Here’s a trailer for a documentary project on the underground music scene in the Arab world, specifically Beirut. It’s very well made and offers some valuable insights into a scene that’s sadly still shunned by the mainstream, who prefer their stars lip-synched and surgically-enhanced. Like someone says in the video: “popstars sing dreams, we sing [...]
Here’s a short documentary from last year’s Beirut International Tango Festival, as a little taster of what’s to come this April.
Posted in Videos on 22. Feb, 2010
Here’s one of my favourite tracks by Bergen, Norway-based band Kings of Convenience. The perfect music to soothe the irate Lebanese motorist. I think if we were all playing this or bossa nova on our radios instead of the latest Tiesto offering, we’d probably be far more chilled out.
Hello everybody! It would seem the swarm of expats is upon us and we’re destined to fester in our cars in traffic jam after traffic jam for the next couple of weeks. I’m actually getting physical cramps in my leg from sitting around with my foot on the brake for half an hour at a [...]
There’s been talk recently of Lebanon joining the ranks of civilized countries and banning smoking in public places. Although I think there’s a litany of more important issues to legislate, no harm could come of this. But I’m still highly skeptical they’ll have any success in enforcing any laws that come into effect. I’ve seen [...]
Rayess Bek, also known as Wael Koudaih, is a pioneering Lebanese rap artist. He started off with the group Aks’ser back in the mid-nineties, in a series of cringe-worthy videos of wannabe rap that I remember watching as a kid during holidays in Lebanon. His raps and slams in Arabic and French, are filled with [...]
Mashrou3 Leila is a seven-member Lebanese band that’s been getting bigger and bigger ever since they burst onto the local music scene in 2008. From what I understand, its a haphazard group who first came together at AUB after they answered an ad to join into informal jamming sessions at the university. I like the [...]
I’ve always wondered why there aren’t more stand up comedians in Lebanon. I mean the place is rife with fodder for observational humour. Five minutes in a traffic jam or waiting room should be enough for a whole set. One guy who’s done quite well with stand up is Nemr Abou Nassar. He’s had a [...]
Duet for Cello is a new Lebanese feature film being directed by Wafa’a Halawi, who I met a few days ago with a friend. She’s got all the funding in place and its almost done, and by looks of things its going to be quite something. According to the director, it’s an exploration of relationships [...]
As 2009 slowly comes to an end, Beirut is full of expectation at the upcoming arrival of the hordes of expats for Eid and Christmas. As is usual during the holidays, our sprawling and chaotic capital will double in size. Expect traffic jams as far as the eye can see, lots of gesticulating drivers, queues in restaurants and inflated prices all around.
Up until last August, I used to be one of these returning exiles. I’d sit in the offices of the bank I worked for, a soulless concrete and glass block in London, staring out at the perpetual drizzle and gray skies and think of Beirut. Then, suddenly, I decided it was time to quit and move back to Beirut. The use of the term “move back” was even surprising to me, as I’d only ever lived in Beirut for about 6 years during high school and university. The rest of my years have been spent in the aforementioned drizzle. But I’d always had this longing, even before I’d ever set foot in Lebanon in the 90s, to one day inhabit the country whose faded Ministry of Tourism posters I had plastered around my childhood bedroom on Queen’s Gate.
In the months since I’ve moved here, I’ve dealt with the daily frustrations every Beiruti endures. I’ve spent hours baking in the August sun in the Beirut Port waiting for my furniture, books, DVDs and albums. I think importing a container full of RPGs would have been less cumbersome. It appears books (of which I had 34 boxes) are far more threatening to the powers that be. I’ve endured the traffic jams, the aggressive drivers, the frustrated traffic cops, the bored telephone receptionists, the over-zealous security guards, the gossipy housewives, the faux-hippies, the faux-jetsetters. I’ve gotten used to the fact that people can smoke in restaurants, clubs, hospitals, airports, offices. I’ve tried not to stare at the botched nose jobs and garish dress sense. I’ve accepted that my internet connection slowly evaporates as the rain starts to trickle and then pour down through flooded streets. I’ve accepted that on the sunniest of days, my internet connection is still only about a 20th of the speed of the one I just left behind in the West.
Then one day, I flipped. I refused to believe I lived here. I’d tell people vaguely that I lived between Beirut and Paris. I promptly packed my bags and went to Paris for over a month. Since I quit a soul-destroying career in finance, I’ve decided I would take up my one and only passion, writing, and make a career out of it. I’m currently working on a book about Saudi Arabia’s regional wars, as well as a first novel. While I was in Paris, I was also working on an online magazine I’d been developing for a few months. Since most of my intellectual fodder comes from Manhattan-based publications, I wanted to launch an online arts & culture magazine in the same vain. I could basically live anywhere I wanted and work from my laptop.
Then, a week ago, I returned from Paris. I found the same insistent cab drivers at the airport, the same cops shouting vague threats at incorrectly parked motorists outside the arrivals terminal. My heart sank immediately. I was back. A few days of moderate depression ensued, with daydreams of my next flight out of here. Then one morning, I decided to head to my father’s ancestral village. One of the last places where I can escape to without the burden of car horns and wireless internet. I had always admired how my father has travelled to the four corners of the earth, but still only finds true peace amongst the pine trees of his native village. Sitting on a sundrenched terrace, staring down a sunlit and green valley all the way to the sea, I realized my place was in Beirut. I finally accepted that I now live here.
As I drove back to home, thoughts were racing through my mind. As soon as I got back into the 21st century, and found my wireless connection, I purchased this domain to the page you’re now reading. I have now scrapped my initial ideas for an online magazine, and will now direct my online efforts towards this blog. The daily musings of a returning expat, with all the frustrations and joys that this implies. As Beirutis and Lebanese, we’re quite good at complaining about our plight, but we’re not really proactive about it.
Over the years I’ve posted a few thoughts on Lebanon and the Lebanese on my personal blog and on various forms of social media (you can read a couple that I’ve reposted on this blog get a taste of what’s to come). Some have been plagiarized; others quoted on blogs and in books. The last note I posted on my Facebook profile drew 80 responses, so it’s pretty obvious a lot of people share my frustrations and hopes, and more importantly they want to discuss them.
So, on Monday night, this blog was born. The title “Our Man in Beirut” is a reference to the byline attached to foreign journalists and the segways made by news anchors to war correspondents. I thought it was appropriate as I often feel like a stranger in my own city. You’ll find my own musings as well as links to videos and articles of interest, with some form of snooty commentary from yours truly.
Enjoy, and thanks for reading.
© 2009 - 2010 Our Man in Beirut and Nasri Atallah. All Rights Reserved.
