Lebanese band Adonis find space to retreat and rebuild on new album Wedyan

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What’s the difference between silence and quiet in times of conflict? For Lebanese band Adonis, it came down to agency – the ability to choose how, and when, to express themselves.

Released last month and recorded during the 2024 Israel invasion of Lebanon – the veteran group, known for their ebullient sound and emotionally precise lyrics, has delivered a set of songs intentionally detached from the immediate context of the conflict.

In doing so, it becomes a statement of resilience – that their art is guided by creative intent, not shaped by the surrounding disorder. And, crucially, that making music became a means of emotional preservation in times of chaos.

“We were devastated during the war, of course,” singer and keyboardist Anthony Khoury tells The National. “But the music was elsewhere. It didn’t sit with us in that very dark place. We needed to protect something. Maybe it was our joy, our creativity.. maybe even our sanity.”

It’s no wonder Wedyan – meaning “valleys” – is Adonis’s most insular album to date. Across 12 tracks, we follow a character who slowly but intently shies away from society into a life of solitude and contemplation. The lyrics don’t frame this as a form of defeat, but as a healthy response to turmoil – a way to protect one’s inner state when the world outside feels overwhelming.

The lyrics drift between musings and fragments, reflecting on identity, exile and life itself. Some are drawn from personal moments, including Khoury’s newborn nephew and a tribute to his late grandmother.

Intriguingly, the turn inward isn’t always mirrored in the music. While the arrangements are more languid, the four-piece stretch out with light-footed shifts into electronica – like on Khod Sa‘at – and chirpy RnB vocals on Yekserni. Even Nancy, the album’s most upbeat track, is anchored by a laid-back funk groove.

That marriage of emotional introspection and expansive musical approach, Khoury explains, comes from the band writing the songs separately.

Khoury was travelling between Paris and Amman, while the rest of the group – Joey Abou Jaoudey (guitar), Nicola Hakim (drums) and Gio Fikany (bass) – remained in different parts of Lebanon.

“For the first time, we weren’t really immersed in the Lebanese context,” Khoury says. “It definitely felt like we were writing from the outside. That physical distance, I think, gave us the space to reflect without the same kind of pressure. We weren’t reacting, were just processing.”

He adds the time apart, about 15 years into Adonis’s career, was also liberating – a chance to recalibrate, both creatively and emotionally. Khoury says the step back wasn’t a difficult one – just necessary. A moment to take stock, acknowledge what they were feeling and prepare for the often gruelling process of recording new material.

“Like the character in the album, we were isolated – and we longed for that isolation. You reach a point where you just want to protect something. For us, it was the ability to create without being swallowed by everything happening around us. That’s why this album feels different. It had to be.”

Indeed, the album stands out for the distinct sonic flavours it employs to channel the various states of mind of its protagonist. The aching melancholy of Ma’rafha – meaning I Don’t Know Her – melds a sparse piano motif with minimal electronic beats, as Khoury reflects on the quiet devastation of a breakup. Not the rupture itself, but the self-protective urge to erase everything attached to it. “Even if they asked me, ‘Who’s the beautiful one?’” he sings in the refrain. “I’d tell them: I don’t know her, I don’t know her.”

While in Kel Ma Tsame’ni (Whenever You Say), the resigned character’s exile from his troubles results in the clarity he needs, and a quiet sense of resolve emerges in his decision to stay away from unwanted opinions: “Every time you tell me lines from movies, from friends who wanted to give you their opinion about me”.

In Abtal (Heroes), Adonis emerges from lyrical detachment to directly engage with the present moment. Over ebbing beats, the band pays tribute to the unsung heroes of Lebanon – ordinary individuals offering shelter, comfort and their professional skills in times of crisis. Khoury says he witnessed this during the aerial bombardment of Beirut by Israeli forces, a situation that left many villages cut off from one another, with civilians and neighbours stepping in to fill the initial absence of official support.

“In Lebanon, the conflict created a rupture between different parts of the same city – some areas were being bombarded, while others weren’t directly affected. What happens in that kind of environment is that you start noticing how people respond socially. Usually, you’re too consumed by the tragedy itself to really observe. But this time, I saw people – civilians – stepping up in quiet ways,” he recalls.

“I was in Beirut during that phase, in an area that wasn’t directly targeted. But the entire neighbourhood was mobilised to support those that were. I’m talking about doctors, journalists, teachers – even pilots who continued operating flights despite bombings near the airport. Abtal is dedicated to them.”

With the band recently completing a headline set at the Bred Abu Dhabi festival and returning soon for a solo concert at Dubai Opera on July 3, Khoury says Wedyan has left Adonis not only rejuvenated, but with a renewed sense of direction. It also served as a reminder of how creativity can be a grounding force during uncertain times.

“I wasn’t raised or trained to be a musician. I had a different path in life,” he says. “But what I’ve found through music, and what I think I’ll keep finding for a very long time, is meaning. I feel like I have a place and a voice.

“I’m aware that our kind of work is the least essential when it comes to keeping a society functioning. And sometimes in Lebanon, we’re in first-degree survival mode, more often than we’d like to be. But I have immense hope. Hope in my country, in our region and in the goodness of people. And with that hope, I think there will be less and less to lose and much more to gain.”

Saeed Saeed is a 2024-25 Rosalynn Carter Mental Health Journalism Fellow