Musicians often speak of finding their voice, but for Zoya Zafar, that journey has been both literal and metaphorical. The Orlando-based indie folk artist takes us through her evolution from a shy child who couldn't sing in front of others to a songwriter whose dreamy, atmospheric compositions have drawn comparisons to Mazzy Star and Cat Power.
What makes Zafar's story particularly compelling is how her musical development intertwines with her cultural heritage. Growing up in a creatively encouraging South Asian household defied stereotypical expectations, with her grandmother performing classical ghazal (poetic songs) and family members immersed in various artistic pursuits. Unlike musicians who discovered music through their parents' record collections, Zafar's education came through her own explorations – random compilation CDs, film soundtracks, and the early 2000s indie scene featuring artists like Badly Drawn Boy and Bright Eyes.
The conversation reveals powerful insights about artistic perseverance through life's most challenging moments. After consistently releasing music for years, Zafar experienced a significant hiatus between 2017/2018 and 2024, coinciding with both the pandemic and profound personal tragedy – the deaths of her father and grandmother within months of each other. "For a while it was like, 'Oh, I'm not a real artist if I can't turn my pain into art,'" she reflects, before realizing healing needed to precede creation. Her 2024 album "Some Songs," partially recorded remotely during COVID while dealing with health challenges, represents not just music but a milestone of personal resilience.
Listen to Zafar's latest single "I Don't Love You" at the end of the episode, and discover how her evolution from wordier compositions to more spacious, minimal arrangements reflects the journey of an artist who has learned the power of what remains unsaid. As she hints at experimental future directions, it's clear her artistic journey continues to unfold in fascinating ways.
Zafar sings with a remarkable assurance and intimate warmth, effortlessly weaving hymns of haunting, torchy, jazz-inflected heartbreak that are minimal but never stark, lush but with plenty of space to breathe — and swoon — as needed. tinnitist
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