Dua Saleh fosters gentleness in collapse

How can we greet the end of humanity? Dua Saleh doesn’t offer clear-cut answers so much as they embody a stance of gentleness – not as fragility, but as a radical posture. Their debut full-length project I Should Call Them whispers and screams, moving between prayer, protest, and desire into apocalyptic disintegration. But this is not a doom-ridden perspective. As we navigate distressing environmental and political anxieties, Saleh arrives at a hopeful conclusion – to be kinder to ourselves, each other, and the Earth. Following their world tour and the mesmerising performance on GlamcultTV, we caught up with the American-Sudanese musician and actor to discuss the indigenous ethos behind their work, their role in Netflix’s Sex Education, and the vulnerability and power of expressing their identity. 

Hey, so lovely to speak to you! How are you doing today?
I’m doing pretty well. I woke up late and just laid around in bed, which has been nice because I’m so worn out from the last seven weeks of the tour. 

You definitely deserve some rest now. Tell me more about it – how has the experience of touring been for you?
This is my second headline tour, and it’s been a pretty rapid development – in terms of learning how to engage with meet-and-greets and also meeting people afterwards to sign vinyls because not everybody can afford to spend $75 on me. I even got vocal lessons! My teacher was really sweet, and she undeniably helped me improve. You can hear it from the first videos that people posted versus towards the end of the tour. 

Have you had extensive musical training?
I learned how to perform by myself – I would perform at open mics as a poet, but then I started feeling more attached to music so I started singing in my performances. Later on, I also took classes once my university found out that I could sing. They pressured me into taking a scholarship programme with a trained opera singer, and the professor taught me different ways to perform without hurting my voice in four lessons, because most people who are doing indie and pop music don’t use their voice healthily. I even talked to my label, Ghostly International, about getting access to more vocal coaches. 

Nice! I find it so fascinating that your voice is essentially an instrument in itself, and it takes so much to get to know how to use it.
Yeah, it’s really special once you learn how to sing. I didn’t know that I could actually sing until I was 22 years old. 

You mentioned that you started with poetry, how did your work flow into music from that?
I’ve written poetry since I was a small child, and was published in two poetry zines when I was younger and got small grants for it. I always did it behind closed doors, and no one knew that I was a good poet until we had to write it for school. Teachers would always have conversations with me on the side because my poetry was kind of dark. I didn’t share it until I was around 18 and started slam poetry, but I never won any competitions because I’ve never been good at rules or catering to a judge. But at some point, I figured out that they liked really sad poetry, and so I started writing about my trauma. Some of those poems ended up being published, but because I was feeding into the trauma porn of competitive slam poetry, it was really heavy on me. I’m glad I did it anyway because it forced melodies into my physical form –  I started to create melodies to soothe my nervous system with, and that’s what started my music career. 

I feel like it’s such a common trope where one is expected to essentially ‘sell’ their trauma in spaces like that. How has your relationship to that evolved in your career since?
I’m aware that people worldwide are suffering, and people want to be able to connect with a soul who understands what they’re going through. I do that in subtle ways. Music brings me joy and bliss – I dance to it, and I sing to it, and sometimes I cry to it. Naturally, I’m going to talk about my identity, and you can also hear it in I Should Call Them. An example would be the guttural screaming that I have in the outro of 2Excited, to represent the mourning of a queer relationship. My pain and emotions are gonna come out in one way or another but I’m not doing it to cater to people’s pain, I’m just relating to it through my experiences. I think it’s easy for us to offer a hand to the listener and imply your presence – I’m deeply present for my community and myself through the process of sharing my story.

It’s a beautiful approach – to relate but not to cater. Tell me more about I Should Call Them and the broader themes that you touch upon in the album.
This project is a part of a larger concept – it’s a story about my personal relationship to earth. I talk about it in a political way, also through my relationships with women and gender non-conforming/trans people. I’m talking about the security in our queer relationships, but also relationships outside of sexuality or orientation, like with the divine earth and mother nature – this entity that takes care of us and that holds us, and that is a part of us. The story is about two star-crossed lovers who find each other in apocalyptic times – how the world feels to many people right now. The market crash, the collapse of capitalism, what’s happening in Gaza, what’s happening all over the world – Sudan, Yemen, and unfortunately many more.

