The Wanton Bishops, ‘Nowhere, Everywhere’

I have mixed feelings about this EP, it’s fucking amazing however.


To those who might be unfamiliar with the Wanton Bishops, they are first of all, a Lebanese band right from the heart of Beirut. I’ve been a great fan of them, since the earlier days of the band, when they started out playing in small pubs throughout the city, with their identity and journey yet to unfold and for us to witness how two guys from Beirut, made it big.

The first album, ‘Sleep with the Lights On’, was a huge success, and cultivated massive support and amazing reviews from throughout the world. This album was their stepping stone onto the stage of the world. Nader with his surreal harmonica skills, and quite orgasmic and bluesy vocals and growls, and Eddy with the sweet licks and solos on the guitar, made them a mix to be matched by anyone.

However, with the new EP that was released months ago, things sounded different from what originally was the sound of the band (not on all the tracks though). They evolved into using more electronic stuff, along with the integration of the ‘Tarab’ music, which is no mystery to the band. Personally, I believe this experimentation was due to many reasons, but mostly the elements of electronics were introduced by a third member of the band, who is Salim Naffah. Salim is familiar with the sound, being part of a pop group called Loopstache, and the electronics seemed to work just ‘fine’ in my opinion. The integration of the ‘Tarab’ sound was mostly related to the fact that the band was searching within, and trying to have a taste of the sound that they came from. This was influenced by the trip they had to the United States, where they visited the major ‘Blues States’ one might say, such as Mississippi and so on. This can be found in a full feature documentary they had with Red Bull called ‘Walk it Home‘.

In the tracks called Waslaha and Hitman, the new elements integrated in the sound can be felt, and they work like a charm actually. I don’t mind that they tried experimenting. From the first album they released, one can tell that they have absolutely mastered the realm of Blues, so there’s nothing wrong by trying new sounds.

The other tracks on the EP sound as raunchy and as perfect as they can be, reminding us of the original sound of the band, and even highlighting the fact that the Bishops are just starting out. A mixture of bluesy rock and roll, that’s hard to mess with, and hard to dismiss, as the sound of the Bishops really hooks you in, and keeps you at bay.

It’s hard for me to rate the EP, as I had mixed feelings about this. Yes, the integration process felt great and unforced. But I truly missed that raw harsh sound of the earlier songs from the band. This is however normal. Every band needs to grow and evolve, and to try different elements to get the sound that best suits them.


  1. Waslaha
  2. Hitman
  3. I Don’t Dance
  4. Sailing Down
  5. The Kinda Pain I Love

If you’re interested in the following EP, purchase it through the following places:

Beware before indulging the Wanton Bishops, as they make kick ass, no apologies whatsoever music. So tread lightly, and enjoy.

Imad’s Barbershop

The best there ever was.


Barber Shops in Beirut are a complete mystery. Every time I go to get my beard trimmed or my hair cut, I always end up surprised. From the gossip, to the weird sex jokes, to the religious satire; everything and anything can be expected at a barbershop, except for a decent haircut…

Stepping inside the small crowded store in a small crowded alleyway, I entered Imad’s Barber Shop: the most famous barber in Mreijeh (the area where I live, in the Southern Suburbs of Beirut).

“Hello come in come in, my place is your place. Hussein! Come and set up Ibn l Hakeem (that’s what he calls me, he has called me that ever since I was a little boy. I bet he didn’t even know my real name. It means the son of the Doctor, yes it’s because my dad is a doctor, so I guess it’s just easier to do that).

