Scrambled Eggs

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Despite a jihadist uprising in the north, a political crisis in the capital, and rumors of war swirling all around, it's business as usual in Beirut's packed nightclubs. The good-looking people in this good-time town have long partied to a familiar soundtrack of popping champagne corks, clacking high-heels, and the generic beat of computer-generated dance music — whatever it takes to drown out the sound of Lebanon's continual crises. But for a relatively small number of Beirut hipsters, there's another soundtrack, evoking rather than denying the instability of their lives.

Lebanon's underground music scene sees its own demise in the fading promise of the 'Cedar Revolution'

Many of them gathered last Thursday for a performance by Scrambled Eggs, four nerdy-cool local guys in tight jeans and high-tops who strangle their guitars and have onstage seizures as if this was Manchester in the 80's or Seattle in the 90's. "I was locked in a cellar but it became my shelter," sang frontman Charbel Haber on "See You in Beirut Whatever Happens," one of the band's original songs that convincingly channels the post-punk era of Sonic Youth and the Cure, but which seems somehow appropriate in the current Beirut setting: a subterranean nightclub called Basement, which coined its slogan "It's Safer Underground" during last summer's Israeli air raids.

For the past ten years, Beirut has been home to a small but artistically significant rock scene, where a handful of bands with names like Soap Kills, the New Government and, of course, Scrambled Eggs, have tried to put this tiny country on the musical map for something other than sexy Arab pop divas. As such, they've been part of a creative subculture of artists, architects, and designers who've tried to reconcile Eastern and Western cultural forms, as well as tradition with modernity.

A foreign visitor might find it strange to find a rock subculture in the Middle East, but Haber, a former Catholic schoolboy, sees a similarity between rock's golden age during the 1950s and 1960s in America, and the Middle East today — sexually repressed conservative societies dominated by religion and an ideological cold war. Interviewed last week at the band's studio in Gemmayze, a formerly working class neighborhood of garages and crumbling townhouses that's become ground zero for Beirut's young and restless, Haber places the Beirut rock scene in a wider Mideast cultural context: "At the end of the day, sex, drugs, and rock and roll means freedom."

Rock and freedom — if not necessarily sex and drugs — got a big boost in Lebanon in 2005, during what outsiders called the Cedar Revolution, when huge crowds gathered in central Beirut to demand an end to the Syrian occupation and an end to the country's sectarian divisions. But the creative and intellectual frenzy that accompanied the Syrian withdrawal was cut short after the country's ruling sectarian political class co-opted the Cedar Revolution, and turned Lebanon into battlefield between regional superpowers. Spurred by last summer's war with Israel and by the current struggle between Iran and the U.S. over Lebanon's government, talented young people have been leaving in droves. "We're not a country that can handle big missions," said Haber. "One side wants us to spread democracy in the Middle East, the other side says that we're the country that's going to bring about the downfall of the Israelis and the Americans. They have been pushing the country into a state of survival, and in a state of survival, art doesn't survive."

The music of Scrambled Eggs isn't overtly political. But Haber's lyrics, which focus on his "entourage of completely wasted people" reflect what it's like to live in a society fraught with uncertainty and violent change. "We do everything as if the world is going to end tomorrow," he said. "The Syrians might come back, Israel might attack, Hizballah might start another war. In a situation like this, you do a lot of self-destructive things." One recent song, "Let It Go," is both a rousing exhortation to ignore one's mounting problems, but also an elegiac farewell to the city's golden moment that followed the Cedar Revolution. Its haunting melody is meant to conjure the orange and violet melancholy of a Mediterranean sunset. "It's an Arab thing," explains Haber. "They always go back to the ruins and cry and remember their lovers. In Beirut, it happens every decade, the city is destroyed and then rebuilt. It disappears and then appears. That's why it's raw." - TIME Magazine

Beirut's post-punk pioneers take five (months or so)
Members will use hiatus for studies in America, possible shows in Europe, new material
By Bojan Preradovic
Special to The Daily Star
Friday, August 31, 2007

BEIRUT: When the local post-punk outfit Scrambled Eggs took to the stage at Basement last week, it was to play their last show in Beirut for some time to come. The band, made up of vocalist and guitarist Charbel Haber, guitarist Marc Codsi, bassist Tony Aliyeh and drummer Malek Rizkallah, is putting itself on self-imposed hiatus for the next few months, pending Rizkallah's return from studying in the United States.

