Two Years After the Nightmare: The Life and Times of Iranian Rockers Yellow Dogs

Photo via Ali Eskandarian's Facebook It’s been two years since the vile shooting in New York that took the lives of three Iranian musicians who fled their home country—but the incident continues to perplex many of their fans and followers. Soroosh and Arash Farazmand, two brothers part of the Iranian indie rock collective the Yellow Dogs, were gunned down in their New York flat along with their close friend and associate singer Ali Eskandarian. The culprit—Ali Akbar Mohammadi Rafie—was a disgruntled former member of another band from Iran, the Free Keys. No one saw it coming.

Wielding a semi-automatic rifle, Rafie accessed the roof of the flat that November night in 2013. He shot through the glass window killing Eskandarian. He got inside, mercilessly shooting Arash. Quickly making his way down to the second floor, he kicked down Soroosh’s door and sprayed bullets into the room, hitting him in the chest. By the time the police sirens sounded close-by, Rafie was back on the roof where he released one last shot, taking his own life. The two other members of the Yellow Dogs, Siavash Kamanpour (vocalist) and Kourosh Mirzaei (bassist), weren’t home that night. The incident involving of the Yellow Dogs made headlines, reaching publications such as Rolling Stone and Vanity Fair. But the significance of the Yellow Dogs and Ali was much more than that.

Days before the shooting that took his life, Eskandarian finished a manuscript for a book he was working on and handed it over to a publishing company. The novel he pieced together was supposed to be based on someone like himself—“immigrant, war child, rock n’ roller,” he wrote in an email explanation to the publisher. The book recounts the experiences of Eskandarian, as an Iranian-American artist, accompanied by characters representing the Yellow Dogs—all trying to reach recognition in the world of music. “I think it could be the great Iranian-American novel, or at least that's what I'll call it until someone proves me wrong,” Eskandarian wrote in the email.

Growing up during the Iranian Revolution, Eskandarian developed his passion for music and the arts before him and his family were granted asylum in Germany. He then relocated to Texas. It was only when the Yellow Dogs fled Iran in 2010 when he joined them in New York through their mutual connection King Raam, lead singer of Iranian punk rock band Hypernova. Hypernova was one of the first and most successful underground bands from Iran that emerged in the U.S. They paved the path for bands like the Yellow Dogs and the Free Keys to follow.

Raam told Noisey the collective culture of rock in Iran is progressing enormously though it’s still uncommon to find them integrated elsewhere in the world. “It’s not very common for when you’re flipping through NME magazine or Pitchfork to see an [Iranian artist] in this genre,” he said. Raam initially helped the Yellow Dogs settle into New York. After convincing Eskandarian to join them and pursue his passion for music, they all moved into a flat in East Williamsburg, Brooklyn.

In an interview with Noisey, drummer and surviving member of the Yellow Dogs Sina Khorrami spoke about his time with the band in Brooklyn. Khorrami said that their flat became the local hotspot for creative expression, with many local Iranian artists and musicians gathering night after night. “The place was crazy. We had people coming listening to our music, playing their own, showing their art, we had crazy parties,” Khorrami recalls. “There was always real life going on.” Certain styles of music and art, such as rock and stencil graffiti that, for the most part, are deemed unlawful in Iran now had the chance to bloom in Brooklyn. Iranian-American stencil artists Icy and Sot were amongst the famed individuals who would frequent their flat-turned-cultural hub.

Photo By Danny Krug

Eskandarian’s musical talent was his voice and guitar. He had previously released an album titled Nothing to Say, and had opened for Bauhaus’ Peter Murphy in 2008 during his Retrospective tour. Although he wasn’t officially a part of the Yellow Dogs, he spent a considerable amount of time playing alongside them, and eventually joined them on a tour across the U.S. as a special guest. “Ali and the Dogs” became their provisional name. On his downtime, Eskandarian loved to practice literature and poetry, but would rarely share his work with others. “I don’t think he ever told us that he was writing a book,” said Khorrami. “He would always borrow one of our computers, do his work and send it to his email.”

The Yellow Dogs would be invited to play in the South by Southwest festival in both 2009 and 2010—but due to visa complications were only able play the second year. When they settled in Brooklyn, Ali and the Yellow Dogs became a part of a bigger pool of hipsters and musicians. Their work gained traction and followers, and soon they had picked up shows in venues like Mercury Lounge, Brooklyn Bowl and the Knitting Factory. Aside from their music, it was their story that set them apart from the rest. The group had abandoned everything—including the opportunity to return to their home country—all for their music.

