Boshra Alsaadi aka SAADI: “The reality is awful“
Joe Holt, Thomas Venker and Boshra Alsaadi (from left), photographed on the balcony of O-Town House gallery, Los Angeles (Photo: Scott Cameron Weaver)
Recently, I had the pleasure of meeting up with artist Boshra Alsaadi, aka SAADI, on the sunny balcony of Los Angeles–based art gallery and social hub O-Town House. We had a wide-ranging conversation that delved into her journey as a solo artist – before Boshra co-fronted the indie rock band Looker and TEEN, where she played bass and provided vocals; additionally, she collaborated with Janka Nabay and the Bubu Gang –, the creative process behind her debut album „SAADI“ (co-produced by Chris Coady), the challenges of today’s music industry, and the evolving role of platforms like Bandcamp. We also reflected more broadly on topics such as music consumption, artistic integrity, and the growing impact of technology—especially AI—on the arts. Boshra generously shared deeply personal experiences alongside wider industry insights, touching on everything from cultivating artistic confidence to navigating the economics of music in the digital age.
Later in the conversation, Bandcamp co-founder Joe Holt joined us to explore with us what it means for artists to navigate today’s digital landscape. We of course also discussed Bandcamp’s trajectory—from its acquisition by Epic Games, which promised to support the company’s own ambitious plans but ultimately lacked the financial commitment to see them through, to its subsequent sale to Songtradr as that transition led to the discontinuation of key features like Bandcamp Daily, the platform’s editorial arm that had championed independent artists and labels.
But don’t just take my word for it—read on and hear it from them directly.
Boshra, since you played and toured a lot with bands before, why did you choose to go solo?
Boshra Alsaadi: I had to stop touring about four years ago because I have a form of muscular dystrophy, and touring became untenable and too physically demanding. I was in a lot of bands up until that point, including Looker, Teen, and Janka Nabay and the Bubu Gang. Then Janka passed away unexpectedly. It was tragic and shocking and definitely wrecked my world. Playing with Janka was such an education, musically and otherwise. Meeting him altered the course of my life, as did his passing. That, in conjunction with my diagnosis getting worse, compelled me to pursue my solo project, which was always percolating, and start painting again.
Also, I was in New York for a really long time (27 years) and feeling stagnant. I started coming to LA a lot after my friend Nick Thorburn introduced me to Chris Coady. At the time, I was enrolled at CUNY for biology because I had disavowed music right before the pandemic, gotten in, and was doing hard sciences. Coming to LA, doing it all online, and listening to Chris work on amazing records while I was working on my physics labs made me think, ‘Wait a minute, what am I doing?’ My alternate life as a scientist is a funny fantasy, and I would actually do pretty well. But I got back into music after what felt like a painful separation, through all these things that were happening concurrently.
So you chose a New York person in LA. I say that because I met Chris originally in New a few years ago before he moved to LA.
Boshra Alsaadi: Yeah, I did it a decade after him! He very accurately predicted that the change of location would reinvigorate me. I loved living in New York, my musical world there was really rich, but I got inspired out here creatively too, because there was an open door mentally for me to work on my own. There are a lot of things that I do well that I always did in the back seat, in terms of production, songwriting, arrangement, and sonically—I like to mix music too. I think, I was never confident enough to do it without the collaborative structure of a band to keep me up. Now I trust my instinct and my ear.
Chris Coady (Photo: Boshra Alsaadi)
So the songwriting is 100% you, and he’s the producer?
Boshra Alsaadi: We co-wrote “Hollow Body“, which just came out. I wrote the rest of the album, recorded most of it on my computer, and Chris would recommend different synths and sounds and leave me to my own devices. It was amazing. I was very lucky to be in that situation, and he was generous with his knowledge and time.
We were writing beats every night for fun, and we decided, “Let’s do a pop song without being self-conscious,” because I love pop music unapologetically at this point. Our inspiration song was Cyndi Lauper’s “Time After Time.”
Chris put down the progression and programmed a beat, then I wrote the bass line, and we went back and forth about a vocal melody. It was an easy birth. When we got the guitar on there—he has a Stratocaster, and I love playing guitar—it really pushed the song into its own world.
