one night in marrakech’s underground art scene
10pm, Marrakech, Saturday night. We stood on the edge of Jemaa el-Fna, the beating heart of the city’s veinous old medina, a bursting centerpoint of sensory overload. The night was alive around us; musicians, tourists and locals alike buzzed around the square like a swarm. Vendors flung light up toys into the sky to the delight of passing children. A cloud of smoke enveloped a cluster of food stalls as the smell of meat skewers and eggplant fritters wafted into the air. You could spend hours exploring everything Jemaa el-Fna has to offer, but we weren’t here to run these laps.
A quiet dead end outstretched from the west side of the square. At the end of the road stood a big, modern, barren building, completely inconspicuous from its outer shell. A heavy bass vibrated through its walls. We entered through a glass door into a bright gallery space adorned in colourful paintings and canvases. The bassline grew louder, echoing out from a dark passageway towards the back of the room. A well-dressed stranger noticed our arrival and approached us. I had a lump in my throat, sweat on my palms, and sand from the Sahara Desert in my shoes.
Morocco is one of those countries that the West can’t seem to unblur its image of. Like Mexico, the Maldives and the coastal Balkans, Morocco's perception is one of paradoxes and contradictions. In 2024, Morocco was the most visited country in Africa, dethroning Egypt’s previous reign. Since the end of the pandemic the country has experienced record breaking yearly tourism revenues. With brands such as Nobu, Hyatt and Fairmont all opening new locations in major Moroccan cities in the past few years, as well as a new “Cap Hospitality” program launched by the Ministry of Tourism with the aim of modernizing the countries accommodation facilities, the country's disposition as a luxury hotspot is evident. Despite this, Morocco is still frequently shrouded by antipathetic assumptions and fear-mongered sentiments in the Western media zeitgeist. From growing hostility and xenophobia towards Moroccan refugees in Spain to Islamaphobic rhetoric consistently on the rise over the past few years in France, antagonism towards the North African country is rampant in many parts of Europe, only made worse in recent years due to a worldwide rise in right-wing nationalism.
It's a tale as old as time. From Cancun and Tulum to the shores of Randheli, for many of the world's unadventurous travellers, foreign countries are only as idealistic as they are eurocentric. There's an insatiable fetishism for the exotic–golden sand and soft traditional garments, terracotta pink medinas and intricate colourful pottery–but this culture must only be held at an arm's length, distanced by the cushioning of luxury resorts and Western brand names. Anything outside of these accommodations is unfamiliar, and therefore, scary. Riding camelback through golden dunes is all well and good, as long as there is a suite at the Four Seasons to return to at the end of the day.
All of this reflects on Morocco's nightlife spaces. Marrakech’s largest event venues, such as Theatro, Babouchka, and 555, all fall in line with the city's other touristic staples. They’re luxurious, expensive, and relatively devoid of any real local charm. High price points and VIP experiences serve as a blockade, barring the city’s youth from accessing these establishments that, ironically, are built on the aesthetics of the underground. While less so in cities like Berlin and New York, many artistic and cultural events in Marrakech have complicated elitist barriers separating locals and tourists. It doesn’t matter if you’re in New York, Berlin, Mexico City or Marrakech, everybody knows the beating heart of a metropolis’ culture lies within its local youth. We were determined to find this.
In that bright white room surrounded by colourful paintings, we realized we were at a gallery opening. The stranger who approached us could sense our disorientation. Immediately and proudly assuming the role of our guide, he explained that the exhibit was for the graffiti artist Grocco, who is one of Morocco's most prolific street artists. He gushed about the work and pointed out his favourite pieces. His excitement was completely understandable, the works were gorgeous; colourful, chaotic, intricate illustrations that were like mazes to the eye, easy to get lost in, but exciting all the same. We perused the art, but the music pumping from the dark hallway kept demanding our attention. The stranger asked us to follow him, so we did.
