“Neera” (Innova Recordings) is a fascinating musical journey into a distant world, undertaken by the two Iranian-born artists Sarvin Hazin and Kimia Hesabi on their debut album. It is a return to their Persian roots, which they translate into music in a lyrical and deeply moving way. The album is more than just a collection of sounds – it is a multimedia project that weaves together cultures and musical worlds.
The name Neera, which comes from ancient Persian languages and means “to bring light,” reflects the artists’ intention to make that meaning come alive in their work. Their music celebrates the strength of Iranian women who have remained true to their authenticity and courage in a society that tried to define them. Through a blend of Western and Iranian instruments, enriched with electronic sounds, a unique musical language emerges—one that is deeply rooted in tradition while boldly crossing boundaries.
In their conversation with Michael Ternai, the two musicians speak about the idea behind their joint project, the elusive style of their music, and the influence of the 2022 protest movement “Woman, Life, Freedom” in Iran, as well as how its brutal suppression affected the mood and sound of the album.
How and when did this project begin?
Sarvin Hazin: We actually met during our undergraduate studies in Tehran—we studied together at the same university. Around that time, I moved to Vienna to continue my studies at the University of Music, and Kimia moved to Washington for the same reason. We stayed in touch throughout the years—maybe not very intensely, but we never really lost contact.
During the pandemic, we began communicating more regularly again, writing to each other and having long conversations over Zoom. We talked about everything—our lives, our experiences, our music. And at some point, the idea came up that we could actually create something together musically—something of our own. Until then, we had mostly performed compositions by others. But we wanted to write our own pieces. So we started with improvisations, and gradually that led to composing.
Kimia Hesabi: We’ve been really close friends since 2009. It was one of those connections that just felt
right from the very first day at university. Our friendship has lasted all these years—I think partly because of how many parallels there are in our interests and in our lives.
And as Sarvin mentioned, our conversations during the pandemic became deeper and more intense—they increasingly focused on our identities and our personal journeys as women doing similar things, even though we had taken different paths. We realized how much we actually have in common, and how many experiences we had both gone through—many of which we had never really shared with each other, despite being such close friends.
That time of isolation during COVID somehow made us more open, more willing to share deeply. Out of those conversations came the idea that it would be beautiful to create something together. I think it was part of that longing we all felt during the pandemic—everyone was disconnected, and we craved closeness. We began imagining how amazing it would be to collaborate, and started dreaming of ways we could create something together.
And I think because we both share a deep interest in our musical heritage, and have a classical background rooted in the music of our homeland, it all very naturally led us back to the place where everything began for us.
Did focusing on your shared heritage help you break musical boundaries and integrate different influences into your work?
Kimia Hesabi: Although we were trained in Western classical music and have explored many different genres, that heritage was always like a foundation for us—a place we returned to when reflecting on our inspirations, ideas, and the people who shaped us.
These conversations naturally led us to talk more deeply about those who had truly influenced our lives—especially women. And that became a central pillar of this project: telling the stories of women who had a profound impact on us.
You just mentioned that you both have a classical background and studied classical Iranian music. How difficult was it for you to step out of that context and enter a more stylistically open musical world? What were the challenges in merging different musical languages – jazz, folklore, and classical Iranian music – into one?
Sarvin Hazin: That’s a really good question. I think we started by focusing on the people who had influenced us, and then we reflected on how they had affected our lives. From there, we began to improvise. We tried to express our feelings about these people and their stories through a musical language. That was the point where we began letting go of genres and fixed structures. We just played and tried to find what best captured the essence and meaning of these individuals for us.
That was the moment when we began to play anything that felt possible for us. And of course, Iranian music had a strong influence as well. Even though Kimia and I were classically trained, we both grew up with a lot of traditional Iranian music through our families. In Kimia’s family, for example, there are several musicians. So traditional Iranian and folk music is a part of who we are.
One piece of feedback we received after the album was released was that listeners never know what’s coming next—because the music feels like a puzzle made of many parts. And that’s exactly what it is—just like us, like all of us. None of us are one-dimensional.
Kimia Hesabi: It’s exactly as Sarvin described. Even though most of our professional work has taken place within the framework of Western classical or contemporary classical music, and we play instruments from that culture and tradition, music has always been a deep part of our lives—long before we entered academia. Making music was always essential.
For me, it felt like we were digging into something that had always existed inside us. And as Sarvin said, we didn’t really think about what kind of music we were making along the way. Whatever came out in that moment was simply what it needed to be. So I don’t think we can say, “This part is Iranian” or “This part is something else.” It’s more like a collection of sounds that define us and have been part of our journey.
We simply peeled back the layers of the onion and reached the core—and everything came from there. Of course, there were some moments we discussed more intentionally, where we wanted a particular sound. But overall, since everything emerged through storytelling and described these women and their characters, it felt like the sound found us, rather than the other way around.
Another interesting aspect of your album is that you both play classical instruments, but place them in a completely new context. They sound more experimental—not as polished, a bit raw and edgy…
Sarvin Hazin: That’s true—on some tracks, we very intentionally used a rougher, more undefined sound from our instruments. A good example is the piece “We Were Seeds.” You might know the quote that inspired the title: “They tried to bury us, but they didn’t know we are seeds.” It’s a poetic line that speaks of resilience—and it really moved us.
We began working on the album in 2021. The first part was recorded in Vienna during the summer of 2022—around July or August. Shortly after that, the “Woman, Life, Freedom” movement broke out in Iran, and it affected us deeply on an emotional level.
We actually already had a plan in place for the second part of the album—but the events in Iran changed everything.
How did the events in Iran influence your music? Did they steer the creative process in a particular direction?
