
Lilas Mayassi (left) and Shery Bechara (right) are the founding guitarists of the all-female Lebanese thrash-metal band, Slave to Sirens, as seen in the documentary Sirens, directed by Rita Baghdadi.
Guitarists Shery Bechara and Lilas Mayassi discuss fighting to make music amid political unrest, societal strife, generational trauma, and more.
There’s a moment in the documentary Sirens when Blaakyum’s Bassem Deaibess declares that heavy metal is “100 percent pure sacrifice.” Deaibess says this to Shery Bechara, one half of the guitar tandem in Slave to Sirens, the all-women thrash-metal band from Lebanon who are the focus of the new film,directed by Rita Baghdadi. Deaibess was a close friend to Slave to Sirens in the band's early days. “I think what he meant by that was, you give a lot, for a long time, and don’t expect anything in return, especially if it’s here in Lebanon,” explains Bechara. “There’s so much sacrifice.”
Though much of Sirens ultimately focuses on guitarist Lilas Mayassi’s coming out, and how that inadvertently creates turmoil with her bandmates, Baghdadi’s deft filmmaking simultaneously captures just how challenging it is for a band like Slave to Sirens to even exist in the Middle East, much less grab the proverbial brass ring. Aside from the familiar struggles one might encounter in pursuit of a music career (or any artistic endeavor, for that matter), Slave to Sirens finds themselves face-to-face with cultural dogma, political protests, regional unrest, catastrophic disasters, and limited opportunities. The film is a metaphorical back-and-forth between the band’s own struggles and societal dysfunction writ large, but the magnitude of their quest is perhaps best amplified when Bechara’s father, Roger, tells her that less than one percent of the population in the Middle East listens to metal. You could make the argument that heavy metal is a fairly marginalized musical genre in the United States, but in the Middle East, a queer, all-female thrash-metal band is literally an against-all-odds gambit.
And yet, through sacrifice, fierce commitment to their ideals (some of which emerge throughout the film), and perseverance, Slave to Sirens starts to gain some traction within the metal community, particularly outside of Lebanon. Their performance at Glastonbury Festival in 2019 is a pivotal moment in the film. Solicited by Earache Records to perform on one of their stages, it is Slave to Sirens’ first international gig, and a seemingly triumphant opportunity. Their time slot, however, runs simultaneous with a Babymetal performance on one of the main stages, so they are left playing to a single-digit audience. Baghdadi artfully crafts an emotional rollercoaster from such bittersweet moments. Think ABC’s “The thrill of victory … and the agony of defeat” slogan from Wide World of Sports in the 1970s—disappointment and exaltation abound equally.
Slave To Sirens - Salomé (OFFICIAL MUSIC VIDEO)
“Glastonbury was an amazing experience, and we learned a lot from it,” says Mayassi, who seems far more upbeat about it now than she did in the film. “We were unlucky in the time slot, but we didn’t really care, because the point for us was just performing and having fun.” It’s been about four years since Sirens was shot, so distance clearly provides some perspective.
“I think whatever happened with us, especially with the revolution and the port explosion, it just stays there—it stays and inspires, and everything that happens affects us personally and musically.”—Lilas Mayassi
Slave to Sirens was formed by a chance encounter between Bechara and Mayassi in 2015 in Lebanon during an anti-government protest regarding a waste management crisis. In 2018, they independently released their debut EP, Terminal Leeches, which pricked up some ears around the globe, leading to the invitation from Earache to perform at Glastonbury. Lyrically, the band addresses much of the societal strife that seems to plague the Middle East. Musically, the songs are infused by the thrash and death metal influences of their youth, and Mayassi and Bechara both attack their instruments with a kind of swagger that belies their years.
Shery Bechara's Gear
Bechara is the lead guitarist in Slave to Sirens, but both she and rhythm guitarist Mayassi write equally and switch on parts whenever the mood takes over.
