast-paced blend of Arabic and Kurdish music. But it’s not for everyone. Some urban Syrians consider Omar to be an amateur, or worse.

Such a successful musician?

People from outside his rural area sometimes considered his music to be for the class of people who drive taxis, etc. Some city people who don’t like that would mock his songs and his image. Every place has its own prejudices. In the US, if you say you like country music, some might say, “Come on. Isn’t that for people who support bad governments—or for stupid people?”

But you didn’t have such biases when choosing tapes.

Exactly. Being an outsider in Syria, I didn’t have such attachments or biases about what was right or wrong. This resulted in a very broad collection. My scattered choices seemed crazy to some shops. They would ask, “How can you listen to such folk music and then this beautiful pop song, and that religious song?” I was choosing tapes that represented every corner of the country, and this was strange to some people who had very specific tastes and biases. The result of these choices makes the project unique, and that’s a great thing.

So, it’s a collection purely based on your preferences.

The initial collection is a result of what I chose to buy in Syria at that time, which was guided by my personal research, tastes, and curiosity. It’s true that I’m drawn to raw, rough and crazy sounds. I appreciate anomalies and the harder-edged recordings. You may never know exactly why you love something, but those sounds grab me so much.

If you had to pick one cassette tape from your collection, which one would it be? I know it's a tough question.

Oh! That's so hard.

Maybe one or two, or three…?

The ones I feel most connected to are some of the tapes I first bought in Syria, like a singer named Suleiman Al Shaar, and of course, the Omar Souleyman tapes we talked about earlier. I remember how they grabbed me—they accompanied my whole love affair with Syria and this project, right? But as I mentioned, not every Syrian liked Omar’s sound and that style of ‘Shaabi’ folk-pop music. I even had arguments with friends in Damascus about it. Some said, “I wish you hadn’t introduced Omar to the West.”

The first tapes really hold deep memories, huh?

Yeah, and I also love the Iraqi tapes. I was buying Iraqi tapes in Syria because Iraqi taxi drivers were coming over during the war to sell goods, and they would bring the tapes. And there’s been an increase in Assyrians in Iraq. That was actually a big interest for me. Do you know about the Assyrians?

I’ve heard of them. The ethnicity, right?

Yeah, Assyrians speak a variation of the ancient Aramaic language. My father is Assyrian. There are villages in northeastern Syria where they still live. I found some Assyrian tapes there, and they’re really important to me too. I’m also a big fan of children’s tapes and how playful they can be, with their sound effects and experimental synth sounds. The rules bend, and composers tend to let loose a bit when writing children’s songs.

It sounds like the tapes reveal a complex society.

Yeah, and there are also political and national songs in the collection. Some are from the 1960s and 70s, related to Palestine and Syria’s solidarity with the Palestinian struggle at that time. I see these tapes as a window into a specific time and place. Just thinking about it makes me excited. Maybe I’ll have to email you later about what my favorite tape is.

The Syrian Cassette Archives started as a personal collection. What kind of project team are you working with now?

First, I have a partner who co-founded the current iteration of the project with me. His name is Yamen Mekdad. He’s originally from Damascus but has been living in London for the past decade. He’s a good friend and someone with an incredible amount of curiosity and a deep love for music. I’ve heard that in his youth, people would gather at his home in Syria to listen to the sounds he had collected from around the world.

He sounds like a wonderful person. It’s great that the two of you met and started this project.

We met in London right after I got the first funding for the project. It was a great meeting of minds. Yamen is deeply involved in Syrian arts and culture and is well-connected with the Syrian community. Most of the interviews are done by the two of us. We find people we want to interview, come up with questions, and conduct the interviews together. There aren’t many interviews published on our website yet, but we’ll be releasing more soon.

Who else is on the team?

We work together with a good pool of researchers, writers and digitizers. The website is bilingual, in both Arabic and English, so translation and transcription are big tasks too, as are the admin and budgeting side of things.

It sounds like you’ve got a great team assembled.

It’s a small team, including Yamen and me, but it’s a strong one, which is essential. As everyone says, the team makes the project. This is a big job that can’t be done by just one or two people. That’s why securing funding is important so everyone can be paid for their work. It’s an independent project and not profit-driven. For everyone involved, this project is just a part of their life, not the whole of it. Working with the right people is crucial, especially as the project grows.

