Julien Sfeir, pharmacist, musician, songwriter, and performer. (Credit: Courtesy of the artist)
In 2024, Julien Sfeir made a splash with his music video "Je jette des boîtes," in which he voiced his anger and helplessness at the waste of medication in France, even as his homeland, Lebanon, was in dire need just a few thousand kilometers away.
With "Libanais," which already has more than 185,000 views on YouTube and many shares and enthusiastic comments on Instagram, Sfeir releases a new urban pop track that strongly resonates with the French-speaking diaspora, torn between their love for their country and the impossibility of staying there.
Even the famous musician, songwriter, and pianist André Manoukian has praised Sfeir's talent on social networks.
"Being Lebanese means thinking of others before yourself. It's wanting to please. It's family. It's never giving up," lists the 30-something from the back room of the Angers pharmacy he bought a few months ago, to gain time and money and "create without feeling guilty."
For the Sarthe native, being Lebanese is also "the love of a devoted teta [grandma]." His own, Juliette, was the central and luminous figure around whom his whole family revolved.
Born in Lebanon, she had lived in Senegal and arrived in Le Mans (in Sarthe) in 1981, where she lived in the same apartment almost until her death a few weeks ago at the age of 101. "Teta was everything. She was the family’s centerpiece."
Her passing still lingers in the young man's voice and his eyes, which well up as he remembers her. "Everything I do is for her. I cook like her, I eat like her... everything," he says.
His grandmother’s voice even echoes at the end of his video, when she tells him, "Ça va, ça va, une fois en haut, une fois en bas," her way of saying there are ups and downs and that things will be okay.
Lebanese like Shakira
The “Libanais” project wasn’t initially conceived as a tribute. It grew out of small clips shot with his teta Juliette that went viral two years ago. "People saw themselves in it. So I thought: See it through."
He wrote a full song, then created a music video with Johan Neveu. Coco Makmak, a Lebanese influencer, got in touch after seeing the video with teta. She agreed to appear in it and brought along a renowned countryman, Michelin-starred chef Alain Geaam: "He told me, 'But this song, that's exactly Lebanon.'"
Whether talking about himself or his community, Julien does so with sincerity, humor, and a touch of self-deprecation: "We always ask each other: Are you Lebanese or French? I grew up in Sarthe, but I'm Lebanese. I'm Lebanese like Shakira, you know?" says the man who currently lives in Angers, where he studied pharmacy.
"Whenever I meet a Lebanese person, I consider them family, it’s crazy," he says, also admitting he immediately felt "at home" when he finally visited the country.
Still, the musician — singer, songwriter, performer, multi-instrumentalist, and arranger — didn't want to hide the darker sides of Lebanon: "We love it as much as we hate it. I wanted to show both sides."
'This country can be yours'
When Julien discusses politics, his words take on a bittersweet clarity. "I'm no expert. I just repeat what I hear."
What he hears is exhaustion, disillusionment, families leaving, cousins relocating, and the jaded analyses of those still living there. "Every time, I'm told: 'It will never work.' But I want to believe," he says.
His dream is to someday tell his son that Lebanon offers a future. "I'd so love to take him there and say: Look, this country could be yours." Little Nadim holds a central place in his life — and now, in his short, humorous Instagram clips, his mischievous innocence strikes a chord.
Unintentionally, Julien quickly realized that his little boy, just three, was even more engaging than his music. "I did two or three videos with him [without him being on screen], and people were a thousand times more interested!" he laughs. "The likeability factor, it’s crazy."
Nadim is also at the heart of a more intimate vision of inheritance: Julien and his partner — a Moroccan Muslim — give him a triple culture: Lebanese, Moroccan, and French, every day.
The little boy has been baptized, but also received a Muslim rite. For Sfeir, who defines himself as a Maronite Christian, this plurality is not a compromise; it's an absolute asset.
The young father is meanwhile working on a song about his son, "very hard to write," another about cats and their posh lives, and above all, one about women, especially women from the East. It's a sensitive subject, which he wants to tackle with humor, sincerity, and nuance.
He, who was born into a family of "dentists, osteopaths, doctors," no longer believes in the “stay in your lane” that he heard so often. Now he’s forging his own path, hybrid and genuine — pharmacist, artist, father, Lebanese, and French.
Instagram: julien_sfeir_
This article was translated from L'Orient-Le Jour.
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