Onstage, rising hardcore stars ZULU are as furious as they are fun. In person, frontman Anaiah Rasheed Muhammad is a far more reserved, reticent man. But, as he says, this guardedness is a learned part of life. And as we discover, his musical expression says far more about him…
There’s a word that Anaiah Rasheed Muhammad uses to describe his formative experiences that reveals so much more than he likely intends in a throwaway comment. Reading between the lines, it perhaps explains a lot about why the somewhat taciturn ZULU vocalist and multi-instrumentalist is the way that he is.
“You gotta be wary all the time,” the 27-year-old says. “Growing up in LA, it’s a dangerous place to live, so I learned how to move accordingly and safely. Whether it’s the police or other people, you gotta figure out how to manoeuvre.”
Navigating through the world with that level of natural caution is something that only comes to someone through lived experience. Hard experiences, usually. But while others like to spill their guts and use interviews as a surrogate therapy session, Anaiah presents as guarded, careful about what he says and how he says it; often taking time to really think of the right words, and occasionally abandoning his train of thought altogether, as if to subconsciously shut down uncomfortable discussion.
Although it’s impossible to say for certain exactly when he learned that life was something to be wary of, he says he can think of “a million different situations” when he felt danger was never far from his doorstep. Pressed for an example, following a long pause he finally recalls a pivotal moment after which everything in his world felt that little bit different.
“I threw a rock at a kid’s face in the second grade because he called me the ‘n’ word,” he shares. “I got suspended from my school. They didn’t back me up, but my mom did. She understood. Typically, in interviews, I only want to talk about the music. But that single moment did shift a lot in my life. I think it’s important to talk about it.”
Asked if he remembers feeling betrayed by the school’s decision to punish him so harshly for that act of retribution and he’s reluctant to go there. Not exactly, anyway.
“Maybe it wasn’t betrayal as such,” he argues. “It was very frustrating. I was seven or eight, so my mom helped me understand that there might have been a different approach to dealing with it. But as an adult now, would I do that? Yeah, probably. In the heat of the moment, there’s a good chance that I’d do it all over again. I’m definitely a firm believer in radical action.”
Radical action isn’t the worst way to describe his band, as it goes. Especially in the bedlam of a live setting. In sound and spirit, those two words feel as close to summing up what the LA group have to offer as anything suggested by the “hardcore, metal or powerviolence” labels that Anaiah concedes usually tend to follow ZULU around.
“I wanted to be able to do something that was not bound by limits,” he simply states of their intent. And it is thanks to that intent, paired with the rippling impact it has had in the almost five years they’ve been doing it, that is causing the alternative world to sit up and take notice.
A pair of introductory EPs signalled their arrival before 2023 debut album A New Tomorrow confirmed that they were the real deal, mixing a multitude of musical styles and sounds, from the aforementioned noise-making touchstones to reggae, soul, jazz and funk. It’s not just the racket they’ve been whipping up causing this furore, however. ZULU’s music goes to battle with injustice, social disparity and racial issues, underpinned by the influence of Anaiah’s spirituality as a Rastafarian youth and his present-day Islamic faith.
Naturally, it’s drawing more and more eyes and ears their way as people flock to discover the source and inspiration behind it all. And that’s all good, but when it strays into the realms of the personal and prying, that’s when defences come up. In an ideal world, Anaiah would likely rather be joined by his bandmates away from the stage as well as on. But in the absence of bassist Satchel Brown and guitarists Dez Yusuf and Braxton Marcellous today, he feels acutely aware of the added pressures and attention that come with fronting a band.
“I definitely feel a bit more exposed, vulnerable and all that,” he admits of his status as their de facto leader. “It was a weird feeling at first. It took a little time to get used to. It still trips me out in some ways. There are many times where people look at me and… the attention is too much. It’s a lot. Being the person in the centre is a bit more stressful.
“It’s wild and I’ll never understand it, but I also get why,” he continues, wrestling with the subject almost in real time as he speaks. “For some reason, the literal voice of the band ends up being that person. But it’s so weird to me, that people look up to that person. Especially in ZULU. We are all individuals; we all have our own thing going on. I think people should look at the whole band.”