Photo by Sally Mïre
Guitars
- Vox Custom 25
- Dean Dime Razorback Slime Bumblebee
- Dean Exile Select 7-string Multiscale
Amps
- Peavey Heritage VTX Series 12-watt 2x12 combo
Effects
- Line 6 POD HD500 multi-effect/amp modeler
Strings and Picks
- Fender 250R Nickel-Plated Steel .010–.046 strings
- D’Addario Regular Light XL .010–.046 strings
- Ernie Ball 2215 Skinny Top Heavy Bottom Slinky .010–.052 strings
- Dunlop Ultex Jazz III 1.38 mm picks
- Dunlop Primetone Jazz III 1.4 mm picks
- Dunlop John Petrucci Jazz III 1.5 mm picks
- Levy’s Leathers guitar straps
- D’Addario Planet Waves cables
The guitar playing is tight and tenacious, featuring quirky, unexpected rhythmic patterns courtesy of Mayassi, and nuanced melodic note choices and phrasing from Bechara. In 2022, the band, which also included bassist Alma Doumani, drummer Tatyana Boughaba, and singer Maya S. Khairallah, released the bludgeoning single “Salomé,” but as of January 1, 2023, they announced on social media that Khairallah and Boughaba had left the band, and introduced Anita Tóth from Hungary as their new lead singer. There’s been no official announcement yet regarding their new drummer. According to Mayassi, they’ve currently tracked about 80 percent of the guitars and bass for a new album. “We have new members,” she clarifies. “So, we’re trying to finish the vocals.” She says they’re mixing at Dyne Engine Studio in Italy with Manuele Pesaresi, who worked with them on Terminal Leeches.
“I think what he meant by that was, you give a lot, for a long time, and don’t expect anything in return, especially if it’s here in Lebanon.”—Shery Bechara
According to the film credits, Mayassi and Bechara occupy fairly distinct roles in Slave to Sirens—Mayassi is billed as the rhythm guitarist, while Bechara is billed “lead guitar.” Mayassi admits that she’s mostly fascinated by the rhythmic aspects of a song. “My focus always shifts to the drums and bass,” she explains. “Shery is more about the soloing and all the dynamics that truly animate a song—she adds the color.”
Bechara describes Mayassi’s style as rough and very thrashy. “She loves the ‘djent, djent, djent,’” she says. “I like that, too, but she has a different approach to it than me. Also, she’s really good on the clean parts, with chorus and vibrato—I see something in her eyes. It’s like, ‘Mm-hmm [laughs].’”
Lilas Mayassi's Gear
Mayassi started playing guitar at age 13, and would spend hours at an internet cafe studying shredders on YouTube.
Photo by Sally Mïre
Guitars
- DBZ Venom Flying V
- Dean Thoroughbred Select
Amps
- Marshall MG30FX 30-Watt 1x10 combo
- Marshall JCM800 2203X 100-watt head
Effects
- Electro-Harmonix Memory Man XO Analog Delay/Chorus/Vibrato
- DigiTech DF-7 Distortion Factory
Strings and Picks
- Ernie Ball Regular Slinky .010–.046 strings
- Ernie Ball Power Slinky .011–.048 strings
- Dunlop John Petrucci Jazz III 1.5 mm picks
Despite such seemingly clear-cut differences in how they approach guitar parts, there is a moment in the documentary when the two are working on a song idea and Mayassi is playing the single-note melodic phrases, while Bechara backs her up on rhythm. So clearly there’s some wiggle room when inspiration strikes. “Whenever I feel like I have an idea, I’ll solo over it,” says Mayassi. “If Shery has an idea, she solos over it. We just go with the flow, whatever we feel like [laughs].”
Both Mayassi and Bechara picked up the guitar in their teens and were mostly self-taught. Mayassi started playing when she was just 13. “I didn’t have access to guitar lessons or anything, so I relied more on a friend in high school who would take pictures of his playing and I would mimic his finger position on the fretboard,” she explains. She would also go once a week to an internet cafe to watch hours of guitar shredding on YouTube. “That was the turning point for me. I started learning, through the videos—that’s what I had access to.” Today, she holds a bachelor’s degree in music education from Lebanese University (LU).
