Seamlessly cross-culture and deftly impactful, nabeel (نبيل) is one of the most naturally intriguing acts of the moment. Wonderland get to know the man behind the music.

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nabeel (نبيل) is an Iraqi-American project led by Yasir Razek. He moved from Iraq to Virginia in the US as a one-year-old, fleeing from conflict to the country he remains in today as a high school language teacher. He grew up excavating his family archives, a cut-and-paste collage of places, people and times he couldn’t return to – an obsession shared by many children from war-torn homelands. Today, music is the medium that brings him closest to his roots.

nabeel allows Razek to bridge the gap between his yearning for home and his life in the US. This is achieved through the artist’s blend of Arabic lyrics with shoegaze-tinged guitars, forming a wholly distinct, multicultural sound in the process. He’s inspired young people worldwide from across the Iraqi diaspora, showcasing alternative music that they can identify with without feeling ashamed. His new EP ghayoom represents this best. Floating between themes of change and loss, melancholy and hope, it’s an urgent body of work from a project that’s not just groundbreaking, but an unparalleled force for good within Middle Eastern culture.

Listen to the EP…

Keep reading for interview…

What have you made of all this media attention you’re gaining with nabeel? Virtually on your own, with no label backing behind you?

It’s been a huge surprise. I’ve been doing this project since the end of 2021 and a lot of it is inspired by me not finding much of the music like we make on the internet. I felt like it needed to happen. I’m pleasantly surprised by how quickly it’s gained traction so organically. I’m just keeping the music at the centre of it all. 

Aware that pop music was a big part of your childhood. But can you tell me about the first time you encountered shoegaze?

I don’t really remember the first time I encountered shoegaze… it must’ve been My Bloody Valentine, though. I’m very into bedroom pop recordings, and I guess this aesthetic of lo-fi, dreamy, sometimes ‘bad’ sounding music is what I’m attracted to most – it doesn’t all have to fall into any genre. I don’t feel like I relate to shoegaze as much as you might assume listening to nabeel. I grew up mainly in the more sad boy, indie lineage with Elliott Smith, Smashing Pumpkins etc.

Your songs bring together your Iraqi heritage (Arabic lyrics) with American musical influences (slowcore/shoegaze). How do you find it exploring the intersection between these two mediums? Especially since both are integral parts of who you are?

At first, I had a lot of judgement in the Iraqi diaspora community. There was a lot of ‘this isn’t how to be an Arab’ and all sorts of things. It would’ve left me paralysed if I’d listened to all of that too much. For me, it was more about recognising that my identity as an Iraqi is just me. I don’t have to do anything about it, it’s just who I am. 

I’m a language teacher here in the US. I studied Arabic in school and in college, so I just wanted to explore what I could create by melding these mediums together. It feels really refreshing to me. Living with this dissonance, feeling like there’s two parts of myself, one that’s with my family back in Iraq, and another that’s very fluent in American culture, I felt like honouring this ‘self’ that I often didn’t think was allowed to be expressed. 

I read that the project is named after your father. Why did you decide to choose his name?

There’s a patriarchal lineage in the names you’re ascribed in Arabic culture. So, you’d take your father’s name, his father’s name and so on. Nabeel is my middle name. To me, it pays homage to that connection to family in Arabic culture. I’m so far away from where all of my family otherwise knew life, so it felt important for me to try and re-establish that connection.

Now on your third EP. What are you most proud of with ghayoom?

It’s just better than the other EPs! All of the songs prior to this EP were recorded in one session. They all felt like I was experimenting with what felt right. But I feel like I’ve found more of my voice with this EP, pushing my sonic and songwriting identity a little further. They all feel more mature and represent a next step for me. 

I feel like the title track touches on the melancholic, slowcore lens of bands you’d likely have seen in Virginia growing up. How did this song come about?

Sonically, I feel like the track is very much in the slowcore lineage. I’m inspired by the band Teethe a lot right now. I saw them play their track “Upside Down” as I walked into one of their gigs a while back. I was blown away; they looked like statuette angels on stage. Listening to them brought back my excitement about slowcore and wanting to make more music that’s slower and minimal. 

On the melancholy side, some of these larger feelings where we step outside of ourselves flow through the track and the EP. I saw an exhibition in Berlin by Louise Bourgeois called The Woven Child. The themes in this resonated with me hugely; it aims to illustrate that from the moment you’re born, you’re entering into isolation and are alone in the world. That feeling of being alone as an individual in this world really struck me. It’s stunning to realise that everything we know is truly temporary. Obviously, this can feel overwhelming too, so the refrain of “ghayoom” focuses on not wanting to lose the people (and everything else) that you love. 

“wasal” on the other hand feels much brighter. Was this balance of dark and light something that you looked to highlight across the EP?

I feel like all great music has variety. That’s another reason why I don’t always relate to shoegaze, in that a lot of it feels emotionally one-note. Getting too bogged down in genre limits your ability to express a wide range of emotions. ‘wasal’ is definitely a stand out track for me. It’s the last track on the EP, giving a feeling of reprise. But the song is also really dark – lyrically, it questions God and my feelings on not being able to express where I’ve come from. I think that balance in bright sounds and darker lyrics is interesting to explore. 

What kinds of stories have you heard from young people in Iraq / the Middle East who have come across your music? 

Seeing people from across the Iraqi diaspora tell me that they can’t believe this sort of music exists is an amazing feeling. It’s good to know that alternative identities within the Arab community are relevant to people – especially young people. There was one person from southern Iraq who followed me very early on, and they ended up sharing so much with me about their life. They were a high school kid struggling to find their identity and independence, and I felt like it was so important to make time for stories like these. It’s probably the most valuable work of the project. 

We’re currently seeing groups like Kneecap championing the preservation of their home language through their work, as well as spotlighting the ongoing troubles in Palestine. If there’s any change that nabeel could help instigate, that goes beyond the realms of music, what do you wish it could be?

I feel like with all the horrible shit that’s going on in Palestine right now, there’s a lot more interest in Arab culture. This peaking level of dehumanisation that we’ve seen in the last few years is staggering. Having a platform, or even existing in some way, it holds a greater weight and responsibility right now. I feel pretty powerless. I’m travelling to France soon and I’m horrified, because who knows what can happen to people like me? I’m a US citizen, and our president is talking about stripping people of their citizenship because of where they’ve come from. It’s nightmarish, truly. To feel like my identity and the music I make can be seen as a threat in some way to the values of this country, is extremely confusing to me. 

It feels like such a struggle to make alternative Arabic music. But I will continue to do it, because it’s important to me. It feels scarier than it did when we first started, but I’m aware that I’m in a more privileged position than many other people in the Arab world. I just hope to be seen as a person, and for my music to resonate with people in a very human way. To be vulnerable as an Arab, and have a wistful approach to music feels very important to me. It’s also important for people to see real life, and real love, coming from the Middle East. It’s frustrating that we almost need to ‘prove’ our humanity, with everything that’s going on. But nabeel isn’t for those kinds of people – it’s for people who believe in humanity, and believe that the Middle East is a really beautiful place.

Words – Jamie Wilde