In the album, the lovers connect, and go through their ups and downs. But they realise, as the world is crumbling, they need each other and they will survive even beyond death through their love for each other. That’s what I want humans to do: I want our love for earth to live beyond our destruction of her. I feel like that’s what everybody wants when it comes to love – to have somebody who cares about you, cherishes you, worships you – in any way that it may come to you. I want us to believe we can ultimately change the trajectory of reality and history by going back to indigenous practices and worshipping the earth. As a Muslim person myself, this worshipping does not have to be taken literally – it’s about taking care of her and her resources.

So, it’s that the relationship we have to the earth mirrors our interpersonal relationships as well… In what ways are they connected for you?
Yeah, when I spoke about the project that I pitched to my label earlier, I was also thinking about the ways that this can continue on for. I feel like there’s hope. I’m just thinking about the women in my family and how they take care of plants and each other. Their community is so vibrant, and its translation into the impact they make on earth is something that I’m putting into this upcoming project. I’m hoping to channel that motherly energy into it. I know that the earth will prosper regardless if we’re here or not, but we still have to take care of her: you don’t have to be nasty to an ex even though you know the relationship is going to end. She’s gonna move on, and she’s gonna be able to heal from it but being a friend for a person you love dearly even as you know things are about to end is special, and I think the earth will remember that and it’ll translate onto the new life that is birthed.

I love that! I also want to talk about the fluidity that I felt very strongly in your album.  There is anger and a heaviness, but it’s still sensual and fun – even the title of the album is so playful. Is this approach intuitive to you?
Yes! To me it’s just a constant fluid motion. A lot of people don’t know this about me but I’m funny – not on purpose most of the time, ha-ha. Humour is a way I navigate the world. That’s what gets us through sometimes, so I can’t take that out of my personality and music. Even while I’m being serious, sometimes comedic relief is necessary. These moments of joy and bliss are crucial – they’re a part of the ways that we interact and understand the earth. Even naming my album after a meme, we need these moments to lighten the mood, where we understand that there’s love. I think it’s important to be reminded of this love while you’re storytelling, otherwise the concept gets contrived because we’re caught in this cycle of anxiety. That is also sometimes necessary as a survival instinct to know we’re nearing an end, but it has to be informed by actual action. Sometimes you need to not be so serious in order to take serious action. You need this balance.

Absolutely. It’s been seven weeks of touring very intensely for you – has it made you connect to or look at the project differently in any way through this very physical experience?
I noticed that people knew the words to the whole album – they were singing the lyrics back to me which I didn’t expect. Most people want to see the hits, and when they were singing songs that haven’t streamed past a million, I was really shocked. I think it goes to show that people are struggling with dating and are in their feelings and they need to get it out. That was a good way for me to relate to my fans – it was a sweet moment for me to be there for them and to hold their hand as they’re processing the emotions that they’re dealing with. Even physically sometimes, I was holding people’s hands, which felt so enriching.

I wanted to touch on the acting side of your career. It was funny – when Sex Education first came out, I was listening to Warm Pants on repeat. But I think it took me about a year to realise you were the same person. That blew my mind. How do you navigate these two parts of your career, and broadly, yourself?
Yeah, it’s interesting. Right now I’ve been thinking about it through the lens of touring. I’m always curious where my fan base is coming from – I’ll ask them, “Have you seen Sex Education? Do you know me from there?” On my first tour, which was right after Season 3, most of that crowd knew me from the show, especially in Europe. I’m glad people find my music through such an incredible, educational, and iconic show – especially one that means so much in the UK and beyond. But this time around on tour, the audience leaned much more music-focused. Fewer had seen the show, especially because this tour wasn’t timed right after a season release. It took a while to get this album out – like six months longer than expected, which was frustrating. But in hindsight, the timing helped me grow a stronger music fan base. I think the acting and music sides of me do merge sometimes, though it doesn’t always translate directly. My crowd tends to be a vibrant trans and queer community – the same kind of people Sex Education resonates with. I played Cal Bowman, a trans masc character navigating top surgery, gender-neutral bathrooms, and dating as a trans person. So that audience overlaps with mine – even if not everyone has watched the show, they live in the same world. When I perform, it feels like home. 

