You’ve definitely seen Natasha Noorani somewhere recently. Either on stage, on a branded music show, on YouTube, in Forbes, or plastered across a billboard in New York City’s Times Square as part of Spotify’s Equal Pakistan artist of the month. It’s evident that Natasha has arrived.

But the journey to Times Square was many years in the making, and, while it seems that everything Natasha touches becomes ‘chamkeela’ (shiny), the battle has only just begun.

Why do I say ‘battle’? Because, even though women are now (only slightly) better represented in music, being a woman itself is such a task. Add to that being a female performer.

“The last couple of years have seen my journey towards acknowledging and exercising my femininity,” shares Natasha while speaking to Icon.

Based in Lahore, Natasha opted for an online call for this talk with me. Sitting across her laptop, the singer/songwriter sported a winged eyeliner, something that has become her signature look now, and throughout the conversation, Natasha looked every bit the confident, calm star she is now recognised as.

The musician, singer, producer and performer has finally arrived. But it’s been a long and sometimes difficult journey. She reflects back on the melancholy behind her shiny pop, how she got to where she is now and on what the challenges are for women in the music industry…

BEHIND THE SONIC IDENTITY

Despite her love for bright colours, experimentation and collaboration with different genres and artists, and involvement with big, explosive mega-projects such as Boiler Room, Pakistan Super League and Velo Sound Station (VSS), her sonic identity is very calm and gentle.

“If you’re asking what I’m like as a person, then I’m the goofball, the class clown. I can’t take a conversation seriously,” says Natasha, as we probe into what she’s like on an average day. And some of her earlier work, such as Ikeesvi Sadi [21st Century] — with Zahra Paracha as part of Biryani Brothers — shows the sillier side of this singer.

But her lyrics can sometimes be very layered and emotional, even when hidden underneath a bright, shiny video or a faster tempo. Songs such as Faltu Pyaar and Chhorro, show exactly that.

“I can’t write from a place of fiction, every song is deeply personal,” she says. “And so whatever you see in my music is stemming from insecurities that I may have had, that I’m now getting past. I think a lot of my music is primarily for me to heal and get me closure.

“Because there are very few things in life that give us that. So, in this space I can acknowledge the pain, or joy, whichever one it is. And find a space or pocket to place those feelings.”

Comfortable with expressing her vulnerabilities, Natasha reveals that Chhorro isn’t a love song, but actually about a friendship break-up. And Matlabi from her latest album, Ronaq, is about female generational trauma that gets passed on from mother to daughter, and so on.

Natasha always wanted to be a performer, and that becomes evident after looking at her musical trajectory. A master’s degree in ethnomusicology from London’s School of Oriental and African Studies (SOAS), co-founder of the Lahore Music Meet, work on Coke Studio (CS), curating anthems for Pakistan Super League, performing for Boiler Room — it’s safe to say that there is a lot to learn from Natasha regarding music, and what it means to be a woman doing all this.

“I’ve been making music since I was 14, and became part of the industry by my 20s,” she points out.

The transition from behind the mixer to becoming a major mainstream star took a few years and a lot of practical experience. And because Natasha is now calling the shots, it’s easier to create a sonic and visual identity that allows her to be her most authentic self.

“For instance, if I go to a brand who can help me get the views, they might not understand where I’m coming from and, hence, in small things such as styling, or what clothes I wear, I have to think a million times for what is comfortable for me. I’m also not a size zero and I think that makes it harder for people to understand what my personal style is.”

WHERE ARE THE WOMEN IN MUSIC?

My conversation with Natasha inevitably keeps coming back to the position and space for women in music.

Last year, Pakistan’s largest award show platform, Lux Style Awards (LSA) did not have a single female or trans musician nominated for any of the four music categories (LSA later issued a statement clarifying that the nominations were based on the submissions they received on their website).

A quick look at Spotify Pakistan’s top trending songs shows more male singers, CS/VSS have primarily male performers (the house band is almost exclusively male), there is an obvious pay gap between men and women, there is almost no representation of trans women, and accusations of sexual harassment pop up every now and then — the list could go on.

“I think women are doing phenomenally well right now,” says Natasha. “But I feel that the entertainment industry has a very myopic conception of what women are capable of doing.”

Perhaps Natasha is optimistic about the gradual changes coming our way. There are way more women in music now than ever before. Meesha Shafi is creating acceptance for her distinct and revolutionary look and sound; Arooj Aftab became the first Pakistani to win a Grammy for her song Mohabbat under the Best Global Music Performance category in 2022, and then performed at the award ceremony the following year; the list of women producers is increasing; one of the biggest music platforms of the country, the Lahore Music Meet (LMM), has a women-led board; and the Pakistan Super League did a female-led anthem for the first time with Naseebo Lal and Aima Baig overshadowing Young Stunners in Groove Mera.