All the other songs on the record I wrote and recorded myself, some in my old apartment in the East Village in New York, some in a cottage in Vermont, some in an Airbnb in Joshua Tree, some at Valis, Chris’s studio in Glendale. At one point we spent a day at Rosen Sound in LA—shout out to Stephi Duckula!—and recorded bits and pieces using these incredibly rare analogue synths.
Rosen Sound (Photo: Chris Coady)
One of the nice things about not touring is that it gives you more time to invest in your community. As much as you loved living in New York, being on the road so often meant missing out on the connections and opportunities happening back home—you just weren’t there when things were unfolding. That’s a real upside of staying off tour.
On the flip side, the era we’re living in now is very different from, say, the ’90s. Back then, you could imagine eventually stepping back from the stage and still making a living through record sales or production work. These days, that’s much harder. For most artists, being on stage has become essential to sustaining a career, don’t you think?
Boshra Alsaadi: There’s no revenue from anywhere any more! Even touring is not really lucrative for middle class artists. Getting a song placed in a film or show used to be, but those are hard to get and pay less now. Record sales are a thing of the past, and streaming is insane: 0.0037 cents per stream. It’s touring. And touring is really expensive. It’s only worth it if you have a big enough audience.
You often hear that you need to reach a certain level to really make it. A friend of mine who books major festivals once said that shows with fewer than 1,200 people just don’t work. But honestly, most of the gigs I go to are way smaller than that. It feels pretty intense when people put it like that. In that context, how do you navigate that kind of pressure? What’s your strategy for building a sustainable path without necessarily hitting those numbers?
Boshra Alsaadi: You either have another job or you’re born into wealth. Everyone has a side hustle that’s actually their main hustle financially. Mine was photo retouching for a long time because I have a background in art and photography. I guess my strategy is that I still do it.
Definitely a field where AI is bringing a lot of change.
Boshra Alsaadi: My work has dried up over the last eight months. I’m pretty sure it’s AI related. It brings its curses and blessings. I made an AI video for one of my singles and I animated my own paintings and and medieval works of art—I enjoyed the process.
But that’s a dialogue within your own art. That’s different.
Boshra Alsaadi: Is it? Oh, thank you.
I use it for corrections because English isn’t my native language, so I need a bit of help. I usually ask my English friend, but I tend to write long pieces, and he sometimes finds them too lengthy. When I ask AI, I always have to say, “Keep the idiosyncratic style of Thomas Venker.” I still consider it my own writing—I’m the one who writes it—I just want someone to help clean up the rough edges.
Boshra Alsaadi: It’s a tool referencing your own aesthetic.
Right. But if I were to ask it to write an entire piece, then it wouldn’t be a tool anymore. And why should I? We’re not in this for the money—we’re in it because we love the creative process, right?
Boshra Alsaadi: Right! There are growing pains happening with it. It is inevitable and problematic. But I also try to imagine a utopia where machines do jobs that humans don’t want to do, and everyone has… what’s the acronym for universal income? UBI? This is a non-capitalist utopia, so perhaps it seems quaint right now, but there is a context which is not a sci-fi matrix; it can be used and perceived as a tool instead of an autonomous force that will crush us all.
But for now, we have the opposite. Rents are getting more expensive.
Boshra Alsaadi: The reality is awful.
Food costs are getting insane, and travel is getting more expensive. Artists are facing the existential question, “How do we make enough money to keep our art going?”
Boshra Alsaadi: The age old struggle…there’s obviously a lot of hardship in the arts. It’s also hard for subversive art to be made right now. Enter side hustle. Or patron. Or individual wealth. Or….Bandcamp!
Do you get the sense that Bandcamp, especially through initiatives like Bandcamp Fridays during the pandemic, has shifted how people engage in the digital world with music? It’s not just about streaming anymore; it’s about making the conscious decision to buy.