The three of us followed the booming bass through the dark corridor in the back of the room. We found ourselves in a cave-like space, finally at the source of the noise. The walls were shaking and the room was alive. Eccentric locals buzzed like bees around a stack of loudspeakers as the bass clipped and rattled the room. The crowd moved as one creature, swaying and deflating and bubbling all together, juggling the energy from person to person like popcorn bursting in the pan. They moved in a way that my words simply can’t do justice.
Our new friend brought us both a drink and ushered us over to a crowd. Here, the introductions started rolling and didn’t let up until the end of the night. Dozens of handshakes and hugs with strangers, artists, photographers, models, musicians and writers; we had a lot we wanted to ask, but no time to speak–our new friend-turned-guide was getting restless, he saw the excitement in my eyes, and he wanted to get us on the dancefloor. We were hesitant. It was an intimate party–everyone here was local, and seemed to know each other. We didn’t want to intrude and we didn’t want to make fools of ourselves. He told us not to worry, that it would be fun.
Standing on the edge of the dancefloor felt like huddling around a crackling fire. We swayed in place, carefully dodging the photographers swirling around the perimeter. Two girls in the dead center of the dancefloor were the beating heart of the party. They moved as if their bodies weren’t tethered to the ground and they commanded the floor like a conductor, bringing people lower, higher, softer, harder, all with the raw assertion of their bodies. I wanted to be their best friend.
For a moment the music slowed and the girls tapered off to the side for a breather. Our friend-turned-guide introduced us to them: Hiba (@hibaelmoussabbaq) and Fatima Zarha (@zhar.ma.fat). Maybe we were wearing our nerves on our sleeves too explicitly, because the girls joined instantly in trying to get us to dance as hard as possible. We soon found that we couldn’t resist any longer.
Photo by Abderrahim Elanba @fizzwizzbang
The music was brash, all-encompassing, and undefinable. With heavy blends of dub, drum and bass, funk and reggae, you couldn’t for a moment pin down or predict where the sound would take you next. As soon as we were loosened up we lost ourselves to time. We followed the girls’ lead as new people orbited in and out of our circle. When they dropped to their knees, we joined them on the ground, and when they flung their hair to the sky we followed suit. We were twirling and hugging and laughing with fifty different strangers–we didn’t know their names, and it didn’t matter.
In the bubbling aftermath of the party, I met Youssef Sebti (@ysf_ceptit), a warm faced Marrakech local, a documentarian, and a game changer in Morocco’s underground. Youssef approached me with eager eyes and told me he loved the energy we brought to the room. When I told him that I had never seen dancing like this, not even in Berlin, he lit up and eagerly asked if I could say that again, on camera this time.
Youssef has been documenting Morocco’s youth culture for years. His photos and video work tells stories of creativity, joy and perseverance, through the eyes of the passionate young artists and locals who inhabit the scene. Parties, young love, and artistic expression, the Morocco represented in Youssef's work sells an image that transcends culture and language–it's a story of coming-of-age. Youssef has collaborated with festivals, workshops and roundtable initiatives all over the country. His influence and impact in Morocco’s art scene is undeniable.
We spoke about writing and documentation. When I mentioned my writing, Youssef told me I had to meet one of the night's DJs, a co-founder of Marrakech-based magazine IZA7A.
IZA7A Magazine (@iza7a.mag) has become a staple of Moroccan underground culture over the past few years, in Marrakech and beyond. Existing both online and in print, IZA7A highlights hidden gems and underrepresented artists in Morocco's music scene, while also hosting events to uplift musicians all over the country. The founders of IZA7A have been the masterminds behind some of the country's biggest grassroots hip hop events, collaborating not only with Moroccan musicians but with international institutions such as Berlin-based Refuge Worldwide. Through all their successes, however, the founders prefer to remain anonymous. Community is at the forefront of IZA7A’s mission, and in Youssef's words, “for them it's a collective project, so it could be anyone behind it”.
I spoke with a IZA7A co-founder, who I’ll refer to as K, about IZA7A’s conception and mission within Morocco’s underground scene. K told me: “The idea of IZA7A started to burst into my mind after COVID, in early 2021. I had already been working as a graphic designer and enjoying myself as a DJ, then a music producer. It made it easier for me to create certain things that required different types of skills. During my time off, I used to discuss several issues we would encounter and fun project ideas to counter them with different friends forming a part of the small ‘scene’ that we have.
