Taqbir: “It’s my story, my experience; I express it through punk”

In fired-up punk that calls for freedom for all, Taqbir have made their own space for catharsis, community and healing.

Taqbir can’t be easily labelled, though they often are: the Muslim punk band, the Moroccan punk band, the punk band that maintains anonymity in fear of persecution. “People want to put Taqbir in a very exotic box,” vocalist Nao tells us. “It’s my story, my experience; I express it through punk, and that punk is called Taqbir.”

Taqbir broke out in 2021 with Victory Belongs to Those Who Fight for a Right Cause; four fired-up punk tracks that grabbed people with their raw sound and gutsy attitude. From the jump, there was mystery and excitement around the band. No one knew who, or where, they were. The lyrics are sung in Darija (Moroccan Arabic) and the artwork is an image of a wrecking ball taking out the sacred Islamic site of Kaaba; an illustration that would be blasphemous under the Moroccan Criminal Code, punishable with prison. The band’s mystique led listeners to invent their own narratives, which Nao found “fun,” but it created misconceptions, too.

Nao is the only Moroccan member of Taqbir. Raised mostly in Spain, she describes her upbringing as a lonely one; isolated within a strict conservative household and a small hometown. As a teenager, there were punks in a nearby, bigger town, so she skipped school to hang out with them. “I started to call myself a skinhead,” she laughs, revealing a tattoo of the word “Oi!” above her elbow.

In 2018, she ran away from home: “It was a violent situation because I wasn’t able to sit down with my parents and tell them, ‘I want to be independent.’” She settled in Barcelona and started Taqbir with a friend. They smashed out four tracks and uploaded them to Bandcamp as a “souvenir” of the time. Then it blew up. They grew into a five-piece and played their first show in 2021 – a La Vida Es Un Mus showcase in Utrecht, with UK boot boys The Chisel and Finnish hardcore band Kohti Tuhoa. They’ve since played festivals such as the Netherlands’ Le Guess Who?, Denmark’s Roskilde and the UK’s Supersonic. (The latter, alongside an early 2024 performance at the First Unitarian Church in Philadelphia, USA, have been uploaded to YouTube.)

They take to the stage dressed in all black with their faces covered; Nao was trying to reconnect with her family. They open with a thunderous instrumental, and then Nao recites a mantra: “Freedom for me, freedom for you, freedom for all.”

Their set is simple: it’s the intro, the mantra and the four tracks, performed in running order. They have two more songs that they only play live, and that’s it. The whole affair barely scrapes 25 minutes, but those minutes are incendiary: an explosion of noise and pent-up frustration that rails against oppression. For some people, Nao says, that oppression is institutional. For Palestinians, it’s colonial. For her, it’s religious.

Her feelings around anonymity changed earlier this year, when Taqbir toured North America with NYC punks Haram. Their lyrics are also in Arabic and deal with vocalist Nader Habibi’s experiences of discrimination as an Arab-American. “The first time I heard Haram, I was like ‘This is my people,’” says Nao. “Nader was an inspiration to me. He’s never afraid. If he’s doing it, why can’t I?”

Taqbir still perform with their faces covered, but Nao no longer does. “It’s my struggle, not theirs,” she says, wary of other members having to shoulder responsibilities and risks. Her first unmasked performance was at Outbreak this June. “With Taqbir, I’m doing what makes me happy, but I’m also [incorporating] what my parents and my community gave me – my language, my culture – and it’s beautiful. I’m healing my inner child with my own band.”

There’s not much Arab representation within hardcore, and those who are visible can carry the weight of speaking for a whole community. Sometimes, Nao wishes Taqbir was someone else’s band so she could just enjoy it. “I would love to be someone who’s in the punk scene without having to make a statement,” she says, her tone bittersweet, but “it’s very important to be that refuge for people who don’t have a home, or a family; people who feel alone. I wanted Taqbir to be a project that accepts everybody. I think it’s getting there, and I couldn’t be happier.”

Sounds like: A scream for freedom
Soundtrack for: A prison break
File next to: Haram, S.H.I.T, Exit Order
Our favourite song: Aisha Qandisha
Where to find them: @taqbirpunks