For example, even though I’m not particularly attached to digital files, I started purchasing them to support artists. It’s the act of being a conscientious fan. I used to buy a lot of vinyl—I have a huge collection—and while it’s wonderful to have that physical presence, at home, I mostly play digital music. Sometimes we’ll play records, but honestly, it’s rare to go through the effort of pulling out 100 records and listening to them for the entire night.
The act of buying music now feels like a way to ensure that the ecosystem survives. If you don’t support it, it might not be there anymore. I feel like more and more people are starting to realize this, and that number is growing.
Boshra Alsaadi: I think there’s a small group of audiophiles and true fans who are aware of how important it can be to an artist for fans to engage in that way. Most of the population, if you give them a cheaper and quicker version of something, they’re going to seize it without thinking twice. That’s a result of the commodification of music or a cheapening of its worth, even though the creative core is what people are consuming. It’s the creators…
I mentioned Bandcamp because I met Joe Holt, one of the co-founders, here on the balcony of O-Town House gallery last week. Do you consider this your community here in Los Angeles?
Boshra Alsaadi: Yeah, he is part of this amazing community that has saved me. I love it here.
SAADI (Photo: Chris Coady)
Since when are you coming here?
Boshra Alsaadi: Since 2023. My good friend Peter Tomka, a talented photographer here in LA, brought me here for a Martini Friday hang, and introduced me to Scott Cameron Weaver, who runs O-Town House—and I had the best time. It turns out Scott and I have tons of overlap because he went to Oberlin with the musicians that were in the Bubu Gang with me back in New York. Every time I’m on this balcony, odds are I will meet someone who will change my life dramatically. Everyone’s cool. It’s a diverse range of artists. They’re all killing it and have interesting things to say, with no pretense. And Scott is a consummate host.
Everything is connected.
Boshra Alsaadi: All the worlds you have been cultivating for decades eventually intersect if you keep going. For me, it has been a long time, and I love seeing things or people come back around who are still doing it and still engaged, in spite of it all, in spite of how hard it is now. Because it’s hard now. Unless you come from a lot of money, it’s harder than ever.
True. These days, most artists or bands seem to come from money or established connections. It’s rare to find someone who isn’t tied to early art education, artistic connections, or parents with resources. This shift is troubling because, back in the ’80s, when I started listening to music, it was normal to see working-class artists and bands. There was a time when it felt possible to have no connections and still break into the scene.
Boshra Alsaadi: You can see that shift very clearly in the musical economy of LA. Without that head start, there are different strategies people born into the digital age have to adopt. You have to have an avatar representing yourself out there and wear so many hats. Or you don’t, or you skip that whole system and have a more peaceful state of mind while you do something else to survive.
Let’s go back to the economics of digital music distribution today. Does it have to do with people having a preference for things they can get for free versus things they have to pay for? Everyone, especially in a city like Los Angeles, spends so much on food and drinks. You see it when they go out—they have no problem with spending. But if you ask them to buy an album for $12, it’s a different story. You just parked your car for $15 and ordered a $7 coffee….
Boshra Alsaadi: We have come to expect that music is cheap or free.
We talked so much about community, music structures, and business. Let’s talk about your music. I love your single “Hollow Body“ – and also the video which you half filmed here and half in Frog Town.
Boshra Alsaadi: Thank you! It was a joint effort of a lot of cool people I met here.
I wonder: why are you not in the clip yourself?
Boshra Alsaadi: This is a conversation I keep having about my image.
With whom?
Boshra Alsaadi: Industry friends, labels, people who want me to put myself out there more. “You’ve got to put your face on this.” I’m a retoucher, so I have kind of grown tired of that idea. I’m also a portrait painter, and I’ve been doing a lot of paintings relating to the record. I wanted to create a deeper connection to the album through the narrative of stained glass, using it as a storytelling medium. But still, my face is in all the press shots!
“Hollow Body” (Still: Rahul Biruly)
Sure, but not in the clip.
Boshra Alsaadi: The video tells a story through dance and I am no dancer. After so much involvement in the record it felt freeing to have someone else express the sentiment of the song.
I listened to an interview with Joni Mitchell where the label was demanding she use her face instead of one of her paintings for an album cover. She said, “I don’t want to put my face on it. They’re always hounding me to put my face on it!”