Bechara says she learned from her dad but is also mostly self-taught. She did study for a month at a music school and wants to go back. “I want to learn more things and improve,” she says. “There’s always something to learn. I’m trying to get into music theory and put technique with it.”
Terminal Leeches is the 2018 debut EP by Slave to Sirens, and was recorded at Dyne Engine Studio in Castelfidardo, Italy, with Manuele Pesaresi. The band is currently putting the finishing touches on a new album at Pesaresi’s studio.
As for influences, Bechara says her dad was into rock, blues, and jazz, so those genres influenced her as she was starting out, but she quickly got into heavy metal. “[My dad] never was into metal,” she chuckles. “He used to tell me, ‘You’ll get over it,’ but when he saw how committed I was, and he heard a few bands that I listened to, like Iron Maiden and Carach Angren, he was like, ‘Okay, the riffing on the guitar is very, very good,’ but he’s not into the growling [laughs].”
“I didn’t have access to guitar lessons or anything, so I relied more on a friend in high school who would take pictures of his playing and I would mimic his finger position on the fretboard.”—Lilas Mayassi
Mayassi lists Joan Jett as perhaps her biggest inspiration, but also name-checks Alexi Laiho from Children of Bodom, Steve Vai, and Joe Satriani. “Then I fell in love with thrash and death metal,” she says. “So, it’s like Testament, all the ‘Big Four’ bands [Metallica, Megadeth, Slayer, and Anthrax], and Death, the band.”
Aside from musical influences, Mayassi raises the specter of inherited trauma in the film and the impact that has had on their personal and professional lives. “My parents were kids back when the civil war started [in 1975],” she says. “They were affected by what happened, and that trauma, that fear—it’s some kind of pessimism. These events leave some kind of a scar that doesn’t really go away. The body stores trauma, and it appears in the form of stress. And now, I think whatever happened with us, especially with the revolution and the port explosion, it just stays there—it stays and inspires, and everything that happens affects us personally and musically.”
YouTube It
Sirens is a documentary that follows the Lebanese metal band Slave to Sirens as the five members fight to make a path in music while dealing with societal and personal conflict in their home country.
As for her coming out while shooting the documentary, Mayassi says, “One of the main reasons I felt unapologetically myself in this documentary is because I had the girls with me.” But in a culture that essentially prohibits same-sex relations, and LGBTQ rights are fairly nonexistent, Mayassi admits to being concerned about the fallout from the film. “When the film was released, I started realizing, ‘Okay, I think it’s going to be a problem,’” she says. “We had a lot of tough conversations with Rita. We were lucky that she was able to understand where we come from, and our concerns were respected. But when the film happened to spotlight me and my friends, first I had concerns about their safety, and then the safety of the band. So, at the start, we didn’t feel bad, but during the last years of filming, we started being aware more and more.”
The documentary closes out with the aptly titled Sound of Resilience concert, which was organized by Baalbeck International Festival, and led by conductor Harout Fazlian and the Lebanese Philharmonic Orchestra. It took place on July 5, 2020, at the Temple of Bacchus. Both Bechara and Mayassi are featured on guitar during a performance of Led Zeppelin’s “Kashmir.” It’s an auspicious moment, in a stunning setting, that seems to foretell a promising future for the two of them. “It was a new experience and a huge honor,” says Bechara. “Actually, playing with an orchestra was something like a dream.”
Columnist Janek Gwizdala with heroes Dennis Chambers (left) and Mike Stern (right).
Keeping your gigging commitments can be tough, especially when faced with a call from a hero. But it’s always the right choice.
Saying “yes!” to everything early on has put me in a place now where I can say no to almost everything and still be okay. That wasn’t without its challenges. I’d like to share a story about a “yes” that would haunt me for years.