Scrambled Eggs has been a prominent member of Beirut's alternative rock scene for a solid decade now, and, despite the band members' taking a much-needed break, there seems to be no end in sight as far as their creative antics are concerned.

"The band will pick up again around January," Haber says, "but we may do some concerts in Europe in the meantime."

Haber and his bandmates are generally delighted to offer a long list of obscure, experimental ambient-electro artists as their influences, but they are also equally careful to mention that most of their writing is done through improvisation, evocative of the technique spearheaded by jazz legends such as John Coltrane.

The members of Scrambled Eggs are, however, renowned in Beirut as partisans of now-classic acts such as Sonic Youth, who, among other New York groups in the 1980s, pioneered the so-called "no wave" movement in art and music (a special brand of indie underground music permeated by a re-evaluation of punk rock credos).

The band's love affair with experimentation, improvisation and, more notably, with atmospheric resonance and feedback, seems interminable, at least for the moment. In addition to those shows in Europe, Haber has his record label Those Kids Must Choke to think about, and it is likely Scrambled Eggs will take advantage of some down time to start assembling material for the band's next album.

"I am too busy right now to even think about the label," Haber admits, "but I can do 500 records, and they'll all be the same twisted underground stuff," he says, laughing. "I don't want it to grow beyond that or diversify - that's the spirit of the label and that's what I'm sticking to."

In terms of the band's music, he explains: "We are currently heading in the same direction, but at the same time, we never know for sure where the next album will take us.

"It should feature the familiar punk vibe, with our own brand of ambient, but again, the way we compose in rehearsal is by improvisation, which obviously implies unpredictability, so you never know.

"I draw the inspiration for the lyrics from human relationships and the spirit of the times - the songs are about people you love, those you hate, and those you don't hate," Haber says.

When asked what he is currently listening to, Haber exclaims, with a mischievous smile: "Nothing, zero!"

Scrambled Eggs' concert last Thursday began more than an hour behind schedule, but the band's repertoire for the night certainly lived up to its reputation: Aliyeh drove his fingers across his bass for the improvised opener, generating a haunting, oriental-sounding melody, which was repeatedly drowned out by the howling feedback from Codsi's and Haber's guitars. If those in the audience who had never been to a Scrambled Eggs show before were at all thrown off by the plush sonic sounds that filled the room as the band sank deeper into the proverbial maze produced by their instruments, the entrance of Haber's vocals dispelled any doubts with respect to these musicians' punk credentials.
http://www.dailystar.com.lb

Haber's meaningful yet somehow sarcastic wails signaled a break from the singing style he employed on such Scrambled Eggs releases as "Human Friendly Noises" from 2002. But at the same time they positioned him clearly as an heir to the Sex Pistols' Johnny Rotten.

Haber's lack of inhibition in expressing his sensitivity as a songwriter comes out in lyrics such as "I don't want you to see me cry," displaying a covert vulnerability parallel to a show of strength, itself synonymous with the brave face most young Lebanese performers have had to put on during these taxing times the country is enduring.

Haber reinforced that point with a defiant allusion to Lebanon's current situation: "See you in Beirut, whatever happens," he said, before launching into a song bearing the same name, showcasing an industrial-sounding mid-section and a twisted, anthemic chorus.

During the instrumental sections of songs, Codsi shredded what appeared to be a Fender Stratocaster, a guitar typically played by puritan rock and punk musicians. The simple yet overwhelmingly potent single-note guitar solos, played at a pace reminiscent of Sonic Youth's Thurston Moore and Lee Ranaldo, supplemented each song with an appropriately authoritative closing statement.

