Baharat at The Cedar Cultural Center in Minneapolis. Photo by Katy Bombard.

On April Fools Day, Victorian mahogany pillars, low evening light and five curious faces welcomed me into the home of Rob Runnels (drums) of the local Duluth band Baharat. The place is unimaginably dustless and warm. We sit around a long table and I gather my excitement while the band devours a pizza. 

The name Baharat is a relatively new title for the group it encompasses. I reached out to them in late March in hopes of connecting to learn about their newly named project. The band has previously been fronted by Lyla Abukhodair (vocals) and included various members, but the recent cohesion of their collective is uniquely identifiable by their members, sounds and intentions. They are friends, partners and allies for one another and the community at large.

This Saturday, April 20th, Baharat, Saltydog and Boss Mama & The Jebberhooch are boogieing down at Bent Paddle for the highly anticipated Boss Mama & The Jebberhooch album release. Go. It will be swell.

Their first performance under the name Baharat was back in February at Legacy Cannabis. Baharat includes Lyla Abukhodair (vocals), Rob Runnels (drums), Jackson Engstrom (bass), Marshall Dillon (guitar) and Manny Eisele (guitar, vocals).

Some groups form from miscellaneous corners, others form with distinct parts assembling sequentially. Intentions behind these formations can be elusive. Lyrics and persona speak, but I leave many shows with more questions than answers. I have some answers for you now on one of Duluth’s most vibrant groups.

Their vibrancy is in the name. “Baharat” is a Palestinian and also Middle Eastern spice blend (either 7 or 9 spice).

Lyla explains, “If you have that, you can make so many dishes. We liked it cuz it's something that is so essential and made of so many different things, and you really miss the whole if you don’t have every part.”

The group tossed around a variety of titles before finding one that resonated with their identities and allyship. Lyla adds, “I want people to associate an Arabic name with rock music!”

I dare not ask them to define their genre, but they all unshakably emphasize their work is “unapologetic.” Engstrom adds, “We do not need a box,” and there is no box to put them in. 

Manny states in our back-and-forth on the name and the intent, “It might be uncomfortable, but you’re gonna have to deal with it. People have to think about that [Palestine]. It's not like we ‘prettied’ our name up to make everyone else feel better.”

Baharat has played various venues in the Twin Cities, such as The Cabooze, 7th St Entry and The Cedar Cultural Center. At a 7th St performance back in November, the group all wore keffiyehs (the Palestinian scarf of resistance). The band spontaneously broke out chanting “Free, Free Palestine!” and segued seamlessly into one of their songs. Much of the audience had just come from a protest.

Marshall says, “It [the active chanting] reflects the communities we touch.”

Musicians, performers, artists and creatives alike have a platform to express, empower and challenge. Our platforms can operate as a form of resistance. Our art cannot be filtered. Lyla also speaks in regards to having a platform and space, expressing that, “Advocacy and allyship don’t have to be separate [from art] …” and Manny replies, “Culture is reflected in the art its people make.”

Truly, if you want to know what our Duluth thinks about anything near to the hearts of the people, look to the graffiti, the open mics, the solidarity in organized protests, the nonprofits and the music. Look to the music. If you can’t find what you’re looking for, create it.

Baharat and other musicians are always paving the way for the airing out of what may otherwise go unspoken, unheard, unsung. Baharat holds space for one another through a collaborative curatorial process, and each member is driven by their individual and collective need to relate to their lived experiences through music.

Engstrom says that when joining forces with Lyla, it commenced in part because, “I always used to listen to emo music, and she [Lyla] knew I would be downtown for that vibe.”

I make a quick joke about genre definitions and promptly move on. He says, “I just want the crowd to have a blast. I try to channel that as best I can.” The group snaps their fingers and enthusiastically affirms. I think having fun may also be a form of resistance. Pleasure is defiance.

For Runnels, he says, “I need this group for that creative outlet. Lyla posted about wanting a drummer, and I don’t know what came over me…” He pauses to contain his grinning in an attempt of composing himself. “I was like, ‘THAT is what I want’ and I did it and the rest is history.” Runnels bumps his fist. The rest of the group grins right back.

He states, “Our togetherness as individuals is sustainable.”

Marshall notes, “I want to help bring out that overarching message.” And I can feel their togetherness and message, sustained and true.

Manny follows-up with, “My intention is covertly to shove awareness down people's throats. I don’t know if it's what my parents fed me. Maybe I drank too much milk.”

We discover at that table that at least two out of five members of Baharat are whole milk enthusiasts. “You [Manny] do drink a lot of milk,” remarks Marshall. We milk enjoyers join hands in a mutualistic, strong-boned handshake.

I am swallowing their intentions whole. Baharat demands awareness through their sound. There are no avoidances nor apologies.

We transition to the arbitrary nuances of EPs, LPs and the labels of length for bodies of work. To avoid boxes, I inquire about where they’re at with recording and producing their work. It is no secret, so don’t let me startle you, but they are in fact, working on an album.

“It’s about everything,” and “There's no real theme to it other than–,” begins Marshall before Jackson interjects “Kickass!”  

Runnels elaborates that it highlights what their project means for them. “It’s a kind of unifying force of all our backgrounds and perspectives coming together to create what we call Baharat.”  

Speaking with musicians about their expression bridges the gap between wondering and projecting by getting answers to the questions we have about messages spoken through melodies. Part of the experience of engaging ourselves in art also is finding space in the unfilled blanks to wonder and project; to sometimes be okay with not knowing what it all means.

Often, simply embodying the message of your artistry is the most powerful. It was an absolute enlightening pleasure to sit down with these fine folks and have an excuse to get at the substance that is the artistry we can call Baharat.