Interview with Mehdi Aminian

Interview: Ivana Rajič

Forgotten, buried, forbidden, suppressed or displaced: the three-part concert series »Lost Music« presents endangered musical cultures as part of the International Music Festival Hamburg 2026. One of them is the music of the Hazara, one of Afghanistan’s largest ethnic groups – interpreted by Roots Revival under the direction of Mehdi Aminian on May 15 at the Elbphilharmonie.

A few weeks before his concert, the musicologist, composer and ney player took the time to speak about his ensemble and their concert programme.

With your project Roots Revival you bring musical traditions that are rarely heard on international stages into a contemporary concert context. What is the idea behind this project?

Mehdi Aminian: At its core, it’s about creating space—for music, but also for the stories and contexts behind it. This concert at the Elbphilharmonie is part of a larger series in which we focus on musical traditions that are incredibly rich, yet often underrepresented. Each project, we explore a different region or theme in depth.

For me, the starting point is always curiosity and education. I don’t begin with the intention of presenting something on stage—I begin with the desire to understand. I’m interested in topics that I want to know more about myself. I spend months researching, listening, and learning. Only later does the artistic form emerge; it reveals itself through the process.

What is the nature of the collaboration with the musicians who come together from different backgrounds?

We deliberately invite musicians who are open and willing to engage deeply with unfamiliar material. It’s not just about technical skill—it’s about curiosity and commitment. The process usually unfolds over the course of a year. I begin by researching and sharing material with the group—music, but also its cultural, historic, and even political contexts. Then we start listening together, exchanging repertoire, and gradually shaping a shared understanding.

A key step is inviting expert musicians who are deeply rooted in the tradition we are exploring. With them, we enter a much more intensive exchange. They bring knowledge that cannot be accessed otherwise. From there, the process becomes highly collaborative: different members of the ensemble create arrangements, we experiment, we adapt. It’s very much a collective effort.

One of your recent focuses is Hazara music. What led you to this particular tradition?

In previous editions, we looked at various musical traditions within Afghanistan—from Herati music in the west to contemporary interpretations and poetic traditions. The Hazara focus is the most recent chapter in that process.

What is important to me is to approach each of these traditions not as isolated musical forms, but as part of a broader cultural landscape. The Hazara are a minority in Afghanistan who have faced long histories of discrimination and genocide. At the same time, their musical culture is incredibly rich and beautiful.

We are performing with Elaha Soroor, an Hazara-Afghan singer, composer, and activist, and also an incredible jazz musician.

Your work is grounded in research and deep engagement, yet the result is clearly contemporary. How do you navigate the tension between preserving tradition and transforming it?

That’s an ongoing and very complex discussion. There are people who believe traditions should be preserved exactly as they are, and I understand that perspective. But at the same time, what we call »tradition« was itself once an innovation. Culture is never static—it evolves constantly.

For me, the goal is not to reproduce something unchanged, but to understand it deeply and then find a way to connect it to our present moment. That inevitably involves interpretation and transformation. Of course, this approach can be controversial. But I think it’s necessary if we want these traditions to remain alive.

Given that your work constantly moves between different cultural traditions and perspectives, where do you feel a sense of belonging today—and has that notion changed through your musical practice?

That’s a difficult question. »Home« becomes something less fixed. For me, Iran is of course my origin, my family, my childhood memories. But at the same time, it’s also something more abstract—something that exists in literature and poetry.

Living in different places gives you a certain distance and perspective—you can look at things from different angles. In some ways, that also changes how you relate to a culture. You become more aware of it, maybe more consciously connected to certain aspects of it. At the same time, this distance can also be challenging. The idea of »home« and the reality of it are not always the same. But this in-between perspective also shapes how I approach making music in general.

In what way does that in-between perspective shape your music?

It means that I don’t try to fix everything in advance. When I work with musicians, I see the process as something that develops over time rather than something that is fully defined from the beginning. Different musicians bring different perspectives into the process, and that naturally shifts how the music takes shape. It becomes a collective development rather than a fixed composition.

Does improvisation play a role in this process?

Improvisation is always part of what we do, but it’s never imposed. It emerges from the material itself. When we build a program, we first create a kind of skeleton—a structure. And within that structure, certain moments naturally invite improvisation. It’s often those passages that feel particularly powerful or emotionally charged. You sense that this is where something can happen in the moment—where one piece can flow into another, where a connection can be created live on stage.

Sometimes we even involve the audience—asking them for a key, a mood, or a rhythm—and then building something together. That creates a very immediate, shared experience.

You mentioned this idea of creating connections—between pieces, musicians, and also with the audience. How do you experience this in concert spaces that are traditionally associated with Western classical music?

I don’t see a strict boundary between different types of venues. What matters is whether a space allows the music to unfold in the way it needs to. Some types of music require very specific conditions—silence, acoustics, concentration—while others can exist in more informal settings.

What I find encouraging is that audiences are often very open and interested in different genres. Even if the music is unfamiliar, they are willing to listen and engage. And in those moments, you can feel that there is a shared experience.

What role does the concert experience itself play in a time when music is so easily accessible through streaming?

I think live performance creates a different kind of focus. Today, we are exposed to so many things at the same time, and it becomes harder to really go deep into something. With this series, we try to focus—to really spend time with one topic, to explore it in depth. And in a concert, you have that space. You can be present with the music for a longer period of time, you can follow how it develops.

For me, especially through improvisation, there are moments where you are completely in the present. It can even feel like a form of meditation. And I think that kind of experience—this focus, this shared moment—is something very valuable.