Hussein, a little child from a poor family around the age of eleven came over and greeted me warmly and led me to the chair. Workers like Hussein are typical and easily found at any local barbershop. Barbers usually look for cheap laborers to clean the hair off the floor and to trim beards when they don’t feel like doing anything. Hussein was new. The last time I was here it was Adam. These small kids get paid 200,000 L.L (more than a 100$ in a wee bit) per month. But here’s the twist, the barber tells them it’s some sort of an internship. If the kid turns out to be a learner by sight and picks up the craft by observation, he’s hired! That obviously didn’t work out for Adam, and I fear the same fate for little Hussein. When I asked Imad why he doesn’t clean up the hair after he’s done with each client, he simply said that he can’t lower his back down much often and the extra pair of hands is always needed. He finds these kids wandering around the streets trying to sell tissues for the passing car passengers. Having to think of it, he’s somehow getting them off the street. He also added that hiring Hussein was a big hassle to him because his father wanted a piece of the money. He just had to hire him. He felt pity for him. Imagine living in a small canned house with a drunken father and seven other children. That’s no life at all. At least now Hussein has a steady income (even though the amount is absolutely nothing), and his father is getting a small bribe from Imad. It’s a win-win situation for all sides concerned.

The place looked like one big rectangle crowded with cheap leather couches and hair grooming equipment. There are three seats for the barbers to operate on and just on the side behind the entrance a small stand where you can buy some hair gel (this is how he makes most of his money as he told me).

Having skipped the wait, I was surrounded by fierce looks from all over the store. “Who’s this guy to skip after all of us? Is he the son of a leader or something?!”

I felt really bad at that moment. I mean if it was for me, I’d wait for my turn. But the irony is that I can’t wait for my turn. If my father finds out I had to wait in line at the barbershop, then no free medical care for Imad! This country works in mysterious ways, doesn’t it?

Twenty minutes have passed and Imad has yet to come to give me my haircut, and the customers are growing impatient. Just behind me was a mother with her twin sons. They had long blonde curly hair, dangling down to their shoulders. They were exceptionally quiet. Kids usually turn into the spawn of Satan himself in a barbershop. Just beside the family on the couch to the right two guys with short hair, VERY long beards, and had shoulders and muscles the size of my big head. They look kind of like your basic Lebanese gym freak who clearly has an insanely imbalanced set of hormones.

To the left however two old mean who clearly already had their hair cut, were just sitting there arguing whether the Syrian struggle will be over anytime soon, and both of them with great disappointment, felt that no current solution will occur.

After many prayers Imad came to me after a mere forty-five minutes, not that much of a wait, no? Not that much of a wait to be honest. The past year I remember waiting for an hour or so hours because Imad wasn’t there and I had to get a haircut by one of his employees.

“How do you want your hair cut habeebi (which means my love, I know it’s weird)?”

“As you like, everything is fine”

“All your life you’re a man of style! For your eyes! The best haircut for you!”

As I was getting my hair cut, Imad drifted every two or three minutes to have a chat with one of the customers. I’m used to it. He does this all the time. It just fascinates me how he’s still running this business and how come he’s more successful than any other barbershop in my neighborhood. He’s slow, doesn’t tend to the needs of his customers, favors them over the other based on personal interest, and doesn’t give a rat’s bottom about the hygiene of his place and yet, his crown is yet to be taken.

Imad the king of barbers, the best there ever is. Just be sure before deciding to have your haircut here to free your schedule. You’re in for a long wait.


My hateful and lovable home, Beirut.

Destruction and alluring zen
Love and heart ache
A place of peace and war

The grit of structure
Buildings in the shape of bullet holes
Metal containers hugging people to sleep
With the beauty of the architecture
Grand designs and lavish concrete
Green trees and garbage
Provides a strange and peculiar mix

People of all difference
Difference of thought, of belief
Of unbelief, and of all unusual walks of life
It’s strange alright

Images of refugee families
Sleeping on the sidewalks
Right next to the club and pub goers
The poor and the rich, all the same
Drunken and miserable Beiruti millennials
Feeding on the chaotic surroundings
Turning them into monsters of sadness
Pictures of a better life unseen

I’m lost, a disorder of existence
I love Beirut, but Beirut hates me

I’ve nothing here, but
Heartache and war
I grew up too fast
Most grow up too fast here
Beirut is for the privileged
An unforgiving place for those who can’t
And for those who won’t

Streets with a million ales and tales
Of people and things
Stories of happiness and stories of sadness
An imperfect mixture, an anomaly
The perfect anomaly
My hateful and lovable home.