Is the Syrian Cassette Archives expected to expand further? I’d love to hear more about that.

The original collection was based on tapes I bought in music shops during my travels, but now we’re collaborating with different collectors to digitize many more cassettes from Syria that will really broaden the scope of sounds and stories.

So, the archive will be updated with a broader range of content. That’s really exciting.

Since launching the project in 2021, we’ve received positive feedback from both Syrians and non-Syrians. We’ve also received cassette contributions from Syrians and connected with many people in the community through the project.

What will the new website look like?

We’ll be adding a large number of new cassettes and planning to feature specific artists, labels, and music styles. We’re also strengthening the connection between social media and the site, and we have several new interviews lined up as well.

Does that mean a complete website overhaul or just adding more content?

It’s more about adding content and improvements. The website has been taking a nap for a while, so it’s more of a reboot. We’re also planning more public events, talks, and listening sessions in London and abroad. Engaging the community and getting feedback requires activities beyond just being online.

That’s exciting. What challenges do you face in pushing the project forward, especially in the future?

One big challenge is researching the artists. Many cassettes have very little information about the artists, and the research can be really difficult—almost impossible at times. Some artists only left behind one or two tapes, didn’t have long careers, or have passed away. It’s a good outcome if we even find a Facebook page during our searches.

It sounds like detective work. And the internet doesn’t always provide the answers.

Exactly. If we do track down the artist, we’d love to talk to them, but sometimes it’s their first-ever interview. Their music career might be a distant memory, and their perspective has changed. In some cases, we can only speak with their children or associates. When we've reached out to these artists, they’re surprised and ask “Who are you? What do you want?” There can be some tension and hesitation. We always make sure to tell them that we genuinely love their music. We say, “We want more people to know about your music.” If this project can help them in some way, we’re prepared to support them, maybe by linking their music on YouTube. In the future, we might even release records or hold concerts. We want to build a good relationship. We hope they feel our passion, love, and interest.

It’s important to understand what they want, right?

Also, Syria is politically very sensitive, so we’re mindful of that. We don’t want to put anyone in harm’s way. We try to respect everyone’s stance as much as possible, and we never push anyone to talk about things they’re uncomfortable with. Many people have concerns about discussing politics or certain topics. It’s similar to when I was traveling in Syria. Sometimes I’d make cultural missteps, but I had to learn as I went.

It’s a sensitive situation, but you want to connect with the artists. Your passionate and sincere approach really comes through.

Yamen is well attuned to sensitivities and helps guide the interviews accordingly. I think that once we’re in conversation with people, they come to realize that what we are doing comes from a place of respect and passion. We’re here to listen, learn, and pay tribute, and to share their stories with the world without sensationalizing anything.

Thanks for telling me about the project. Now, I'd like to hear more about you, Mark. I want to know why you're doing this project. I read somewhere that you're Iraqi-American.

My father is from Iraq. He moved to the U.S. from Baghdad in the 1960s. My mother is American. I was born in San Diego and later moved to the suburbs of San Francisco.

When did you move to London?

I came to London six years ago. My wife is from London. We got married in 2010, spent a few years in the U.S., then moved to Southeast Asia, where we lived for five years—three years in Hanoi, Vietnam, and two years in Penang, Malaysia. After that, we moved to London.

It sounds like you’ve been on a journey. I noticed that whenever I contacted you were traveling somewhere.

Yeah, I love traveling when I can. But my interest in the music from the region probably comes from being exposed to Arabic and Iraqi culture as a kid. I don’t speak much Arabic myself, though.

So, you were exposed to Arab culture while growing up in the U.S.?

Yes, our Iraqi family mostly lived in Detroit, and we visited them often during my youth. Iraqi music sparked my curiosity, and being of Iraqi heritage gave me a different perspective than many Americans have. My dad had a lot of Arabic records and tapes, which he often played when I was young. I still fondly remember the incredible wedding bands that performed at relatives' weddings.

So you’ve been fascinated by music from a young age.

