Despite his growing international success Rachid Taha still retains his standing as the voice of North African immigrants struggling for acceptance and equality in western Europe. Jim Carroll talks to the Algerian-born singer about his unique brand of rock'n'rai

WOULD you buy a book from this man if he came knocking on your front door? Back in the early 1980s, selling books door to door throughout France was the lot of Rachid Taha. He's still selling, of course, but it's his own work and views rather than the tomes of celebrated French writers.

Taha is a musical rebel with many causes to shout about. The Algerian-born singer has long been one of France and northern Africa's most feted rabble-rousers. His most recent albums, particularly last year's pulsating Tékitoi, have seen his popularity bloom beyond those quarters. High praise from Brian Eno has also increased the interest in Taha and his work.

When you clock his splendid reworking of The Clash's Rock the Casbah, you can understand why such attention has been lavished on this rough-cut diamond. Originally Joe Strummer's whiplash response to how some cultures suppressed popular music, the song has been reshaped without losing any of its energy or urgency. Rock'n'rai with a punk rock spirit, Rock el Casbah is quite a calling card.

But it's not the only tune in Taha's arsenal of rowdies. There's a hatful of them, stretching right back to the fiery work of his first band, Carte de Sejour. Having abandoned the travelling salesman circuit, Taha was working in a factory in Lyon when he and two fellow workers started a band to play lunchtime concerts.

Back then, as now, Taha's musical inspirations came from far and wide. "I remember growing up in France and listening to reggae and punk and whatever else was on the radio. My father used to play all this old Algerian and Moroccan music from the 1930s and 1940s. I listened to absolutely everything and I suppose it all inspired me in some way or another."

But in the France of the early 1980s, Carte de Sejour stood out for more than just musical reasons. Their lyrics reflected what many second-generation immigrants were feeling and thinking about the country they now called home, a place where many in the population were marking their ballots in favour of the extreme right-wing Front National.

Calling the band after the immigrant's residence permit was just the tip of Carte de Sejour's political zeal.

"We didn't sound like anyone else," says Taha about their early shows. "So the audiences were surprised. They were expecting rock bands who sang in English or French, and Carte de Sejour didn't do that. We sang in Arabic."

It also came as a surprise to other groups on the circuit. "It was a new departure. Other musicians were a bit scornful about what we weredoing. But, after a while, they listened again and found that there were elements in Carte de Sejour's sound which were quite good. That's when it got interesting. It took time, though."

Such releases as the Deux et Demi album and the single Douce France put the band in the frame. The latter, a retake of a classic Charles Trenet French chanson hit, caused a stir with its Arabic strains and leanings. In ways, that single went on to overshadow everything else about the band and they called it a day in the late 1980s.

But Taha had no desire to return to the factory floor. He moved back to Oran, his Algerian birthplace, to work on some musical ideas which had began brewing as Carte de Sejour wound up. His first solo album, Barbès, hit problems on release in 1991 because French radio stations pulled Arabic-sounding records from the airwaves due to the Gulf War. Still, its musically energised and politically aware songs proved to be a template for Taha's future work.

"Yes, my songs are politicised and yes, it has cost me in terms of being a bigger artist," he says. "But that doesn't matter too much. Who I admire are people who make good music and who are political activists as well, so you could say that they have inspired me to keep doing what I do. I always want to be seen as someone who speaks out about things around me."

Taha is acutely aware that recent world events mean everything a high profile Arabic singer says or does will be closely and critically analysed. "Some people are so narrow-minded when it comes to how they see Arabs. They think we're all terrorists. For them, the word Arab has become synonymous with the Palestinian/Israeli war. They're convinced that all Arabs are sworn enemies of the Jews. I see my role as trying to set the record straight and convey the right information. And believe me, I've got my work cut out!"

Perhaps this is why Tékitoi sounds so angry and direct? "I suppose I was trying to create a weapon of mass destruction that destroys prejudices," he says. "Not a day goes by without Arabic culture being connected with one news story or another about terror. So this album wants to show that these people are no different to people like us in western Europe. It's an attempt to wake people up by using loud rock'n'roll music."

Yet the singer who started out articulating the thoughts and opinions of Arabic and African immigrants knows that isolating today's young immigrants from the rest of society brings problems. "You can see that there is definitely a tendency among young people to cut themselves off from society and you can understand why it is happening. Arabic immigrants and their children who were born in France were completely ignored for a long time and their music and culture were not exactly welcomed with open arms.

"Yes, you hear a lot more Arabic music in big hip-hop productions, but that's like adding salt to a meal. It doesn't change the bigger picture about the music or the culture. As a result of all this, many young Arabs have became frustrated and highly radical. It will take more than musicians to reach them now."

Taha is scathing about the role politicians have played in maintaining this isolation. "The politicians must accept the responsibility for this because they played a nasty game from the start. Political parties made big mistakes in how they interacted and communicated with immigrants. In France, the tension between the French and the immigrant population, which was there when I started making music, is still as strong as ever. Look at who's in power. There aren't people of North African descent in the government and hardly any in the political parties. That's why I feel more political now than ever."

Taha's Irish dates next month come towards the end of a long, arduous tour to promote Tékitoi. He reckons he has played 250 shows in the last year. As more and more people discover his work, Taha is playing bigger and better halls. He's not complaining.

"It's pretty intensive, but I like it that way. I love when you get a really positive vibe from the crowd and everyone is dancing away to the music and applauding like crazy. I like the idea of playing lots of gigs around the world in one go.

"That's a musician's lifestyle for you. We're like travelling acrobats, always packing our bags and moving from one place to the next."

Rachid Taha plays Vicar St, Dublin on November 5th and the Half Moon, Cork on November 6th