As bass players, we can, if we choose, quite easily find ourselves in a wide variety of situations without having to change much about our sound or our playing. If your time is good and you’re able to help those around you feel good and sound better, the telephone will pretty much always ring.
Playing jazz as an electric-bass player living in New York City from 2000 to 2010 was somewhat of a fool’s errand in terms of getting work. No one wanted electric bass, and bandleaders would go to the bottom of a list of 100 upright players before they would even think about calling you. Not only that, but I wasn’t even at the top of the electric list when I first moved there. Not even close. Anthony Jackson, Richard Bona, Will Lee, Tim Lefebvre, James Genus, Lincoln Goines, Mike Pope, John Benitez, Matthew Garrison—that’s a who’s who of the instrument when I first moved to town, and I was very much a freshman with almost no experience. Almost…
I’d been lucky enough to play extensively with Kenwood Dennard (Jaco’s drummer), and a little with Hiram Bullock (Jaco’s guitarist) before moving to NYC which helped create a little momentum, but only a VERY little.
This is where the story begins:
I’d sent Mike Stern a demo back in late ’97. He’d not only taken the time to listen to it but had called my parents’ house right after I moved to the U.S. to tell me he loved it and wanted to hang. I missed the call but eventually met him at a clinic he gave at Berklee.
Of course, I was buzzing about all of this. It helped me stay laser-focused on practice and on moving to NYC as soon as possible. I got the typical “look me up when you get to town” invitation from Stern and basically counted the seconds through the three semesters I stayed at Berklee until I could split town.
I arrived with a ton of confidence but zero gigs. And nothing happened overnight. It really took saying yes to literally everything I was offered just to keep a roof over my head. Through that process, I felt like I was getting further away from playing with my jazz heroes.
The early gigs were far from glamorous—long hours, terrible pay, and sometimes, after travel expenses, they cost me money to play.
“Whenever I have a single moment of doubt, I think about the time I had to say no to my heroes—the reasons I moved to America, the reason I do what I do.”
When Stern finally called, a few years into living in NYC, things started to move pretty quickly. I began playing a lot of gigs at the 55 Bar with him, and short road trips became a thing—a four-night stint at Arturo Sandoval’s new club in Miami, gigs in Chicago, Cleveland, and upstate New York, and then some international work, including a tour of Mexico and a trip to Brazil, if I remember right.
But the hardest phone call of my career came from Mike not long into my time touring with him. It went something like this:
“Hey man, what’s your scene in April? Lincoln can’t make a trip to the West Coast. It’s just one gig. Trio… with DENNIS CHAMBERS.”
Mike didn’t shout Dennis’ name, but that’s how I heard it. My all-time hero. Someone I’d been dreaming about playing with for over 15 years. And here’s the kicker: I had to say no.
I’d just committed to six weeks with Jojo Mayer’s band Nerve in Asia and Europe, and there was no way I could bail on him. And there was no way I could afford to ditch six weeks of work for a single gig with Mike. To say that haunted me for years is an understatement. I was destroyed that I had to turn it down.
The tour with Jojo was amazing—the posters hang in my studio as a reminder of those times to this day. And thankfully, I was able to go on some years later and play dozens of shows with Mike and Dennis all over the world—truly some of the highlights of my career.
I still think about that phone call, though. Whenever I have a single moment of doubt, I think about the time I had to say no to my heroes—the reasons I moved to America, the reason I do what I do. I get emotional writing and thinking about it even now. But I've learned to never have regrets and understand you just have to believe in the process and maintain the willpower to continue—no matter what.
New RAT Sound Solution Offers a Refined Evolution of Distortion
ACT Entertainment ’s iconic RAT brand has unveiledthe Sterling Vermin, a boutique distortion guitar pedal that blends heritage tone with modernrefinement. With a new take on RAT’s unmistakable sound, Sterling Vermin delivers a new levelof precision and versatility.