I was also greatly influenced by my American grandfather, whether he knew it or not. He was a pioneer in amateur radio. In the 1920s, he built his own radio equipment and later worked on radar and radios during World War II. When I was young, he would listen to radio broadcasts and other operators from around the world, and I would listen with him at his house. He had a machine with a globe and a tuning dial that showed the position of his rooftop antenna, and he’d point to it and ask, “Where in the world do you want to listen to?” I loved this so much. Thanks in part to him, I became interested in the wider world and the possibilities beyond my hometown.

Even without traveling abroad, it sounds like you had the chance to see the wider world with your family. It seems connected to who you are today.

Yeah, I’ve loved playing with a cassette recorder since I was a kid. My brother and I would record each other’s voices, create sound effects, and experiment with sounds. We even made radio dramas. My personal audio archives from cassettes goes back to when I was 5 years old, or even earlier. My mom was recording me crying when i was an infant, and I still have that tape. I’ve been living inside cassettes since I was a baby.

Wow, it seems like you and cassette tapes have a fated connection.

Yeah, by the time I was a teenager, I was obsessed with music. I started with pop music, but then I got into post-punk and experimental music. I collected records and cassette tapes and was really into it. Eventually, I started playing music with friends.

You seem like an energetic music enthusiast.

In my early twenties, I moved to Oakland, just east of San Francisco. It was the 1990s. Oakland had a large refugee community from Vietnam and Cambodia, and there were also Thai and Lao communities. I would buy Southeast Asian cassettes and discs at local shops there and I really got into the music.

So your interest in Southeast Asia was nurtured in Oakland.

Very much so. It raised my awareness about diaspora communities and the networks they build despite difficult circumstances. Around that time, I also started exploring Arabic music more. I’d spend $20 to check out a CD, but often it didn’t move me. Most Arabic music coming into the U.S. was flashy and overproduced. I was looking for something more authentic that connected with the sounds I’d hear at Iraqi weddings.

Did you continue your habit of field recordings?

Yes, I’ve had this habit since my youth, including during road trips across the U.S. in my twenties, when I’d record various sounds and local radio broadcasts. I also started incorporating these into my own compositions, creating music using processed sounds from cassette tapes.

You were really passionate about music in your twenties.

The Gulf War that started in 1990, and later the Iraq War, were major turning points for me. Seeing the injustices of war and sanctions made me more politically aware. I began researching the Middle East and wanted to visit the region. Due to political reasons, I couldn’t go to Iraq, but I learned a lot about Syria, thought about Syrian music, and decided to visit Syria to learn more in 1997.

Was it like a research project?

Yeah, but more personal than official. It was entirely personal research. I didn’t have academic funding. I was just following my own interests and passions.

I read in an article that you "fell in love with Syria" on your first visit.

Yes, I fell in love immediately. I really grew to love Syria. The culture wasn’t unfamiliar to me, as it’s very similar to the culture my father comes from, so it felt natural for me, even on the first trip. I wished I could have stayed longer.

How long did you stay?

One month.

You stayed for a month, and it still felt too short?

Yeah, the original plan was to spend half a month in Syria, then move on to Turkey or Lebanon. But I loved Syria so much that I couldn’t bring myself to leave. So, I extended my visa.

How did you spend your days in Syria?

The first few days, I wandered around the souks, those outdoor markets, checked out old buildings, mosques, and churches. I stayed with someone I met at a café for two days, and we talked all night long. It was one beautiful experience after another. I met so many people and just listened to their stories.

Did you discover cassette tape music right away?

Yeah, I noticed it on my first night in Syria. There were these kiosks, like carts on wheels, scattered around the busy streets. They were selling cassette tapes, and each one blasted the latest hits at top volume. The neighboring carts did the same, so it was like chaos. I was dizzy from it. I was completely enchanted by the sound.

Wow, cassette tape vendors lining the streets? Just imagining it is exciting.

Yeah, you’d see them near train stations, bus stops, and outdoor markets. The guys running the kiosks would compete to see who could play the loudest. The music was amazing, and I couldn’t stop listening. At night, I’d listen to local radio in my hotel. If a good song came on, I’d record it, and the next day, I’d take it to a kiosk and ask the vendor, “Do you have music like this? Can you tell me about this style?” That’s how I learned about Syrian music. I bought as many cassettes as I could. Music is my engine. I wanted to learn. I needed to learn.

It sounds like you’re talking about a love affair.

