I'm thrilled that I'll have a chance to play a few gigs with Dornob in the coming months. Please see our EVENTS page.
I'm especially looking forward to (and working hard on) my M.A. lecture/recital, which will feature Dornob. I'm posting the text of the lecture portion here. Comments are appreciated.
farhad (darvaksd at yahoo.com)
Finally he said, "Why do you do this? I mean, play this music – what for?" My friend of many years was referring to my approach to playing Persian music. We were at a party talking about a recent concert where my group, Dornob, had played. Even though I knew of my friend's preference for a traditional approach to music, the force of his challenge surprised me. Our ensemble's style of playing Persian music, which I shall refer to as "the Dornob approach," was, I thought, firmly grounded in Persian music in terms of tonality, rhythm, melodies, and idiom, though we incorporate the collective spirit of jazz too. This wasn't so much an inquiry, critique, or analysis, but a fundamental challenge, as in: "What are you even thinking?"
My thesis, together with this lecture/recital, serves as an extended reply to the challenge posed by the question of why particular people play hybrid music in general and why our ensemble plays its unique version of Persian music in particular. Though my thesis focuses on musical factors—technical and aesthetic details—that shape our approach, it also looks at social, cultural, and historical factors in order to answer, or at least pose, larger questions, such as: Why is cultural/musical hybridity not only inevitable, but desirable, in today's world? What extramusical forces shape our attitudes to music? And what is the significance, if any, of our music to people here in California (particularly first and second generation Iranian-Americans)?
In order to address these questions, I will first point out the fundamental similarities and differences between Persian music and jazz, and describe our approach to combining the two, which I contend is made possible by strong aesthetic similarities. Then I will give a brief historical overview of Persian society and music, paying special attention to the last hundred years. It is this history which will help us understand larger questions of hybridity, tradition, and innovation as they pertain to Persian music. Finally, I will try to show how our hybrid form of music is an inevitable outcome of modern history, and why its existence—as a cross-cultural and cross-generational bond—is desirable.
Define "Persian" - I will use "Persian" to refer to things there before the name "Iran" came to use in the 1930s (e.g. Persian language, Persian carpet, Persian cat) —even though the Persian Empire, like Iran today, included many nations in addition to "Persians."
Define "jazz": My definition of jazz is very open. It refers to the broad spectrum of improvisational music born in the African-American communities of New Orleans early in twentieth century, undergoing a century of changes and discontinuities, to finally become "America's classical music." Though jazz has roots in a vocal tradition (the blues), and the voice is a jazz instrument with many brilliant exponents, modern jazz has become a primarily instrumental genre, showcasing players' technique and creativity. This is a key point distinguishing jazz from other African-American music styles. Most importantly, jazz has acquired meaning for people from all over the world, now symbolizing creativity, freedom of expression, and both defiance and accommodation.
Persian music and jazz share important musical qualities. At a technical level, their main difference lies in the tuning systems. Jazz generally uses "standard Western tuning," whereas Persian music also employs so-called "quarter-steps." Furthermore, whereas Persian music is based solely on a modal system (called dastgâh), jazz, is heavily indebted to the European concept of tonal harmony. What links jazz and Persian music is that both are based on idiomatic improvisation on a standard repertoire. Persian music, like jazz, allows tremendous variation—in fact, improvisation is expected. In this sense, both Persian music and jazz are, to quote Christopher Small, "more process than product." However, in both musics, improvisation is not completely free, but based on an underlying repertoire. That foundation is called the radîf in Persian classical music; and known more informally in jazz as the standards. In both traditions, the voice is a supremely important instrument, with other instruments often attempting to imitate the voice and adapting vocal pieces to instrumental performance. Finally, both Persian music and jazz, like most other musics in the world, are passed down heart-to-heart.
While both traditions employ idiomatic improvisation, the group concept—or how improvisation is actually carried out by a group of musicians—is different in Persian music and jazz. Whereas jazz has been described as "individual expression in a collective context," Persian classical music can be better thought of as a solo music. In early twentieth-century New Orleans "jass" bands, group improvisation was the norm. Later when individual improvisation over a backing ensemble became more common in jazz, every player would have an opportunity to take a solo during a performance. By contrast, in Persian classical music, even in group-playing situations, there is often only one soloist who accompanies the singer during improvised sections, with other musicians remaining silent, except for ensemble passages.
