Feeling the Unknown: Kamyar Dadkhah's Void as Sonic Philosophy

A hauntingly beautiful debut album, Void by Iranian composer Kamyar Dadkhah, doesn’t merely present a collection of sounds; it opens a vast and silent corridor into the unknown. Kamyar writes:

The existence of ‘Void’ is because of a feeling I’m not able to describe. It’s about emptiness and existential questions that arise when one contemplates the unknown, about feeling of being lost or disconnected. Yet simultaneously, it acknowledges the potential for growth that comes from confronting the void—truths about ourselves, our existence, and our place in the universe. Through emptiness, we learn something about the fullness of life, the importance of stillness, and the ways in which we attempt to fill the void with meaning. I wanted the harmony to evoke the feeling of traveling through dimensions, of exploring the dark, unknown parts of ourselves. The melody of Void contrasts light and shadow, with viola and felted piano representing the delicate balance between life and death.

There is something quietly radical about creating music that leans into silence, not literal silence, but the emotional kind. The kind that creeps in during those in-between hours of the night when the world has gone quiet, and the mind, left to itself, begins to ask questions it can’t answer. Why am I here? What does this all mean? What lies beyond the veil of ordinary perception?

In a world oversaturated with content designed to distract or pacify, Void is an invitation to sit still and feel the ache of disconnection. To not solve it or reframe it, but to witness it. In psychotherapy, this is the essence of Acceptance and Commitment Therapy (ACT), whereby we learn to stay present with discomfort rather than avoiding it, and to hold painful thoughts and feelings lightly while still moving toward what truly matters. The album doesn’t try to answer existential questions; it lets them breathe. It gives form to the formless and sound to the unspeakable.

Part of what makes Void so moving is its sparse instrumentation. The simplicity of the piano, viola, and subtle drums, combined with the aching beauty of operatic vocals, creates an emotional landscape that feels both intimate and cinematic. Each element is carefully placed, never overdone, allowing the listener to sit with the space between the notes. It is in that space that the emotion swells. The restraint shown here is not minimalism for its own sake; it is intentional, and it speaks volumes of Kamyar’s artistry. Void is well written, distinct, and deeply felt. It is the kind of album that doesn’t rush you through a narrative but lingers with you.

As someone who writes about philosophy and the emotional undercurrents of modern life, I find Void to be a rare kind of sonic philosophy. It resonates with the thinkers I often reflect on: Kierkegaard’s “sickness unto death,” Sartre’s nausea, or Camus’ absurd man. But where words may provoke or dissect, Kamyar’s music embodies the question itself. It doesn’t theorize the void, but rather becomes it.

Kierkegaard’s despair is the existential illness of not being whole or aligned with oneself. Sartre’s nausea is the disorientation of realizing existence has no inherent logic or order. And Camus’s absurd man faces that disorientation without flinching and chooses to live in defiance of it. Each reflects a different way of encountering the void, which is why Kamyar’s album feels like a spiritual cousin to their work. 

To anyone grappling with questions that don’t fit into neat boxes about purpose, loneliness, or the weight of freedom, I recommend spending time with the album. It won’t offer comfort in the traditional sense, but it will offer recognition. Perhaps, there's a subtle kind of relief in knowing that you are not the only one facing The Void.