"Mur - Daily Star

Rencontre aux Beaux Arts de Paris avec deux groupes de la nouvelle scène rock libanaise: Scrambled Eggs et Lumi.
L'un est un quatuor de jeunes loups aux compos punk-pop explosives (Scrambled eggs) ;
L'autre est un élégant couple électro-clash : suave putasserie assumée, beats puissants et sexuels (Lumi). Tous viennent de Beyrouth et possèdent une fraîcheur et une foi inébranlable en leur Art. Une émulsion forte, déstabilisant nos oreilles fatiguées et nos esprits blasés.
Un avenir probablement radieux pour ces jeunes adultes, symboles d'une scène orientale émergeante et de qualité. Outre les divergences sonores, un point commun lie les deux groupes : un esprit terriblement urbain. Les guitares névrotiques et saturées de Scrambled Eggs suintent le bitume en éffusion. Lumi évoque la fatalité d'une jeunesse citadine en mal de vivre. Leurs compos sont fraîches et bordéliques à l'image de leur ville.
Marc, guitariste de Scrambled précise : « Beyrouth est un immense bordel. Que ce soit ses habitants, son architecture ou son histoire, tout est chaotique. Quand tu regardes, la ville à été victime de plusieurs guerres et catastrophes naturelles. Mais chaque fois, elle renaît de ces cendres, tel le Phoenix… Tu ne vivras jamais dans le reste du pays une situation identique à celle que tu peux vivre à Beyrouth. Il faut savoir que c'est une grande ville d'Orient vivant principalement sur un registre occidental, voire Américain. L'esprit Beyrouthin est complexe. Il faut le vivre pour vraiment le comprendre. »
Charbel, le chanteur : « Toute notre inspiration vient de la vie à Beyrouth.
Tout est issu d'expériences personnelles. On à pas la prétention de parler du Liban sud ou nord, de la Syrie et d'Israel. On parle juste du microcosme dans lequel on a évolué. ».
Un vécu apparemment hanté par la sexualité. Des phrases telles « My ass is yours » scandée à répétition sur l'un des titres phares de Lumi en est un exemple…
On y sent comme un désespoir. « Plutôt un certain désabusement ! » réctifie Mayaline, l'icône sensuelle du binôme. « La jeunesse Beyrouthienne est unique. La guerre peut éclater n'importe quand. Tu vis alors à 200%, sachant que demain, tu ne seras peut-être plus là.
Mais c'est une expérience plutôt limitante. Il est inquiétant de ne pas pouvoir se projeter.
De se construire sereinement. ». En effet, nos invités, quoi qu'on puisse dire, ont vécu deux guerres. Ils viennent d'un milieu assez aisé, mais les bombes ne choisissent pas les quartiers ou sortir. La jeunesse de la capitale n'a d'autre choix que de vivre le moment présent…
Sexe, alcool et autres divertissements y sont tout sauf tabous. La nuit tous les chats sont gris, comme on dit chez nous…Une ville ou vivre à court-terme est une pholosophie, « rapport à l'instinct de survie » dixit Charbel. Les charters remplis de bovins occidentaux avinés ne sont donc pas encore au programme, fort heureusement. Après onze mois de dur labeur, il est préférable de dormir sur ses deux oreilles, avant d'enchaîner les onze suivants…
Un état d'urgence perpétuel donc. un état de fait qualifiable de Folie urbaine.
Charbel : « un état d'urgence qui donne naissance à une intensité vitale à notre processus de création. C'est ce qui nous porte, nous nourris au quotidien. Une ville sans intensité forte n'a rien à te donner. Si rien de révoltant se produit dans ton quotidien, je penses qu'il est difficile de sortir quoi que ce soit d'intéressant de tes tripes. On m'a souvent parlé de New-York, comment c'était avant. Les grands artistes et musiciens qui ont émerger là-bas.
Aujourd'hui, la ville est clean, et il ne se passe plus grand chose de marquant.
Dans une situation clean, tu te dis que tu as le temps. Résultat tu ne fais rien parce que justement tu as le temps ! C'est vicieux… ». A peine le temps de barrer discrètement une hypothétique question sur notre scène Parisienne, que notre interlocuteur, visiblement éxalté, reprend son réçit : « Quant à la folie, je penses que c'est toujours en rapport avec ce que tu as à perdre. Si tu as beaucoup à perdre tu ne t'amuses pas à l'exploiter. En revanche, si c'est l'inverse, ta folie tu la pousses à l'extrême. Par exemple, pendant la période de crise juste avant la guerre avec Israêl, les gens avaient pour habitude de se retrouver le dimanche vers 15H, et faisaient la fête jusqu'au petit matin. C'est pas un truc qu'on fait habituellement le dimanche si tu dois retourner bosser le lendemain ! C'est ça le genre de folie que tu pouvais trouver à Beyrouth à cette période. Mais ce ne sont que des moments. C'est une folie volontaire et consciente. Tu ne verras jamais un junkie ou un clochard dans la rue. Ils sont tous dans des abris. On est tout à fait conscient de ce qui se passe… ».
Ainsi, cette histoire de folie est une manifestation exacerbée du désir de vivre.
Quand tout est sur le point de péter, les Beyrouthins eux, croquent la vie à pleine dents.
Il en va de même pour Scrambled eggs et Lumi. Ils n'appartiennent pas - FROMAGE ET DESSERT