When I moved to Marrakech in 2022, I was mostly on my own; my circle was slowly changing. It’s a city where I found a lot of joy, full of cultural events, always moving—festivals, events, meetings, gatherings, parties. Everything was there; it was inspiring. But the music scene was completely different from the other cities where I had lived, where people would either follow a fast hard kick, a deep sub-bass, or the strident sound of an electric guitar. It was very active in Marrakech, but it had this kind of recipe that would easily become bland. You know when you eat the same meal every day, and it's not really well made, you start thinking of going out to eat somewhere else. Well, maybe we could offer a different meal option. I felt like it needed a revolution and that it should be done by Moroccans, for Moroccans, to help us push each other to remember where we come from and what we are capable of”.
The party wrapped up around 11pm, killed abruptly and anticlimactically. “DAAD [the venue] is so new, it’s not licensed for alcohol yet, and it also has to follow a closing time. There's a lot of strict guidelines for party venues here,” Youssef told me. The group migrated out of the venue and stood together trying to figure out our next move. Hiba and Fatima Zhara guided us towards the musicians of Jemaa El-Fnaa, where they tried to teach us how to dance, to little success on our part. The group seemed to come to a consensus on our next destination, and we followed them out of the square towards the chaotic crossroads separating the medina from Koutoubia Mosque.
Abderrahim (@fizzwizzbang), a quiet member of the group who spent most of the evening taking pictures, mentioned that he had ridden his motorcycle to the event, and that he could give one of us a ride to the next bar. I jumped at the chance.
The streets of Marrakech that night were bursting with life. We left the medina in the dust and approached a new neighbourhood. Here the buildings were higher and newer and billboards lined every boulevard. The area is called Gueliz, Abderrahim told me. “It’s like the Times Square of Marrakech”.
We pulled off onto a sideroad and parked outside an unassuming venue guarded by a bouncer. With a furrowed brow he ushered us inside, where we found Hiba, Fatima Zahra, and others from our group dancing around a performer on stage. With slicked back hair and a deep booming voice, the singer was dressed like an old-school American greaser, and he crooned out Elvis Prestly covers with an intentional southern drawl. Though the bar was filled with patrons, primarily European tourists, we quickly took over, dancing, laughing, and even being invited on stage to sing with the performer. More members of our group trickled in, until we were stunted by a panicked Youssef. “They aren’t letting people in and your friend is in the group”, he told me. “I’m trying to talk to the owner but he won’t listen to me”.
We scrambled down the stairs to see the bar's door ajar and a group of panicked faces pleading with the security. The bar owner, a middle aged white man, joined us on the stairs. The arguing swung between French and Arabic, Youssef taking the role of steadied mediator, until all except two were allowed to enter. My friend told me that the two who were denied were roughhousing in the street before getting in line, but they were sober, and their fighting was a very obvious joke. A joke to everyone except the bouncer. “The owner of this bar is French. He has his Europeans in here, of course…” Youssef told me back inside, subtly nodding towards a group of blonde Dutch women who were now dancing with our group. “but the local youth are what bring the energy. You’re seeing it here. This is why we need more spaces [like DAAD]. It’s how we keep the community alive.”
We stayed in that bar until the early hours of the morning, dancing until our feet felt sore. We hugged everyone tight as we left, and everyone told me we would meet again one day. I’m still hoping that “one day” comes soon.
As of writing this article, it's been five months since my trip to Morocco. In these past five months, the artists I connected with have never once let up on the gas. Youssef has become involved with Les Étoiles, a multipurpose community space, whose events range from cirque classes to film showings to concerts, and everything in between. IZA7A Magazine has continued to host events and highlight up-and-coming Moroccan musicians. Khial Nkhel, a multidisciplinary arts space that was closed during our time in Marrakech has since reopened, and has resumed serving as a hub for the city’s arts scene.
