Words by Zoya Raza-Sheikh
On October 17 last year, Nemahsis got on TikTok and shared a quick, 32-second cover she had recorded in her car. Wearing a Palestinian scarf, or a keffiyeh, she leaned in as if to share a hushed secret and started singing the chorus of Lorde’s ‘Team’ (“We live in cities you never see on screen”), her delicate voice washing over images of Palestine in states of both tranquility and destruction.
In the video’s caption, Nemahsis wrote: “Thank you to everyone who has taken the time to educate themselves on the ongoing [genocide] happening in Palestine. We need your help.” It has garnered over 10.7million views to date and has been shared by the likes of Bella Hadid; Lorde herself posted the clip, writing: “She speaks through me; I speak through her.”
It’s here, online, that the musician born Nemah Hasan has found her audience. It’s one she has had to build from the ground up; days after Hamas’ attack on Israel on October 7, 2023, the Palestinian-Canadian artist was unceremoniously dropped by her record label. It’s one of several professional blows Nemahsis says she’s taken due to her continued vocal advocacy for Palestine. From her home in Toronto, she talks over Zoom about the resilience imbued in the art she makes, forging her path as an independent artist. “When you’re backed into a corner and you have no team, [working constantly] feels like a sacrifice, whether it’s for my future self or my past self,” she says.
“There are so many Palestinians that are big right now, and they need to be careful about being puppeted”
Now, navigating without a label, Hasan has learned where to place her expectations. Her alt-pop music is defiant. She credits as influences Amy Winehouse, Billie Holiday, Charli XCX, Fiona Apple and Marina and the Diamonds – dynamic women with their own eclectic sounds. Growing up in Milton, Ontario, she didn’t always have easy access to music, but she found ways around it. Her mother would listen to cassette tapes of Arabic music while her siblings hid a music speaker in a closet. In third grade, she performed a cover of Nelly Furtado’s ‘I’m Like A Bird’. She learned that in music, she could be whoever she wanted to be.
Speaking to NME over Zoom from her home in Toronto, Hasan comes off as endearingly confident. Decked out in an oversized zipped-up navy hoodie and an army green cap, she responds eagerly, excited to share her story. As a young hijabi Muslim in Canada, Hasan admits she quickly became accustomed to being treated differently. “I got bullied a lot in school,” she recalls. “Nobody would want to sit next to me because I was ‘dirty’ or ‘contagious’. I always had to stand up for myself. It’s all I’ve ever known.” Whether ostracised at school or sidelined in the industry, she muses, it all feels the same: “This is another pattern, just a different age and body. It doesn’t get old; you just get better at it.”
Hasan’s music career got off to an early promising start. The 30-year-old musician began recording her own music in 2018 under “Nemahsis”, a semi-cynical phonetic play on her name, Nemah. She released her 2021 debut single, ‘What if I Took It Off for You?’, after a beauty company exploited her work without compensation. It went viral, starting a vital conversation on the personal significance of the hijab. Hasan began to see a possible role for herself: a voice to push against the mainstream. The following year, she released her debut EP ‘Eleven Achers’, which got her a spot onto the NME 100 of 2023.
But, then, October 7 came and everything changed. Nemahsis’ life and career were upended. She took things into her own hands, turning to TikTok, Twitter and Spotify to build an audience. “It was very dehumanising. I was begging people online to give me a chance,” she says. She’s made an astonishing comeback through self-advocacy and transparency, sharing her experiences and music with over 1.2million TikTok followers and nearly 300,000 monthly Spotify listeners. In September, she independently released her long-gestating debut album, ‘Verbathim’.
Over its 12 songs, Hasan steadily unspools her narrative through radically precise pop. She sifts through suppressed emotions, setting vibrant lyrics against pattering drums, ringing electric guitars and rhythmic bass lines. Hasan channels life lessons from her dad in ‘Coloured Concrete’ and flips poetry into song on ‘Miss Construed’ and ‘Spinning Plates’. Even in its title and sound alone, ‘Verbathim’ is a self-determined statement of being.
“I wanted people to mark my words with the things that I was saying long before October 2023. Then, I was stripped of all connection and ostracised. It felt biblical and like someone [was] holding my tongue,” she explains. “I wanted [the title] to be as if someone grabbed my tongue in the middle of saying ‘verbatim’. It’s going to be historical, especially when Palestine is free.”