In a world increasingly driven by the cult of personality, it’s hard to imagine Anaiah getting his way anytime soon. People are increasingly accustomed to devouring every last detail of others’ lives on social media. When it comes to accessing the private lives of someone in the public eye, that sometimes comes with an added side of entitlement thrown into the power dynamic. But the ZULU frontman has a simple plea to followers of his band. And it’s as refreshing a take as it is uncommon.
“Don’t idolise me,” he insists. “I’m just a regular, normal person. Most people get weird with me, like I’m gonna have this ‘cool guy’ personality. I understand why that happens. In the culture that we live in it’s about putting people up on pedestals. Do I like it? No. I wouldn’t idolise anyone. That’s just weird to me. But what can I do? All I can really do is tell people how I feel and hope they take it as such.”
It should come as no surprise to learn that just like now, growing up, Anaiah never had any heroes. Although his parents were separated when he was young, he’ll credit reggae, his dad’s punk records and his mum’s “smorgasbord of low rider West Coast oldies”, as the reason he fell in love with music, but that’s about as far as any kind of paying tribute goes. His favourite band as a kid? Shrug. Which song, artist or live show lit the touchpaper? Nada. It’s the same story when it comes to his other big passion in life: skateboarding. As far back as he can remember the two things were always just there, he was drawn to them, and he had a natural ability for each.
Percussion was Anaiah’s first calling, however, thanks to a small electric drum-kit complete with headset mic from Toys”R”Us at the age of four.
“I don’t even remember learning how to drum, I just remember knowing how. Same thing with skating. I just knew, like it was embedded in me. Music had been there pretty much since the beginning, so I felt like I was navigating the world with it. I had my folks and my older siblings there to a degree, but as a whole my family wasn’t. It was mainly just me.”
A school talent contest in the third grade would constitute his first live performance, a precursor to joining his older brother Mikaiah in the garage-punk duo The Bots. Following a wave of favourable press coverage and industry hype, the pair played everything from Reading & Leeds to Coachella, Bonnaroo and Warped Tour, releasing three albums over the course of their decade-plus tenure together. But there was an itch that sitting behind the kit just wasn’t going to scratch. Something was missing.
“I played drums in so many bands, and one of the reasons I did ZULU was because I wanted to sing,” he explains of the transition up front. “I didn’t even know if I could. I just wanted to do it and see what happened. I also wanted a project of my own. People are scared to try stuff and I get that. So, people get really weird about it. ‘You can’t do this! You can’t do that!’ Pfft. Who’s gonna stop me? I’m gonna do whatever I want. And the members of ZULU all feel the same. It’s awesome to have a band so open to growth.
“I don’t even want to overcomplicate it, because it’s not a complicated situation,” he summarises. “It’s just a matter of having fun with it and thinking outside the box. That’s such a simple answer, but it’s also the most genuine.”
To that end, ZULU helps Anaiah make sense of a world that often doesn’t. In reflecting on his journey in life and music so far, he’s loathe to draw too many big conclusions, preferring instead to focus on the positives and parallels that can help him create in the present.
“I feel like I am virtually the same person now as I always was,” he insists. “I was always pretty real about having to find my own ways to celebrate and to live, despite the hard things in this world. I understood that from an early age.”
There is one aspect of his latest way of celebrating life that does reveal a little something, however. Even if, again, it is perhaps unintended.
“I was nervous the first time ZULU performed, and I never get nervous,” he recalls. “It was nerve-wracking knowing I had nothing to hide behind. But because of that, I had to be me. Thanks to that I was really able to disconnect, perform and think, ‘Why should I hide? Period.’ I feel like there were times when I was playing drums when I was able to hide. But as a singer, I just can’t.
“Now, when I get up onstage I don’t even think too much. It’s second nature. I just let whatever happens happen and let myself go. I feel like it’s an extension of my regular day-to-day self. It’s a part of me.”
So, if you ever want to know who the real Anaiah Rasheed Muhammad is, the best thing you can probably do is watch and listen to ZULU. That’s about as close to the stuff that really matters as you can possibly ever hope to get, anyway.
Catch ZULU at Download, which takes place from June 14 – 16 at Donington Park – get your tickets now. This article originally appeared in the spring issue of the magazine.
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