Tammy Lakkis
We’re grateful for our proximity to New York and all its talent, but our reverence for the birthplace of techno is strong and, of course, our distance great. Tammy Lakkis is an innovative Detroit multidisciplinary artist who keeps our reverence alive, and she’s impressed us from that distance; our three unique musical leanings find a home in Tammy’s sound. Lucky for us, friend of Social Studies Hannah Cummings isn’t just fond of Tammy; she’s a real-life friend. And we have their friendship to thank for this sweet interview between Hannah and Tammy, and this mix—frankly, one of the best we’ve heard.
Rapid Egyptian tabla beats set a percussive tone, and funky tunes ease us into edgy EBM and forward-moving house and intoxicating techno. It’s massive Tammy-defining work.
While it’s not often mentioned in the context of dance music, we’re happy to have a space to acknowledge the strong presence of Arab Americans in Detroit and its surrounding cities. Tammy is a force in injecting this presence into the dance music world, and it’s satisfying to hear that influence in the mix. Tammy’s DJing and productions consist of one part admiration for Detroit’s musical history, one part commitment to growing her own artistry, and one part love for her built-in community and Lebanese culture—and those parts are a recipe for a trailblazing whole.
Tammy’s song “Wen Rayeh” on her 2021 EP Notice is an explicit example of this, as Hannah details. But we hear this influence in all of Tammy’s sound expressions: the ornamentation in her sweet singing, her affinity for both acoustic instruments and hardware, the confident roar of an M.I.A. song in a DJ set, or the surprising, welcome warmth of the oud in a mix.
Beyond a strong yet unrestricted artistic statement, however, Tammy has something else: the raw, natural talent that Detroit seems to breed like no other city. Singing and songwriting since her teens, Tammy has grown her repertoire into a perfect amalgamation of the analog and the digital. Her live sets—stunning in their technical adroitness while also unfettered, ethereal, dark at times, even humorous at others—display her evolution. They can feature fluttering vocals and poetic lines, and provoking basslines with strong dance intentions. Her DJ sets pull from deep record crates with eclectic cuts from around the world.
Tammy has shared lineups with Marcellus Pittman, Peggy Gou, Dez Andrés, Octo Octa, and Karizma, and played in Detroit (including at her own beloved residencies) and abroad. Tammy’s often the only live artist of a night, and her performances sound confident and brave no matter their theme. Her blends have been broadcasted on Kiosk Radio, The Lot Radio, and Worldwide FM. (Heck, you’ll even find her electronic-Schroedering in some Roland synth commercials!) In 2022, Tammy received a Kresge Artist Fellowship for her incredible work, and we can’t wait to taste the fruit of her efforts in her next release. In the meantime, we present this interview, and this incredible mix. And if you’re in Detroit for Movement weekend, you can definitely find Tammy. Check out her Thursday through Sunday lineup of parties!
Interview - Hannah Cummings Editor - Sacha Madadian Art - AlfredoTammy Lakkis and I met in the wilderness during a 7-week literature program in New England. I remember her curly hair, her warm poetry, and mostly, her gorgeous voice filling the wooden dining hall as she played guitar. Years later, my program members and I found “Notice” on Barack Obama’s Top Songs of 2021. We were elated, not surprised, but we wondered what we had missed out on in those weeks in the woods where Tammy didn’t have a hardware setup.
Another thing about Tammy and me: We both have roots in Metro Detroit. I won’t purport to be from the city, but we share a sense of Detroit pride. The difference is that Tammy not only stayed, but she also emerged as an important new part of the Detroit electronic music community, and her work reflects her dedication—her commitment to Detroit, to her craft, to her community—as well as her individual boundlessness.
Tammy is a Detroit-based artist and her first vinyl release, Notice, is a love letter to Detroit dance floors. Tammy’s parents immigrated from Lebanon, and on Notice she shares bilingual lyrics and her versatility as an artist. It’s all at once a stunning debut of talent and a knowing, kindhearted nod to Tammy’s communities.
While we would have preferred to catch up tech-free over a cup of coffee in a Hamtramck coffee shop or walking through a Detroit park, we chatted through a screen about community, music, and Detroit, and I brought along a couple questions from the Social Studies crew as well.
Photo: CJ Benninger
It's been some years since we’ve seen each other in Ann Arbor. We met at the University of Michigan—specifically the New England Literature Program where technology was limited and your instrument of choice (besides your gorgeous voice) was an acoustic guitar. Can you walk through your transition from acoustically driven sounds to the music you make now? When did you transition to making electronic music a part of your world?
It happened very gradually. I started with just my voice and a guitar. That led to experimenting with looper pedals and building loops and beats. It was my introduction to producing—you build a loop, you add things, you take stuff away. Getting just one piece of hardware made me realize what was possible and how much more is possible if I really invested time into learning and growing. I got a drum machine to accompany my loops and realized I wanted to be in control of the whole universe of the song. I started messing with software and arranging. I just kept going deeper into the rabbit hole, adding one piece at a time to expand the possibilities. Getting a sampler solidified my desire to produce and was when I realized that’s what I was doing: I was producing.
