In Tunisia’s metal underground, people still love to reduce everything to a headline. A woman on stage. A Muslim-majority country. A scene people barely cover unless it fits a cliché. Nesrine Mahbouli, Cartagena’s vocalist and a classically trained singer, is not interested in performing that story for anyone. She would rather talk about the work, the gaps in infrastructure, and the everyday choices it takes to keep heavy music moving in North Africa.
“People should stop assuming women are oppressed in Muslim-majority countries.”
She starts by pushing back on the most common assumption. “People should stop assuming women are oppressed in Muslim-majority countries,” she tells AFRICA.ROCKS. For her, the bigger problem is visibility and resources, and it hits everyone. “It is more difficult for African and Arab metal bands, whether male-fronted or female-fronted, to get enough exposure given the lack of local festivals and labels,” she says. “Most of us rely on ourselves, invest in home studios, and try to learn as many skills as possible in addition to our instruments, so we can be independent and achieve our goals.”
That independence also shapes what “freedom” looks like. She speaks about the stage as the place where she can be most honest, whether she is singing opera or fronting a metal band. “I absolutely adore the stage, where I try to be as much myself as I can,” she says. “I’m exploring different parts of my personality in the most honest way possible. I think that’s the only way you can connect with an audience, invite them to see themselves in you, and have them appreciate your performance, even if they are discovering it for the first time.”
“I’ve had people discover classical music through my performances, and some even started voice lessons because of it. That makes me proud, and it makes me work harder. It’s a responsibility.”
She is clear-eyed about what it means to sing in styles that are not built for mass appeal. “Neither opera nor metal is ‘majority-interest’ worldwide, not only in Tunisia,” she says. That outsider position has become part of the job. “I deeply appreciate that I’m often representing these art forms to a fresh audience. I’ve had people discover classical music through my performances, and some even started voice lessons because of it. That makes me proud, and it makes me work harder. It’s a responsibility.”
Her own route into the scene was not built around being “the singer” from day one. She says she started singing later, around 19, and before that she entered Tunisia’s metal circuit as a bassist, including time with Persona. “I never truly loved the instrument itself,” she admits. “I got stuck technically because I wasn’t passionate enough to improve. Meanwhile, fans praised me for simply being ‘the girl who plays the bass’. It was never fulfilling, so I had to do something about it.”
Her family didn’t try to steer her away from music, even if the volume took some getting used to. Her father, who she says “may he rest in peace”, was a singer and guitar player himself, though heavier music was never really his thing. When she started listening to metal as a teenager, he assumed it would pass. It didn’t. Opera arrived, and she began mixing both worlds at home, practising and testing what her voice could do: “He literally told me once: ‘Among all musical genres, you really picked the loudest: metal and opera,’” Mahbouli tells AFRICA.ROCKS. “We laughed, and I really didn’t know what to answer.” The joke came with real support behind it. “He was fully supporting me, alongside my mom too, observing my progress and being very proud of me, attending almost all of my concerts, no matter how loud it was for them. Shout-out to all cool parents out there.”
Her younger sister played a different role: “I was a very shy child,” she says, “and even though I eventually grew out of it, it was difficult for me to allow myself to be loud because I thought it might disturb people around me.” At home, that hesitation didn’t last long. “My sister was literally screaming at me to sing louder,” she adds. “I am forever grateful.”
“I became my own instrument.”
Cartagena found her through her voice. By the time she stepped in as vocalist, she says she was already studying classical technique, performing recitals, and posting vocal covers online: “Stepping into that responsibility shaped my whole personality,” she says. “It gave me confidence, taught me patience, and even made me a healthier person overall, because I became my own instrument. I have to take care of it.”
That “instrument” has to survive conditions opera training does not prepare you for. She describes one of the hardest shifts as learning how classical technique behaves once amplification and stage volume enter the room. “Operatic technique relies on natural acoustics, so we don’t use microphones in closed areas,” she says. “With a mic in your hand, drums blasting behind you, and distortion effects sometimes cancelling certain frequencies from your voice, it’s almost impossible to calm your nerves through all that sound. It becomes difficult not to push, and you have to navigate breath support in a healthy way, place your vowels, find the right resonance.” She laughs at herself before she goes too deep into the details. “All the nerd stuff that I won’t bore you with.”
There is another layer to it, too. “Switching techniques through different parts of the song with precise placement, while avoiding tension on the vocal folds, can be hard,” she says. “You can also be acting, jumping, and speaking to the audience between parts. You have to manage the whole thing.”
“People should stop assuming Islam is the enemy of art.”
When the conversation turns to religion and identity, she refuses the narrow framing again. “People should stop assuming Islam is the enemy of art,” she says. She points to artistic traditions tied to Islamic culture, from calligraphy to geometry and architectural design, and she talks about contributions to poetry and music theory. Then she widens the lens. “You can’t reduce Tunisia’s identity to one religion,” she says. “Tunisia is a fusion of numerous roots that shaped it, from Carthaginian, Phoenician and Roman to Arab, Ottoman and French. It creates a unique Mediterranean culture where ancient history and living tradition converge.”
That sense of identity also shows up in how she thinks about “authenticity” in heavy music, especially when international audiences expect artists from North Africa to perform a simplified version of themselves. She says she tries to invert that pressure. “What I chose to do on this album is tell the story of my origins and my Tunisian identity through a palette of inspirations and vocal techniques that I personally prefer and master, not the other way around,” she says. “Just because you are an artist from certain origins, you shouldn’t feel forced to play the music people expect from your country, and you shouldn’t use it as ‘exotic flavour’ for outsiders. You should explore what you personally experienced in life, the sounds that spoke to you and lit the fire in you. That’s how you make honest art.”
It is the same thinking she applies to image. She does not talk about stage presence as marketing. She talks about function, control, and respect. “I define my image as an extension of the music I am performing,” she says. “My body is the instrument that delivers the performance, not the product being sold. My clothing and movement need to allow me to perform with full physical command. Headbang, jump, breathe, move freely, own the space. Visual elements should enhance the atmosphere, not distract from it with cheap sensationalism.”
“The Tunisian metal community is starving to see and hear more women in the scene.”
Inside Tunisia’s scene, she sees hunger for more women on stage, and she says it is already visible in the crowd. “The Tunisian metal community is starving to see and hear more women in the scene,” she says. “At local concerts and festivals, I tend to notice more women in the audience than men. If such a big percentage of Tunisian metalheads are female, why aren’t there more women on the stage?”
Ten years from now, the headline she wants is simple. “I’d really appreciate seeing more women in the Tunisian metal scene,” she says. “We are very few, so I sincerely hope I help inspire more ladies to keep the scene alive.” Then she brings it back to daily life and the long game. She teaches singing, and she wants to see that work land in the real world. “I can’t wait to see my current teenage students shining on a big stage as adults. I work hard to help them shape their voices and build their confidence, and I’d be honoured to attend their shows one day.”
For Cartagena, that future sits alongside a present that is already ambitious. The band’s latest release, Tissitania, is a concept album released in December 2025, built as a cinematic symphonic metal work with its own story world. And Nesrine’s answers make one thing clear: she wants the conversation to move on. She wants to be heard as a singer doing the work, and she wants more women to step onto those stages in Tunisia until it stops being something people point at.
