I would like to close this series by touching on some of the unique characteristics of Arab avantgarde cultural activity in the twentieth century with a focus on music.

In my view, one of the most significant differences between Arab and western avantgarde phenomena is the fact that in Arab societies these pioneering works made their way into the mainstream almost instantaneously. Poetry changed from its classic rhymed, metered, measured, symmetry, to prose poetry. The subject matter changed dramatically and became more personal and more immediate (song lyrics being an exception in that they still obsessed with love, almost exclusively). “Modern Poetry” as it became known, had, by the mid twentieth century, constituted the majority of new poetry works.

Musical theater was introduced (almost single handedly by Sayyid Darwish), and other forms of staged musical performance and musical films became very successful within a short period of time. These were influenced, to an extent, by western musical theater. But they also had unique characteristics reflecting the originality of their makers, and the uniqueness of the conditions in which they appeared.

Musical content changed, incorporating instruments, orchestration techniques, and sounds from other cultures, mainly western European tonal 19^th century music.

Experimental, surrealist cinema followed suit. Youssef Shahine, Egyptian filmmaker, produced a large body of works of experimental, surrealist, and unconventional in narrative. The civil war in Lebanon dealt a heavy blow to similar currents in Lebanese cinema.

Returning for a moment to music, it is worth mentioning here two other distinctions from western avantgarde music, which may help explain why the Arab mainstream culture adopted avantgarde music fairly rapidly. The first was that the greatest composers and performers of the twentieth century were involved in it, listened and studied other traditions in depth, and wanted to do something new. More reflective of the spirit of the times, and the social and political changes all around.

The other distinction is that the introduction of new elements was gradual. None of these great composers produced exclusively avantgarde work. None divorced themselves from the tradition. In fact they were all deeply rooted and schooled in it. None of the avantgarde works were exclusive of traditional elements. In fact, the genius of many of these works lied in the perfect blend and seamless transitions between those elements.

The “tradition” of avantgarde in music still continues today, by the way, although other factors limit its success. Factors like the market demand for spectacle in musical performance (mainly one of sexual overtones)- aka the video clip, and attention span depletion and the need for short sentences and short ideas accessible to the general public on first hearing. Interestingly enough, the movement against the stupification of art is not lead exclusively by an educated elite, but also by ordinary people who see the modern video clip oriented music as a symptom of cultural degeneration and see the artistic revolution that took place in the twentieth century as a symptom of the opposite, the spiritual and cultural awakening of the masses.

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The question of the work
What are the characteristics of a work of art that would be considered, beyond doubt, as avantgarde?

Answering the question with regards to the work of art is similar in some ways but fundamentally different in others from the discussion about the artist. When discussing the artist, we relied on the context in which the artist works as the standard against which we judge whether or not she can be considered as one whose work and vision are avantgarde. When we discuss individual works, we are acknowledging that a given artist can produce both traditional and experimental works. Do we measure the works to other works by the same artist, or only to The Tradition? The answer may seem obvious: Of course we compare them to The Tradition, and not to other works by the same artist. However, let us examine what may be not-so-obvious aspects of this sound logic.

The case for comparing a new work by an artist to The Tradition, is that while an artist may depart from her earlier interpretation of the tradition to a new one, if the new interpretation is still traditional, it should be considered as a natural growth process of the artist and not as pioneering, or breaking new territory. What is not-so-obvious about this way of thinking is that we are, in effect, discarding the fact that not all artists have a vast breadth of education in the tradition, especially contemporary and avantgarde. In other words, an artist who hasn’t been exposed to prose poetry, but has otherwise a great talent and craftsmanship may invent prose poetry on her own, one hundred years after it had been originally invented. In the modern world, where reproduction technology of visual, audible, intellectual, and literary works is readily accessible to so many, missing any recent developments in any idiom is but a slight possibility. A half a century ago, not as slight. A century ago, quite likely. However, we cannot apply this thinking blindly. It is much more likely to find an American composer who has not been exposed to the sound and tuning of the Kulingtang, than it is to find a Manila born composer who hasn’t. Furthermore, many, if not most, conservatories and music departments across the world teach John Cage, or, at least, mention in passing twentieth century atonal western classical music. Few music departments in the west teach Abdo Dagher or any other music in depth. Musicology programs can be considered an exception, but it is questionable whether those have much direct influence on most artists. Largely, what happens in the musicology world stays in the musicology world.

The question of the observer
A listener who is hearing contemporary pop music for the first time, having only heard Arabic art music, and never been exposed to sixties and seventies European and American pop, cannot be blamed for not recognizing that modern Arab pop music should be heard in two contexts at the same time: Arabic music in general, and western pop. The observer’s reflections on the music she is hearing will depend very much on whether or not she recognizes this multiplicity of contexts. In other words, not being aware of one or more steps in the evolution of a musical tradition, may make the work of a certain artist seem more revolutionary that it actually is. Since we have concluded in part 2 that there is a large quantitative component to the tags attached to artists, the missing steps could be significant enough to change a tag from creative to visionary, revolutionary, or avantgarde.

