‘All Songs Are Ghosts’: An Interview With Hania Rani

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Where shadows dance and melodies linger, we embark on an intimate conversation with Hania Rani. A virtuoso of haunting, ethereal compositions, Rani invites us into the realm where music and the mystical intertwine. Her latest album, ‘Ghosts’, explores themes of life and death, memory and loss, weaving together the seen and the unseen, the tangible and the spectral.

Guided by thoughtful inquiries, Hania Rani delves into the abstract beauty of music, beyond human perception, reflecting on its universal language and its deeply personal significance. She speaks of her inspirations, from the historical echoes of Berlin and Warsaw to the profound solitude of a Swiss residency, where her latest album took shape. Her voice, now a new instrument in her repertoire, adds another dimension to her exploration of the supernatural. Join us as we uncover the poetic and profound musings of Hania, whose music transcends the ordinary, offering a glimpse into the soul's hidden corners and the universal experiences that bind us all – our fundamental need for music.

Agnes Dudek: Agnes Martin, my favourite artist, says ‘music is the highest form of art – it’s completely abstract’. How do you understand music?

Hania Rani: Yes, I feel the same way. If I were to describe music, I think for me it’s a mix of subconsciousness and something beyond human perception – an elusive, fleeting fabric that can move us through time. What interests me a lot is that it doesn’t have any physical form, it’s invisible, has no flavour or smell, yet it’s so full of symbols, meanings, feelings. And music, even music that’s very deeply embedded in certain parts of the world, can also be easily understood by a stranger. I admire the universal aspect of it as well as the spiritual part – which I find is especially vivid during live performances – and its ability to make people gather in one place to experience something together. It feels almost like a fundamental need.

AD: This brings me to your latest album, your third solo album, which you’ve given the title ‘Ghosts’. What does a ghost mean to you?

HR: It’s an area that’s always interested me. A vague space which has been interpreted by different cultures in various ways throughout the centuries. I like topics that feel universal but personal at the same time. This provides an opportunity for multiple interpretations, which I find very appealing. I like to think that a work will live on its own once I share it with others. For this particular album, ghosts have many meanings, and they stand for many symbols. Starting with life and death and the thin line between those two spaces, aging, loss, memory, history, stories of others, rituals, beliefs, the supernatural, new technologies and being detached from reality (‘modern ghosts’). I’m still finding new meanings and ways of translating this subject. Especially now when I’m touring with this repertoire.

AD: What I actually found ‘ghostly’ on your new album was your voice, and this is a new endeavour for you. What’s it like to use yourself as the instrument?

HR: Good point! This is the way and the reason why I’m using my voice – it’s another instrument, another means of expression. And indeed – once I decided to dedicate this album to the supernatural, I found it extremely motivating in terms of thinking freely about the sound and its shape. Because if the music is about something unreal, you can really remove all your limits and embrace the weirdness.

AD: You live between Berlin and Warsaw, both cities with many ghosts. Have you ever considered how the aura of these places might be unknowingly influencing you?

HR: Yes, it’s also very true that you can easily sense the history of both of these places, often a disturbing history. I think it’s difficult to describe to someone from another part of the world the strong tension between these two nations over the past hundred years and the contradictory nuances and complexities of each of the cities’ flavours. It’s easy to tell that our current history is deeply embedded in the horrific experience of the 20th century, and we’re still trying to understand its aftermath. I think it definitely makes you aware of how different the cultural landscapes of these two countries looked in the past and how privileged we are to live in a new, seemingly careless and free time. I think it’s in our veins to turn towards history, naturally and intuitively. I know that some people find it annoying, asking, ‘Why are you still so focused on something that happened so many years ago?’ but the problem is that you can physically feel the post-generational trauma and most of all, the particular tension in the air, which is difficult to explain. Both in the cities as such, but also between our nations, even among the younger generations. It feels like a museum object, but actually it happened not that long ago if you actually count the years and generations in between.

AD: Beautifully explained. In a way, all songs are ghosts. They haunt us – either with their beauty or with a memory to which they’re connected. Do you ever feel haunted by your music?

HR: Yes, very intensely. It feels odd now to acknowledge it, but I think, because I learnt the musical alphabet at the same time as I was learning how to read and write, music was literally one of the first things I ever learnt in my life. And music clearly embodies particular moments of my life, especially of my partners and the music that they showed me or that we listened to together. It’s always a very important part of each of my relationships. The music that we listened to together.

AD: Your latest album was created during a rather isolated residency in Switzerland, as you mentioned in another interview, in a space that was ‘huge and very empty. There were two grand pianos, and it was definitely weird, but extremely inspiring. That’s where I found all these elusive, spiritual, unreal topics, and I basically decided to devour everything that surrounded me’. I believe that in open spaces, as was my experience in the desert – and perhaps that’s why the desert is my absolute favourite landscape – things finally have space to present themselves to us. And it sounds to me that, by finding yourself in a sort of studio desert of space and silence with two pianos, in Switzerland, the music finally had enough space to reveal itself to you.