That’s how you do marketing, right? They’re correcting your face, and then they’re correcting…
Boshra Alsaadi: I’m correcting my own face. I’m a retoucher so it’s inevitable. My response in the past was to buy into the whole idea, buy products, and try to look young, even as I was the one doing the retouching. Then I realized —this is a racket! Once I got past that point, it was like, ‘Bring on wrinkles.’ I don’t care anymore. I can’t spend that mental energy on it. It’s wasted energy.
This painting-by-numbers idea—that’s the clue how you do it—is not how it is, right? Somebody wrote that rule, and now we are following that rule. Like with Beth Ditto, I read this interview. She said when she was starting off, everybody looked at her like, ‘This is not going to work because you’re not what the audience expects.’ Then, ‘Oh wow, I have a number one hit.’ The audience didn’t mind. Why are you talking about this? Why are you giving this fuel?
In the video, there’s this couple. As the songwriter, how does it feel to see your words and music paired with their story? We often assume that a song reflects the songwriter’s own perspective or experience, but then these visual interpretations—like the couple in the video—add a new layer. Was it something you had to get used to, seeing someone else’s narrative placed onto your lyrics?
Boshra Alsaadi: I was all smiles that day of the shoot because they listened to the song, truly listened to it. I had seen them dance before; they have been dancing together for over a decade. There’s a connection—and it’s mostly improvisation! They have improvised together so much that it’s like watching an amazing jazz band. It’s a pleasure to watch. They tuned into the idea of the pursuit of something elusive or unavailable creating a feedback loop. They drove it home. Editing was hard because there was too much gold.
The beautiful thing is it’s not just the movements, it’s also the physiognomy: the way they look, the way their eyes move. A lot is going on, and a lot of feeling is transported by that.
Boshra Alsaadi: I got lucky with those two—Gretchen Ackerman and Alejandro Perez. Madeleine Woolner, the director, took me to see them perform, and it was clear: this is the video, those two are the video. They’re incredible. Later they told us half their show was improv. The video made itself.
How challenging was it for you to find your own voice as a songwriter after spending so much time collaborating and being part of bands? Are you someone who listens to a lot of other music and draws from your influences? Or are you more the opposite—someone who needs to block everything out and go into a kind of me, myself, and I tunnel to really connect with your own sound?
Boshra Alsaadi: I listen to so much eclectic music except when I’m writing, and then I don’t really want anything leaking in or out of my world. Then it’s a tunnel into myself, informed by everything I have heard before. I’ve always thought like a songwriter, written, and produced in my own way, and had ideas—sometimes voiced, sometimes not. When I gave voice to those ideas I started to realize my strengths. I want to be a sponge for what’s around me because I’m working in exhausted tropes, but I love them. There’s still room for exciting things within them, and I love working within limitations. Too many options often overwhelm me creatively. The confidence I had in the last three or four years to lean into whatever tendency I’m having musically and not judge anything, not censor myself… I can always not use it. Having some facility with audio engineering also makes it easy to get ideas down to the point where you can tell if you like them or not. That’s purely a confidence thing. Seeing how people react when I am true to myself has been revelatory.
You mentioned your tropes—how do you feel about them in relation to the music itself? In pop music, there’s often this unspoken rule that lyrics shouldn’t go too deep, that there needs to be a certain lightness or accessibility for people to connect quickly. How do you navigate that tension between sound and words—between emotional or lyrical depth and the ease that pop music is often expected to have?
Boshra Alsaadi: That tension for me plays out especially within pop music. The universality of the pop trope, the pop idiom, the biological reaction to those progressions and sentiments that we all have… I dropped my snobbery about all of it. I think there’s still room to be interesting. But there is a tension I have always encountered, especially in the indie world, when things get too relatable or too obvious or conventional—to look down on it artistically. I don’t feel that way. Tuning into a universal thing or writing a pop hit is not easy.
It’s not. Maybe that’s the reason we always have 10 or 20 names now on every pop song, which is also a weird development of the last decade, right?