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I emphasized choose because there is a measure of arbitrariness and/or subjective judgment in answering these questions. This post begins the process of answering these questions.

The first set of questions have to do with the adjective “avantgarde”. Let us first observe that “avantgarde music” is a western term, used to discuss phenomena in western music, involving western trained musicians, living in western countries, in a time where other things were happening in literature, the visual arts, dance, and music. In other words, context charged the term “avantgarde music” with social, political, and cultural content well outside the realm of music. Furthermore, in the western context the term avantgarde music was used to discuss such diverse phenomena as minimalism, electro-acoustic music, free jazz, musique concrete, the work of John Cage, new age music, and free improvisation, to name a few. I mention all this to say, we should, at least in the beginning, dissociate the term “avantgarde” as a social phenomenon reflected in pioneering cultural works that push the boundaries of, challenge, defy, or even negate tradition, from what invoking that term might be suggestive of for someone who has studied western avantgarde cultural activities.

Divorcing the discussion of Arab avantgarde is necessary at this point, but it is not necessarily anything beyond artificial. A discussion of recent (20th century) and contemporary social events in the Arab world tends to have many points of contact with western social events simply because this is a time period when the west had many points of contact with Arab societies on all levels: political, economic, and social.

Returning to the term avantgarde. What do we consider an avantgarde work as opposed to a practice that is part of the natural evolution of the artistic endeavor over time? It is to be expected that, similar to many such discussions, the gray margins are pretty wide. A few mental exercises can help us sharpen the definition. Each exercise will be presented as a hypothetical question.

The question of the artist
In this exercise we examine two extreme cases: What are the characteristics of an artist who would, beyond any doubt, be considered an avantgarde artist by all educated observers? And,  what are the characteristics of an artist who would, beyond any doubt, be considered as not an avantgarde artist?

In my view, the “extremely” avantgarde artist, within an existing art-form, is one whose works depart from tradition in form, aesthetic, vocabulary, and process.

The “extremely” not avantgarde artist, within an existing art-form, is one whose works adhere to traditionally existing form(s), aesthetic, vocabulary and process.

I cannot think of any “important” Arab artists that always, in all their work, fall in either category.

What of the cases in between? For example, what of a poet who departs from the symmetrical, metered, rhymed, and topically pre-formulated practice of classical Arabic poetry by inventing a new rhyme scheme, say all the odd lines rhyme, and all the even lines rhyme but using different rhyme syllables, while adhering to the other traditional traits of aesthetic, form, vocabulary, and process? This artist may be considered innovative by some, and tasteless by others. But, few observers will consider her to be an avantgarde poet. As she continues to push the envelope shedding more and more traditional considerations of form, process, aesthetic, and artistic (not necessarily linguistic) vocabulary, there will be a point when most educated observers will consider her to be avantgarde.

This first exercise demonstrated that the question of who is an avantgarde artist is largely a quantitative question of: in how many respects and how many of the works of an artist depart from the traditions of the art form?

There remain three mental exercises that will be discussed in the next part of the series.

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Thinking about the subject, the questions that seem the most urgent to answer are not about the Arab avantgarde music movement itself just yet, but rather questions about how to have a discussion about Arab avantgarde music. In fact, the questions touch on some of the vague aspects of the term not necessarily in relation to Arab avantgarde.

To begin with, how do we distinguish between avantgarde and innovation that is a natural product of evolution over time of any cultural activity?

When does the avantgarde status of something expire?

And then what happens to it?

Why do we still use the term avantgarde to describe music that was so in the fifties, but can now be learned in universities? Doesn’t the possibility of getting a degree in an art form from a respectable accredited university mean that that art form can no longer be considered avantgarde?

In retrospect, can impressionism in painting considered to have been avantgarde? How about photography, when first introduced into the world of visual arts, was it considered avantgarde then? Should it have been? If not, when is a new art form considered avantgarde and not just simply, a new art form? When should a new way to practice an existing art be considered avantgarde?

Now more specifically to the subject at hand. Arab avantgarde is not the same as Arabic avantgarde music. Which discussion should we have? Arab avantgarde music discusses avantgarde music made by people of Arab ethnicity. Arabic avantgarde music, means, I suppose, avantgarde music made by practitioners of Arabic music, as departure from more traditional Arabic music. So in that respect, Arab avantgarde musicians have to be of Arab ethnicity but they don’t have to know anything about Arabic music nor be able to play any Arabic musical instruments. On the other hand, Arabic avantgarde music practitioners don’t have to be Arab but have to be trained in Arabic music.