“The Sterling Vermin was born from a desire for something different — something refined, withthe soul of a traditional RAT pedal, but with a voice all its own,” says Shawn Wells, MarketManager—Sound, ACT Entertainment, who designed the pedal along with his colleague MattGates. “Built in small batches and hand-soldered in ACT’s Jackson, Missouri headquarters, theSterling Vermin is a work of pure beauty that honors the brand legacy while taking a bold stepforward for creativity.”
The Sterling Vermin features the LM741 Op-Amp and a pair of selectable clipping diodes.Players can toggle between the traditional RAT silicon diode configuration for a punchy, mid-range bite, or the BAT41 option for a smoother, more balanced response. The result is a pedalthat’s equally at home delivering snarling distortion or articulate, low-gain overdrive, with a wide,usable tonal range throughout the entire gain spectrum.
The pedal also features CTS pots and oversized knobs for even, responsive control that affordsa satisfying smoothness to the rotation, with just the right amount of tension. Additionally, thepolished stainless-steel enclosure with laser-annealed graphics showcases the merging of thepedal’s vintage flavor and striking design.
“From low-gain tones reminiscent of a Klon or Bluesbreaker, to high-gain settings that flirt withBig Muff territory — yet stay tight and controlled — the Sterling Vermin is a masterclass indynamic distortion,” says Gates, an ACT Entertainment Sales Representative. “With premiumcomponents, deliberate design and a focus on feel, the Sterling Vermin is more than a pedal, it’sa new chapter for RAT.”
The RAT Sterling Vermin is available immediately and retails for $349 USD. For moreinformation about this solution, visit: actentertainment.com/rat-distortion .
The Miku was introduced about 10 years ago and is based on the vocal stylings of Hatsune Miku, a virtual pop icon. But it does much more than artificial vowels and high-pitched words.
It’s tempting to think of this pedal as a joke. Don’t.
It all started a few years ago through a trade with a friend. I just wanted to help him out—he really wanted to get a fuzz pedal but didn’t have enough cash, so he offered up the Korg Miku. I had no idea then, but it turned out to be the best trade I’ve ever made.
Here’s the truth: the Korg Miku is not your typical guitar pedal. It won’t boost your mids, sculpt your gain, or serve up that warm, buttery overdrive you’ve always worshipped. Nope. This little box does something entirely different: It sings! Yes, sings in a Japanese kawaii accent that’s based on the signature voice of virtual pop icon Hatsune Miku.
At first glance, it’s tempting to dismiss this pedal as just a gimmick—a joke, a collector’s oddity, the kind of thing you buy for fun and then forget next to your Hello Kitty Strat. But here’s the twist: Some take it seriously and I’m one of those people.
I play in a punk band called Cakrux, and lately I’ve been working with a member of a Japanese idol-style girl group—yeah, it’s exactly the kind of wild mashup you’d ever imagine. Somewhere in the middle of that chaos, the Miku found its way into my setup, and weirdly enough, it stuck. It’s quirky, beautiful, occasionally maddening, and somehow … just right. After plenty of time spent in rehearsals, studio takes, and more sonic experiments than I care to admit, I’ve come to appreciate this pedal in unexpected ways. So here are a few things you probably didn’t know about this delightfully strange little box.
It’s Not Organic—and That’s OK
Most guitar pedals are chasing something real. Wah pedals mimic the human voice—or even a trumpet. Tube Screamers? They’re built to recreate the warm push of an overdriven tube amp. Cab sims aim to replicate the tone of real-world speaker setups. But the Miku? It breaks the mold. Instead of emulating reality, it channels the voice of a fictional pop icon. Hatsune Miku isn’t a person—she’s a vocaloid, a fully digital creation made of samples and synthesis. The Miku doesn’t try to sound organic, it tries to sound like her. In that sense, it might be the only pedal trying to reproduce something that never existed in the physical world. And honestly, there’s something oddly poetic about that.
