Happy birthday today, December 31, to Ahmed Muin Abu Amsha. If any song sums up 2025 and the threat to civilians from drone warfare, it’s his cover of “Sheel Sheel Ya Ajmal Sheel” tuned with the whine of the weapons buzzing overhead. On his birthday and New Year’s Eve, the artist offers a song with a hopeful note.
Those drones. To so many of our friends and colleagues, they’ve become a sonic assault with deadly resonance — spreading with alarming speed across the globe, which should come as a warning. I heard an orchestra from Kyiv recreate the sound of kamikaze drones as they make their rapid plunge to their target. One friend had to run from one while documenting the front there. They buzz over Lebanon — I realized a truly spontaneous field recording I made on the seaside in Beirut has one of them buzzing away in the background. They surveil, they stalk, and they kill. They represent a new form of global lawlessness and assault on humanity. And they’ve been a particularly ugly and omnipresent instrument of Israel’s genocide in Gaza, one that has continued since the so-called ceasefire.
So when I think of 2025, no song will stick with me quite like the performance colloquially dubbed the “drone song.” Like a lot of folks, I check in regularly to watch Ahmed Muin’s relentless and moving stories as he continues to teach in a tent in Gaza. In this one, he famously tuned his young students’ voices to the drone since the sound wouldn’t go away.
Listen, there are many reasons to despair of music’s ability to manage difficult times. Watching Ahmed Muin is a lesson in perseverance. Follow it for a few weeks, and you’ll see him rally children’s spirits with music lessons, obsessing over performance details, alongside the very real struggle to get basic food and shelter.
And it’s been great to see just how much Ahmed has built up his reach and attracted attention from online communities and media alike. He’s grown that audience by an order of magnitude since I first wrote about his story — a credit to how hard he works at reaching out and returning affection and interest:
Part of what makes this song so significant is the ripples it has created. In this year of prompts and generative AI, the phenomenon of “Sheel Sheel Ya Ajmal Sheel” has been eminently human. Alongside that phenomenon, a wide range of musicians from around the world have been moved by this story. It’s a reminder of what music actually does for humans at a time when so much around us would strip us of that meaning. So there has been an influx of spontaneous remixes and covers. Others have added instrumental accompaniment, like this (featuring the original video):
Ensembles of singers and instrumentalists have picked up the song and made their own renditions. The much-maligned internet, at least, is a way to make those connections across distances. The performances are often also a chance for people to gather in person. Singing groups have formed as a way to respond to what people see that isn’t only doomscrolling, often with fundraisers attached. (I know a couple of those here in Berlin.)
People missed a beautiful single recorded in October, which comes with some notes on just how challenging the production process is:
My North is a traditional Palestinian song that we have reimagined with a fresh arrangement, carrying within it a story of resilience, pain, and hope.
Despite displacement, limited resources, and harsh conditions, we were determined to deliver high-quality sound and produce this work with the tools we had.
The song was recorded, arranged, and engineered entirely on a mobile phone, as we currently have no access to a studio.
This project was completed by Ahmed Abu Amsha and The Gaza Birds Singing team in southern Gaza –
A heartfelt message from our voices to the world.
The song tells the story of the tragedy that struck Gaza, echoing our deep sorrow and love for our city.
Our hearts are with you, Gaza… no matter the hardships, we will always sing for you.
We invite everyone to share this song widely across social media platforms, so the world can see what is happening in Gaza – and so that our voices remain witnesses to the truth.
Today’s New Year’s song is a message of defiance and strength. It comes at a particularly vulnerable time, as Gaza has been hit hard by winter weather and flooding — and a lot of the winter still lies ahead. That raises another power of these songs. What some might dismiss as “virtue signaling” takes on a crucial roll — it keeps the story in people’s attention, just when we need to pressure our governments to overcome Israel’s ongoing blockade of crucial aid.
(By the way, a note on production: prior to fall 2023’s bombing, Ahmed was still running Gaza’s open community studio facility..)
2026 — the world moved on.
We are still here.
This song was born beneath the tents,
from a life suspended between rubble and waiting.
It is not a celebration of a new year,
but a testimony of survival.
We sing to stay alive.
We sing so we are not forgotten.
Because we still carry life.
🎙️ Singing: Ahmed Abu Amsha
🎵 We Still Carry Life
2026 — العالم كمّل طريقه،
واحنا لسه هون.
هاي الأغنية انولدت من تحت الخيام،
من حياة معلّقة بين الركام والانتظار.
مش احتفال بسنة جديدة،
بل شهادة على البقاء.
نغنّي لنظل أحياء،
ونغنّي كي لا نُنسى،
لأن لسه فينا حياة.
There are meanwhile still opportunities to support Gaza Birds Singing and Ahmed’s work and his family — which seems a perfect birthday present:
Help my family and GBS (PayPal)
Both these links come directly from these verified accounts.
I don’t want to exclusively focus on this; there are other efforts around supporting Palestinians. But it remains a starting place — and Ahmed’s musical message has motivated an extended family around the world even as other efforts have fallen to the side.
Happy birthday and happy new year. This is not a place for hope — it’s again a place for action and change.