Nurideen Bashir is left-handed. Myth says lefties are supposed to be more creative, better problem-solvers, greater leaders. When he begins to rap, eyes closed, fingertips pressed tightly together, spitting lyrics about loss and perseverance, he starts to fulfill that prophecy. Yet his dominant hand has nothing to do with why his band is called Leftist.
The name could have been a political statement. Leftist does like to perform in support of causes: Guitarist Mahir Maruf played on the Poetic Vision Tour and opened for Outlandish during the Voices for Change Tour. On Friday, the group played at Community Roots’ annual benefit concert, Move the Movement. However, Leftist’s members said they would rather use their music to advocate for their faith, Islam, than for liberalism.
In truth, Bashir adopted the Facebook name “Leftist McGillicutty” as a meaningless alias, just a way to hide on the Internet. But his fans soon came to know him as Leftist rather than Bashir, and he and Maruf used the label when they first played together in 2009.
The members, who are 2010 and 2011 alumni, tried to find other names.
For days on end, drummer Ismail Nicolas sent the others texts with ideas: The Cave Dwellers. The Hornswagglers. The Shortstop Drifters. The Manatees. Simply “The People.” All were horrible, Bashir said, chuckling. Maruf said it was more “arbitrary” than anything else that they settled on Leftist. For Bashir, it had evolved into something more.
“It’s the idea of trying to be righteous as opposed to being right, you know?” Bashir said. “I think at the moment in this world, we have too many people who are trying to be right, which means that there has to be somebody who’s wrong.”
So what’s the opposite of right? Left.
Tuesday night: Maruf walked down the tiers of steps into the main lobby of the Clarice Smith Performing Arts Center. First impression: gangly, with an impish glint in his eye.
“Nice to meet you,” he said. “How was your day?”
He retraced his steps back to the table where he’d been sitting, waiting to get a call that recording studio 1110G was available. Leftist wasn’t paying anything for the space, but the band was at CSPAC’s mercy and couldn’t complain if others were running late.
“I know you’re supposed to ask all the questions,” he said. “Can I ask you one?”
One turned into several – about the changing state of the media, Twitter, solutions to the death of newspapers.
“I don’t know a lot,” he said. “I want to know a lot. I think [asking questions] is learning, and it leads to more learning.”
He pushed through a random door to a small theatre – dark, empty and a likely setting for a scene in a horror movie.
Satisfied with the silence, Maruf began to talk about how he became a musician – listening to The Clash at age 14 and realizing music could do more than just entertain or empathize – it could change the world.
“As stupid as that sounds and as Steve Jobs-y as it sounds, that’s what I wanted to do,” Maruf said.
Eventually, bassist Mouhamad Diabate led the way downstairs to an inconspicuous door in the bowels of the basement.
“You got stuck with him?” Bashir said by way of greeting. “I’m sorry.”
Wednesday night: Diabate and Bashir were the only band members in the studio.
“How was your day?” Bashir asked, smiling.
They were working on “Astronomy,” which they played as guests on WMUC.
“When night falls, you always expect when you look up, there’ll be stars,” Bashir said. “So it’s like what happens if you look up one day, and there’s no stars? What do you do then? What if something unexpected happens? How do you continue going on with your life?”
Diabate was starting his bass part, using vocalist Lauren Schreiber’s chorus and Maruf’s guitar to guide him.
On his first take, he got three-quarters of the way through, hit a wrong note and stopped immediately.
Yet Bashir was swooning.
“You came in smooth, pimp!” he said excitedly.
Diabate smiled, his teeth gleaming. Born and raised in the Ivory Coast, his tribe is known as the musical entertainers for royalty. His lifetime goal is to collect as many instruments as possible.
He started again. At almost the same spot in the song, there was a twang, and the bass ceased.
Bashir laughed at the back of the studio, revealing why his nickname is “Haterade.”
Diabate persisted, working through a few more takes. He is methodical and detail-oriented – the one who can remember that Leftist’s show, Rockin’ with the Left, was April 8 last year, who patiently repeats sentences when his lilting African accent curls around his words.
Bashir is his foil, reciting statistics in a similar fashion to Diabate’s dates (“86 percent of people get their jobs from who they know, not what they know”) but outspoken in refusing to buy into the political process. His evidence came from his experience working as a freelance photographer during Obama’s inauguration, watching Washington elite converge in the nation’s capital.
“Obviously, you’ve never seen D.C. that packed, never in your life,” Bashir said. “I watched so many people walk over these homeless people and just keep walking. And I’m sitting there, and I’m thinking like, ‘What change are we talking about?'”
Thursday night: the final night in the studio. Nicolas was too busy to record, so they had found another drummer to take his place on the record. Diabate was staring at the drums, mesmerized but looked up to ask a question.
“How was your day?” he said.
While the drums were recorded, Maruf, Diabate and Bashir sat in the hallway.
They played “Lower Your Gaze,” a song they claim everyone, from rappers to technos, loves. They reminisced, remembering when they built a stage out of loading dock crates, when Maruf did handstand push-ups during a photo shoot. And they free-styled, with Bashir singing gibberish in a Spanish operatic voice.
When they were all called into the studio, Maruf had one final question: “Were we more or less interesting than you thought?”
mcfischer@umdbk.com