We haven’t even begun to discuss geography.

In this new post series I will try to answer some of the questions above and, with some luck, find a way to discuss Arab and Arabic avantgarde music.

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In the third track (maqam bayyati) of Shaheen and Racy’s “Taqasim”, this is accomplished.

I got this CD almost 15 years ago. Since then, I have listened to it more than any other. We are blessed that we live in a time when recording is possible. When we read accounts of the beauty of someone’s music, we can try to imagine. But how can one imagine music that is unimaginably powerful.

In Taqasim, especially in the third, 7 minutes (and 5000 years) long track, a lot is packed. Simon’s, melodies, tone, and technique, even after 15 years of listening (and knowing the thing by heart), continue to be exciting. New details emerging with each listening. As if the performers secretly rerecord it anew every week or so.

So what makes it work so well? I have repeatedly dwelt on that. Over the years the answers change.

At first, I thought it was technique (isn’t that all we think about when we’re young?). Then it was the melodies. Then it was the recording quality and clarity combined with melodies and technique.

As, despite our best efforts to the contrary, we mature, our ears do too.

It is now clear to me, that he who wants to master the sounds, must also master the silences between them. The music of “Taqasim” stays alive and relevant, because the performers breathed their life into it. The variations in dynamics, pulse, pick technique are at times subtle and at others startling, but they are always natural. The melodies are at times lyrical and at others anxious, and pained. But they are always immediate.

Instrumental music is music where the listener gets to fill in the lyrics, silently, and then revise and re-revise. Millennia can thus be distilled into minutes, and countless stories find home in a jewel case.

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1. Simplification of the definition of maqam therefore not recognizing some of the characteristics that distinguish different maqams sharing the same scale. As a result, many maqams that share the a scale are now considered one maqam.
2. Maqams that are no longer in use are omitted from theory books.
3. Not recognizing intonation details rendering several different maqams as identical.

Let us examine each category and study some examples.

Simplification of the definition of maqam

There is a general tendency to teach all or, at least, some maqams simply as scales. Not only that, but there is a general tendency to theorize that each maqam has one scale associated with it, not more. That is not in keeping with the spirit of maqam based music. Here are a few examples of this trend to simplify.

1. Ignoring Sayr (characteritic melodic movement) in a maqam. Some maqams have identical intervals but are different in their melodic progression (starting region, emphasis on specific regions or pitches, cadences, etc..) For example, let us compare the two maqams Huzam and Rahat Al-Arwah. In the past, the maqams were considered different because of a different melodic progression (see example). Traditionally Rahat Al-Arwah had always been recognized to have a B half flat tonic while Huzam had a tonic of E half flat. But they are not merely two transpositions of the same maqam. Notice that both Mashaqah and other theorists have variations on the definition of huzam. But in none of those variations is Huzam identical in Sayr to Rahat Al-Arwah according to the “old” theory. Therefore teaching Rahat Al-Arwah and Huzam are merely different names of the same maqam when transposed to different keys ignores the real difference between them (Arabic music, after all, doesn’t recognize maqams transposed to different keys as different maqams by virtue of the transposition) which is the Sayr. It is worth noting here that Sayr should be regarded as a general architecture that shows regions visited and/or emphasized and directions of motion in specific situations as opposed to exact phrases to be played.
   
   

2. Another example of the simplification of maqam definition is maqam Farah-Fazah (Ferahfeza in Turkish). I agree with the view that this is an Ottoman maqam. In fact, some of my Turkish informants commented that this is a maqam that was conceived by Tanburi Cemil (Jamil) Bey. I couldn’t find any documentation of this. However, I don’t read Turkish, and have little access to Turkish sources (I rely on the generosity of Turkish friends). Since it would be reckless to discredit the claim that this maqam was conceived by Tanburi Cemil without consulting with the Turkish literature, I would just leave it here, and hope that someday someone would find this post and give some information. At any rate the problem with Farah-Fazah is not who first conceived of it.

   In its Ottoman definition (as per “Turk Musikisi Nazariyati ve Usulleri”, by Kudum Velveleleri) Farah-Fazah is a compound maqam: a maqam associated with the scales of more than one maqam. Per Velveleleri, maqam Farah-Fazah is a descending maqam that contains the maqams of Busalik on G, Ajam on B-Flat, and Bayati on D. Turkish classic compositions in this maqam follow this recipe. Salim Al-Hilu’s work on Arabic Music Theory (Al-Musiqa Al-Nathariyya) recognizes the Ajam aspect of it. More modern teachings simply regard it as Nahawand from G. Again regarding it as a different name for the same maqam only due to transposition and not as a maqam of a different nature. Notice also that in its Turkish definition, the maqam is not based on Nahawand from G, but on Busalik from G. Busalik is another maqam that in modern Arabic theory was lumped into the Nahawand conglomerate as another name for Nahawand on D (as opposed to a maqam which shares a scale but is different in Sayr).

