Sirens of Lesbos: If we don’t also tackle war, extraction, inequality, then the rest is just cosmetic

Sisters Jasmina and Nabyla Serag are the artists behind Sirens of Lesbos, a Swiss music collective making waves for their genre-defying sound and unapologetically honest voice. Their new album, i got a song, it’s gonna make us millions, blends soul, lo-fi, Afrobeats and pop with something harder to categorise.

Raised in Switzerland with roots in North-East Africa, they’ve always moved between cultures. That layered identity runs through their music, which mixes sharp observation with protest, humour and hope.

Now, as they head out on tour – including a headline show at London’s Omeara and two sets at The Great Escape Festival – they’re reflecting on the forces that shape their lives and work: identity, community, nature, and the systems that too often shut people out.

In this conversation, they speak openly about where they find clarity, what grounds them, and why making music can’t be separated from the world around it.

Nabyla: Lately, what's been bringing me joy is community. Not in a general, feel-good kind of way, but in a very real, tangible sense. I’ve realised how much I draw energy and clarity from the people around me – people who reflect something back, who offer insight, even challenge me. There are conversations that make me feel sharper, more myself. And others, with people who are maybe not on the same page, that just drain me. So I'm becoming more intentional. I crave those moments when someone shares something and it helps me see things differently.

Jasmina: That resonates deeply. I think that feeling of safety, calm and groundedness really comes from the people closest to me – my daughter, my friends, my family. That's where I get my strength. We live in a world that encourages superficial connection, and so when I find real ones, I protect them. There's too much noise otherwise. I need to retreat into circles that feel nourishing.

Nabyla: Yes. And it’s not just people. I’ve been heading to the mountains a lot. They're close by and I find them... I don’t know, cleansing? Like a reset button. Just stepping away from the everyday environment, even for 24 hours, shifts something in me. I come back with a clearer head. I used to think I was someone who needed to be around people all the time –  and I still do, to a degree. But nature plays a different role. It doesn’t talk back, it just holds space.

Jasmina: I get that. For me, it’s water. We have a beautiful, clean river here in the city, and I find myself drawn to it. I was recently at the seaside and it struck me again: water calms everything down. It slows time. And I noticed how it softened the people around me, too. There’s something about being near the ocean that reminds us to breathe more deeply.

Nabyla: Music has a similar effect for me. It holds so much power – to heal, to agitate, to connect. Especially now, in this climate, I feel compelled to say something through our music. Even just standing on stage, in these bodies, with these stories – it’s political. But there are moments when that’s not enough. When you have to name what’s in the room. And that’s when I feel this deep need to speak up. That’s when the music becomes a vehicle.

Jasmina: It always has been. As artists with an audience, we have this privilege of reach. We get to say things that others might be thinking, but don’t have the platform to express. Our performances, our visuals, our social media – they're all part of the message. And I think for people like us, with our heritage and background, it’s not just an opportunity to speak out. It’s a responsibility. I can’t keep quiet just to make something look good or neat. That wouldn’t sit right with me.

Nabyla: And it’s not always about addressing “big” issues either. Sometimes, it’s personal. Our new album, for example, really dives into what it means to navigate identity – as Black women, as artists, as Swiss citizens in a predominantly white culture. These aren’t niche concerns. They’re shared realities that don’t often get amplified. And that’s where we can really make space, offer perspective.

Jasmina: Exactly. And for me, there’s this ongoing frustration with how the world talks about “minorities” – as if smaller or less important. But these are entire communities, with entire histories. The system forgets minorities on purpose. And so we use our art to remind people. To say: this is also normal. We exist. And we care for each other. That’s another piece of it – this culture of individualism is so embedded. We’re told to hustle alone, to succeed alone. But we weren’t meant to do this alone. I believe in communities of care. That’s where change begins.

Nabyla: And I think that also applies to how we relate to the planet. There’s this disconnect that’s growing – between humans and nature, between people and the bigger systems we’re part of. We’re encouraged to consume, to take, to isolate. And then we’re surprised when we feel alone or when the Earth pushes back. But I see hope in the way some people – especially younger people – are rethinking this. Questioning the defaults.

Jasmina: I used to be one of those people pushing the mainstream environmental message – drive an e-car, go vegan, recycle. But lately I’ve been asking: what’s beneath that? Because if we don’t also tackle war, extraction, inequality, then the rest is just cosmetic. We need holistic approaches. And we need to stop pretending that one kind of green lifestyle – very Western, middle-class kind – is the solution. It’s not.

Nabyla: That’s it. And the truth is, change doesn’t start with consumption. It starts with mindset. I’m encouraged by young people who are thinking systemically – who see that capitalism isn’t just a fact of life, but a structure that can be questioned. Who are brave enough to say, "What if there's another way to organise our world?"

Jasmina: And while some are moving forward, others are turning back. In Germany, for instance, there’s a real shift among young people toward right-wing ideology. It’s frightening. But I get it. This world feels overwhelming, and when people are scared, they reach for certainty. Still, when I see how people mobilise in crisis – like when we were in LA during the fires – I feel a surge of hope. The government failed, but people stepped up. Food, shelter, mutual aid – that gives me faith. That’s the resilience I believe in.

Nabyla: And there’s something liberating about anger too. It’s become more acceptable to be outraged, to be vocal. That matters. Because when you speak up, you find others who feel the same. And suddenly you’re not isolated anymore. You’re a movement.

Jasmina: That’s what keeps me going. Not politics. Not governments. But people. And music. And these conversations. Being able to talk about the deeper strategies behind what we do – not just the aesthetics of our work – that’s rare. And it matters.

As told to The Skylark in April 2025, This conversation has been edited and condensed for clarity.