“The majority of the industry would die to have Elton John and Stevie Wonder know who they are”
With lead single ‘Stick of Gum’, Hasan creates a twinkling anthem of resistance – one that highlights the fortifying power of love – anchored in her bonds with family and her Palestinian heritage. The music video was filmed in the West Bank city of Jericho, where Hasan’s mother’s family are from. It captures their stillness and heartfelt belonging, Hasan leaning her entire torso out a car window singing, and running gleefully alongside local boys riding bikes.
Her vocals cascade, hitting a powerful lyric: “If anyone else but me wrote it, it’s a masterpiece”. It might seem like an obvious swipe at the music industry, but it alludes to her college days, when she was routinely marked down in a module despite handing in thoughtful assignments; she and a classmate agreed – against college regulations – to swap papers before they submitted them. It’s here, she recalls, her perspective shifted: she concluded she would always be treated differently.
Institutional approval, then, is not a metric for Hasan’s success. Instead, she allows her music to do its own work. As we talk about the interconnectivity of marginalised experiences, she pauses, her brown eyes gleaming with a memory. “[During] my first show in 2022,” she recalls, “we assumed in the audience it would be a lot of hijabis. Then, we realised that everyone was part of the LGBTQ+ community. It opened my eyes so much – the people that understood my music the most were the queer community.”
As her following continues to grow, Hasan isn’t too concerned with figures. Numbers roll off her tongue, but it’s not a self-marketing shtick – it’s a reminder of what she’s managed to build. “I don’t even care about having a million monthly listeners. I’m not trying to be a Sabrina Carpenter; that’s not at all my goal.” Hasan is respectful of the game that artists have to play. She acknowledges the strings that come with platforms such as record labels. She also sees, with clarity, her jagged trajectory vis-a-vis that of her peers.
“We all have these trees growing, but it’s like someone cut my tree, and I had to restart. Everyone else’s tree didn’t get cut and they are still growing,” she explains. She’s grown weary of the setbacks, the blocked opportunities, but she hasn’t given up. “I replant seeds and find efficient ways to cut corners to grow [my tree]. I start catching up again, and then someone cuts it again. Every single time, I’m able to grow it from zero. I always catch up.”
Hasan refuses to silence herself – and people are paying attention. Elton John has commended her work, Stevie Wonder stalled the start of Nemahsis’ Los Angeles show so he could attend, and even Julia Fox has used the singer’s music on TikTok. Even now, Hasan is bewildered by the support. “I just can’t believe that they think I’m a good artist,” she laughs. “The majority of the industry would die to have Elton John and Stevie Wonder know who they are. It never feels normal, even years later.” Hasan is, undoubtedly, finally getting her dues. ‘Coloured Concrete’ and ‘Stick Of Gum’ have, respectively, crossed the 1million and 3million stream mark on Spotify. It’s praiseworthy and a testament to the traction she’s gaining, but she shyly rejects the compliments: “I can’t take them, but I appreciate it!”
Hasan makes her art with the unrelenting belief it deserves to be heard. But as she forges ahead, she is still sceptical about the spotlight turning her way. “I told my manager that I have a fear that I’m going to be used as a PR move. Brands are going to want to feature me to combat their silence over the last year. I would say since my album came out, it’s happened a lot more,” she says. It may have been more than a year since Hasan was dropped by her label, but its chilling effect still lingers. As she mulls over what she wants next, her mind settles on the safety and autonomy of fellow Palestinian musicians. “There are so many Palestinians that are big right now, and they need to be careful about being puppeted.”
That’s what Hasan keeps returning to: her community and her people, who will hold her up when no one else will. “It doesn’t matter what happens or what I say or what I do. I will always come home to a full house. I have five brothers and sisters, and we ride at dawn,” she says. Her debut album is an artefact of survival: uncompromising and unignorable. ‘Verbathim’ is a union between Hasan and her audience, between Jericho and Ontario. And, through it, Nemahsis just wants you to hear the other side of the story – her side.
Nemahsis’ ‘Verbathim’ is out now
Listen to Nemahsis’ exclusive playlist to accompany The Cover below on Spotify and here on Apple Music
Words: Zoya Raza-Sheikh
Photography: Norman Wong
Styling: Lilyana Khoshaba, Riwa Ismail
Makeup: Emma Caratozzolo