I met Seb, also known as Baytee Baytak, on a cold morning in London. What was meant to be a quick coffee turned into a long, spiraling conversation about music, protests, journalism, and the vibrational logic of sound. Seb is effortlessly talkative, curious in the best way, and deeply generous when discussing ideas. To my surprise, he showed a real interest in the Polish electronic music scene, so then we continued to talk.
Seb has been a journalist for a decade, covering business, politics and society for the Financial Times, New Statesman, BBC, Novara Media and many others. He’s interviewed heads of state, business leaders and everyone in between. His writing has covered very varied topics, from foreign investment to sex toys.
But it makes sense. Whether he’s interviewing many subjects or layering street recordings from Beirut’s thawra over breakbeats, Seb moves fluidly between storytelling and sound, intellect and emotion. As Baytee Baytak, he blends Lebanese percussion with the raw energy of UK club culture. Our conversation continued online, where he shared references, music, and context—a generous archive of both thought and bass.
Musically, he made a striking entrance with his 2022 debut album Electricté Du Liban, released via Cairo-based label HIZZ. The momentum continued with two follow-up releases on London-based imprints Shubzin and Geotact, including his debut EP, “Shadows of Beyrouth.”
But, maybe more than shared media, we might have missed some significant details about him, and let’s see how this talk unfolds…
Hi Seb, how are you feeling today? Let us know about your full day.
Hi! xoxo
Today I’ve been finishing up an interview with a very inspiring Scottish politician (Brendan O’Hara) who has been speaking up for Gaza in the UK parliament. I met him, by chance, while walking through a marketplace in Glasgow 2 months ago, on my way to watch a Celtic match.
Are you still based in London? If so, what keeps you grounded here — and how does the city, with all its chaos and energy, shape your interests and decisions, both musically and politically?
I’m still in London, and have been living here for…13 years – hearing that number is quite shocking to me. Not because I’m surprised to be in London, but because I can’t believe how quickly it’s gone by. I loved this city for a while, but have fallen in love with it even more over the last 18 months because of the mass solidarity movement for Palestine. No other city in “the West” has stood up for Palestine as resolutely as London. I’m proud to be part of this. London has so many communities and identities – you can make of it what you want, and you see this in the music scene here too. I feel very connected to my Arab and Lebanese community in London, as well as British culture, friends and electronic music, all of which have massively influenced my music.
You’ve spent years reporting on politics and society. Do you think music lets you say things that journalism can’t?
It lets me highlight certain “political emotions” that are less easily expressed through written words. But I don’t think I’m using my music to say things, more to feel things and have a good time. Whereas my journalism is more about saying things. It’s hard to make political music without feeling quite cringe, so I’m very clear with myself that my music is not speaking and representing certain people. It’s just speaking for me and my emotions around certain events – I don’t take it too seriously. But I love the way fast-paced and chaotic rhythms can capture (and release) feelings of tension, frustration, anger and action. I think my music is best listened to while moving; It’s very kinetic and doesn’t work as background or lounge music hahaha, it’s way too antisocial for that.
You mentioned you’re an extrovert, but production and working on music calms you. What does that contrast feel like? Is it a kind of escape or a grounding tool for you?
I don’t take enough time to sit with myself and slow down, except when I make music. I haven’t been producing anything for about 9 months now, as I’ve been focusing on my journalism, and I feel soooo frustrated. It’s like I’m missing out on therapy and me-time.
There’s something physical and ancient in your percussion productions. Where does your relationship with rhythm come from?
Arab percussion, for sure. I love its pace and drama, and how much it takes me back to my childhood in Lebanon. I also was raised with a lot of music at home and in the church, as my parents are very religious.
Your music carries tension, between order and chaos, beauty and collapse. How do you decide when a track is “done”?
I rarely feel a track is done. I usually just get so sick of hearing it, and tired of being a perfectionist, that I just say “fuck it, it’s done”. But I like your descriptions of my music, thank you. The first album (Electr*cté Du Liban) was very much about chaos and collapse. And it was named after the Lebanese national electricity company, which for many years could not even light up the ‘i’ in its building sign in Beirut (hence the asterix in the album title)…An electricity company that can’t light up its own sign, that’s how poetically broken, corrupt and incompetent the Lebanese state has become. Our country still only has 6 hours of state-provided electricity a day.
Tell me about Tasstooz. What shifted between this record and your earlier ones?
I tried to make Tasstooz a bit more melodic, in some of the tracks. But this still needs work. Most importantly, Tasstooz is not political at all. I feel that there is only so much political music to make, so I wanted this album to be absurd, nostalgic and silly – but still really fast-paced and clanky, like my previous stuff. “Tasstooz” means little bottom in Lebanese arabic – and the album cover is a bidet floating in outer space, because why not. Also, bidets are fucking amazing, and I miss them. There’s so few of them in the UK, it’s a crisis ahah. In one of my favourite history books, called The Anarchy, we are told about a Mughal official in India in 1765AD who wrote in his diary to say: “What honour is left to us, when we have to take orders from a handful of British colonialists who have not yet learned to wash their bottoms?”. The earliest predecessor of the bidet can be traced to ancient Mesopotamia and the Indian subcontinent.
Tell us some names of artists with whom you would enjoy collaborating.
Zuli. DJ Plead. aya.
What’s next for you? Not just musically, but anything you’re dreaming up or leaning toward right now.
I want to make some slower or more stripped-back music that is more melodic or easy to move to. I think it’s been a very intense two years, so I want something more relaxed (and different).
Can you please complete the word “Under…”
mydeadbody.
Thanks!
Underton Team