*Published by The Luna Collective on Sept. 23, 2022
RELEASED IN 2019, AMIR — is Tamino’s debut album, the title directly translating to “prince.” Today, with the release of his sophomore record, Sahar, Tamino reclaims his crown — but this time rises as a king.
Lauded by critics for his agile melding of Eastern and Western musical traditions, virtuosic vocal agility, and striking arrangements, Tamino has rightfully earned his place within the regular listening rotation of hundreds of thousands of people all over the world.
You can’t quite put a pin in Tamino’s artistry — any descriptors pale in comparison to his unique sound — but if one thing is for sure, it’s that once you start listening, you can’t stop. He beckons listeners in with his siren songs, luring them into the depths of his hypnotic soundscape. Tamino’s discography is enigmatic; boxing him in an inflexible genre or label would be a disservice to the expansive range that he showcases within his compositions. Marked by an omnipresent sense of melancholy, he uses his art as a vessel for every question or qualm he has come across in this life, pairing them with a haunting melody that will linger for far longer than a song's duration.
Sahar comes firmly rooted in Tamino’s stylistic trademarks — minor keys, ornate instrumental swells, and sultry vocals — but his signature sound is by no means stagnant and monotonous. As a collaboration with producer and engineer PJ Maertens, Colin Greenwood, Radiohead’s bassist, and drummer Ruben Vanhoutte, the record brings with the most dynamic and inimitable sound heard from Tamino before, with stellar production bolstering his songwriting prowess tenfold.
Like much of Tamino’s previous work, Sahar revels in a state of self-reflection. However, the introspective threadline within the record makes the themes within his debut album, Amir, look almost meek in comparison to the emotional depth and vulnerability within Sahar. In the two years since the release of Amir, Tamino’s lived experiences have brought forth a marked maturity captured in the 10 tracks of this record. There is far less of his self-defined “teenage angst” and much more intentional reflection and thoughtful contemplation over his feelings.
Tamino is unafraid to face the brunt of his emotions head on, no matter how arduous piecing through them might be. His clever yet concise lyricism stands out within the tracks, proving to be a useful tool in gaining the upper hand over his own psyche. Tamino does not partake in any high-falutin word games, instead weaving simple yet evocative narratives through the fabric of Sahar — lyrics brimming with remarkable wit sans a haughty air of pretentiousness convoluting their meaning.
There is, however, one game that Tamino is more than willing to try his hand at: love.
A triptych of the lifelong pursuit of love comes expressed in “The Longing,” “Sunflower,” and “Only Our Love,” each song taking listeners through the various stages of Tamino’s devotion.
The influence of the oud (an Arabian lute) seeps into the soundscape as the principal instrument on the album, especially when it comes to Sahar’s first track, “The Longing.” Eerie scales on the instrument provide a steady foundation for Tamino to build a tale of ardent yearning as he sings, “Hear me / follow this calling / I know you see me / try to believe me / Hid away your longing.” The oud’s hollow sound and resonant quarter tones create an ethereal backbone that remains ever-present for the remaining 40 minutes of Sahar.
“Sunflower” features a lighter take on love, as Tamino collaborates with fellow Belgian singer-songwriter Angèle. Both musicians assume the role of people who believe their love for one another to be unreciprocated, when in reality they couldn’t be more on the same page, spouting lyrics that divulge their deepest affections. They express their mutual wish for companionship as their voices softly mesh together: “Oh baby, don’t you notice me? / So ready to lose everything / Everything for your love.”
Love has been more of an act of worship than a mutual reciprocation of feelings for Tamino. He is inclined to devote the entirety of his soul to another, singing, “I got nothing on my mind but love,” encapsulating this all-consuming passion within the solemn chords of “Only Our Love.” A faint guitar strum meets listeners right off the bat, as Tamino plaintively muses, “I got my words and you got your feelings / You’re such a flirt and I’m such a fool / Guess you know the cards since you are the dealer.” He has accepted his powerlessness in the face of his love, and is furthermore content with perpetuating this imbalance of authority. He only summons the courage to speak up when asking one question: “Is it true that our love will rule?” — a question that remains unanswered as the track comes to a close, becoming yet another query left up to the whims of the universe.
The all-consuming love that Tamino sings of brings with it a chance of heartbreak. He has played his cards but lost them all in the process of playing the game so diligently. He delves deep into the overt pain that comes with letting go of someone within “My Dearest Friend and Enemy” and “The Flame,” both tracks demonstrating the unshakeable feeling of loss the musician has felt in this lifetime.
“My Dearest Friend and Enemy” gives a play-by-play of the end of a relationship. Tamino comes to terms with the fact that he is ultimately being held back from enjoying the rest of his existence, yet is unwilling to let go of said relationship as he expresses, “You belong with me,” dually confessing, “I dream of living a life.”
The elegiac tribute to a soon-to-be-lost love comes chock-full of pain as he sings, “Don’t just look away / Let me know for once what’s on your mind / Leave some truth behind / If we go our separate ways / Before I step into darker days.” Overcoming a love that once felt so certain is a hard task to undertake, but Tamino is more than equipped to do so, embracing his fear of the unknown if it means better days will eventually follow.
