Club + Listening Culture
Even If It’s Two People in a Room: Renata Sabella and Ahmad Baydoun on Collapse, Community, and Experimental Music
It feels almost contradictory to call Lebanon’s nightlife prolific when every few years there’s a major rupture. Thirty-year-olds still speak of nights at Gärten with a twinkle in their eyes. Grand Factory, BO18, might I dare even say Acid—not a single imperial club has managed to escape its downfall with the reality of Lebanon’s pace of crises and changes. This makes for an art scene that is in constant evolution, and a nightlife that can feel perpetually wounded: golden one moment, vanished the next.
In 2024 it was the closing of Ballroom Blitz, arguably the first space in Beirut to offer clubbers three rooms of different BPMs for the price of one, that sieved people away. In 2025, the scene lost one of its most vital experimental spaces, the off-the-map warehouse that housed Frequent Defect, where music cut across grime, post-punk, and all kinds of dance music. This conversation brings together two DJs and organizers from the teams behind both spaces, offering an instinctive perspective of feeling the death—and rebirth—of their dancefloors.
While we have developed a sensitivity to the word resilience, the truth about facing tragedy is that it forces growth, just as economic hardship forces societies to innovate, and our youth will always feel that good parties (that we can afford) remain scarce—and therefore, in high demand. All right, whenever you’re ready—
renata
Okay. So hi, Ahmad…
baydoun
Hello! So how do you want to play guys? We’re asking each other questions, yeah?
renata
Yeah, they said we can just go back and forth.
What do you think is happening these days, after everything we’ve been through in the country, as the community—not just in electronic music, but in the music scene in Lebanon?
baydoun
So I was talking about this a couple of days ago with a friend, trying to put the whole situation into words. We were saying that the underground scene—especially that of electronic music—but also the underground scene in general in Lebanon has died. I’m sad to say, I think we’ve experienced the death of the stuff that does not hold monetary value bil balad. And it’s rarely looked upon in times of crisis; because first of all, as artists, it’s a way of life: it’s our lifestyle, it’s the way we breathe, the way we wake up, the way we do everything. But for other people, like a daily consumer, it’s a luxury.
So in times of crisis, people stop looking at the underground scene the same way they did before, and people who don’t have the financial stability they once did no longer show up. And this gave the old clubs in Lebanon—the whole underground scene—trouble, especially financially, which led all the clubs, venues, all the groups that were together, to experience this fall. The 7arb* was the last nail in the coffin for it.
Now after the death of everything, we’re witnessing the birth of a new life. A lot of stuff is being planned now. A lot of people are regrouping to work on projects, which is nice.
There’s a huge lack of venues as well. And hopefully, the country is getting better financially, based on last year’s numbers, so it can mean better accessibility [to venues]. And a better performance from our end, as working artists. I think we’re witnessing the rise of what the next era in Lebanon, in these terms, will shape into. And we always witnessed [the eras of nightlife].
Pre-2019 was the highlight of the underground music scene in Lebanon. And then we saw it die slowly—I hate the word die, perhaps we can use the term retract. With all that happened in 2019 and 2020, then with coronavirus, there were still attempts to unite people on the dancefloor—because what it means to the people of the underground is different from the people who just want to flex and have cash. When you practice that as a lifestyle, the one who’s dancing has a yearning for that feeling. It diminished with time, and we kept seeing it, seeing attempts at it, even at Ballroom [Blitz]. Remember when I joined Ballroom post-covid and post confinement? We kept attempting for two years, which led to nothing, but it was completely wiped off the map for a while. Now I think it’s rising again, inshallah.
renata
Sa7, yeah I agree, in the sense of seeing the fluctuations because of all the crises we’ve been through. 2019 was definitely a highlight for my former project Frequent Defect, where we held on and tried to power through all the crises. It was really hard to see a lot of the community that we had built up until 2019 leaving the country in 2020, and then we had to rebuild the community in 2021, and then the war came. It was super hard to function. We would also see new generations—Gen Z, which I love, you know, I really do, because they are a whole generation that didn’t experience the same environment that we did. There’s a lot of changes in how they express themselves, especially because of the internet culture. They’re much closer to their art than our generation was, in a different way which I find beautiful. Many have really inspired me.
