MSMA  م س م ع 

Is conversation different from discussion? And is discussion different from argument? Undoubtedly. In Arabic, no two words are exact synonyms—each carries its own nuance, its own weight.

Yet language is always generous, always ready to offer even the subtlest distinction to guide the curious and satisfy a little of their wonder. Take conversation, for instance—it must hold, however faintly, a sense of uncertainty. A hesitation that leads one to seek out another, hoping for an answer. Or perhaps it is simply the meeting of two uncertainties, each reflecting the other, weaving a dialogue in the process.

Discussion, by contrast, shares its root “NQŞ” with engraving—a word rich with impressions and colour. In Arabic, to engrave is to leave a mark on stone, on paper, or upon the soul. And so, a discussion becomes like a canvas, each participant layering their thoughts like brushstrokes, until something new emerges, shaped by the imprints of many hands. It is a process of leaving traces behind, of inscribing ideas into shared understanding.

And argument? It may seem like a sharp contrast to the discussion, but rather than defining it outright, I see it in a different image—one of delicate precision rather than force. I picture a young girl’s braid, carefully woven by her mother one morning, adorned with perfume, flowers, and bright ribbons.

To someone unfamiliar with Arabic, this may seem like an unusual metaphor, but the connection lies in the language itself. The Arabic word for argument (jadal) comes from a root meaning to twist or weave, “JDL”, much like strands of hair in a braid. A well-formed argument, like a well-braided plait, is structured, layered, and intertwined—its strength lying in the careful interweaving of its parts.

This image stayed with me as I listened, completely absorbed by the world that Mustafa Said and Mohammed Antar created. Over fifteen tracks, with Oud and Ney, they led us through the wandering paths of conversation, into the deeper carvings of discussion, and finally, to the intricate weaving of argument. Their music became something almost tangible—a braid I could feel between my fingers, twisting and unfolding as I listened, carrying a scent I could almost breathe in.

M S M A is the name they chose for their collaboration. But despite how it appears, it is neither a reference to hearing nor a revival of the classical sama‘ tradition of listening. Instead, it is a testament to the spirit of free play that defines their work. The title is simply their initials—Mustafa Said Mohammed Antar and Mohammed Said Mohammed Antar—a nod to the old belief that a person carries a piece of their fate within their name. And indeed, these two have been granted an extraordinary share of sama‘—of listening, of perception, of musical insight as deep as it is vast.

Waleed Alauddin