Rogér Fakhr took the stage at Rickshaw Stop as part of the San Francisco Bay Area’s Noise Pop Festival. What unfolded in this performance was more than an awaited concert, but an intimate meeting of past and present, between homeland and a faraway country.

The sound of audience members forcing the back of their tongues onto the roof of their mouth fills the air.

Before picking up his guitar, Rogér Fakhr is attempting to teach the audience how to pronounce his last name. As the audience is attempting to sound out, “Kh,” Fakhr scans the crowd. He marvels at the houseful of young, fervent listeners, many of whom, like myself, had once made peace with the fact that they would never hear these songs live.

Fakhr’s record, Fine Anyway, underwent a revival in 2021 thanks to Jannis Sturtz, one of the founders of Habibi Funk Records. The album was originally recorded in the 1970s, when clouds of war darkened the sunny Beirut skies. The cassettes were distributed among friends, Fakhr toured the United States with Fairuz, and his music career fell by the wayside. March 1, 2026 marked the first time the 71-year-old musician has performed in the States, despite having lived here for over thirty years. Fakhr took the stage at Rickshaw Stop, as part of the San Francisco Bay Area’s Noise Pop Festival. What unfolded in this performance was more than an awaited concert, it was an intimate meeting of past and present, grief and celebration, between home and a foreign country.

Fine Anyway - Rogér Fakhr — Fine Anyway – Rogér Fakhr

In the Arab and Middle Eastern music traditions, a concert is a conversation. Fakhr behaves in this way, addressing his audience as if they are all sitting around the teapot in the arid heat, When it is his turn to speak, he communicates plainly, sometimes apologetically, humbling himself while the stage light illuminates his shadow. The evening is full of modest admissions, whether it be admitting that English is his third language, calling himself 250 years old, or insisting that he does not write the songs, rather “The Spirit” provides him with what to say and when to say it.

“Everything You Want” and “Had to Come Back Wet” erupted the audience into a flurry of rhythmic clapping and nimble dancing. He swivels around on his stool, watching as the guitarist deftly maneuvers through the Hijaz Scale. The music lies somewhere between Laurel Canyon and Lebanon, traversing a hypnotic and evocative fantasy world.

Minutes later, the air has been sucked out of the room, replaced by the melancholy of “Rainhill.” Fakhr sings, “Now it’s still going along. I think I’ll go insane. I don’t believe we’ll hear again.”

The headline swirls in the back of every listener’s mind. The rubble of the Lebanese Civil War may be decades old, but new buildings are being flattened and new dust is polluting the air. He deftly declares, “Stop killing children. Stop dropping bombs.” He lets the words settle before moving into “Keep Going,” his final song. Fakhr strums his guitar almost absentmindedly, encouraging the crowd to chant with him.

It is less of a closing number and more of an invocation – a reminder that our stories remain unwritten, that vulnerability is an act of resistance, and that community can form even fifty years later, in a country thousands of miles away from home.

— —