Anyways, going back to what’s going on now, I agree that the scene is just emerging from a dip after the war, for sure. And yes, lack of spaces; but I think that especially in times of crisis, there’s always these little subcultures, small events, and parties happening. When the venues became too expensive, or because running costs really did get more expensive—I thought that we could keep the prices we started with—10 to 15 dollars a ticket. But we couldn’t do that in the last couple of years. There was a real price rise and everything got super expensive…
baydoun
Global inflation happened as well…
renata
Ehh, from electricity to rent, anything you want to do or need, is super expensive. One of the reasons we had to close down the venue was because we couldn’t make ends meet—we lost a lot of money during the war. In 2020, during the financial crisis, we didn’t have the stable team, salaries, and expenses yet. Sustaining this during the war broke us—you can’t just leave everyone, and we essentially went bankrupt.
baydoun
This is what I appreciate about you. What you guys did at Frequent [Defect] amazes people, you always refused to do half-ass shit, and you stand for something. You stand for culture. You were still fighting till the last breath for it, to establish the way you view it, which is highly respectable in our times, and no one was working like that, you were the only people going against the stream in the most genuine way.
renata
Thank you so much hayati. What I really value from when I worked with these people and this community that I was part of, is that sense of community that I don’t see anymore now. People still try to group themselves together, but I feel the war was really—for everyone I think—the biggest crisis of all.
baydoun
Yeah, I come from a village on the [southern] border, so yeah, it was heavy…
renata
Shit. I mean, I would say that the war, and then maybe the [August 4] blast, were moments of mass destruction. Destruction of everyone’s vision, even regrouping again, having that feeling of wanting to go out.
After the war, I felt something different. People wanted to come, but couldn’t fully let go anymore. When you enter a space where release once felt natural, suddenly those deep wounds reopen. During Covid, a lot of people wanted to regroup, or during the revolution, we were always considering whether to open or close, but people wanted to group up. After the war, I didn’t feel the same. And I felt there were deep wounds in everyone’s psyche that shattered something, and that made the regrouping harder.
baydoun
One hundred percent. I always say, whatever we see now is only a reflection of who we are at this point, like where we are at as a country, as people, as youth. If we look into the micro and macro, the rollercoaster of life on us as individuals, we have our ups and downs that also translate into the macro scale. You also see it in terms of communities and projects, the rise and fall, the healing that needs to be done, especially with the reality of a very dystopian life we live in.
It can be hard on people, especially people of the subculture. Because the reason and intention behind every why we group, why we go and practice this, is very deep and personal. Yes, we go by ourselves, and on the dancefloor you know everyone. But it’s also a place where you can be on your own, with your thoughts, and I think, a lot of friendships and and a lot of healing happens on dancefloors. I met most of the people that I love on dancefloors.
renata
I love the first thing that you said, it’s a representation of whatever is happening. It’s a representation of us, and in the community-driven collectives. I’m not talking about big clubs where people don’t know each other. You can see it reflected on the dancefloor, for sure, who we are and what we are at this moment in time. This is definitely something to dig into.
baydoun
Yeah, it’s only a reflection, and it really shows the power of the underground, of the subculture scene, and what it stands for. It’s a type of refusal, a self expression that can happen within the music, a thought process that you can share with the group, not feeling alone in this lonely world sometimes. And it’s crazy what we’re seeing nowadays. Having people that align on many things, especially when it comes to the approach towards life itself, is very beautiful and is very important in community building. Sharing these laughs, moments, tears, and appreciating the artists and what they’re presenting, it’s what we stand for on so many layers.
As an artist you could choose many other ways that could be easier—yet, everyone still believes in this form of self expression, even if it comes at the expense of financial and mental security, paying the bills and all of that. Being that artist behind the booth, or on stage presenting something, and having the audience that share one big group setting and experience is very important, I believe, for the soul of the people that attend—especially for the types of gatherings that we have around our community. And yeah, I believe the only way is up from here. We’re at rock bottom, so the only way is up. Hopefully this year will be better.
Photo courtesy of Ahnad Baydoun
renata
Everything happened with a lot of changes around us. I don’t want to be talking about my spiritual journey haha…
baydoun
La, please do…
renata
You know, 2025—the “year of the shed” and all these things, I think it’s a very specific moment where everyone has to reflect on themselves—and they actually got to do that this year. In the scene and in Lebanon in general, or from all the people around me, whether they understand what’s going on or not, I feel that this will only make way, because Lebanon—as we know, even after the worst thing that could have happened—will never die. Like you said, you don’t like the word death—I don’t think it ever dies, even if it gets small, retraction is as good a word, but it never actually dies.
baydoun
Even if it was two people at home doing it ya3ni…
renata
Totally, the fire is still there! It’s just that people recalibrate. It was so nice to see things change this year! Because sometimes, we need that. Okay, definitely, it was forced upon us, especially after the war. But then better things can come out of this. I’m also very excited for whatever is to come, and I see a lot of work in collectives, events that they do in different locations outside of the city, bringing people together on the dancefloor at venues. I agree totally with you, Ahmad, that whenever the price becomes too expensive—I have not seen a lot of people that I used to see around a few years ago—and this pains me, but it is what it is.
baydoun
The inability to share the experience because of financial status, I get you.
renata
But it also brings a kind of spirit to the dancefloor, that a person is annoyed to be paying so much to dance and listen to music—he still hasn’t paid for a drink and feels robbed—there’s many factors as why it’s expensive, partly understandable; but when events are super expensive I can see the changes in peoples’ intention around why they are doing the event. It all shows in the intention.