When I got back to the U.S., I listened to all the tapes I’d bought. I kept listening while looking at photos from my trip. Then I realized, “I have to go back to Syria.” I wanted to learn more about the music I loved. So, two or three years after my first visit, in 2000, I took my brother with me. We stayed another month, and I bought even more tapes.

When you first visited Syria, was there a sense that you were tracing your own roots?

Yeah, I think my desire to visit was connected to my roots. I couldn’t go to Iraq, but Syria is right next door. I wanted to see what it's like to be there, instead of believing what I'm hearing about these countries. I wanted to prove something to myself by going there. When I got back, I told my friends, “The image of the Middle East that we have in America is completely wrong.” And so I became kind of a preacher for Syria.

A preacher for Syria.

I had recorded a lot of field recordings in Syria, a lot of radio recordings and I put together a CD documentary called, I remember Syria. It came out on the Sublime Frequencies label, a relatively new label at the time. That was 20 years ago.

So you were working on projects long before the Syrian Cassette Archives. What kind of sounds did you edit for that documentary?

Pretty much any sound I found interesting—conversations with people, the noise of markets, environmental sounds, calls to prayer, even the hum of air conditioners. I’d clip a mic to my jacket and walk around with a Sony cassette recorder. At night, I recorded the radio. When I got back, I edited it all together. I wanted to give people the experience of being in a Syrian city. I was thrilled to release it on CD. I wanted to counter the negative image of the Middle East, to put a human face on a place often dehumanized.

Where did the title I Remember Syria come from?

There was a series of records in the 1950s and 1960s with titles like I Remember Sweden, I Remember Denmark, and I Remember Bavaria. It’s a play on those tributes to European tourist destinations. I wanted to make I Remember Syria because, to me, Syria is a place worth remembering—a real place—and I wanted people to see it that way.

Are you still involved with that label?

Yes, I still work with them on music projects. We were friends even before the label started. A big recent project we did together was a 2021 archival release featuring recordings from Phương Tâm, a teenage Vietnamese rock and roll singer from the 1960s.

So, how many times have you visited Syria in total?

Let’s see... I visited in 1997, 1998, then 2000, and 2006. From 2008 to 2010, I went every year. So, I visited throughout the 2000s. I bought cassette tapes during every visit. There wasn’t any plan for a project—it was just personal travel. Syria is a long chapter in my life.

There’s a “Syria” chapter in your life.

Yeah, during my 2006 visit, I met Omar Souleyman and asked him to join the label. His music became quite famous in the West, and after a Western tour, his popularity exploded. At that time, I was renting apartments in Damascus for a while each year to help facilitate visas for Omar and his group, which was great. I continued doing field recordings, recording radio, and buying more cassette tapes..

That was probably the first time Syrian music hit the global stage like that.

Omar gaining mainstream recognition made many people in the West see Syria differently. For some, it was their first time really thinking about Syria. That makes me happy.

But then in 2011, just as you were deepening your connection with Syria, the democracy movement suddenly began, leading to a long, drawn-out civil war.

I didn’t think my 2010 visit to Syria would be my last. In 2011, when the war broke out, I was far away in Hanoi, Vietnam. I didn’t see it coming, and it was heartbreaking. Suddenly, so many Syrians were leaving the country. I had built many friends and contacts in Syria. Some lost their wives or mothers. Somebody I know he had two businesses and three cars in Aleppo ended up homeless in Belgium.

So many Syrians lost everything and became refugees.

He’s okay now—he’s started his life again. But after more than a decade of destructive war, Syria’s safety has plummeted, and the economy is in ruins. Watching Iraq’s destruction was heartbreaking for me, as was seeing Syria’s destruction.

And since you couldn’t return to Syria, ten years later in 2021, you decided to share your cassette collection on a website, in Arabic and English for Western audiences.

Yes, Syrians have scattered as refugees to Europe and even Southeast Asia, where I used to live. Syrians can stay in Malaysia without a visa. I made new Syrian friends there. I started to think about what I could do—"What can I do? How can I help?" That’s when I decided to share my crazy obsession, my collection. I wanted to change the image of how people perceive the region and hoped they’d feel a connection to it.

You’ve mentioned an image problem a few times. Can you tell me more about that wish of yours?