Boshra Alsaadi: Yeah, that… what do they call it? Interpolation.
A lot of artists do it, and it’s a form of sampling, honestly. All those names are there because you’re acknowledging the all the creative input that went in. It’s like making a film—it’s a collaborative effort to make a giant hit. When you listen to those songs, they feel good.It might seem trivial if you’re not a writer, but collaborating can be an amorphous thing, especially when it’s remote. Ideas spark other ideas, and the initial spark might have come from someone not credited. I have seen fights over authorship destroy bands and collaborations. It’s important to acknowledge it, have the long list of writers, enjoy the music, and keep making songs. It’s easy to say when I don’t have a song with billions of streams generating revenue for people to fight over but I have no problem with acknowledging authorship no matter how small the contribution.
You mentioned Cyndi Lauper as an example of great pop — her music is loud in a deliberate way. It’s all about spectacle. It’s bombastic, unashamedly bright.
Your album isn’t bombastic; it feels like someone put a filter over it. The colors are still there — vivid, even — but almost overexposed, like sunlight bleached them just enough to blur the edges.
Boshra Alsaadi: Like stained glass, maybe?
You chose that twist on the aesthetic which makes it your version of pop music.
Boshra Alsaadi: I did. I was deliberate because Chris’s sound is saturated, beautiful, and shimmering, technical but emotional. The mastering engineer, Randy Merrill, works with artists like Chappell Roan and Adele, creating big sounds for a huge audience. And I wanted that tension. I wanted what you’re describing. Half of those recordings are through my little Apollo interface. Some are through a board, but there’s a lot of toy guitars recorded in a cottage with a crappy mic. I wanted that element too, of down-home music-making, but with a sonic force behind it. I’m so pleased with how it came out.
How did the mastering process with Randy Merrill go? Was it more of a back-and-forth dialogue where you made adjustments together, or did you mostly trust his instincts and run with his suggestions? And how did you end up working with him in the first place?
Boshra Alsaadi: We both worked at an arts camp together in Pennsylvania in the 90’s; I was there as a painting teaching assistant, and he was there as a live sound engineer. He went on to become this incredible top-tier mastering engineer. He mastered Taylor Swift’s “Midnights” and I loved the way it sounded, so I asked him if he remembered me and if he would want to master the album. He very graciously said yes! I think he was also excited to work on Chris’s mixes. There were barely any notes; he did a beautiful job.
You were happy with what he suggested.
Boshra Alsaadi: Yes! He works transparently, letting the mix be itself while pushing it into this other realm. He did his thing.
It’s a big thing to understand letting people do their thing.
Boshra Alsaadi: That’s why they are there!
Janka Nabay Bubu Gang
Pairing those two elements together sonically felt like a deliberate choice. In traditional pop music, there was often a balance between the narrative and the sound spectrum — a sense of space. But nowadays, things have shifted; everything feels closer, tighter. If you take Taylor Swift’s recent album, for example — and I say this critically — a lot of the songs sound quite similar. Do you feel like you’re trying to swim free of that? To resist staying in a narrow lane, sonically or structurally?
Boshra Alsaadi: It’s not quite that deliberate. I can’t help but be really eclectic because of my own tapestry of inspiration and growing up with Arabic music, western pop music, then West African music with Janka. It could be interesting to limit the scope of an album, if it’s what people were looking for, giving them the constant stream of the one thing. It could also be sabotaging in the sense that my idea is to communicate and transport a wider perspective, Trojan horsing it through pop music. That’s my MO with all of this.
The idea of the songs on the album having a kaleidoscopic perspective about it.
Boshra Alsaadi: Yes. I operate that way because I have such a wide range of references to hold my attention. Culturally, we’re in a remix era where all these genres get cycled. It used to be every 25 years something would resurface; now it’s 10 to 15 years. The things that resurface are then getting resampled. The silver lining is that I don’t have to commit to one vibe for a song. That was another thing I fought for a long time: is this too eclectic? Because all my music is like that; it’s from everywhere.