HR: For sure. I feel that I’m craving contradictory spaces in my life to be able to bring more flavours to my music but also simply to be able to put myself in a new situation so as to create something fresh. I’m definitely a city girl, but sometimes I like to go to a very remote place and spend a lot of time just on my own. I’m rarely bored with my own company, but it’s also a big challenge for me – if I’m to be very honest – because I like to be surrounded by people, friends. So it’s a very deliberate decision: I push myself to explore situations which make me feel uneasy in order to explore if it’s a real fear or something simpler. I also found out that every place in which I compose brings something else. It’s like picking different instruments for an arrangement.

AD: You’ve performed at some unique and beautiful venues; from the Invalides in France to St Mark’s Cathedral in Seattle. What does playing in cathedrals feel like? Do you feel it enhances your music?

HR: Yes, for sure. There are some spaces that bring so much to your imagination and simply the way you behave. I also feel very good in old clubs or theatres. There’s something mysterious about them, and maybe it’s also about the number of stories and situations that they witnessed. When you start touring a lot, you acknowledge that most of the venues are unfortunately random and not so welcoming, sometimes even off-putting. So special places – especially architecturally – motivate you all the more to think differently and to adjust the spaces you’re performing in.

AD: And since we’re on the subject, would you say you’re inspired by Polish composers of sacred music? Such as Krzysztof Penderecki? Or others, such as Arvo Pärt?

HR: Yes! Especially Penderecki recently, although maybe more by his most avant-garde and aleatoric pieces, such as Threnody for the victims of Hiroshima. But Arvo Pärt also plays a big role in my life. When it comes to sacred music, I’d say the music that really got stuck in my memory is early music – Renaissance and Baroque, but even earlier. I always found a particular beauty in choral music and pieces sung a cappella by little ensembles formed in monasteries or cathedrals. Not only because of melodies, scales and harmonies but also the technique of singing and obviously how the space is incorporated into the composition. Sacred music has always had a big influence on me, even very subconsciously. I come from a typically religious Polish family, so some of the church tunes are literally printed in my mind. It’s sometimes funny to acknowledge where your music comes from – very often the sources are not as intellectual and deliberate as we wish.

AD: And would you ever define your music as sacred? Why or why not?

HR: Spiritual for sure. For different reasons. Just because I’ve worked with music for my entire life (I started to play piano at the age of 6), I very quickly realised that it’s beyond intellect. It can be constructed intellectually, but somehow it’s also clearly beyond anything that the human intellect can embrace. I always feel, especially when working on a score or arrangement for other musicians, that you need to pay attention to things that you can’t have control over. You have to be extremely curious in order to track down the ‘metaphysical’ bits. I usually describe my work as chasing the things I can’t explain. I know that intellectually I’m able to form a piece of music which will be moving and carry qualities that interest me, but this is not what the key thing is. The most exceptional moments are beyond intellect, planning or human creation. I guess this is the spiritual part of art, music, maybe life in general. The inexplicable chunk.

AD: You mentioned before that ‘With “Ghosts” I wanted to start something from scratch, picking tools and stories I wasn’t familiar with but which felt dear to me. “Ghosts” is a story about life and death, light and darkness, real and unreal. It’s an attempt to touch ultimate qualities and craft my own mythologies; to face fears, take a deep dive into things that scare me but also seduce me subconsciously. “Ghosts” collects all of these things together, mixing the past, the present and the future into a new sound of mine’. Why this focus on dichotomies, (life / death, etc) now? What do you find in the contrast or reflection of the other?

HR: I think what interests me is how these contradictory themes are interconnected and how they actually work closely with each other. There’s something fascinating but, at the same time, terrifying in acknowledging how closely life clings to death, love to hate, etc. There’s a particular tension and dynamic between those two ends, and I think the space in between is especially interesting because it’s very difficult to define and grasp. A perfect space for an artist.

AD: What do you mean by, ‘touch ultimate qualities’?

HR: I felt that this album was speaking a lot about uneasy topics and using words that are rather disturbing. Starting from death and an overwhelming fear of it, which I think most of us share subconsciously. It’s common to talk about love, abandonment, a broken heart but maybe less often openly about the more ‘ultimate’ things.

AD: Can you share a mythology that you’ve crafted?

HR: Oh, I don’t know if there’s anything particularly defined. I think it’s still developing and shifting.

AD: Does all of this correlate with your own spiritual or personal evolution?

HR: For sure. I don’t know if I necessarily experienced something exceptional compared to other people, but I’ve definitely seen a bit. I assume that people working with art and music tend to be more vulnerable, sensitive, open to feelings and noticing subtle emotions in the world surrounding us. Everything that happens to me, everything that I see or sense ultimately influences my way of thinking and creating. I try to observe and learn, not simply hold on to my convictions or preconceptions, and very often I use the space of my art to research the things I don’t fully understand or find puzzling. Music is definitely a space for me to process difficult experiences and emotions. It’s a safe zone where I can freely explore everything that bothers me or what I’d be too shy to express in everyday life. Also spiritually. I find it absolutely fantastic that there’s a space in my life where I can try to be fully myself, free, allowing myself to make mistakes but also discover new things for myself and for other people. My art is deeply personal. I touch universal subjects through my personal experiences and observations. I think there’s nothing unusual in this method; most of the artists I admire tend to use a very personal language to describe bigger issues, which I find truly honest and right.

AD: Thank you so much!

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