Things may not be ideal, but they certainly seem to be looking up.

“There are still some roadblocks,” Natasha admits. “The primary thing is access to spaces. Those spaces are studios, jam sessions, concerts even. Growing up, I wasn’t allowed to go to concerts because they would all end in fights. That’s why, when we did LMM, we made it family-friendly.

“If you look at studios, they are usually in someone’s home or basement. Boys can start going there in their teens. If my curfew was maghrib [sunset] then I couldn’t stay for the late-night jams or for the networking aspect of it. Even now, I choose not to hang at post-event moments.

“But those are the places where decisions are made and collaborations are established. And, unfortunately, there’s no such space for girls. There’s no mahaul [environment] where women can hang out and work. If I want to jam with a bunch of girlies, where do I go?”

This discrepancy shows up when you look at the volume of music being released by women, when compared to men.

“That’s the thing with a lot of the younger girls who come to me for advice. They say they have all these songs but they don’t have a producer.”

According to Natasha, a producer is a necessary requirement to release music, as producers will offer input, polish and record a song properly. And, unfortunately, there aren’t enough female producers, even though Natasha acknowledges and celebrates the work of producers such as Haniya Aslam, Zahra Paracha, Natasha Humera Ejaz and Slowspin among others.

“Sometimes it’s just easier with a female producer. They’ll just know what range your voice needs to be in, the sonics are different, the mahaul of the room is different. You’ll be less scared, for instance.”

Another thing to keep in mind are the class dynamics in play.

“These spaces are elite spaces,” Natasha points out. “Someone from a middle class background will find it difficult to find these spaces, or to pay for a studio. That can lead to pockets of people being made. But that’s also better now, thanks to the internet. A lot of my collaborations have happened because of messages on Instagram.”

Speaking of collaborations, we see very few of those happening between women too. Meanwhile, the newer crop of male artists, such as Abdullah Siddiqui, Hasan Raheem, Talal Qureshi, Maanu, Taha G, Rizzy Rozeo, Talhah Younus and Talha Anjum are consistently working with each other on independent releases.

While Natasha can’t speak on behalf of other women, she did reveal that she had similar questions, and her upcoming collaboration due for release is with Annural Khalid.

“I think that the entertainment industry isn’t curating women together. It’s this mindset, ke boy ke saath girl ko hona chahiye [a girl should be accompanied by a boy]. As in, a girl standalone should be good enough, or she will be an addition to another male performer,” laments Natasha.

“They will put five of these boys together, and when they do that for women then they’re like ‘hello, feminist anthem’. It can be just me, and another woman singing a song. It doesn’t need to be ‘hum dunya badlein gey’ [we’ll change the world] type of magic. Men can sing and rap about anything, but for women there are these dabbay [boxes]. And like, there’s more dabbay bro. There’s much more to choose from.”

SETTING TRENDS

Apart from consistently making good music, Natasha is a bit of a trendsetter also and had the conversation flowing when she wore a saree with a T-shirt to her Boiler Room performance.

“I didn’t realise that the saree would become such a talking point!” She smiles as she says this. “Even at the show, everyone asked me about it.

“I’ve grown up in a home where I saw my mother and sister, and nani, wear a lot of sarees. So when Boiler Room happened, I thought, this is it, this is the perfect opportunity to wear that saree. I wore it with a T-shirt because I wanted to be comfortable.”

But being on Boiler Room is an achievement on its own. The online music broadcaster hosts music events and broadcasts the shows live over the internet.

“Boiler Room tends to focus on DJs and I don’t fit in that realm. They had a special Boiler Room Pakistan showcase for musicians that the curators felt deserved a platform, including banjo player Ustaad Noor Baksh.”

There’s a lot more to do for Natasha Noorani, but it seems as though she’s also really at peace with where she has finally reached.

“I’m closing in on finishing up my album, a beautiful array of songs that depict me in the most me way possible. This is the furthest I’ve gotten with my sound and my voice. The rate at which I’m now writing and producing — this is the dream I’ve had since I was a kid.

“I’m waking up and making music and releasing it, and people are listening to it. I have now the ability and confidence to reach out to people I’ve always wanted to. It’s become really beautiful for me and is an incentive for me to wake up every day. I’m living my dream.”

And what a beautiful one it is.

Published in Dawn, ICON, July 2nd, 2023