That’s beautiful! The connection you have with your fans remains the same, irrespective of the medium.
Venues always comment on how outgoing my audience is. Queer people have so much passion, they’ve been through a lot and show up as their full selves. It’s amazing to connect with that energy. I even got European crowds to line dance, which was wild, because they’re usually more reserved. People bring me gifts, treats, jewelry; just really thoughtful things. My audience really listens to my lyrics, and that makes me feel so seen as an artist. Whether someone found me through Sex Education or through music, I’m grateful. And it is funny, like you said, I think a small part of my audience doesn’t even realise I’m the same person in both worlds. Some probably never will. And I kind of love that. Their perception of me is based purely on the music and what it means to them, which feels special. Right now, I’m actually thinking about taking acting classes again. I’m in this “taking classes” phase. I produced Sugar Mama on my phone, but haven’t produced much recently. I still produce – I’m like Rick Rubin in my own writing camps – but I want to get back into the technical side too. I realised I really thrive in academic environments, especially for art, probably because I never had that growing up. And now I’m chasing it.

What is the most memorable or craziest gift that you received on tour?
My most memorable one might be a gift from a friend that I was in high school debate with, I was a nerd in high school and… OMG I’m yapping so much during this interview. This friend and I competed against each other in high school debate and we both came out as trans after we left high school. I think it was so important for me to see her and to see her development. She brought a baby’s breath flower arrangement in blue-white-pink. It was the sweetest thing ever.

That’s so sweet! In terms of this duality of your career, have there been any challenges or frustrations? Even when researching and looking through your interviews in the media, the immediate introduction is typically of the non-binary actor. How are you positioned through that role?
Yeah, I think at this point I’m aware of it. I know I’m a token in pop culture, and I probably always will be, just because Sex Education was a top 10 show on Netflix. So yeah, I carry this visible presence as a non-binary figure in the media. You can see it in how I’m positioned – like when I talk about anti-trans legislation, or in that Billboard post I made recently. Even my most viral tweets tend to be around Trans Awareness Week or Trans Day of Visibility. And honestly, I’ve made peace with it. I wasn’t out as trans when I was younger, so I never had the chance to fully be myself or to openly celebrate my community. Now, being able to talk about queer and trans authors, to express myself through clothing – like wearing a men’s jalabiya for Eid – and have people understand the cultural significance, that feels really healing. Especially for younger people to witness. So I think I should mind being seen as a token, but I actually don’t – because I didn’t grow up in a space that let me exist safely.

There is no right way to respond to being tokenised – it can simultaneously be powerful and diminishing.
Yeah, what I do struggle with more is the fear that comes with visibility. The worst part of being a celebrity is honestly the death threats. That’s something I carry more heavily – just being aware, in everyday life, that people might recognise me or target me. Like for Eid prayer – you wake up at 6 a.m., go with your family or alone – I wore a binder and a men’s jalabiya. And that in itself can feel risky. I get these gut feelings sometimes, like a premonition: I could get hate-crimed for this. The way I present in men’s clothes can make me look ambiguous, and that alone can trigger violence. So yeah, the fear of death is what weighs on me most – not the tokenisation. When Sex Education came out, I got so many threats – in DMs, in comments, even tweets. That’s the dark side of visibility. So, not to take it to a heavy place – but yeah, I’m less bothered by being a token. That part, my spirit can handle.

I’m really sorry to hear that. Thank you for sharing this. It’s such an important reality check, because as you said, this side of visibility in pop culture often goes unseen. It’s so infuriating yet heartbreaking that people can have so much hate within themselves.
Yeah, thank you. I agree – I don’t think there’s a right or wrong way to react to being tokenised. I think you’re right that when something enters the mainstream, it creates a kind of duality of being reduced to a label, but also reaching people who really need to see someone like them. And that part can be really beautiful. I do get certain privileges because of it – even being Black and trans. I keep having astrologers tell me I have incredible luck, like ridiculous cosmic luck. Like, almost the level of privilege you’d associate with whiteness – not because I am perceived that way, but because of the opportunities I’ve received. I know a lot of that stems from how openly I talked about being trans early in my career. And if I hadn’t done that, I don’t think I would’ve been discovered by Sex Education, and I wouldn’t have had the same career trajectory. So in that way, I believe being fully myself has brought me blessings. That’s the path that brings me joy. Yes, it’s led to being tokenised, but it’s also brought me closer to my purpose. I actually found out later that the producers of Sex Education Googled me before casting. And I remember wondering, What did they even search for? So I tried searching up “non-binary artist” – and I was the first result. Not because of the show, but just because of my music. That was kind of a full-circle moment. 

Which probably wouldn’t have happened, hadn’t you been so vocal about your identity…
Exactly, it felt like being true to myself is what opened that door. Of course, tokenisation has its downsides too. You don’t want to feel like your identity is only ever understood in one dimension. Everyone wants to be seen in their full complexity.