Amidst the sect-defying cries against state corruption (“kellon ya3ni kellon” / “all of them means all of them”), American-made tear gas choking the streets of Beirut, and tidal waves of hope and grief during Lebanon’s short-lived October Revolution in 2019, Hamra-raised artist Sandy Chamoun - ساندي شمعون was outside. Recording everything, feeling everything.
To make sense of the fallout and archive the uprising’s arc, she turned to music. The result, FATA17 فتى ١٧, is a singular, experimental work that dreams of, mourns, and sustains hope, however fantastical, for a future free of international loan sharks, domestic oppressors, and occupation. Its lessons and reflections remain, for better and for worse, ageless; incisive lyrics chronicle both malaise and bravery over titanic sounds. Her sample bank doubles as an archive of popular resistance before the COVID lockdowns.
في الليل راحت تستفيق عيون هناك أحلام الخيال
“At night, their eyes began to awake / There, the dreams of the imagination”
ارمي عيونك في وجه القناص ليغرق في دمك
“Sling your eyes in the sniper’s face, May he drown in your blood”
عيناك مغلقتان تدفن في فراشك
“Your eyes are shut, in bed, buried”
Sandy is an integral fixture of an independent arts community in Beirut, anchored in part by the musical and mutual aid efforts of Beirut Synth Center and Tunefork Studios. She also regularly collaborates with one of our favorite indie labels, Ruptured. We recommend digging into and supporting the work of all of these orgs.
FATA17 فتى ١٧ was written, produced, and performed by Sandy Chamoun - ساندي شمعون, with artwork contributions from Bassem Saad, Nader Bahsoun, and Jana Traboulsi, and mastering by Modular Mind. “Ahlam Al Khayal - احلام الخيال” is mixed by Khyam Allami. “Nas Al Wahel - ناس الوحل” features buzuq from Abed Kobeissi, percussion from Ali Hout, mixing by Fadi Tabbal, and an incredible video by Alaa Mansour (embedded below). “Soukoun Mouwhesh - سكون موحش” features production and mixing from Anthony Sahyoun. Thanks for listening, watching, reading, supporting :) See this story in its short-form glory on our IG.
Sandy gets paid the moment you buy her music on Catalog.
You've said you never dreamed of being a singer, then you ended up drawing crowds for singing Sheikh Imam during your time studying drama at Université Saint-Joseph de Beyrouth. Where's your love for music begin?
I’ve been obsessed with sounds and music since I was a kid. My mother has an incredible voice, and I guess she was my biggest inspiration. Growing up, I always had music around me, and it naturally became something that I connected with deeply. During my adolescence, I took theatre courses, and that’s when I realized how much I loved performing. It was just too boring to always be the same person. [Laughs] I wanted to be a billion different characters. I thought the only way to experience that was through acting.
But as time passed, I realized that I could achieve that sense of freedom in anything related to art. It wasn’t just about acting. It was about embracing the freedom of imagination with no limits. Sheikh Imam became a role model for me as a free performer... someone who didn’t care about rules and conventions. His music and his approach to performance resonated deeply with me, and I’ve continued to appreciate both the person he was and the kind of artist he represented. His boldness and authenticity are something I admire to this day.
You’ve made a choice to stay in Lebanon and continue to contribute to the storied alternative music scene in Beirut. In the years since the uprising and the blast, what people, programs, places have helped sustain that fabric?
The music scene since the blast has been a real support system. A lot of beautiful spaces and organizations have put a huge effort into supporting this scene, with Studio Tunefork, owned by Fadi Tabbal, Anthony Sahyoun, and Julia Sabra, being at the forefront. I believe the music scene in Lebanon is a great example of how a community can support each other in these kinds of survival modes. I’m addicted to it, and I’m so attached to this land. Nothing will give me all these feelings and make me feel alive angry, sad, paranoid, amused, depressed, happy, but at home. I think it was Beirut, not a person or a character, that shaped me most. I grew up on Hamra Street in Beirut and it was a very rich, cultural, political place where it influenced my way of thinking and my perspective.
The arc you trace of the October Revolution across your project's three songs is a parallel track: chronological and emotional. The way the عيون motif evolves is especially powerful to me. How did these experiences affect your views on art's role in resistance?
I was trying to express and release every feeling I had during the protests in Lebanon. Back then, it felt like a dream coming true, and I was really overwhelmed. I had to act and explain it to myself first in order to move past this phase. Also, it was really important to archive this period, and in my case, I will do it through music. I don’t think art will fight oppression by itself, but it can help shape the general atmosphere. Honestly, now after these two years of genocide, I don’t remember any feelings or anything before this date. Even though sometimes I scroll through Facebook memories and laugh at our collective jokes, it feels distant.
If I'm not mistaken, you're working on your 2nd solo album now. Uprisings against authoritarianism, corruption, and genocide continue to be attempted, and largely crushed, around the world. As you’re making music again, do you find yourself in a place of disillusionment or optimism, pure fantasy or something else?
Yes, I'm working on my second solo record alongside other projects like Sanam. To be honest, it's really difficult for me to create a solo project right now, in this beyond-terrible time. I find myself trying to talk about my feelings, but they lose their meaning the next day. In the end, it doesn't seem important at all compared to what is happening in Gaza, in Palestine, so everything feels meaningless. The only motivation is the release you feel after listening to other musicians and after performing.
Like you said earlier, I want to believe that music, especially music as pointed as yours, has a role to play. Would you mind identifying some of the street recordings you took and sampled to create FATA17 فتى ١٧? Those alone play an important historical role.
The percussion at the end of Dreams of the Imagination ["Ahlam Al Khayal - احلام الخيال"] was a field recording from a protest. There was a group of boys drumming on metal bars in the street, so I took a video and sampled it. I also combined several sounds from different videos, of people chanting and cursing, and used them for the same track. For "Nas Al Wahel- ناس الوحل," I started the track with an audio clip I recorded during the protest in front of the General Bank [of Beirut]. Someone was screaming at the police, so I took the audio and reversed it. It was a really violent night, but the thing i enjoyed most during the making of the project was using these samples, and processing my own voice.
Thinking back, what about this project are you most proud of?
When I first decided, by myself, to produce Dreams of the Imagination ["Ahlam Al Khayal - احلام الخيال"]. I gathered the courage to do it on my own, without any help. I learned a lot of technical skills during the production of the album. I needed to take this step alone to break through all the fear.
Sandy gets paid the moment you buy her music on Catalog.