All my life, the Middle East—Syria, Iraq, Lebanon, all of them—has been portrayed in a really negative light. It was a smear campaign, really, propagated by the news and media outlets. Even friends of mine, along with people in my family and community, were worried about me traveling there. Sometimes the rhetoric was crazy: “If you go to Syria, you’ll die. You won’t make it back. Any American will be killed.”

But when you saw it with your own eyes, it turned out to be a country you fell in love with.

Exactly. Even before the war, Syria had its political issues—there was always tension with Israel, and Iraqi refugees were pouring into Syria during the time between the Iraq wars when harsh Western sanctions were being imposed. There were always problems, as there are anywhere, but for me, it felt secure and safe. The people I met and the conversations we had were incredible. I found a genuineness and warmth there that you could only dream of in the U.S. It was the complete opposite of the image people had of it in the West. To me, Syria was a wonderfully human place.

Many of us in Japan also don’t have a clear image of Syria. I think a lot of people just see it as dangerous and scary.

I don’t blame anyone today for not having a clear image of Syria. A lot has changed since the destructive war there, and it will take a long time before it returns to the feeling I described from that time. However, there is a danger in the invisibility and demonization of a place and its people. When that abstraction happens, you lose sight of the humanity, which makes it easier to support wars. It’s a very dangerous, passive ideology.

So not seeing the reality leads to passively forming ideologies.

Exactly. The danger lies in both the negative image and the invisibility. People end up believing the negative impressions fed by the media. Those who don’t think about other parts of the world become passive. They stop thinking about anything beyond their own country. It’s a big problem in America.

You mentioned earlier that you see yourself as an outsider in Syria. Do you ever think about what it means to be in that position?

Yes, and being an outsider who has showcased Syrian culture to the West is something I always consider. I try to approach any place I visit with humility and respect, and I never go with the intent to indoctrinate or interfere in any way. So I’ve tried to be a decent outsider in that regard. But you do leave your mark wherever you go. You have to be aware of what you represent, and the influence you’re having, then let the people decide what sort of outsider you are.

The influence of being an outsider.

I’ve seen some terrible examples of Western outsiders in various countries—mostly individuals who, driven by insecurity, act with impunity and disrespect or a sense of imagined superiority. I encountered this entitled behavior particularly among some Europeans and Americans. It made me question why they were there in the first place.

Maybe you feel that way because you’re also coming from America.

America is a powerful country still. It’s a colonial power that’s started a lot of wars and caused a lot of problems and chaos around the world, both openly and covertly. There is an inherent issue with exceptionalism, where some Americans believe they are the greatest on the planet. This attitude is both foolish and destructive.

What about in terms of culture, like music?

I’ve seen a lot of outsiders approach local music, some moving from country to country. Some don’t respect the local culture much. Whether it’s for money or fame, that attitude shows in their work. When you release music from one culture into another, there’s a huge responsibility that comes with it. I’m very mindful of that. It’s important to explain what you’ve learned about the music and its background. But at the same time, even that explanation is still from my own perspective. It’s important to recognize that.

That sounds like a really sincere approach. For example, if you weren’t an outsider, if you had grown up in Syria or Iraq, you might not be doing the work you’re doing now?

Yeah, even if someone had the exact same curiosity as me, if they grew up in Syria, it would manifest in a completely different way. I think so.

You’re engaging with Syrian culture, but always as an outsider.

Culture can disappear. War can change things. Look at Cambodia, for example. Their culture was disrupted, and they lost their traditions in dance, art, and music. Great artists were killed, and no one could replace them because they died with their cultural knowledge. It’s tragic.

Cambodia’s historical rupture was massive.

Yes, scientists, doctors, many intellectuals were killed. It wasn’t just about culture. But since my background is in music, I think a lot about culture. Losing culture means losing something very important. It can cause lasting damage across generations. How can the next generation recover in a country with cultural amnesia? Even if cultural archivists or collectors survive, war can destroy their collections and kill their spirits. They might move to another country and not even talk to their children about their culture. That’s how it disappears.

Yes, culture can vanish.

It’s a difficult issue. It’s the same with Vietnamese culture. Many people don’t want to talk about that era. They just stay silent and get on with their lives. They rebuild new lives, and that’s the end of it. Loss of culture is very destructive.