Iran’s tough stance on Western-influenced music never stopped groups like the Yellow Dogs. Subcultures like punk and indie thrive in Iran, but generally underground. Groups found their own ways to meet and practice. Bands would print out their own concert tickets, and either find remote locations for open-air concerts or pimp out their basements. A park in northern Tehran dubbed “the Frog Park” was where skaters and punk rock kids commonly hung out. “People wouldn’t bother you there,” said Khorrami. Much of this was captured in a 2009 docu-drama film that explores the underground rock scene in Iran titled No One Knows About Persian Cats. The Yellow Dogs were featured in the film, and said it was when the film was released where they realized they needed to leave the country for their own safety.

“The Frog Park” became a place where a lot of band members initially met, including the Yellow Dogs. But practicing their songs couldn’t happen just anywhere, which led Khorrami to build a practice room from scratch on the roof of his apartment. The room wasn’t exactly soundproof. At times, their power would be cut off, and other times complainants would have the police called to the scene to investigate the noise. “They knew us as the assholes with crazy long hair,” he said. Khorrami said living in a more conservative neighbourhood had its difficulties, but to their surprise, people weren’t at all against them. “We had this religious guy who rented in our basement. He used to come upstairs and pretend to fix his antenna,” he said. “After a while, he said ‘I just want to listen to your music, OK man?’” Then there came the time when the Yellow Dogs decided to perform concerts.

Photo By Danny Krug

The risk of officials storming the concert was always a potential danger. The group would have cars driving around the neighbourhood on-watch for police during the whole set. In the case someone suspicious was spotted, the concert would be put on hold while the crowd scrambled to find a way out of the basement without being spotted. The Yellow Dogs held two major concerts in Tehran. In their case, it was their parents who drove around the block keeping watch. “Yeah, our parents are super cool,” said Khorrami. “There hadn’t been underground shows like ours [in Iran]. People went nuts, full out.”

The Yellow Dogs dreamt of the day performing such concerts wouldn’t be such a risk. And they became one of the lucky bands who had their dream realized once they managed to flee the country—able to perform to the outside world. Crossing paths with Eskandarian was the next best thing. He was referred to as their brother, and as one of the most talented people they had come across. His voice carried a vibrato that’s hard to come by. Eskandarian would write songs on a daily basis and forget about them—the Yellow Dogs having to beg him to record them. “This guy could not sing out of tune,” said Raam. “The way that he was able to master his own voice in all the ranges in incredible.”

Raam said that watching Eskandarian perform taught him so much he witnesses the impact on his own style to this very day. Together, the Yellow Dogs and Eskandarian had a reputation in Brooklyn was growing evermore stronger until the day everything came to an end. The tragic murder-suicide that took place on November 11, 2013 shocked friends and followers and even made headlines back in Iran. The lives of three young Iranian artists had been taken away. Khorrami had left the band shortly before the incident, as he chose citizenship in Canada with his family over refugee status in the United States. “I was the lucky bastard. I miss them so much and it makes me so sad to think what they loved was cut short and taken away from them,” he said. “It makes me sad that no one’s going to hear Ali’s voice again in person.”

Photo By Danny Krug

A memorial concert for Ali and the Dogs was held at the Brooklyn Bowl about a week after their passing. The venue was packed with friends and fellow artists paying their respects. A collective of New York-based artists took the stage, including Nada Surf, Kyp Malone, and Luke Temple. David Byrne of Talking Heads was not able to attend but sent a mournful message to be read aloud. New York-based Iranian artist Shirin Neshat also made an appearance and gave a speech about the today’s generation of Iranian artists stuck in a political world. What was created was a lasting impact on the Iranian-American rock scene.

When Ali first handed over his book to the publisher, he named it American Immigrant. The title of the book was changed to Golden Years, not only a reference to David Bowie but also an unforeseeable future that came upon Ali and the Dogs. Without even knowing it, Ali and the Dogs opened the door even wider for Iranian artists to hit the international stage. And without necessarily wanting it, they helped connect Iran to the rest of the world through their music. At a time when countries are talking about the lifting of sanctions against Iran, their story helps people understand that where they came from was different but also so similar to the rest of the world.

In the words of Shirin Neshat, “Every Iranian artist in one form or another is political. Politic has defined our lives.”

Behdad Mahichi is a writer based in Toronto. Follow him on Twitter.