baydoun
It reflects and filters out at the same time.
renata
So I met you, Ahmad, a few years ago when you worked at Ballroom, and it’s super rare but I felt you’re the only one I felt this way toward—I knew that you were an OG legit kind of guy. I swear, I remember thinking to myself wow where was this guy, this is exactly who I want to work with. I think I told you, and I’m not sure if you understood what I meant, but I was genuinely sincere. It came from gut instinct, anjad. When these things happen I know for sure that we’re going to meet again, and especially during my journey right now—my shift in my artistic life—you’re one of the people that I enjoy playing with the most. We meet musically, and have such a rapport.
baydoun
One of the things I always say is if you really want to tell a lot about a person, play with them.
renata
Yes, totally. I knew, but it surpassed my expectations—it was magic! Two souls meeting that is beyond the music, when there’s a good vibe between people you can do whatever you want. It’s rare, I don’t have this with a lot of people.
baydoun
It’s very important to me to play back-to-back with someone and it’s meeting at a transcendental level yaani, it’s like telepathy sometimes—when you know what’s coming next when you just look at the person, it’s super cool.
renata
So, Ahmad and I are playing a back-to-back set on March 6, right?
baydoun
Yeah, at Internazionale.
Photo taken by Walid Nehme
renata
And I know that you’re in the process of opening Headshell, which is a record shop.
baydoun
A record store, and we also sell accessories of artists that we know and admire. It’s going to be based on rotation—we want to support the people around us so we offered part of the space for many artists to display their artwork, ceramics, lights, paintings, prints—to showcase and sell.
renata
That’s so cool, it’s also one of the community-driven spirits that we want to see around, right? Because in Lebanon, the idea of merging different artistries together and not just music is what we want to experience.
baydoun
We all stand for the same thing yaani, regardless of the medium.
renata
Is it a coffee shop?
baydoun
We’re going to be open during the day, where you can chill, have a beer, I’ll be selecting my vinyls—in a cool, nonchalant place. For example, I love Bikini Wax in Berlin, because I used to experience this chill vibe at the place. Hopefully, we’ll be launching Headshell on March 22, which you’re going to be part of! How about you, anything new?
renata
At the moment I don’t have any projects in store to announce yet, but hopefully this year something will come up with the right people, wink wink!
baydoun
Hahaha for you I’d do it for free babe!
Photo courtesy of Ahmad Baydoun
*7arb or harb translates to war. The intensified 2024 war on Lebanon began in earnest with a massive escalation in attacks by Israel on September 23, 2024, following months of lower-level border fighting since October 8, 2023. A full-scale ground invasion of southern Lebanon was launched on October 1, 2024.
Biographies
Renata Sabella
Renata is a Lebanese DJ and live performer based in Beirut. Her art draws vision and inspiration from the quirky edges of sound, taking shape as a manifestation of dissent through her ever evolving modus operandi. Her approach sees her grow beyond styles and genres, with narratives speaking truth to her beliefs. Renata has been performing since 2010 in renowned stages globally. During her stint in London in 2012, she branched out through residencies within the local scene alongside launching her own series under “The Calling” banner. She then returned to Beirut in 2016 and joined the Frequent Defect team as a co-director, venue manager and program curator, and with whom she shared a similar drive to address collective issues through multidisciplinary art forms. She left the project in 2025 along with the closure of Mkalles Warehouse venue.
Ahmad Baydoun
Ahmad Baydoun is a Beirut-based creative and DJ known for his refined taste and deep connection to vinyl culture. He has performed at prominent venues such as The Ballroom Blitz, Frequent Defect, The Grand Factory, and Club der Visionaere in Berlin. Ahmad has cultivated a platform that celebrates analog sound and community-driven music experiences. He co-founded For the Record with Alain Khawam, a Beirut-based vinyl event and pop-up market, and the duo often perform together. The duo are currently working on “Headshell,” a new record store in the heart of Beirut with a deep focus on electronic music. Baydoun has shared the stage with acclaimed artists including Lenny (Zendid), Andrea Ferlin, Clovis, and Doubting Thomas. With an ever-evolving sound rooted in groove and subtle emotion, Ahmad continues to explore and shape the textures of underground music.
Hala (Halo) Srouji
Hala (Halo) Srouji is a writer and production manager with a background in editing, journalism, and sustainability. With over two decades of experience in communications and media across the Middle East and the U.S., she curates cross-disciplinary editorial projects that spotlight cultural dialogue, creative collaboration, and environmental awareness. Hala is currently managing and facilitating part of Fann w Fenjen’s interviews with and between artists, bringing a unique and new perspective to artist visibility in media
- Hala (Halo) Srouji
- Hala (Halo) Srouji
- Hala (Halo) Srouji
- Hala (Halo) Srouji
- Hala (Halo) Srouji
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