Story & Lesson Highlights with Scheherazade Stone of SOMA

We recently had the chance to connect with Scheherazade Stone and have shared our conversation below.

Scheherazade, it’s always a pleasure to learn from you and your journey. Let’s start with a bit of a warmup: What makes you lose track of time—and find yourself again?
Music. Creating it, feeling it, living inside of it. When I’m in that space—writing a lyric or melody, improvising with other musicians—I completely lose track of time. The clock disappears, and I drop into something deeper, something sacred. It’s like I’m returning to the truest version of myself, the one that isn’t performing or proving anything, just being.

Also—nature. Especially being near water, walking under trees, watching the light change across the sky… those moments remind me I’m part of something bigger. They quiet the noise in my head and bring me back to a rhythm that feels ancient, familiar and honest.

Whether it’s a voice, a chord, a wave, or the wind—those are the moments I feel most like myself again. Not the self shaped by expectations, but the one I’ve always been underneath it all.

Can you briefly introduce yourself and share what makes you or your brand unique?
I’m Scheherazade Stone—a singer, songwriter, storyteller, and shape-shifter. My roots are in jazz and soul, but my sound travels through funk, Middle Eastern influences, blues, classical, rock, and whatever else the spirit calls for. I’ve always been drawn to music that tells the truth—whether it’s raw, tender, defiant, or mystical.

For the past year I’ve been working with stellar composer-producer-multi-instrumentalist, Adar Avisar in an ensemble project. The ensemble is a truly global phenomenon—composed of musicians hailing from nearly every continent, it brings together artists of diverse faiths, cultures, and musical traditions. From the thunderous basslines of Keira Kenworthy of the British hard rock band JOANovARC to the refined jazz mastery of Yaron Gershovsky, musical director of Manhattan Transfer, and the lyrical trumpet of Itamar Ben Yakir, the project spans genres with fearless abandon. Guest artists include legendary names such as Tal Bergman, the powerhouse drummer behind Joe Bonamassa, B.B. King, and Chaka Khan, Double Zee, who has performed with King Creole and the great Quincy Jones and ex Genesis drummer Nir Zudkyahu; and rising talents like Hammond virtuoso Noam Rapaport and the gifted young saxophonist Alma Vermuth. Esteemed figures such as bass icon Yossi Fine—renowned for his work with David Bowie, Lou Reed, and Bushrock—and Israeli guitar legend Haim Romano of the 1970s band Jericho appear alongside core members like bassist Guy Ron, guitarist Bill Lonero, British drummer Alan Young, New York session drummer Gal Gershovsky, and German guitarist Conny Conrad. The ensemble’s philosophy, free from commercial dictates, is to create music without boundaries—rejecting limitations of genre or song length, and granting each musician the freedom to express their singular artistry both in ensemble work and in extended solos. Collaborations with unconventional contributors, such as a Moroccan percussion orchestra or Italy’s youthful symphonic collective Clearlight Symphony, further expand the project’s sonic landscape. Visual artists, too, are integral to the vision—chief among them painter Klara Klein, who designs the ensemble’s striking album covers. I stand at the heart of this vast and eclectic creative force along with composer-producer Adar Avisar—whose storied past includes founding the 1970s progressive rock band Cosmic Dream and collaborations with British guitar hero Alvin Lee and members of Van der Graaf Generator. Together, we weave a mosaic of sound, vision, and spirit—produced with stunning velocity and uncompromising depth.

Appreciate your sharing that. Let’s talk about your life, growing up and some of topics and learnings around that. Who were you before the world told you who you had to be?
I was wild and free. I spoke to trees, sang to the stars, and trusted my own voice more than any outside noise. I felt things deeply—joy, pain, curiosity—and didn’t try to hide it. I moved through the world like it was a song, like everything had rhythm and meaning. I didn’t need permission to dream, or to take up space. I was bold, strange, soft, radiant—all at once.

Before the world layered on its expectations—what to wear, how to speak, what to believe, who to become—I was just me. Unfiltered. Messy. Magical. I didn’t question my worth. I didn’t shrink to fit. I just “was”.

When did you stop hiding your pain and start using it as power?
I think I stopped hiding my pain the moment I truly discovered the power of music—not just as sound, but as a force. Music became the language my soul had been searching for. It gave me a way to transform pain into beauty, confusion into clarity, and silence into meaning. Through music, I learned how to channel one form of energy into another, to take the heaviness I carried — that we all carry – and turn it into something weightless. It allowed me to be fully present—anchored in the now—while reaching into the depths of emotion. In that space, I found not just expression, but freedom. That’s when I stopped hiding. That’s when I started using my power.

Sure, so let’s go deeper into your values and how you think. What are the biggest lies your industry tells itself?
Oh, there are so many. I think one of the biggest is this idea that only prefabricated, generic music sells. For instance, if it doesn’t follow a formula, it won’t work. But honestly, it’s often the most unexpected, raw, original stuff that actually moves people and makes waves.
Another big one? That it’s all about money, not the music. I mean, obviously, it’s a business—but sometimes it feels like the art gets treated like an afterthought. The artists who really shift things usually aren’t the ones chasing a dollar; they’re chasing a vision.
There’s also this belief that if you’re too original or too different, you need to be “packaged” or “tamed” to be marketable. And that just kills so much authenticity. Some of the most powerful music comes from people who don’t fit in a box—and that’s the point.
The industry also tends to shy away from anything too raw or emotional unless it’s been polished and made safe. But real emotion isn’t always clean. Some of the most beautiful songs are the ones that sound a little broken or imperfect.
Then there’s the whole “simplify everything” mindset—the idea that audiences can only handle surface-level lyrics or childlike emotions. But people are deep. We go through heavy stuff. Music should reflect that, not just stick to heartbreak and party songs.
And lastly, the obsession with youth and image. If you’re not young and shiny and perfectly curated, you don’t have a shot. But some of the most soulful, impactful voices don’t look like pop stars—and they shouldn’t have to.
So yes, a lot of myths get passed off as truth. But I think there’s always space for something real. People recognize when something comes from the heart – always.

Thank you so much for all of your openness so far. Maybe we can close with a future oriented question. What is the story you hope people tell about you when you’re gone?
I hope they say I was a truth-teller. That I sang from the soul, not for approval but for awakening. That I dared to be exactly who I was—even when it was inconvenient, even when it was uncomfortable. I hope they say I carved a path where there wasn’t one, and left space behind for others to walk more freely.

I hope they remember that I didn’t just create music—I created feeling and connection. That I made people feel seen. That I honored both the beauty and the struggle of being alive. That I held space for contradictions: soft and strong, sacred and wild, shadow and light.

Mostly, I hope the story they tell isn’t just about what I did—but how I made them feel. That I stirred something ancient in them. That I helped them remember their own voice. That I loved hard, created deeply, and left behind something real.

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Image Credits
Paul Ferradas

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