By Helena Forsell



I-94 Magazine
Category: Music

Scrambled Eggs
Post-Punk Rocking in Beirut

By Helena Forsell


It's easy to associate Lebanon with war, political turmoil, and civil conflict. And it is a fact that the small country at the end of the Mediterranean, squeezed in between Syria and Israel is struggling against a political and economical collapse. In spite of this, the underground music scene of Beirut is more alive and kicking than ever, producing high quality art and music. In the middle of it all, with a track record of 4 albums over the last five years, stand the pioneers of modern rock in Lebanon; Scrambled Eggs.

"We are the sound of Beirut," said the singer and guitarist Charbel Haber when i-94 met with him and the band members in Ashrafié, the heart of the French quarters of Beirut. He continues; "We're Arabs with a twist. Our music is the sound of the city, in an experimental rock music kind of way." Scrambled Eggs have been representing the Lebanese underground music for the last few years. With the release of their first album "Human Friendly Noises" in 2002, the band changed the way music sounded in Beirut. A sound described by Charbel as "Post Punk-No Wave-Experimental. Sonic Youth type of rock."

Scrambled Eggs consist of Charbel Haber, guitar and vocals, Marc Codsi on guitar, Tony Elieh on bass and Malek Rizkallah on drums. They're all 28 except Malek, who's 21 and the newest egg in the pan.

The group got together in 1998, at first covering Nirvana songs. But feeling that it was too much work playing covers, they soon switched to the task of creating their own songs. "If you play your own music, no one knows when you make a mistake," Charbel said with a smile. Upon their first album release, the band soon gained a following among the intellectual and artsy crowd in the war torn city. Since then the music has evolved from a very experimental kind of improvised rock into a much more accessible, but still poetic ass-kicking rock. Their trademark today is a mesh of guitars and noises, with a post punk attitude.

Beirut is a unique place with a combination of Muslims and Christians, international war correspondents and wealthy Saudi businessmen. East meets West in a way unlike anywhere else in the world. Walking the streets of the city, passing through the different neighborhoods, you are thrown between totally different cultures and ways of life. With its many bars and cafés, narrow streets and French colonial style buildings, the French speaking Christian neighborhoods of Gemmayzhe and Ashrafié host the places where the artsy intellectual crowd spend their time while in Beirut. This area is also the epicenter of the underground music scene in Lebanon. A scene that is very small and consists of an estimated 50 artists, among them the hip hoppers in RGB and Rayess Bek, the rockers in New Government and Scrambled Eggs, the electronica of Crtl Z and the newcomers of Lumi. Given the last couple of years of political turmoil, the country has been on the verge of a social and economic collapse, and the Lebanese middle and lower classes no longer have the money, nor time to spend on music. So, being an underground musician in Lebanon today means that your audience consists of the intellectual art-loving crowd of Beirut, and some French fans in Europe.

"The Lebanese people are in survival mode right now, which means that there are very few paying gigs and it's very hard to get funding for tours and travels abroad," explained Zeid Hamdan, musician, producer and owner of the record label formerly known as Mooze Records, now called Lebanese Underground.

Zeid and his record label are the core of the music scene of Beirut gathering most of the creative and talented artists under one name. He started out doing music in the late nineties, together with Yasemin Hamdan and their electronica duo Soapkills. They were groundbreaking at the time with their mix of Arabic and French sounds. Today Yasemin has left the country and Zeid moved on to other projects. One of them is the rock band, the New Government, of which the members are all close friends with the boys in Scrambled Eggs. The two bands help each other with production and promotion as well touring together. "We are all very close to each other. If one of us receive some kind of success, we all benefit from it in some way," Charbel said, referring to the fact that the two bands very often get booked for gigs together. "The good thing with the Beirut music scene is that it's so small that it's very easy to get attention. It's good for your ego, but bad for your wallet," sighs the Eggs' Codsi.

Lebanon has been suffering from internal turmoil ever since the murder of former president Rafik Hariri in 2005. The one month long war last summer against Israel didn't help to stabilize the situation either. Almost one year after the ceasefire, the country's social and economic status is suffering from the current politic - I-94 Magazine