Saudi violinist, DJ and producer Kayan: ‘Everyone wants to see how the new generation will present the Saudi song’ 

The Saudi violinist, DJ and producer Kayan’s journey has been unconventional and unique. (Supplied)
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Updated 25 July 2024
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Saudi violinist, DJ and producer Kayan: ‘Everyone wants to see how the new generation will present the Saudi song’ 

  • Kayan talks creating a new style of music for her homeland 

DUBAI: The Saudi violinist, DJ and producer Kayan (whose real name is Noor Faisal) doesn’t do things by halves. When she decided to learn Indian music, for example, she went all in. She dressed the part, met with a guru, and sat on the floor while learning in order to “feel it fully and live it fully and understand its essence,” she tells Arab News. “I don’t know if it’s a good thing or a bad thing, but when I get into something, I get into it with all its elements.”  

Kayan’s journey has been unconventional and unique. She was reportedly the first female violinist in the Saudi National Orchestra. She is the first musician in her family, but says she may have inherited a love of the arts from her grandmothers, who both painted.  




Kayan was raised in the Eastern Province, and went to a government school, where she wrote poetry, painted, danced and took part in school plays. (Supplied)

Kayan was raised in the Eastern Province, and went to a government school, where she wrote poetry, painted, danced and took part in school plays. Where music was concerned, she says she was a “deep listener,” enjoying Khaleeji, Egyptian, and Lebanese tunes. Later, Western pop and electronic music entered the picture. 

“For me, sound and music is how I express myself — how I see life, how I feel life, how I remember life. It is my way of experiencing this existence, externally and internally,” she says. “Existence” is the translation of her chosen artist name. 

 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 

A post shared by KAYAN (@kayan_music)

After school, Kayan spent six years living in Bahrain, earning a bachelor’s degree in international relations. But her heart always belonged to music.  

“My degree could get me the best corporate job, and it did get me that for the longest time. So choosing to leave that and go into music, it was a question of course,” she says. “There were a lot of questions along the way.” 




Kayan performing at Riyadh Golf CLub. (Supplied)

While in Bahrain she studied Eastern music — from Khaleeji to Hindi — and also worked for BBC World Radio, where she learned about music software and hardware. It was also where she began to learn what she calls the most challenging instrument in the world: the violin. 

“It picked me, I did not pick the violin,” says Kayan. It all began with a YouTube video of a violinist playing on the streets, using a loop pedal.  

“I was in that moment. I was frozen in time and space, listening to that performance over and over again,” she recalls. “Something inspired me and, the next day, I bought a violin and I registered with an institute. I didn’t think about it. I just did it. 

“I had no clue that the violin was the hardest instrument in the world,” she continues. “With the violin, there is no way to know where the note is. Your ear has to guide you because the instrument has no identification of where the note is.” So, she bought other instruments to experiment with, including the drums and the xylophone. But, at the back of her mind, she was still thinking of the violin.  

Kayan believes that playing the violin requires both technical and emotional abilities, as they both “contribute to one another.” She favors the emotional part more. The violin is known as a highly expressive instrument, tapping into melancholy, longing and sorrow. It is also believed that the violin is the closest instrument to the human voice, akin to a person telling an intimate story.   




For her solo work, Kayan combines her violin playing with electronic music — she is also a DJ and producer. (Supplied)

Her relationship with the instrument was strengthened when she returned to Saudi Arabia in 2020, a time when the country’s entertainment industry was undergoing unprecedented changes and receiving heavy government backing. She won a scholarship for aspiring musicians launched by the Ministry of Culture and the Saudi Music Commission, then joined the Saudi National Orchestra. As its first female violinist, Kayan says that the pressure is on, not just for her, but for her Saudi colleagues too.  

“It’s a big responsibility, because Saudi is developing in a way that, when it opened up, you’re expected to be the best in the world. I’m someone who didn’t start in a proper way, because I was trying to figure things out. . . We are expected to learn Eastern and Western music, and be the best at both, and represent the country, and score A-plus.”  

 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 

A post shared by KAYAN (@kayan_music)

For her solo work, Kayan combines her violin playing with electronic music — she is also a DJ and producer. She has performed across the Kingdom, notably in AlUla and Riyadh, as well as abroad. One of her main goals is to modernize Saudi music — staying true to its essence while infusing it with electronic vibes.  

“People are curious to know what Saudi music sounds like — not in its traditional form, but in its contemporary form. And that’s the question,” she says. “Everyone wants to see how the new generation will present the Saudi song.”  

Kayan is currently working on a new concept album of Saudi electronic music, she says, adding that her ultimate dream as an artist is connection.  

“Sometimes, music is a friend. Sometimes, it’s a healer. Sometimes, it is magic. To me, it is not an escape — but it can be,” Kayan says. “On a personal level, I always dreamed that if I felt something beautiful and I played it and I felt its beauty, I would love for someone else to feel that beauty.” 