“From the last time we spoke until now, [the nightlife scene] has slowly been getting better”, Youssef told me on a WhatsApp video call in February. “For example, a space contacted me because they wanted to connect with different young people who work in the art scene because they wanted to promote and wanted help. Gradually, there are better parties, with good design, good dj’s, good themes, and these places are slowly becoming the youth hub. When the cafes close, this is where we go. There are more and more places like this because they understand what’s [lacking]. Of course, it must have started out of economic interest, because we are the money, but it’s good for everyone.”
“it’s like we’ve entered a new era”
“And there's good alternative spaces, too. I work at a cultural space [les etoiles] and I organized a new years party. We had established djs but between each established dj we had students from our dj classes perform too.”
I also recently spoke with Fatima Zahra, who offered her own praises towards the support present in Marrakech’s creative spaces, specifically for women. “There's definitely support systems and some feminist communities in the form of non profits like ‘NASSAWIYAT’, an LGBTQI+ and women's rights non profit organization based in Morocco, "HEY SISTER" festival that celebrates women's empowerment, solidarity, and creativity, "SOUND SISTERS" female djs community and many other women in the community that truly anchor the work of progress and inclusion. But you also feel the support on the daily more so in subtle ways, it's the type you find in earnest conversations you share around dinner tables or round table discussions or art events where you just bond with women in your experiences.”
Fatima Zahra and I spoke more about opportunities for women in the city’s art scene. As a 20 year old art enthusiast and, in her own words, someone who is “still in [her] metamorphosis journey when it comes to making [her] own art”, she has been eager to make the most of the initiatives that the community has to offer. “The art scene in Marrakech is very collaborative and inclusive to a degree, it's the main reason why it's my most cherished city!! And that really helps with navigating the scene as a woman with all the challenges that might come. […] I've recently volunteered in the "HEY SISTER WRITING WEEKEND" in collaboration with "MUSLIM WRITER'S SALON", where workshops were given and mediated by women exclusively in means to uplift their voices and also make space for a sense of sisterhood for the women to connect through; with their creative spirit using the art of writing.”
K also offered insight into pushing boundaries as a woman in Marrakech’s scene, stating “I met my first partner in IZA7A, and it was the third member of IZA7A, who came much later, that introduced me to her—funny thing, heheh. I remember having a long walk with her in the current neighbourhood where our studio is, talking about making zines, discussing Riot Grrrl’s impact, and how powerful those women were to be able to defy and impose their vision in a violently male-dominated environment. I could see things coming to life without even knowing that we would partners at that time. I started writing, researching, and talking to people. I was not a journalist, really, and I don’t know if I can call myself that, but I did my best to try to offer something researched and impactful—something that could contribute to our collective memory by archiving people’s work, ideas, thoughts, rawness, truth, and absurdity. This is very clear after reading the magazine”.
On the topic of inclusivity in the creative community, I also spoke with another anonymous source about operating as a queer person within Marrakech’s underground landscape. I was told, “I can't say it's not difficult and that there's not an underwhelming level of representation. It's a bit easier to navigate when you find your own community, but its more about the broader picture and long term future and how important it is to feel free in who you are as a person. The youth and the young artists are really standing up for themselves and engaging in harder conversations and creating safe spaces no matter how small and pushing for change no matter how subtle. There is this instagram page that deserves a big shout-out called @gafm.1 and it's helping queer Moroccan youth share their stories and seek representation, it's one of the many great queer communities in Morocco!”
Regarding the integration of internationally recognized events within the local art scene, Youssef and I spoke about Marrakech’s first Boiler Room party in 2023 and the annual Oasis festival. On Boiler Room, Youssef told me “It was brought by my Moroccan-British friend and he made sure the whole process was respecting and uplifting the young artists here. It was a Moroccan Boiler Room made by the Moroccan youth and it was amazing! The people that were present at the Boiler Room really represented the kind of artists that are the underground”.
On Oasis, “Oasis is pricier and not for everyone, but it's getting better with its lineup. They aren't really bringing as many foreign djs. At the last oasis, ‘Sound Sisters’ brought a lot of upcoming djs and gave them a platform. If festivals like Oasis don’t detach from over focusing on foreign artists, they know that they will miss the train. You either hop on it or you don’t.”
