Nicole Sabouné captures the contradictions of identity and heritage on ANA أنا

That's the question sitting at the heart of Nicole Sabouné’s fifth album ANA أنا, a record that begins with a desire to connect with her Lebanese roots and ends in the acceptance that who we are is rarely as straightforward as we'd like to believe. “Where do I come from?” is the challenge of the title track that opens the LP, and one that she spends the next ten songs trying to answer.

Having grown up in Sweden with little connection to her father’s Lebanese heritage, her first journey to Lebanon in 2024 prompted a journey of self-discovery that had until then proved elusive. "Ana (أنا)", the Arabic word for 'I', introduces this quest through atmospheric oud and steady guitar chimes, giving the arrangement a feel of a vintage soundtrack, before the song brews into something more charged, hinting at the trials to come.

“Lubnan (لبنان)” continues this cinematic approach, foregrounding the need for a place to feel and to be. It’s numinous, the way the record approaches home, as though recognition were some kind of ancestral instinct waiting to be disinterred. But of course this is almost never the case and “Leave It All Behind (أترك كل شيء خلفك)” recognises this melancholic turn, marking a shift from what has been found to the act of trying – the album's central contradiction becoming that finding one's footing rarely means getting to stand still.

Musically, Sabouné is an adventurer, audacious and uncompromising with it. Working alongside producer Billy Cervin, she moves between post-punk, alternative pop, and Middle Eastern influences. “Mirror on the Wall (مرآة الحائط)” is among the album's most compelling moments, unflinchingly intense with its raw, unearthly energy. Her vocals are equally protean, moving between wailing, calling, and PJ Harvey-style falsetto, with some softer passages too. Her delivery has an incantatory quality, as though the songs are somehow being summoned from a force beyond herself.

Sabouné's quest becomes particularly tangible on “Hadia (هاديا)”, where a spoken-word passage about the dangers of travelling to Lebanon leads straight into her own defiant declaration, “Beirut, I'm coming for you.” The transition into the rock instrumentation and janky guitars of “Beirut (بيروت)” gives the journey a sense of movement, while “Light for Us (مستقبل أفضل)”, inspired by the Beirut port explosion and the ongoing fight for justice, acknowledges the history and suffering that still shape the Lebanese experience today.

ANA's most affecting moments arrive towards its conclusion. “Dad's Poem (شعر أبي)” brings it all back to Sabouné's father, who speaks of his love for his country as music gradually swells in and carries through into closer “I Don't Mind (غيابك لا يؤلمني)”. His presence brings yet another layer of poignance to an album concerned with what's inherited, what gets remembered, and what's left unsaid. The closing track offers neither a definitive resolution, nor the suggestion that everything has fallen into place. Instead, as Sabouné sings of “what's been hiding there underneath,” it feels like she's arrived at a place of making peace with his reluctance to share the past ("Guess it's just because it's way too dark").

For all its movement between places and musical forms, ANA finds coherence in its pleasing lack of neatness. Sabouné's journey may have brought her closer to understanding where she's from, but the seeking, it seems, never really stops.