Sarvin Hazin: A year later, in 2023, we recorded the second part of the album in Washington, D.C.—and you can clearly hear the difference. “We Were Seeds” was created during this second recording session. That track reflects what we were feeling at the time: it’s raw, mournful, and emotionally charged. For us, it wasn’t just a musical process—it was a way to process what was happening, to respond to it, and to engage with it on a deeper level.
Kimia Hesabi: You can really feel the contrast between the “before” and “after.” I know we composed all the pieces together, but when I listen to the album now, I’m still amazed at how we managed to piece everything together like a puzzle.
For example, if you listen to “Zar”—which was recorded in Vienna—it feels incredibly delicate and intimate to me, rooted in very personal stories from both of us. But then, if you compare it to “We Were Seeds,” which carries a deep sense of grief and has a noticeably darker tone, you can clearly sense how much the emotional journey changed.
At some point, working on these tracks became a form of grieving for us. I remember how we were constantly following the news during the recording process. It was a very dark time. Even though we weren’t physically in Iran, everything felt painfully close. One way we stayed connected was by constantly sending each other videos: “Have you seen this?” “Do you know this song?”
Many of these videos featured folk melodies or lullabies sung by women—as expressions of mourning for children or loved ones lost in the events unfolding in Iran. These songs and the way these women channeled their grief through music touched us deeply. They felt incredibly raw and authentic, but at the same time were filled with strength, resilience, and hope.
Somehow, all of that became an unconscious source of inspiration. I remember us having this moment: “Have you ever heard something like this before?”—and neither of us had. It was a melody we’d never heard before, but it was so profoundly moving.
It was almost as if this collective mourning through music became a tool for us as well—something that helped us process our own pain, and at the same time gave us the courage to express it. That shaped the sound of the second half of the album very strongly.
For me, it feels like I couldn’t have played it any other way. When I pick up my instrument today and play that melody, there’s no clean, well-defined, perfect tone—it just comes out like that. Because in that moment, it’s not just me playing. It’s a feeling that’s physically present in my body and simply flows through me.
You could say that everything happening around us inspired the project and elevated our collaboration to an entirely new level.
So the album is also musically divided into two parts. The events in Iran in 2022 had a profound impact on the music in the second half and noticeably shaped the sound. What were the main sources of inspiration for the first part, which was recorded in Vienna?
Sarvin Hazin: At the beginning of the project, we were inspired by well-known progressive Iranian poets, singers, and writers. But it wasn’t only these public figures—we also drew inspiration from everyday people, like our grandmothers or strong women who stood up for their rights.
Iranian artists have increasingly become part of the cultural scenes in other countries. Just look at the music scene in Austria: Golnar Shahyar, Mona Matbou Riahi, and Rojin Sharafi – all outstanding musicians whose work goes far beyond music itself. They raise their voices when it comes to injustice.
Sarvin Hazin: In our generation in Iran, simply being a musician can already be considered an act of resistance—especially as a woman. Art and music have always been tools for us to resist injustice. But that injustice didn’t end with emigration—it merely changed form. It manifests differently here than it does in Iran. But even in our new home, as musicians with migrant backgrounds, we still have to fight for justice and for the right to be ourselves within the cultural landscape.
Kimia Hesabi: Exactly. And I would add that one thing we’ve come to realize more clearly—although the events of 2022 obviously had a strong influence on our album—is that we had already been talking about women before that. From the very beginning of our conversations, we spoke about ourselves as women and about the journey we’ve taken.
When you look at history, it’s fascinating to see that there have always been women around the world who stood out. And in Iran too—like Sindocht, a figure from a mystical tale thousands of years old. There aren’t many women mentioned in those ancient stories, but she stands out as a very diplomatic and powerful character who is able to prevent wars through her wisdom and through the way she conducts herself. That kind of figure is definitely a part of our culture.
Your music has a very cinematic quality. It almost sounds like a soundtrack. Have you ever thought about going in that direction?
Kimia Hesabi: We’re definitely open to that idea, and we find it really interesting. In fact, at the very beginning we even called our project “Neera, a play”, and our composition process was very narrative-driven—with a lot of visual imagination involved. Back then, we envisioned the whole thing more as a theatrical or cinematic piece.
That original vision is still present, because there’s still so much storytelling in the music. When I listen to the album from start to finish, it feels like one continuous narrative—almost like a film. When I close my eyes, I can see it all unfold before me, scene by scene: stories, images, emotions—all the things we talked about during the creative process.
We had countless conversations, read many articles and stories, and constantly shared things that inspired us. All of that forms the core of the project. In addition, there were also influential figures—from our personal lives as well as from the art and culture of our homeland—who shaped us deeply. And we still hope that our future performances can incorporate these narrative, visual, and theatrical elements as well.
Interestingly, several people who listened to the album gave us similar feedback: that it feels like something made for a film. That really makes me happy—because to us, it is a kind of film.
You’ve recently released the album. What are your plans for the project going forward? It feels like it’s something deeply personal to both of you. Where do you want to take it next?
Kimia Hesabi: It’s interesting that you also call it a project—because we’ve very consciously chosen to call it that ourselves. We didn’t just call it an album, because from the beginning, when we started talking, we always had long-term plans. And I think this album is just the first step for us.
We definitely want to perform live and are very much looking forward to bringing it to the stage. I think part of what makes this project special is that, since so much of it was based on improvisation, it could sound completely different live than it does on the album—because there’s so much we can build on and develop further.
I also think that the relationship we’ve had for over a decade—our friendship and our shared desire to work together—will allow us to take this project to the next level.
Thank you very much for the interview.
Michael Ternai
++++