Boshra Alsaadi (Photo: Joe Holt)
The playlists of the kids are eclectic. They are not…
Boshra Alsaadi: And the artists they listen to also. Taylor Swift, her catalog is very eclectic in terms of genre, maybe not within a record, but between records. Or someone like Beyoncé, each album is a work of art unto itself and doesn’t adhere… or David Bowie. There’s a long list! Artists that evolve, grow out of that mentality of maintaining this uniform thing that you’re known for. That’s my instinct: to cull from dramatically different places. Melodies and earworms pop into my brain or don’t leave me alone. Sometimes I’m like, “Oh, you’re corny.” Then it keeps coming back. “I’m going to put you down in a demo. If you still annoy me in six months, then I’ll forget about you.”
(Joe Holt joins us on the O-Town House balcony)
Boshra Alsaadi: Or maybe in 20 years I’ll listen back and think, “Oh, you weren’t annoying at all.”
That actually feels like a good point to bring Joe into the conversation — because you can speak to how that kind of long-term perspective fits into digital distribution. I always had the sense that, for a while, the advice was: release more singles, skip the album — because listeners just want a ‘moment’ or a hit. Especially with how streaming works. But with Bandcamp, it feels different — the album still matters, right?
Joe Holt: Yeah, it’s a different mentality. It’s a more analog mentality.
Boshra Alsaadi: Just talking about music being kaleidoscopic and coming through the pop or indie music idiom.
Do you think it’s true that pop music can only transport a one-trick-pony image of an artist?
Boshra Alsaadi: No, I don’t think so. Not if the artist endures.
When it comes to current mainstream pop music, I often think about what people are really taking from it. Even if an album has a whole kaleidoscope of narratives, most listeners tend to narrow it down to just one or two. They don’t dive deep; they just want a simple explanation. For example, when people think of Lana Del Rey, they often label her as this ‘sad girl’ who’s constantly depressed and hanging out on the beach. But that’s just one facet — there’s so much more to her music.
I feel like that’s a big part of the problem with how we consume music today. People just want a quick, easy explanation. And that’s why special spaces matter — places where music isn’t just serving as instant gratification. This is something I struggle with, especially with playlists. I’m not a playlist listener; I’m an album listener. Playlists are like going to a candy store, picking up a little moment here and there. But with albums, you engage with the full experience. You understand where the artist is coming from, like the emotional journey of a whole album. You get the highs and lows, and it’s deeper.
Same goes with the social media presence, instead of talking about their art, artists seem to have to share so much private stuff, like beach photos and food nonsense instead of discussing their influences and sharing book and record tips.
Joe Holt: I want both. I want to hear that you went to the beach, but I also want to hear you talk about the bass line you’re working on. If they say go check out this new band, they dig around, they find the good stuff and then say, ‘Listen to this’ or ‘Go to this show.’ The friends that used to make you great mixtapes on cassette.
It could be like that. When an artist asks me when I teach what they should do on social media, I naively always say, ‘Don’t talk about yourself; talk about the stuff which inspires you.’ And they say, ‘Oh, this is awkward.’
Boshra Alsaadi: It is awkward to move beyond the comfort zone of actually making the music. But people appreciate the glimpse beyond your songs.
Joe Holt: I bet a week doesn’t go by that you hear about something new that somebody’s suggested to you, that you think, ‘Oh, that was cool.’ If you pass that on. If we all did.
Boshra Alsaadi: I do think this could be a generational thing where people who grew up and were born into it have a certain savvy and are able to chase down funny threads or obscurities and find their people. It’s in a completely different, global, perverse way where the whole world is your palette or encyclopedia or your dig-through. But there’s something about it that I will never understand as an analog baby: being born with that savvy, those neurons, those neural pathways being sophisticated so young, connectivity, dealing with the world audience of thousands to millions to billions instead of your village of 150 people. That changes how you make music; that affects the art making.
All this talk about records and gatekeepers… at the end of the day, as an artist, you have to make something you’re proud of. As soon as you start thinking in these parameters—it helps to rein in a record at the end or go in thinking, ‘This is it, I’m making a record’—but you can also feel trapped. “I can’t put out an EP, I have to put out a record for it to mean anything.” I have considered this path: I finish the song, I mix it, get it mastered, put it out. It has its own art, a story behind it. Next song. I’ve considered that, and my audiophile buddies are horrified and say, “You have to make a record.”