There are so many things that never come back. The number of Syrian refugees is overwhelming.

In some Syrian cities, you’ll never hear those sounds again because so many people have moved to other countries. This is also about changing demographics. That’s why the long-term vision for the Syrian Cassette Archives is to expand the project in the aftermath of this war and displacement.

Thanks for sharing the thoughts behind your project. Now, I’d like to hear about the sustainability of the project. This is a non-profit effort, right?

Yes, this project isn’t profit-driven. We’re not monetizing the cassette tapes. But the project does need funding to keep going. Thankfully, we’ve been able to get some financial support, which has allowed us to continue our activities.

Who’s funding the project?

The initial seed funding came from AFAC, the Arab Fund for Arts and Culture, based in Lebanon. I think that was in 2018. That funding helped us get the equipment we needed to start digitizing the tapes, which was a huge help. In 2020, we received funding from Germany, and we’ve also had donations from friends and people who learned about the project.

I imagine the funding isn’t exactly overflowing.

There are operational costs, and while we’ve put in hundreds of hours unpaid because we’re passionate about it, we realized at some point that it can’t work that way forever. We need funding to build the team. There’s a lot of translation work, and the specialized staff need compensation for their efforts.

Is there a risk that receiving funding could compromise the project’s independence?

This is a truly DIY, independent project. While partnerships and funding from other organizations are helpful, the project is ultimately self-run. We maintain a space that isn’t controlled by anyone else. Operating independently, outside of governments and institutions, is part of the project’s function and narrative—its uniqueness.

So, maintaining that uniqueness is important to you.

Absolutely. The world is flooded with content, so this project has to be unique. It needs to present things effectively. We’re combining the power of storytelling, collaboration with other curators, and public output. We’re also allowing young people to use the cassettes for remixes. By doing this, we’re turning “cold data” into something more human, ensuring it doesn’t get lost in the sea of content.

If you want to maintain your independence, wouldn’t it make sense to turn this into a business? That way, you wouldn’t need external funding. We often play music from the website Syrian Cassette Archives at our project space, and I’d be willing to pay to listen.

Ideally, it would be great to commercialize elements it and give the artists some money. We have discussed record releases, and we’re currently in contact with some owners and rights holders about this. But we don’t have the rights to sell this music. The issue of rights in the region is complicated.

I see, it’s about the rights.

Yes, in places like Syria or Iraq, there were no copyright laws in many cases. And many cassette tapes were homemade, so we might not even know who recorded them. The artist might have passed away, and we have no way of finding their heirs. Plus, many popular cassettes in Syria were pirated copies. Syria had a huge bootleg market, often copied from Egyptian or Lebanese sources.

And you’re still drawn to those tapes, right?

We want to preserve the memory of a specific era in Syria, so we focus on all kinds of tapes that were available during that time. The music blurs the line between professional and amateur. There are also unique mixtapes—all of it exists in a gray area. A lot of people have asked, “Why don’t you monetize this?” But trying to do business with tapes where the rights are unclear would be risky. We don’t have a solid claim to the distribution rights, and that’s not what we want to do anyway. That’s why the non-profit model fits best.

I get it.

For now, we avoid commercialization and rely on funding. That allows us to pay the artists when we interview them and promote their music. When cassette tapes first came out, they had a huge impact in Syria. It allowed people that didn't have a voice or the money to put a record out, suddenly cassettes came, and millions of bands could just record and release. They could make 500 tapes and sell them, and people got to know who they are.. Millions of bands made tapes.

Cassette tapes allowed for easy distribution without expensive equipment. They’re quite democratic.

Exactly. So, this project is all about promotion. Every artist we’ve spoken to is thrilled that their tapes are being listened to worldwide. And we tell them, “Let’s do something more.” We can help with concerts and other activities. There’s even a possibility that we could work out rights agreements with them in the future. The possibilities are endless.

So, it’s been an hour and a half. Let me ask you two final questions. First, you record all kinds of sounds, right? What drives you to do that?

Good question. My family probably thinks I’m a bit odd. My friends who are into music understand, but even some of them have thought I’m extreme in my obsession, I’m sure. I’m always recording something. I guess there’s this tendency to want to build some kind of world. I’ve always been into making films on Super 8 or editing sounds. But I have to be careful—this habit can consume me. Sometimes I need to take a break and do normal things.