The "Dornob" approach is based on theoretical possibilities of Persian music, as well as technical and aesthetic compatibilities between Persian music and jazz. Several overriding factors guide our approach: respect for Persian music and jazz as living arts, and the wish to absorb and pass on their intricacies; the view that innovation is an essential component of any living art; a desire to innovate "organically," using ideas with roots already in these traditions; respect for each participating musician, and the goal of "accommodating the soloist"; and finally the hope to make each performance different, yet meaningful, based on a high-level understanding of the music. Any musical device—and jazz has experimented with many—that has precedent in Persian music or is compatible with it, is open to exploration. For us, the key is to keep an open mind, and to apply each technique or concept based on how well it works musically within the context of Persian music. In our approach, as in jazz, every musician shares part of the composer's responsibility.
Our approach integrates group concepts from jazz together with tonal and melodic concepts embodied in the Persian radîf. Group concepts that work particularly well in our approach include: the idea of every player soloing; changing a tune's form to accommodate improvisation; soloing over a song cycle or "chorus;" and the idea of "trading"—where two or more players take turns improvising (usually for equal lengths of time). Most of these concepts do have parallels in Persian music; for example, "trading" or "call and response" is also specifically named ("soâl-javâb" or question-answer) in the Persian/Arabian/Turkish tradition. However, whereas in jazz these group concepts are evident and prevalent, in Persian music they are more hidden, or to put it another way, not so widely used in recent history.
Also in our approach, any instrument that can play within the Persian tuning system, regardless of origin, can be used. For example, the current Dornob lineup, in addition to Persian instruments such as tar and tombak, also includes fretless bass guitar and Persian-tuned Western electronic keyboards. Each instrument brings unique capabilities to the group. The fretless bass, due to its timbre and range, can provide composed or improvised counterpoint without getting in the way of the melody. Two specific techniques that work well in our approach are the composed "riff" (ostinato) and the improvised "walking bass." The electronic keyboard can bring out the implied harmonic aura of a tetrachord with anywhere from a drone to a cluster. With the addition of neutral intervals, a whole new world of harmonic possibilities opens up. The resulting music, because of its tuning and idiom, still "sounds Persian," but is also akin to jazz, because of its participatory nature. The central importance of idiomatic improvisation in both musics is the powerful common bond holding them together.
To get an idea of our approach to music-making imagine a jam session where, instead of jazz standards, the musicians improvise on pieces in the Persian dastgâh system. Jazz historian Scott DeVeaux, arguing that the jam session marks the beginning of modern jazz, dedicates a chapter of his "The Birth of Bebop" to it. There he describes the format of a jam session, and its main characteristics. Characteristics such as "reduced repertoire," "attention focused inward," and "musicians playing for their own enjoyment" also describe Dornob's approach accurately.
Define Dornob: Though "Dornob" sounds like two Persian words—"dor" ("pearl") and "nâb" ("noble")—giving it a "mystical" meaning in Persian, it is simply a play on the English word "door-knob" suggested as a name for our group by our bass-player, my nephew, when he was 12. But also listen to Rûmi: "Language is outside the door; What are you the doorknob for?" I think it's a perfect name, since it is both "mystical" and irreverent.
The 14th century Persian poet Hafez writes: "We are at the Niles' end. We are carrying particles from every continent, creature, and age." While Persians are justifiably proud of their traditions, a review of Persian history reveals that cultural hybridity, not purity, is the norm.
Persia has had a long and tumultuous history, with more than two millennia of monarchy by ethnically-diverse dynasties, expansion and loss of empire over vast geographies, and movement and intermixing of many tribes, language groups, races and religions. Persian music is a reflection of this history and diversity. The dastgâh concept of Persian music is less than two hundred years old. Ethnomusicologist Hormoz Farhat writes that "before the nineteenth century, modes or maqams were performed individually, as they still are in the Turko-Arabian traditions." Even though ethnomusicologist Bruno Nettl found that among Iranians the close relationship of Persian, Arabian, and Turkish musics was, perhaps understandably, "played down," it is only necessary to study the modes within these three classical traditions, to see deep overlaps linguistically and musically.; "overlaps" that undercut notions of aesthetic purity.
