Interview with Palestinian Singer, Lana Lubany
Editorial Note: This interview is part of our coverage on the film Kneecap. Through this interview we intend to spotlight an artist, who, like the band Kneecap, uses her cultural identities to express herself while challenging the world around her.
There’s an intentional pace to Lana Lubany’s music, a rhythmic grace that feels both intimate and all-encompassing. On a literal level, her vibrant lyrical blends of English and Arabic bridge the two languages; on a deeper level, they open a doorway into a world where personal identity is in constant dialogue with cultural heritage. Lubany's music lights up her path as a Palestinian artist navigating spaces that don’t always make room for her. Her songs are a quiet rebellion against the expectation to choose one side over the other–as if the essence of being Palestinian could ever be limited to a single genre or language. We had the fortune of talking to Lana about her story and her work.
“I’ve always wanted to do music,” Lubany says. “Ever since I was a kid, I didn’t know where to start. I just had this delusional belief in myself. It just kept on going. And the delusion is what got me here because I just believed in myself more than anything in the world.”
If Lubany's path to finding her voice was winding, it was also defined by moments of revelation. One of those moments came with her song “THE SNAKE.” Up until then, Lubany had been experimenting, struggling to find the right way to merge the two worlds she was living in. Nothing felt authentic, until it did. “At home, I speak Arabic and English, and I never did that in my music until I tried it with 'THE SNAKE',” she reflects. What might seem like a simple creative choice was actually a moment of deep internal alignment for her—a moment where her music finally marked a personal revolution.
In this sense, “THE SNAKE” became more than a song; it existed as a threshold, a point of no return. “I feel like the door that 'THE SNAKE' opened for me was the door of vulnerability and for me to be myself completely,” Lubany says, her tone suggesting that this was a revelation as much for her as for her listeners. Vulnerability, it turns out, was the key—not just to her sound, but to herself.
Lubany’s world isn’t monochrome; it’s rich with the complexities of someone who doesn’t fit neatly into any one box. “I feel like I don’t belong anywhere,” she admits with a quiet acceptance. “I always have, and I still do.” But in this space, there’s a hint of resilience. Lubany’s lyrics move forward, leaving behind a trace of who she is in every bar. For her, identity is never static; it’s constantly in flux, shifting between languages, cultures, and worlds. Her music speaks to this, never fully settling in one place but resonating with listeners across the world.
As she continued creating music, Lubany realized she was always meant to stay true to herself in her art. “I kept on going. I kept on going,” she recalls of her early years in music. But then came that moment of clarity, where the two halves of her life—the Palestinian girl raised between Yafa and Nazareth and the young woman trying to make it in a Western music industry—finally converged.
Now, Lubany’s approach to making music has evolved significantly. “I don’t care if this is weird. I don’t care if it’s different,” she confidently declares. “You can do anything. Anything can become popular. I’ve been writing in English and Arabic, but not in the way that I’ve ever heard before,” she says. “I write in my dialect, and usually, people write in different dialects. I’ve never heard anyone write in my exact dialect.”
Lubany’s music intertwines self-expression and resistance, making them one and the same. At a time when Palestinian identity and culture face erasure, her work boldly asserts her roots. “My music has always been influenced by my experiences as a Palestinian, whether you can see it or not,” she says. “Whether it’s just a little hidden theme underlying in my lyrics, or if it’s flat out about that, it’s always been there.”
This feeling of resistance is what gives her work its importance. Lubany isn’t just making music—she’s telling a story, one that’s closely tied to her identity and her heritage. “All my art is connected to me being Palestinian and my experiences, and it is through my lens,” she says. Her lens, being so personal yet universally resonant, is what allows her music to stand out.
Her upcoming project, Yafa, is inspired by her hometown. “It’s kind of like my stamp of what I want to say right now,” she explains. “It’s a very personal project, like an ode to my home and to my two hometowns, because I was born and raised in Yafa, but also between Yafa and Nazareth.” But even as she moves forward, carving out space for herself in the industry, it’s clear that Lubany has not lost her connection with what’s behind her.
What makes Lubany special, though, isn’t just her music, rather, it’s her dedication to building a community for people like her, especially people who feel like they don’t belong anywhere. “If I can’t do anything in the grand scheme of things, I can do this. And then that will help eventually because there will be one more Palestinian who’s out there creating art, and it’s being heard, which I think is so powerful, because I never had that as a kid. I never had any representation.”
Lana Lubany’s music resists easy definition, weaving together languages and genres in a way that's unmistakably her own. Her music doesn’t just challenge conventions; it creates spaces where people, particularly those who feel divided between cultures, can find a sense of belonging. Lubany isn’t just making music—she’s forging a path for others who share her experiences, giving voice to those who’ve often gone unheard.