You really love it. That comes through.

Recording always makes me happy. I’m drawn to it, guided by it. If that ever stops calling to me, I’ll have to move on to something else.

Do you still collect sounds when you travel?

Always.

Where have you been recently?

I haven’t traveled much since the pandemic. My recent trips have mostly been to Southeast Asia. I also went to Jordan. This year or next, I’d love to go back to Syria. I haven’t been since the war.

Last question. You were born in America, have an Iraqi father, work on projects in Syria, and live in London. Where do you feel your identity belongs?

That’s a big question for me. I might not have an answer. That’s probably why I could leave America so easily. Of course, being half American is part of who I am. But where does my heart belong? It feels scattered, spread out everywhere, all over the world.

You’ve kind of been living life like you’re always on the move.

I need stability to work, but I’m also comfortable with the chaos of living in different places. My heart is in both that chaos and in having a settled home. London has been home for the last five or six years, but I’m not sure if it’ll be my forever home. I feel a bit nomadic. Staying in one place can feel like being trapped. But there’s also beauty in having roots. My wife and I talk about this all the time—“Can we get a cat now?”

Whether to settle down or keep traveling, whether to stay in one place or keep moving.

I lived in America for a long time, but my heart isn’t really there. Leaving was a good thing. Though, maybe a part of my heart is still there in a nostalgic way—like in the song I Left My Heart in San Francisco. As time goes on, your heart moves to other places, and sometimes it gets attached to those places. I’ve loved everywhere I’ve been. This is a deep question.

Wow, that’s a beautiful answer. As a Japanese, it’s hard for me to imagine living like you do. Japan is seen as a homogenous nation. I was born and raised in Japan, I live here, and most of the people around me are Japanese. There is no doubt. That’s just how it feels.

Yeah, that’s very different.

Right.

I find that feeling really interesting and I’d love to understand it better. For many Japanese people, feeling Japanese is part of a resolved identity, right? But there are Americans who feel the same way—they probably wouldn’t leave the U.S. But I also get the sense that Japanese people travel much more than Americans. It seems like Japanese people really want to understand the world. That’s been my experience with the Japanese I’ve met.

Maybe it’s because we’re living in a small island, so we’re curious about what’s beyond the sea.

Yeah, there’s a curiosity about the world and a desire to see it. You go somewhere else, experience something, and bring it back. The sense of ethnic identity is very strong—whether “pure” is the right word, I’m not sure, but it’s strong. But on an individual level, there are nomadic Japanese people, and there are also those who stay in one place for a long time.

True, it’s not the same for everyone.

For me, sometimes I feel a sense of comfort in chaotic uncertainty. I think it’s important for all of us to find comfort in uncertainty because the world itself is uncertain. Uncertainty can be a bit scary, but finding comfort in it is a good thing. After all, we never know what’s going to happen next.

Thank you for sharing such an important perspective. I really enjoyed our conversation today. I don’t know how to put it, but you seem like a very strong person, Mark.

Thank you. I’m glad we had this conversation. It gave me a lot of time to reflect on my own philosophy. I end up saying the same things in interviews sometimes , but this time we’ve gone beyond that a little bit. I’m very happy for that.

Really? That means a lot to me. By the way, are you at your home in London?

Yes, I’m on the balcony, so I can smoke. I’m just sitting by the door.

Do you know FAWW Gallery in London? It’s an art gallery in East London.

No, but my wife might know it.

It’s run by a woman named Sarah. She collects beautiful silk-screened posters from all over Europe, mostly eastern Europe. She finds underground artists, makes prints, and sells them at the gallery in East London. Two years ago, we invited her to Japan for a joint exhibition.

That’s cool, sounds amazing. I live in East London too, so I’ll check out the gallery. How do you spell it-F, A, W, W…?

Yes, FAWW Gallery. It’s in the Soho area. So, you live in East London too?

Oh, it’s in Soho. Got it.

Please say hi to Sarah for me. She’s very passionate as well. Thank you for your time today. I’ll keep in touch, and maybe I’ll come visit you in London someday.

Let me know when you’re in town. Once again, thank you for your interest and time. Have a great day.

Thank you. And good night to you.