The quick pacing of “The Flame” brings listeners up to speed with Tamino after some time has elapsed post-breakup. He sings with a detached nostalgia, backed by a snappy, percussive-driven track whose beat resembles the ticking of a clock. “I didn’t know where we were heading to / All I know is where I saw a truth,” he sings, later confessing, “I grow numb with time / But I’m still awake enough / To care for both of us.” The initial pain might have faded away with time, but the residual energy that one puts into a meaningful relationship lingers long after. But luckily for Tamino, his music has served as the perfect medium for healing — for both himself and his audience.
With the creation of music comes great responsibility. As a result, Tamino’s identity as a musician is often caught in flux with his growing popularity as a celebrity. Others might comfortably bask in their newfound popularity, but Tamino considers himself first and foremost a musician. The first track released off of the album, “The First Disciple,” sits in this headspace, as he chronicles the tale of a loyal follower watching an idol traverse through life. However, instead of praising the idol’s every move, the follower criticizes and questions their motives: “And Lately I did wonder / If you did it all to make you feel desired / Did it all to make you feel admired / For love to replace your shamе.”
“That's quite the group that you have gathеred now,” he continues to sing, berating the idol, who likely serves as a self-critique of Tamino himself. He speaks of adoring followers, “Most of them, they just want you somehow / They would pay any price to kiss your skin / Don't tell me that is loving / You know that don't mean nothing.” Within the narrative, the follower makes it apparent that even if everyone around the idol showers him with love and praise, it will not change the fundamentally draining aspect of having to assume a role that is constantly perceived by the public eye.
“You Don’t Own Me” provides a similar anecdote, with Tamino distancing himself from any preconceived notions that others have about his character. A cinematic swell of woodwinds opens the track, followed by a pulsating piano line that underscores Tamino’s somber vocal lines as he sings, “And you may have your thoughts / A sketch of who I am / A notion you’ve conceived / A sight you want to see / But you don’t know me / No, you don’t know me.”
Tamino’s forte lies in building the solid foundation for monumental musical swells and crescendos. His anguish over being defined by his celebrity status comes directly expressed in the last minute of the track. As his vocals ascend to their zenith, lush strings and a resounding piano pulse rise to accompany him, opening the floodgates and immersing the listener in his distress.
Despite any qualms he might have with fame, making music was an unavoidable path for Tamino — a divine calling of sorts. His love for the medium can be witnessed firsthand at his concerts, as he softly closes his eyes while playing, losing all sense of self to the music. His vocal range conveys the depth of his soul; the husky timbre of his chest voice, his velvety mix, and smoothness of his falsetto work in harmony to provide a transcendental moment of pause for anyone lucky enough to be swaying in the crowd. When a song ends, he humbly smiles, bashfully accepting the thunderous applause from his audience before plunging into another ballad.
While many have deemed him as the “new sound of the Nile,” Tamino humbly refutes said title. He does not write music with the intent of acting as the bridge between Eastern and Western musical traditions, insisting that his sound flows out of him in a natural way. His additional status as the grandson of beloved Egyptian singer Murraham Fouad has added pressure to having his music acting as a designated cultural melting pot. He tells Esquire in a recent interview that he doesn’t want to only be seen as “that dude with the Arabic thing.” Tamino seeks to grow and develop as a person with every passing moment, and it is only natural that his sound will change and fluctuate alongside him.
“Fascination” and “Cinnamon” showcase this continuous exploration into his sound, yet both are undeniably Tamino songs, marked by his strong emphasis on melody and rhythm. Like the actual spice, “Cinnamon” is both sweet and savory. As a spoken-word track of sorts, the song offers listeners a reprieve from the poignant gloominess of previous tracks.
“Fascination,” on the other hand, is Tamino’s most contemporary, indie-sounding track yet, flowing like a babbling brook. Over the top of a tinny guitar riff, he sings of never feeling like he was on the same page as a lover, rhapsodizing without waxing poetics or being a buzzkill. In pairing this reminiscence with an upbeat track Tamino grants listeners the freedom to feel grounded in the present moment, no matter how perplexing a situation may be.
His music acts as a harbinger of peace and timely acceptance. The musician offers a final call to peace in the second-to-last track, “A Drop of Blood.” As the most stripped-back song on the record, its simplicity and callback to ancient musical stylings makes it even more enrapturing to hear. Listeners grasp on to Tamino’s words as soon as they are sung, letting the lyrics wash over them like a cleansing downpour. The flowing cadence of his vocals put listeners into a meditative trance, as he expresses one simple wish: “And may we find harmony / Like wind and tree.”
Tamino marvels over the wonders of nature — the sea, the wind, the trees — depicting how closely our lives as humans are connected to the environment around us and how quickly our lives can be taken by said environment. By the end of the track, Tamino ultimately surrenders to fate, letting the universe guide him wherever it wishes to take him.
Fortunately, the universe guided Tamino right into the making of Sahar, a timeless record that demonstrates his sweeping mastery over his sonic landscape. And thus, take a reprieve from your day to follow Tamino as a first-hand witness of his odyssey of hurt, healing, and acceptance.
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