Joe Holt: What do you think of the artists who do that but then release a record of their favorites from that process once a year? I think about the artists who would try that. It was usually very experimental; after some success, they would say, ‘I’m going to release singles for a while.’ Then after a while, ‘There’s some good stuff there. I’ll make an album. I’ll make a record.’ I’m thinking of Robyn. Robyn released Part 1 and Part 2 with what she was working on, and Part 2 even had better versions of Part 1. When those two were done, she came out with the album. It had what she considered the album from all of that. It’s great. I bought all of them. I don’t feel like I was cheated. I got the best; I got it when it came out, and I got her version, for whatever it means, her idea of what the album was from all these songs. It may not have been the songs I would have picked from what she released up to that point, but that’s not the point. There’s value. Even if the artist already has those 30 songs out there in the world, there’s something significant for an artist to then say, ‘Here’s an album of them that has new meaning to me.’
I come from an age where I bought 7-inches. You buy three 7-inches, and later the album came out with the three 7-inches and more songs. I never felt bad about it because I was always happy to have a 7-inch and happy to have an LP. So that’s not the…
Joe Holt: For some music, it may make more sense to put out track after track because you’re doing it with a different purpose. You release a mix so people book you as a DJ or producer, you’re not thinking about a collection. It makes sense to release it right now. Personally, I would love to receive those singles and EPs the instant the artists finish them. And I would feel just as happy to buy the album when that finally came out too, like what you’re talking about.
Also—the album as the ultimate object is a newish concept. It’s weird to be a fan of a band, say, from the ’60s because there were often singles that were never released later on albums, the albums that were released didn’t always have the singles you wanted, and albums came out sporadically. It’s always been the case, you look at mixtapes today, or singles from emerging artists. I don’t know where I’m going with this thought except that the album’s newish, just one way to package your music.
Joe, do you have a last question for Boshra?
Joe Holt: Tell me about your favorite guitar.
Boshra Alsaadi: My favorite guitar is an ES 335 Gibson, which I have in New York. Not in LA. I miss it.
Joe Holt: Oh, it’s a long distance relationship. Where did you get that guitar?
Boshra Alsaadi: In New York City at 30th Street Guitars. I traded in my white Telecaster for the 335.
Joe Holt: Did you already have a few guitars at that point?
Boshra Alsaadi: I had and still have a Dan Electro electric guitar, and an Ovation round-back acoustic guitar that I got when I was 13.
Joe Holt: Is that your first guitar?
Boshra Alsaadi: Yeah.
Joe Holt: Do you still have it?
Boshra Alsaadi: Yeah, I was thinking about selling it. It’s also in New York.
Joe Holt: How can you sell your first guitar!
Boshra Alsaadi: Is that terrible?
Joe Holt: If you don’t have to, it’s terrible. If you have to, then that’s the flow.
Boshra Alsaadi: It’s got a plastic round back. Of its time.
Joe Holt: So you already had some guitars, and you had your eye on this Gibson?
Boshra Alsaadi: I came to it gradually. My 3rd guitar was a salmon colored Fender Jaguar, which I loved. I traded that in for a white Telecaster, which I loved. Then I traded that in for the Gibson 335, which I continue to love.
Joe Holt: How long ago was that?
Boshra Alsaadi: The 335? That was like…17 years ago.
Joe Holt: Do you use it in any of your music videos?
Boshra Alsaadi: I don’t recall, but the white Telecaster is definitely in a video my old band Looker did in New York shot on 16mm film. From 2009! It’s a love letter to NYC, called “After My Divorce.” Back when I used to play slide guitar.
Well, let’s have a close look at this guitar now, I heard there is a video document existing.
Thanks so much to both of you, Boshra, Joe, for sharing your time here with me – and to you (waving to Scott Cameron Weaver) for inviting us over to O-Town House again and again)
Boshra Alsaadi: Thank you for inviting me!