Unfortunately, the successes of Marrakech’s art scene in recent months have not come free of pitfalls. At the beginning of February 2025, a group of Moroccan artists came together to publicly address and denounce their “exploitation, [...] verbal and physical assault” at the hands of exhibition curators and residency owners at a gallery just outside of Marrakech.
On our call in February, Youssef and I discussed the nature of Marrakech’s art scene, and the crossroads that it’s found itself at. “The youth art scene is very giving and very willing. There’s a big hustle. Obviously there have been different artistic scenes in Morocco for years. But what we have now [in Marrakech] is growing so fast, it’s like we’ve entered a new era. Everyone is rushing and everyone is hustling. [Because of this], There's an ambivalence. There’s this flourishing of artistic expression all over the place, but not everyone respects that, and people take advantage of it. That’s what makes me a bit worried.”
Regarding tourism's role in this, Youssef told me “[Tourism] is so intense and so present here that we have to find ways to live despite it. Gentrifying is raising prices and affecting a lot of things in the city. Food, rent. When we have festivals there are moments where you see double standards where foreigners are given more importance than Moroccans.”
As of writing this, the alleged malpractice in February is currently being legally investigated.
The effects of tourism and elitism on the city's cultural spaces and nightlife scene have been topics of contention long before this recent incident. An anonymous piece published in IZA7A explores this very topic, stating“Every city and every big town has its own famous club, which creates a culture that spreads and grows, where people forget their problems and prepare themselves for the upcoming work week. Fabric, Berghain, La Station Gare des Mines, Corsica, Pixie, the META... in Europe or Smoking Kills, Pandemonio and other places not well-known from Johannesburg to Cairo. All these places are shaping a new generation of people [...] I wonder if [Marrakech clubs] realize that they are hiding behind a term that is vaguely understood and they are excluding from their clients the underground people... a good part of the youth of Marrakech.” (rough translation from Darija)
In certain ways, this recent controversy in the Moroccan art scene is a microcosm of the country's overall paradoxical tourism industry. Foreigners seek the tangible beauty of Moroccan culture–paintings, pottery, textiles–but they overlook the very people who put this culture into motion in the first place. It’s strolling through the medina paired with an unbalanced hostility against the market's salesmen, it’s camelback selfies paired with American hotel chains in the location tags, and now, it’s the gallery filled with art held hostage at the expense of the locals who created it. Consuming arts and culture while holding the cultural curators at an arm's length does not signify any real appreciation for the art at all. It’s posturing, it’s a facsimile for the sake of appearances. It’s fraud.
“We still haven’t found the answer, trying to navigate the clash between globalization influence and authentic cultures”
“This is something that you kind of get away from, [operating within] in the youth art scene. We create events and initiatives for ourselves, and as it grows its now the foreigners who want to see what we do and how the locals think. It’s something that you experienced too.”
This incident opened a lot of dialogue regarding the involvement of international and western influences within the local scene. Dardachabab, a roundtable initiative co-founded by Youssef, led this conversation.
“We talked about this in our Datchatabab meetings, do we need international recognition or western validation? I think validation comes from different sources, and Marrakech’s art scene being more recognized does help us to expand and find new opportunities. I want to look at it in an international aspect, rather than a globalization aspect. For me, [viewing it internationally], we’re all humans within the planet and there's a flux of ideas and knowledge and arts. I like this version of it. But then there's the other version that focuses on markets. The Moroccan market vs the international market, and I hate this. Of course art is an economy, but it should be too tipped on either side. It should not be too greedy.”
flyer for a Dartdachabab session
Fatima Zahra also shared similar sentiments with me. “We still haven’t found the answer, trying to navigate the clash between globalization influence and authentic cultures. How do we protect ancestry and heritage? Is modernity allowed to be mixed with traditional values or is it always meant to be an oil and water type of dynamic? I can understand the concerns, but I can definitely see that one of the assets of the Marrakesh art scene for instance is the international conversations it's a part of, and the way it allows a genuine exchange”.