At this time I was also starting to listen more to electronic music. I used to listen to a lot of alternative and indie rock. Being in Detroit made house and techno (and so many other sounds) unavoidable. I went out dancing all the time and really started feeling connected to the dance floor and the music I heard on it. That shifted the type of music I wanted to make.
I was always unsure of my music-making, but I would play out anyways and hope it would land somewhere with someone. My live sets were so rough the first few years but I kept doing them and eventually got more confident. I realized that if you have passion and keep going, you could only get better and grow. That realization made it easy to focus and grind.
Your sound has been described as soulful, mesmeric, eccentric, and hauntingly beautiful. Does that feel right? How would you describe your sound?
I would describe it as playful and inquisitive with a dark edge. It is a love letter to basslines. It fuses together different musical worlds of singing and songwriting. Sometimes it’s raw and a little rough but I like that because it feels honest. I’m still trying to figure out how to describe my sound. I think other people describe it better; it’s hard to describe the air you breathe.
“I wanted to be in control of the whole universe of the song.”
You grew up in the Detroit area, where there is a significant Arab and Muslim population. Can you talk a little bit about your connection to the area and what it was like growing up there?
The first five years of my life were in Detroit and then my family moved to Windsor, Ontario, right across the border. In my first year of high school, we moved to Dearborn Heights where I had a ton of relatives all in the same square mile. I spent time in Ann Arbor for school and then ended up in Detroit and Hamtramck.
Growing up around a lot of family and relatives was beautiful. It felt like village life where you spend your day strolling from home to home, drinking coffee, gossiping, drinking more coffee. I’m used to having so much noise: so many people checking in on me, people I check in on, and people who are all part of the same little ecosystem.
Unfortunately, the music and art scene in the Arab community is fragmented and small despite the huge population. It was really isolating being in Dearborn/Dearborn Heights and knowing so few creatives. Moving to Detroit felt like this other part of me was being seen and reciprocated. Like I suddenly had community for that side or part of my existence. This area is what I’ve known my whole life but I’ve existed in different realities of it. These days, my creative community is a very powerful force in my life and keeps me anchored.
So you, consciously or subconsciously, sought out the additional community you wanted or needed. What’s really cool about your music is the fact you infuse Arabic into your lyrics. Did that come naturally, or was that an intentional decision?
Writing [“Wen Rayeh”] was an intentional decision. I always wanted to try to write in Arabic; I thought for my first release, it would be really important because of this lack of representation of Detroit-area Arab American artists. It felt like something that I should do to try to reconnect with this other side of me that feels separate from my musical self. It was difficult, though, because my Arabic is really broken.
“I’m still trying to figure out how to describe my sound. I think other people describe it better; it’s hard to describe the air you breathe.”
What did your mom think of the music? Do you actively share your musical world with your family?
My mom checked my lyrics in Arabic for mistakes. It felt embarrassing and vulnerable to share my lyrics with her but it was an unprecedented way for us to connect. Being able to have these more unique experiences with people in my community is beautiful and necessary.
My family in general has been very supportive and really into it. They've been sharing it with people, and they're just really excited. Doing this kind of thing—being an electronic musician in that community—is just not very prevalent, so it's an exciting thing for everyone and that's really sweet to experience.
How has Detroit influenced your sound and process?
Going out and hearing this constant wave of music, you absorb these sounds and they stay inside of you until you get to your machines and start making music. You can’t help but hear them whispering in your ear. There’s also the fact that producers are constantly sharing new tracks, demos, and unfinished tracks, so you’re constantly in conversation with all this music that exists in several stages and is still in process. It’s easy to feed off that momentum.
In terms of my process, it makes me more accepting of whatever the circumstances are that I make music in: whatever equipment I have at that moment, whatever state of mind I’m in, that becomes a part of the music. I’m not sure I can attribute that to Detroit, but it feels like the culture encourages me to be more accepting.
Detroit is an accepting community in terms of bringing in new sounds. It makes you want to explore, find new sonic territory, see how people react to it. Being in Detroit makes you want to make music from the soul and makes you want to move people with music. People actually dance here. Crews come out and form their little corner. There isn’t much standing around. You play a song out and people react and then you react, etc. It’s a nice game of tennis.
What are your thoughts on living in Detroit, generally? The city has changed a lot since we were growing up—and even in the last few years. Do you think you’re here for the long run?
I see myself being here long-term. Being here gives you a lot of space mentally and physically. And it gives you time: We’re not paying New York rent. It allows you to be someone who can be very introspective, who can really delve into your craft and can still spend time with people and have fun. I really love the community-driven nature of Detroit. I love the people here! I also want to acknowledge that people have been here for a long time and the city hasn’t centered them in its growth as it should. Things are becoming more and more commercialized, and it’s a little scary to think about what that will do to the music/dance landscape over time but the love for music is strong here and I believe people will continue to create the space for it.
