Even if I wanted to find a worse moment to talk to Iranian-born tar virtuoso Hamed Sadeghi, I would have struggled. I’d been meaning to interview him for a year, but when the opportunity came, it coincided with one of the worst instances in Iran-Australia diplomatic relations, when our government took the extraordinary step to declare Iran’s ambassador to Canberra persona non grata, order senior Iranian diplomats to leave the country immediately, and suspend operations in Australia’s embassy in Tehran.

Hamed is unfazed. He’s used to his country being entangled in such messes. “We don’t like the government anyway,” he says, and his baby daughter’s voice, cooing in the background, sounds like she agrees, “but its complicated.”

One of the most complicated in the world, actually, decades (if not centuries) of complicated domestic and geopolitical turmoil adding to the country’s messy history and messier present. As a matter or fact, escaping this mess is one of the reasons that brought him to Australia via Malaysia, 12 years ago, equipped with nothing but his tar — the beautiful string instrument that’s one of the staples of Persian classical music. Hamed has spent the past decade carving out a unique space for himself in Australia’s contemporary music scene, both as a solo artist, performer and composer, and a bandleader.

His band, Eishan Ensemble, is one of the greatest examples of multiculturalism in action, blending Persian classical traditions with contemporary jazz and improvised soundscapes to create music that is at once grounded and spacious, familiar and unexpected — and overall absolutely beautiful. As the group approaches its 10th anniversary, Eishan Ensemble are touring the country, presenting their latest album, Northern Rhapsody. A great opportunity for the bandleader to talk about the influence of nature, and the bittersweet experience of belonging everywhere and nowhere.

Is it hard to be an Iranian-Australian these days?

When Israel attacked Iran, I posted on Facebook that it was illegal. We hate the regime, but we don’t want any other country attacking. These are basic things, but I got a lot of reactions, and it didn’t go well.

Let’s put this all aside and focus on your music. What is the Northern Rhapsody backstory?

This album was something I had in mind for a long time. With the band, we’ve been playing in Australia and overseas for years, in regional cities, Europe, Asia… Our music has been inspired by landscapes and the beauty of nature. I always had this concept in mind, to stay out of town and create something fully inspired by nature. With Northern Rhapsody, we did it: we spent a few days in regional Australia and made it happen.

Eishan Ensemble | Photo: Billie Wilson Coffey

So that was a different process from your previous work?

Yes. With the earlier albums, we rehearsed in Sydney, then recorded and toured. This time, we stayed in the region, developed the project there. The music became more grounded and spacious. Then we recorded it.

How did the landscape translate into music?

I was born and raised in Tehran — 15 million people in one city. Life was hectic, fast-paced, and that showed in my music: lots of technique, playing fast. With this album, projecting nature into the music, I gave more space between notes. We listened more to each other, let the sounds stay. Melodies stretched out more. But we can still be fast — like the wind, or other forces in nature.

When you present this slower, down-tempo music, what do you want to tell the listener?

That we appreciate the beauty of simplicity, and the importance of silence. For me, it’s a personal statement about the insignificance of life. Whatever happens, life goes on; we don’t have to take things too seriously. There’s nothing out there for us anyway. That’s the message in the slower pieces.

Do you think this idea has particular urgency at the moment, given the broader context

Absolutely. The older I get, the more I realise the insignificance of life. I feel more grounded. With the political situation in the world, especially in the Middle East, it breaks my heart. I can’t do anything about it. That sadness comes through in the music, which isn’t necessarily bad; it’s an emotion.

How would you describe your music to someone who is not aware of it?

If they’ve listened to improvised music, classical, or jazz, they’ll find similarities, but also unexpected sounds. It’s a soundscape in between familiar and unfamiliar. It’s fast, but not always; grounded, but not always. They’ll hear someone who feels he’s lost his identity, projecting that in music.

How did you lose your identity?

Maybe “lost” is too big a statement, but I’ve been away from Iran for 15 years, first in Malaysia, now Australia. When I go back to Iran, I don’t feel the same. Here, I’ll never fully be Australian. It leaves you wondering: what am I doing with my life? That comes through in the music.

Did you study music in Tehran?

Yes. I studied Persian classical music at the Conservatorium in Tehran, learned Radif, the classical repertoire, similar to Arabic maqam or Indian ragas. I started playing in big bands. I first heard the tar on the radio when I was 14. I asked my mother for one, she bought it, and I never stopped playing.

Before that, weren’t you interested in music?

Not really. I had heard the tar, but never thought of playing until then.

Tell me about Persian classical music. How is it different from pop or folk?

The repertoire comes from folk music. Iran has many languages and ethnicities — Turkish, Kurdish, Arab, Turkmen, Baluchi — each with their own styles. All these influences come together in Persian classical music, which was then formalised into the repertoire we learn at the Conservatorium.

How did you develop your relationship with the tar?

I was very passionate. I always knew I’d be a musician. I couldn’t wait to get home from school to practice. I wouldn’t go anywhere without my instrument. I could stay home for days just practicing. I loved it.

How did you end up leaving Iran?

I went to Malaysia to study sound engineering. I had friends in Kuala Lumpur and there were opportunities to tour in Asia. I studied there and gigged across the region: in Philippines, Singapore, Hong Kong, Indonesia. It was a great opportunity. Then I came to Australia.

Why Australia?

I came to Australia very randomly. I went with a friend to see a lawyer, to translate English to Persian for him. At the end of the session, I signed up with the lawyer too. Years later, he called me: “You’ve got permanent residency, you’re going to Australia.” When I came, I didn’t like it at first. I played an unconventional instrument, couldn’t see where I fit. I went back to Iran, but the economy was bad. I returned here, moved to a different area with more musicians, formed my band, started playing, and loved it.

What happened to your friend?

Funny enough, he only just moved to Australia last year, after 12 years.

Does he resent you?

Ha ha, a little!

How did you create Eishan Ensemble?

From a young age, I was inspired by artists like Anouar Brahem — combining instruments and traditions. That was my passion. In Sydney, I went to gigs, met great musicians, asked them to play my music. They said yes. Michael Avgenicos, who plays sax, and Max Alduca, on double base, they are very active in the Sydney jazz scene. Adem Yilmaz, is a percussionist from Istanbul, and he’s a close friend from my early days here. Each of them brings their own background, and it shapes our sound. We recorded an album, got invited to tour in Taiwan and the Philippines, came back, and continued. Next year we celebrate our 10th anniversary.

Congratulations! How many albums so far?

Four with Eishan, plus a couple under my own name.

What does ‘Eishan’ mean?

It means ‘these guys’ — in a poetic way.

Adem Yilmaz, Michael Avgenicos, Hamed Sadeghi, Max Alduca | Photo: Amirnaser Dabaghian

You write the music, but what do the others bring to it?

I don’t overwrite. I give charts, but leave space. We’ve played together a long time, we know each other’s strengths. Improvisation is a big part of the music, that’s where their personalities shine.

How do you see your place in the Australian music and cultural ecosystem?

My aim is to introduce new possibilities to Australian contemporary music. I think I’ve managed that to some extent.

Many Australians don’t know my instrument, the tar, or what a musician with a different background can bring. I want to create a platform for myself and others like me — musicians with ideas, but no clear starting point.

What’s your audience like?

Very mixed. In Sydney and big cities, many Iranians come to concerts and enjoy it. Some are more into very traditional music; what I do may not interest them, which is fine. But I get a lot of support, from Iranians and the wider community. That makes me feel good.