3. Maqam Najdi Sika, is no longer mentioned in modern literature because it is also considered to be identical to Sika. The difference between the two is that Najdi Sika emphasizes the upper register, and resolves to the tonic only in cadences or ends of movements. Since the distinction of emphasis areas was dropped from maqam definition, this is no longer its own maqam.

Maqams that are no longer in use

A few examples mentioned in Mashaqah that I haven’t encountered in modern literature and know of no compositions that use them: Awj Khurasan, Shurouqi, Maa-Rana.

Ignoring intonation details which eliminate certain maqams

Case in point. Maqam Sika Rumi which I hadn’t heard of until the summer of 2006 when Prof. Jihad Racy introduced his composition Samai Sika Rumi. This maqam is similar to Sika except for the fact that it’s tonic is sharper than the traditional E half flat tonic of Sika. Ignoring the intonation difference between the two tonics (and possibly some Sayr details) would render Sika Rumi identical to Sika. The sound of the two maqams, by the way, is extremely different. Sika Rumi is the most ethereal sounding maqam I know of.

So how many maqams are there? Between fourty and four hundred (or more) depending on how you look at it..

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I’ve also reorganized the categories a little. That’s an on going effort. I want the blog to be informative. To be successful at that, the information has to be organized in such a way that it is easy to find stuff.

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Until you open the next book.. The cheap photocopies won’t bother you much. But the maqam information.. As if they’re talking about an entirely different civilization.

How can we make matters worse? As if we already had a true and well researched and documented way to teach maqams that is too complicated, now many music schools are going for simpler ways to teach maqams. In other words, if you are tired of learning Arabic music theory using the traditional “rigorous” and “complex” approach, you now have a choice. You can study diet-maqams. I have one book of diet-maqams.

I am venting because as I am working on my book, I had a few questions about a maqam. I opened six different theory books and got.. Four different answers. Two never really addressed the maqam in any serious detail. So I am referring to the repertoire. Analyzing 19th and early 20th century compositions trying to fish for details.

Also annoying is the fact that it is evident that these books were written by people who actually never read a music theory book. That’s fair enough. It’s an oral tradition. But if you’re going to write a text book, you’ve got to think pedagogy before cheap photocopies of palaces and ornaments.

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I am writing this short essay to talk about what makes or breaks this dialog, according to my own experience and philosophy.

I submit, that a piece of music is a message, indeed several messages. A message from the composer to the performer and to the listener, from the performer to the listener and to the composer, and eventually from the listener back to the performer and to the composer.

At the risk of explaining the obvious, an honest message contains within it a part of the sender. In the case of music that contains their musical vision, ideology, and aesthetic. Those are shaped by the series of moments that make the life of the sender: every sunrise she has seen, every celebration, every tragedy she has experienced and everything in between.

In my view, the main ingredient in the concoction that we call “artistic talent” is the ability to naturally embed ourselves in our creation. When we hear a composition, say a Mozart. We naturally think that it tells us something about who and what Mozart was. And it does. Miles Davis’ biography and his music sound like the same story told in different languages. We are not surprised to hear that. Our intuition tells us that that is the case.

Performing someone else’s composition is a big responsibility too. We have to know their story and we have to find a way that tells both it and our story in performing the piece. No I don’t mean a performer must pour over endless biographies, anthologies and theory books to know (though that cannot hurt). It is all in the music. All we have to do is look for it. Know before we play.

Everyone has a story that is worth telling and that is worth listening to. Every composer, or performer, has the obligation to be thinking about their story when they are making and/or presenting the music. That, is how the music comes to life.

When we put our lives in our music the music is alive. When we don’t, we die.

This is a loving comment to someone whose music I heard early this week.

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Here’s a picture to remind you.

OK here’s how it looks now

The epoxy glue was removed with rubbing alcohol, but mostly working with a needle and a magnifying glass. There is some discoloration left, which I hope, will go away with time. The pickguard is veneer.

Notice the rosette is not back on yet because I am going to extend the fingerboard (yes, covering the decoration) so I can play the high C and D. It is far too difficult to play them without the fingerboard going that high. I will need access inside the oud to put on the extension.
Here’s a closeup of the figerboard:

And here’s a closeup of Mr. Nahhat’s photo shining through the opening:

And finally here’s the back decoration. I didn’t do anything beyond cleaning the back:

The main challenge in playing the oud, is that it is a little shorter than my good old Kamil Moueiss workhorse. The bridge is lower too, which means the strings are closer to the face. This hasn’t been a problem for picking. The string tension difference is the main challenge. Sounds will come soon.

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