Berhana is intentional about not only his craft but his identity too. At this moment, life is
too short for him to not authentically bring himself into every facet and every detail of his
vocation. On HAN, his last project, Berhana toys with his name ‘Han’ forming a part of
his artist and birth name. Across the subdued and kush amalgamation of R&B, funk,
and jazz is a narrated feel, easing the listener through the project in a neat and formal
way. It’s this form of perfectionism that Berhana says he’s drifted away from in recent
years. “Everyone has experienced so much, the pandemic, real life — a lot has
changed. I don’t feel as rooted to the concept of being perfect anymore,” he shares.
“Now, I’m living in seeing how things go, and how they are able to change over time.”
Precision is still a priority, but in the search for that, a wider and calmer approach to
utilising that is now harnessed.
Born adjacent to Atlanta, Georgia Berhana has always been raised in a community
that’s centered on his Ethiopian roots. From the matriarchs of his family, his paternal
grandmother ushering him to learn his mother’s tongue as she flew back and forth
between there and the United States, to tight-knit clans of Ethiopian friends and a
mother who was quick to remind him of the richness of his ancestry and people at large.
“I’ve been so blessed to be raised by people so connected to where we come from,
seeing that has always been super integral to who I am,” Bethana notes. This
maturation then, paired with his ancestral grounding, forms the impetus of Berhana’s
upcoming era — a fusion of who he’s been and who he has become through a quite
natural metamorphosis and a more holistic sense of identity, culture, and manhood.
A catalyst in a loss within his family in 2020 spurred Berhana on to reaffirm his yearning
for his cultural identity and re-establishing a connection to Ethiopia through language —
he’s learning to read and write actively — and collecting cassettes and records from
artists during a visit back to the region that same year. “I regained energy, it was really
fulfilling to me to connect in these ways,” he enthuses. “It took me out of a dark place
and reminded me that home is something I can take with me, wherever I go. It was
actively doing these things that made me feel that sense of transportation.” Named
Amén የዘላን ህልም (The Nomad’s Dream) Berhana’s sophomore album juxtaposes the
love of his birthname (Amain Berhane), mothers tongue, and the concept of a
transporting home and his conceptualisation of that and who he has become and acts
as an apt and nuanced moniker all things considered. Shooting the projects cover in
Harar, with the help of Ethiopian creators Anteneh Nida, Girma Berta, and Gouled
Ahmed every component was thought about with care as and when it came up. The
Nomad as a stylistic character was also created here.

Adhering to his more lucid approach to conception, however, Amén የዘላን ህልም (The
Nomad’s Dream), the album, doesn’t feature an authoritative structure, however, does
locomote the arc of the breaking down of a toxic, mirage of a situation, the reclamation
of self and realignment and all embrace of new love, a holistic self and relinquishing
former triggers in the realm of romance. “I wanted to touch on various experiences in life
that have made me who I am today — my life, the various experiences of love I’ve had,
and how I, as a man have grown in each and every experience,” he summarises
humbly.
Part of Berhana’s formative aspects came from his childhood, in the relationship he had
with his mother. She helped mold his infancy and crucial anchors that form parts of the
album’s opener “Amén”. The hypnotic crescendo of downcast bossa nova, pop, and
hip-hop adjacent to some of the early Neptunes, hones in on a tale of two worlds.
Berhana’s mother yearning for more intellectual efforts at school, Berhana, almost
conceives his Nomad canvas. “As a kid, I would always be trying to drown out my
mother’s calls with music,” he says of his first-generation experience in the US. “I was
always between my dreams and what was conventionally right.”
The other part of his sophomore’s first quarter, speaks to the imparting of his mother’s
lessons on his people and Ethiopian legacy at large. Odeing the famous Olympian
Abebe Bikila — whose story was a staple figure in the Berhane household — “Gone”
aptly utilises inquisitive wordplay and double entendres to adequately convey Berhana’s
appreciation for the sportsman. The hook, which speaks to Bikila’s 1960 barefoot
Olympic win for the marathon, also speaks to the indulgence in situations disturbing the
singer’s peace. The circus can be entrancing.
Berhana elaborates on this theme by toying with production on his second single “Like
A Habit” that follows. Crafted by Mike Irish the funk-led, elasticated record is tinged in
wide vocal stacking which acts as a theatric component added to help make it feel as
tranced as the lyricism that sits atop the sonics. “‘Like A Habit’ sounds sweet on first
listen, but it’s meant to do that as it’s really talking about something very harmful and
destructive.” Berhame shares. Bound between the decision to stay or leave across the
song’s summative and intentional bridge, in collaboration with Tanuki thrusts change
into the singer’s lap — abruptly to both himself and the listener.