Charif Megarbane - Hawalat
Earlier this month, Charif Megarbane released Hawalat, his fourth album in the past decade, at least on paper. His output fits the standard industry rhythm of record, release, and tour. But look a little closer, and a far more staggering reality begins to take shape.
Over the course of the past twenty years, Megarbane has quietly amassed more than 100 albums, each released under a shifting constellation of aliases and monikers including Cosmic Analogue Ensemble, Heroes & Villains and Tapeman No.1, to name just a few. His entire sprawling catalogue is archived on a Bandcamp page dedicated to his one man operation, Hisstology, through which he has built one of the most prolific discographies in modern music.
To us at Some Other Time, Charif represents the high watermark in chameleon-like artistry. His output glides freely between 1970s style European film scores, Middle Eastern psychedelia, Afrobeat and hip-hop breaks. An undefinable mixture of sounds he has affectionately dubbed “Lebrary” music. A term that nods to both his Lebanese heritage and the archival nature of his sound.
Following the release of Hawalat (out now via the Berlin-based label Habibi Funk), we spoke with Charif about his roots, his process, and the mindset behind one of the most singular bodies of work in independent music.
Photo Credit: Charif Megarbane by Rick Tonizzo
Charif grew up in Lebanon, in a household where, while not formally musical, good music was always at hand. “There was quite a lot of improvised music at home,” he recalls. This, combined with a love of sumptuously scored films, became the earliest markers of his musical DNA.
We speak over Zoom during a rare moment of downtime ahead of his tour with fellow Lebanese icon Rogér Fakhr. As he walks me through his formative years, he describes how picking up the guitar was a pivotal moment in his development as an artist, the gateway into a world of autodidactic pleasures and in turn, the cornerstone of a philosophy that continues to define his approach to this day.
Rejecting traditional theory, he embraced a DIY ethos from an early age. The moment he got his hands on a four-track tape recorder was revelatory, “That got me hooked on overdubbing instruments and trying to create the illusion that it was a band,” he says. Those early recordings, by his own admission, “sounded terrible,” but the method stuck. “I never looked back, I just added a tiny bit more technology and a few more instruments. But it hasn’t changed much, I still try to keep it more or less analogue.”
After leaving Lebanon and moving to Canada to study, he was exposed to a whole new world. Sonically, he turned to The Smiths and their contemporaries and threw himself head first into indie rock songwriting, a far cry from the sound of the blues that characterised his early forays into music. In time, he would come to form Heroes & Villains, a short-lived but important chapter in his evolution as an artist.
The limitations of a traditional band setup were quick to chafe for Charif. “I was frustrated with the practicalities of being in a band,” he explains. “Composing and recording was what interested me most. I needed more outlets to experiment without going through the whole album-tour cycle.”
Photo Credit: Charif Megarbane by Rick Tonizzo
At this creative crossroads, he discovered the work of J Dilla. The late hip-hop producer became a profound influence for his work to come, not just in sound, but also in method. “The guy could just record for hours on his own in the basement in the middle of winter,” Charif says. “That talked to me a lot.”
Through Dilla, he was also introduced to the work of François de Roubaix, the cult French composer whose music continues to echo through film and pop culture. “He was one of the first to record all the instruments himself,” Charif notes, another kindred spirit who reinforced the power of isolation and independence in making music. A vision of the artist he wanted to be had begun to take shape.
Today, Megarbane’s prolific output is the result of a disciplined, almost monastic routine. “I try to record something every day, at least four or five tracks,” he says. “Then I listen back the next morning, keep the best, and move on.”
This process helps him preserve the original spirit of a track, the seed of inspiration. “From the moment you have the initial idea, if too much time passes, you forget the intent. You corrupt it with U-turns, second-guessing, and the opinions of other people.”
It’s an approach that mirrors another of his many inspirations, Madlib. In a 2016 interview, the legendary beatmaker said, “If you sit there and think about it too much, your shit probably wack.” Charif seems to embody that same ethos, following instinct over polish, intuition over perfection. Discussing the producers influence, he explains, “his notion of time in music and productivity and what it means to be a musician, reduces the idea to the most literal sense of the term”.
His devotion to process and resistance to overthinking imbues Charif’s work with the same characteristics as a long line of outsider artists that came before him. There are echoes of Henry Darger in his obsessive focus, in the almost compulsive need to document despite the fact that many of these creations may never see the light of day. Displaying an authenticity of intent that is rare in today's industry, where commercial success is so often the end and music, simply the means.
Photo Credit: Charif Megarbane by Robert Winter
His recent partnership with Habibi Funk marks a shift. These records, drawn from his vast back catalogue have allowed him to recontextualise old works into cohesive, standalone albums released under his real name, something he had long resisted. “People come to a new album with a certain baggage,” he says. “They automatically compare it to the last one. With a new alias, there are no preconceptions.”
But Habibi Funk’s mission to reissue overlooked Arabic music gave him the chance to do something different and separate to his existing oeuvre. “It was an opportunity to pay homage to my home country,” he says. Even if Marzipan, his 2023 debut with the label, wasn’t overtly Middle Eastern in sound, “it was more a certain vibe.”
The follow-up, Hamra/Red (2024), dug deeper into his encyclopaedic knowledge of grooves and was described as, “a grainy, beattape-style collection of instrumentals loosely attached to the perception of a colour, or a place”. The idea of challenging perceptions about music and its origins has become a consistent trope within Charif’s work.
Now, with Hawalat, he offers perhaps, his most cohesive vision yet, a hazy, analogue dreamscape that blurs the lines between auditory and visual form as it unfolds within the mind’s eye. While each album stands alone, together they form a story of an artist gradually stepping into the spotlight, without ever compromising the mystery or spontaneity that defines his work.
In an age where music is increasingly shaped to fit algorithms, Charif Megarbane remains gloriously out of step. Not in noisy rebellion, but through quiet, daily dedication to the act of creation.
His expansive body of work can be seen not just as a rich library of music but also as a vital form of protest against the compromising assault of commercial interests on artistic freedom.
Whether hidden behind one of his many aliases or now, more visible through his work with Habibi Funk, his output is a testament to what’s possible when an artist is guided by curiosity, rigour, and perhaps most importantly, the pure unadulterated joy of their craft. For Charif Megarbane, music isn’t a product, it’s a practice. And through his uncompromising philosophy, he has found a way to make an enduring artistic stand.
Charif Megarbane and Rogér Fakhr are on tour in the UK from Tuesday 8th May, for ticket information, please follow the link