Having these discussions as a westerner raised around an Americanized perspective on globalization sheds light on an ironic state of detachment. Ironic, for one, because this narrow minded, industry driven cultural engagement that the West seems to operate with further gives merit to the cliche that the West is built on hyperindividualism, apathy, and ignorance. It’s also ironic, because if anything, there is so much that Western art spheres could learn from this community that is flourishing in Morocco, if only they would be willing to properly engage with it.
For example, every city could use a Dardachabab.
Dardachabab was founded with the intention of connecting, uplifting and providing advocacy for, and by, the youth art scene. Youssef explained: “One of the reasons we created Dardachabab is because the community has a duty to uplift [eachother]. We want advocacy and to do things in the most ethical way possible. We monitor the scene and discuss issues important to it. It’s a casual group meeting, but all the data is written into articles and reports that are sent to higher cultural actors and decision makers.
I come from a research background, my academia was about biology and research. I would like for Dardachabab to [make] some kind of diagnosis towards issues in the art scene. Marrakech is not enough. The idea is that it's gonna spread into other cities and I would like it to be autonomous, in the sense that if each talk has certain criteria. All that's needed is a space, two mediators, a photographer, someone to document the audio, and someone to write the article. As long as you have that, you can run the talks and have data on these topics for all the art scenes in Morocco. All the articles could go up together in a collective network. The idea is to have Dardachabab as a way to bring out the needs of artists all over the country.”
I also spoke with K about IZA7A’s successes over the past few years and the magazines place as a community pillar. “We started distributing in spaces all around Morocco […] We really wanted to go national to find those hidden gems in each city. [We had] a collaboration with LLTG for a Hip-Hop event where we would be able to give a stage to rappers from Morocco and the diaspora in the UK, creating connections between artists. It was our first event together, and it was such an adventure. We are so happy that it came out the way it did: LEGENDARY. We had the chance to have help from friends and partners who believed in us, such as the new members of our team, Kimia Collective, LLTG, Base Process, the Ali Zaoua Foundation, and the whole team from Les Étoiles de Jamaa El Fna, who gave us different opportunities to work with them. We are extremely thankful to them.
After that, we made plenty of events: an ambient session, some bass events, a partnership with the Art Explora festival, a recorded podcast with Dartdachabab, and connections with many people. We are currently collaborating with Le Boultek, partnering with local brands like Hamra, and it is still going—with the vision of broadening the spaces of expression for different mediums of art.
It is a struggle to do these kinds of things in a male-dominated field, especially as a young person, but thankfully, there are some open-hearted people who understand the struggle and are willing to help create those spaces and moments. It’s always so heartwarming to hear people enjoying our work ! Well, there is definitely a lot of pressure that comes with it and doubt can find its place in the middle of the party pretty easily. But in the end, it is mostly a lot of fun to do all these things together and share these moments. I don’t know yet about a legacy as we are barely starting our work but I hope that these efforts will have a positive impact”.
Youssef, Fatima Zahra, K and every other young artist I spoke to in Morocco emphasized hustle. Marrakech’s underground art scene is one of consistent rebirth, adapting with every new generation, while simultaneously navigating a crowded, industry driven climate suffocated by tourism and Western pressure. Creating under such intense conditions is undoubtedly dizzying. It’s no surprise that fighting words were so often thrown around in my conversations with the city’s artists–a fight to be seen, a fight to stay afloat, a fight to build community. Yet, for all the hurdles that the scene's turbulence can present, it's clear it also breeds innovation. Like Fatima Zahra’s personal artistic journey, Marrakech’s underground seems to exist in a state of constant metamorphosis. Maybe if the rest of the world payed better, more earnest attention, we could learn a thing or two from this constant desire to grow.
“What I’ve felt, in the past few years, is like this,” Youssef explained. “The international world has always been in Marrakech. What is happening now is that Marrakech is pushing out into the world.”
Out for dinner with Fatima Zahra, the night before we left Marrakech. :)