Hear them out: The best Arab alternative albums of 2025 

Updated 25 December 2025
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Hear them out: The best Arab alternative albums of 2025 

  • Bojan Preradovic’s pick of records released by indie artists from the Arab world this year 

Saint Levant 

‘Love Letters’ 

With his sophomore LP, the Palestinian artist matures from viral breakout to more vulnerable, multilingual pop and R&B, shaping a compact set of love songs with a firmly Palestinian center. He braids sleek synths, North African grooves, and earworm melodies into pieces that drift between late-night infatuation and clear-eyed reflections on home, distance, and belonging. “DALOONA,” a collaboration with Shamstep pioneers 47Soul, and “KALAMANTINA,” featuring Egyptian rap star Marwan Moussa, both lean into joyful release, while “EXILE” sits with the emotional cost of separation and absence. “Love Letters” threads romance, memory, and identity into understated, exceedingly replayable art. 

 

Zeyne 

‘Awda’ 

Rising Palestinian-Jordanian star Zeyne uses her debut LP to alchemize the last few years of upheaval and her meteoric ascent into a 13-track map of who she is and where she comes from. Folding contemporary R&B and pop into playful rhythms, dabke pulses, and Arabic melodic turns, she sings of home, pressure, and stubborn hope on tracks that feel both diaristic and cinematic. The record shifts between tenderness, unease, and quiet celebration, while guest appearances from Saint Levant and Bayou mix perfectly with the record’s unique flavors rather than overpowering them. This is an exhilarating, soul-searching foray into Arabic alt-pop that treats vulnerability and pride as two sides of the same coin. 

 

Yasmine Hamdan 

‘I remember I forget’  

A quietly piercing LP from the indie icon about what we choose to carry and what we try to erase. Recorded with her trusted musical confidant Marc Collin, the album folds muted electronics, trip-hop beats, oud, and Arabic strings into songs in which personal memory, folk echoes, and her country’s never-ending tumult blur into one. Album closer “Reminiscence” lets the record fade like a long-held breath, reminding us that Hamdan is still one of the few artists capable of molding private anxieties into a shared, luminous language.  

 

Kazdoura

 ‘Ghoyoum’ 

The Toronto-based duo’s debut weaves a story of migration and fracture into a quietly dazzling Arabic fusion record. Vocalist Leen Hamo and multi-instrumentalist John Abou Chacra root everything in Levantine maqams, then let the songs drift toward jazz, psychedelia, and dream pop without ever losing sight of the tarab they grew up on. From the yearning of opener “Marhaba Ahlen” and the fiery feminist chant of “Ya Banat” to the reworked folk of “Hmool El Safar” and the woozy sway of “Khayal” and “Titi Titi,” they sculpt homesickness, resilience, and slow healing into something genuinely transformative. 

 

Tamara Qaddoumi  

‘The Murmur’ 

On her first full-length album, Tamara Qaddoumi stretches the trip-hop and shadowy pop universe she explored on 2021’s EP “Soft Glitch” into a deeper, intensely moving world. Written with longtime collaborator Antonio Hajj, and produced by indie mainstay Fadi Tabbal, “The Murmer” leans on low-end throb, smoldering synths, and incisive guitar lines that feel both intimate and vast. Her voice hovers between confession and spell, circling questions of identity, grief, and attachment that evoke her own hybrid Kuwaiti, Palestinian, Lebanese, and Scottish heritage. The result is a delightfully cobwebby, absorbing LP that lingers long after it ends. 

 

Sanam 

‘Sametou Sawtan’ 

Recorded between Beirut, Byblos, and Paris, “Sametou Sawtan” – Arabic for “I heard a voice” – is a poignant, unsettled collision of noise rock, free jazz, and Arabic folk that fizzes with tension. Produced by Radwan Ghazi Moumneh, the eight tracks by the art-rock sextet are anchored by Sandy Chamoun’s remarkable vocals, which move from murmured prayer to visceral intensity, drawing on classical Arabic poetry and prose and her own lyrics to inhabit figures who are bewildered, grieving, or stubbornly alive. From the opening surge of “Harik” to the slow burn of “Hamam,” Sanam distill personal and collective unease into work that’s urgent, physical, and impossible to ignore. This is an act on the precipice of wider, global renown.  


Nabeel 

 

‘Ghayoom’  

On “Ghayoom,” the Iraqi-American songwriter — real name Yasir Razak — firmly plants the flag of an audacious musical explorer venturing across roads less traveled. He sings in Arabic over a wall of distorted guitars and slowcore drums, enveloped by captivating, shoegaze-colored soundscapes. The artwork, built from worn family photographs, hints at what the music is chasing. These eight tracks pair devotional tenderness with the grit of DIY rock. Opener “Resala” aches with unsent words; “Khatil” hits with uneasy momentum; while the elegant flicker of pop-tinged moments scattered throughout the album maintain a raw and bruised edge.  

 

Malakat 

Al Anhar Wal Oyoon 

On its first showcase, Jordan-based label Malakat gathers seven Arab woman artists and enables them to pull in seven different directions that end up flowing as a single current. “Al Anhar Wal Oyoon” (‘The Rivers and the Springs’), moves from Intibint’s hauntingly inspired vocalization to Liliane Chlela’s serrated electronics, and from Sukkar and DAL!A’s skewed pop to Sandy Chamoun’s voice-led piece, and Bint Mbareh’s closing track, developed in dialogue with visionary producer Nicolas Jaar. Mixed across Amman, the UK, and New York, and mastered by the highly-sought-after Heba Kadry, this is a deeply textured statement of intent from a label quietly redrawing the map of experimental Arab music.