John Lebanon releases new album

Based in Boston, John Lebanon is an indie folk outfit that began as a playful misnomer when a Lebanese songwriter once told he looked like John Lennon and it’s since flourished into a fully formed artistic project. Over time, that name has come to represent one of the more distinctive voices in modern alternative folk and indie rock rising from New England’s creative landscape, running a thread from Beirut to Boston and on to listeners around the world.

John Lebanon is a band that brings together Karl Deek, Matt Deluccia, Roy Souaid, Marc Chehwan and Khalid Razick, a collective creating songs that move between continents and emotional states. Their music carries the heat of Beirut alongside the cooler tonal shifts of Boston and New York, reflecting a sense of place that exists in motion, always negotiating the tension of living under new skies.

Their output has been framed by curiosity and cross-cultural reflection, first showcased back in 2017 with the debut single “La femme que j’aime elle est lesbienne.” Other early releases, including the 2018 EP Disco Boi, introduced a knack for pairing cultural references and stylistic influences while retaining a distinct sound while a run of well-received singles that followed only strengthened that reputation, building a growing audience drawn to their unique perspective.

Now, John Lebanon returns with Kite Without a String, a brand new album that expands their sonic and thematic reach while staying tethered to their reflective storytelling. Penned over several years between New England and Beirut, the record is shaped by ideas of identity, belonging, faith and the search for balance in a world that often feels fractured and overstimulated. The record moves through a wide emotional and sonic spectrum from warm folk melodies and indie rock arrangements to subtle Middle Eastern influences.

Opening with “Hurricane Eyes,” the release starts off with a that that flows from a breezy intro of flickering guitars, soft vocals and tapped percussion towards a bright rock-tinged folk pop anthem brimming with memorable melodic leads and splashing drums. The record shifts into its central metaphor with “Kite Without a String,” a title track that slows the pace and explores the tension between letting go and staying true to oneself wrapped up in an atmospheric arrangement of jangly guitar notes, pattering percussion and heartfelt vocal performance.

One of the most intimate moments arrives with “Maksour,” a stripped-back composition sung in Arabic where memory sits at the forefront, offering a direct emotional connection that stands in contrast to the album’s more expansive moments. The sense of transition continues with “Vermontier (Dusk Edition),” where shimmering 12-string guitars, rustling drums and mellow vocal hooks begin to open up the album’s sonic world.

As the record progresses, “Mizuri” examines themes of faith and determination through the elegant twinkle of piano and strums of guitar backing as layered harmonies and wide textures swirl into a laid back jam that’s truly impossible not to love. “Petit Pierre” finds meaning in simplicity, contemplation on everyday stability as a spacious arrangement of airy instrumental tones, soft drum patterns and hushed vocals combine to cast a dreamy folk pop listening experience.

“Self Made World” takes the album into its most textured sphere, combining folk and electronic elements as it builds toward one of its emotional peaks, offering listeners an engaging sonic voyage that glides from minimalist arrangement towards an infectious sound of shuffling rhythms, playful guitar flutters and delightful vocal work. The album closes with “I Like to Play (17’ Vault),” a bonus track that strips everything back to voice and guitar to return to the very essence of the project itself, a simple act of expression, unadorned and direct. Tinged with subtle percussive energy and instilled with alluring vocal layers, it delivers a charming ending to a record that travels far, both geographically and emotionally, before arriving back at its origin point.

Listen to Kite without a string below