A World-Class Buffer
Here’s a fun fact: I once saw a big-name Indonesian session guitarist—you know, the kind who plays in sold-out arenas—with a Miku pedal on his board. I was like, “No way this guy’s busting out vocaloid lines mid-solo.” Plot twist: He only uses it for the buffer. Yep, the man swears by it and says it’s the best-sounding buffer he’s ever plugged into. I laughed … until I tried it. And honestly? He’s not wrong. Even if you never hear Miku sing a note, this pedal still deserves a spot on your board. Just for the tone mojo alone. Wild, right?
“The Miku is one of those pedals that really shouldn’t work for your music, but somehow, it just does.”
Impossible to Tame
Most pedals are built to make your life easier. The Miku? Not so much. This thing demands patience—and maybe a little spiritual surrender. First off, the tracking can be finicky, especially if you’re using low-output pickups. Latency becomes really noticeable and your picking dynamics suddenly matter a lot more. Then there’s the golden rule I learned the hard way. Never—ever—put anything before the Miku. No fuzz, no wah, no compressor, not even a buffer! It gets confused instantly and says “What is going on here?” And don’t even think about punching in while recording. The vocal results are so unpredictable, you’ll never get the same sound twice. Mess up halfway? You’re starting from scratch. Same setup, same take, same chaotic energy. It’s like trying to recreate a fever dream. Good luck with that.
Full Range = Full Power
Sure, it’s made for guitar, but the Miku really comes to life when you run it through a keyboard amp, bass cab, or even a full-range speaker. Why? Because her voice covers way more frequency range than a regular guitar speaker can handle. Plug it into a PA system or a bass rig, and everything sounds clearer, richer, way more expressive. It’s like letting Hatsune Miku out of her cage.
The Miku is one of those pedals that really shouldn't work for your music, but somehow, it just does. Is it the best pedal out there? Nah. Is it practical? Not by a long shot. But every time I plug it in, I can’t help but smile. It’s unpredictable, a little wild, and it feels like you’re jamming in the middle of a bizarre Isekai anime scene. And honestly, that’s what makes it fun.
This thing used to go for less than $100. Now? It’s fetching many times that. Is it worth the price? That’s up to you. But for me, the Korg Miku isn’t just another pedal—it’s a strange, delightful journey I’m glad I didn’t skip. No regrets here.
Two guitars, two amps, and two people is all it takes to bring the noise.
The day before they played the coveted Blue Room at Third Man Records in Nashville, the Washington, D.C.-based garage-punk duo Teen Mortgage released their debut record, Devil Ultrasonic Dream. Not a bad couple of days for a young band.
PG’s Chris Kies caught up with guitarist and vocalist James Guile at the Blue Room to find out how he builds the band’s bombastic guitar attack.
Brought to you by D’Addario.
Devilish Dunable
Guile has been known to use Telecasters and Gretsches in the past, but this time out he’s sticking with this Dunable Cyclops DE, courtesy of Gwarsenio Hall—aka Jordan Olds of metal-themed comedy talk show Two Minutes to Late Night. Guile digs the Dunable’s lightness on his shoulders, and its balance of high and low frequencies.
Storm Warning
What does Guile like about this Squier Cyclone? Simple: its color. This one is also nice and easy on the back, and Guile picked it up from Atomic Music in Beltsville, Maryland.
Crushing It
Guile also scooped this Music Man 410-HD from Atomic, which he got just for this tour for a pretty sweet deal. It runs alongside an Orange Crush Bass 100 to rumble out the low end.
James Guile’s Pedalboard
The Electro-Harmonix Micro POG and Hiwatt Filter Fuzz MkII run to the Orange, while everything else—a DigiTech Whammy, Pro Co Lil’ RAT, and Death by Audio Echo Dream 2—runs to the Music Man. A TC Helicon Mic Mechanic is on board for vocal assistance, and a TC Electronic PolyTune 3, Morley ABY, and Voodoo Labs Pedal Power 3 Plus keep the ship afloat.