A posthumous record? "Nothing to declare!" as Rachid would have said, leaning on the bar counter, with messy hair, bright eyes, and a raspy voice. He's there, you can't miss him. He may be laid to rest in Algeria, but he hasn't left us. He knew that those who are allegedly missing are well and alive: "Do you really know the others?" the master of rock-Chaâbi once asked, quoting the greats Johnny Cash, Oum Kalthoum, and Andy Warhol in a prophetic song titled Andy Walhoo. He wrote this arabic-punk-electro piece with guitars, balafon, and mouth harp before succumbing to a heart attack on September 12, 2018. With boundless energy, Taha wrote eleven songs together with Toma Feterman for his eleventh solo album, diving deep into his roots as usual. First, Algerian Chaâbi, so subtle, yet so complex. Then rock, which took the world by storm during the postwar period, and punk, it's offshoot, in the style of The Clash. Finally, electronica, the musical revolution of the late twentieth century, as hypnotic as the Gnawas guembris or Sufi trance sounds.