Nods to the Middle East (not just Lebanon) aren't just in your productions. SWANA tracks—old pop joints from icons like Sabah, rare uncovered regional funk, and newer, harder acidic basslines—appear in your recorded mixes. Do you drop tracks from the region liberally in your DJ sets, and what's the reaction among Detroiters?
I do! I don’t think there should be borders between genres or styles in DJ sets. If I love a track with Arabic language, I think it belongs with all the other tracks I love. The reaction is always great. A lot of Arabic music is very percussive, melodic, and high energy and fun. People get really hype and are excited to hear new sounds they aren’t familiar with.
You use music to merge your communities in Detroit where Arabic presence is large but where representation in music and arts is small. In 2022, you played the Laylit 4-Year Anniversary Party at Elsewhere in Brooklyn. Can you talk about what it felt like to share your craft in a space among artists with similar backgrounds and goals, to be enveloped in it?
It was really magical. Being in the space that the Laylit party creates is unlike anything I’ve experienced before. It was the first time I’d felt seen on such a large scale. Spaces like that are important and make people with hyphenated identities feel seen and connected. It’s a way to fuse together these identities that often feel separate.
”Unfortunately, the music and art scene in the Arab community is fragmented and small despite the huge population. It was really isolating being in Dearborn/Dearborn Heights and knowing so few creatives. Moving to Detroit felt like this other part of me was being seen and reciprocated. Like I suddenly had community for that side or part of my existence.”
Photo: Jenna Hamed
You’ve had an incredible amount of success very quickly: featured by NPR on their top 2021 songs, playing sets abroad, and receiving support from the Detroit music scene. What do you contribute your success to so far?
For a while (from 2017 through COVID), I really hunkered down. I barely hung out with my friends or family. I really worked and tried to focus and get better at making music. So it helped being ultra-focused and not giving up even though I wanted to many times, because it’s really hard and you can’t help but compare yourself to the people you admire. Being surrounded by people who speak the same language musically, who support you—that goes a long way. People who are working at their craft help create what feels like a spiritual coworking space. Having a good mental and physical environment is really important—having people in your corner, people who understand, or don’t even necessarily understand but are down for it.
Interweaving lyrical “singer-songwriter” music and dance music is something that isn’t as common. Here, you make tracks, maybe you feature a vocalist, but it’s more meant to be danced to. So people are excited to see that sort of fusion.
I don’t know what the magic formula was. It’s a mixture of good community and support; having a good, solid foundation for yourself to create in, and grow in; and then having self-trust. Also: meal prepping, petting cats, and taking walks.
How does your DJing impact your producing?
I think DJing has a huge impact on music-making. You’re constantly looking for new music, you encounter so many sounds and vibes. That really helps with knowing what you like and what you don’t like—and why you like or don’t like it. That translates really well to making music because you get in the practice of making really quick micro-decisions and trusting your gut. You’re constantly getting inspiration from many sources and genres. DJing, dancing, and listening to music are great vitamins for music-making.
I DJ quite often. I have a weekly residency on Mondays and a monthly residency and I play one-off shows. I usually don’t have a plan going into it, but I organize my music to help me find a specific vibe that I want in the moment. Having a plan makes it hard to connect with the dance floor, so leaving that open is the best thing. The best preparation is just getting to know the music that you have and how it impacts people.
How do you organize your records?
With vinyl, I’ll have more light-hearted and chill things at the front of the crate: jazz, R&B, funk, etc., and it slowly gets darker and more energetic. In the middle of the crate, you’ll find disco and house music. At the end you’ll find dark, hard techno. Essentially, it goes from 9 p.m. to 4 a.m.
What’s next for you? What are you looking forward to working on, musical or otherwise, if you didn’t have to think too much about how it’d be received?
I’d probably like to release more straight-up dance tracks without being concerned with writing to it, maybe under an alias. An opposing thought, though, is that I want to be less concerned with catering to the dance floor and simply doing things that feel real or honest.
I want to try to approach music brainstorming or jam sessions with more openness and less rigidity. Maybe getting a looper pedal again. The way I make music is with my hardware setup, so it’s stuck in this specific way of making music which can sometimes be a detriment. So hopefully the process will be more exploratory and involve trying new sounds.
“Detroit is an accepting community in terms of bringing in new sounds. It makes you want to explore, find new sonic territory, see how people react to it. Being in Detroit makes you want to make music from the soul and makes you want to move people with music.”
Finally, there's contention over the best Lebanese restaurant in Metro Detroit. Are you willing to play public favorites? [Editor’s note: Guess whose question this was. . .]
Dearborn Meat Market and Al Chabab. I think about them a lot.
Any additional shout-outs you want us to include?
Shoutout to all the people out here doing it. People going against tides, making people move, making people feel.
Photo: CJ Benninger