In the twentieth century Persia looked to the West to help it modernize. Establishment of national institutions such as the National Conservatory of Music in 1918 and Râdio Iran in 1936 changed the way music was taught and heard. Firstly, the heart-to-heart method of teaching Persian music was replaced/augmented by written notation. Secondly, Persian instruments were replaced/augmented by Western orchestral instruments. This trend continued for close to half a century, resulting in a body of music that can be considered a blend of Persian and European classical musics—what Professor Farhat called a "questionable mélange" —but known to a generation growing up listening to Râdio Iran as Persian Classical Music.
In 1953, Dr. Mossadegh, the popular democratically-elected prime-minister, was overthrown in a coup d'état orchestrated by Western powers. This, of course, caused Iranians to turn away from the West, and paved the way for the revolution deposing the last Shah. Please refer to historian Stephen Kinzer's excellent "All the Shah's Men." Persian music followed the social changes, turning inward to reclaim what was conceived as Persian identity. With the advent of the "young lions" (e.g. Lotfi, Alizadeh) in the 1970s, a neo-traditional style of Persian music made a comeback, as did Persian instruments.[1] This music, though an attempt at a return to an imagined pre-modern aesthetic, was in ways itself experimental and "hybrid."
Many of my generation of Iranian-Americans are among a large diaspora who settled in America after the 1979 Revolution in Iran. Attitudes Professor Nettl encountered in Tehran in 1969 were transplanted to California a decade later:
In a survey of attitudes, a cross-section of Tehranians gave a variety of opinions and evaluations of Persian classical music. Many (including those who hardly knew it) said they liked it, others didn't. Some regarded it as a symbol of an undesirable past, others of what is good, beautiful, truly Persian. To most, however, it was something special.
Persian classical music remains something special to the diasporic community, perhaps not so much for the music itself, but as "a kind of music representing the nation." Its special cultural value is compounded with a nostalgic reminder of the Persian homeland. Perhaps the protective attitude taken towards Persian classical music is a result of these factors also.
Now we've seen that hybridity is everywhere: in "ancient" Persian history, in current-day Iran with its many ethnicities and languages; in "ancient" Persian music with its close relationship to Arabian and Turkish musics; in the Râdio Iran version of Persian "classical" music; and in the "new traditional" music. This hybridity is integral to jazz and America as well, and is what has made jazz the universal music that it is today. Tradition, what Woody Allen called "the illusion of permanence," is seen to be far from static. Traditions—often much transformed—live on, despite, or perhaps because of, constant change. Miles Davis describes the necessity to constantly change as a curse." Change was seen by radîf master Nour-Ali Boroumand as "neither good nor bad, but necessary." He laments, but acknowledges, the inevitability of change when he says: "unfortunately we are having to change many things, otherwise our music may not survive. But we have always been doing that."
The classical repertoire of Persian music—the radîf—consists of a logically-ordered collection of pieces organized into seven main systems called dastgâh and five smaller systems called avâz. The individual pieces in each of these twelve systems are called gûsheh ("corner," "piece", or "angle"). Each gûsheh has a specific and often descriptive title, and is distinguished by one or more of the following: rhythmic, melodic, or tonal characteristics (e.g. type of tetrachord employed; starting, ending, and emphasis tones).
· Example of four different tetrachords on tar
About fifty of the roughly two hundred fifty gûshehs in the instrumental radîf are defined only in terms of their tonal parameters (or mâyeh meaning "tonal essence"). These gûshehs facilitate tonal modulation in the dastgâh system. Every dastgâh not only contains gûshehs in the "home tonality" or mâyeh, but also those in different mâyehs, hence facilitating tonal modulation.
Modulation is an important aspect of the dastgâh system. A performance of Persian music often follows the form of a suite. The suite begins in the home tonality of a dastgâh, moves to different tonalities, almost always returning with a forûd ("descent"). The radîf provides standard paths for modulating from—and returning to—the home tonality.
· Example of Mâhûr to Delkesh and back on tar
Persian music uses tetrachords as building blocks, and stacks them to create multi-octave structures that facilitate tonal modulation. Thus it is misleading to say that Persian music is based on Western scales or Arabian/Turkish maqams, though concatenating two tetrachords to create a one-octave scale or maqam can be thought of as a special case of tetrachord-stacking. In order to provide an example to clarify this concept, we must first examine different types of tetrachords. And before discussing tetrachords and their usage, it is necessary to introduce the neutral interval.
Persian/Arabian/Turkish musical traditions use a "neutral" 2nd interval that is absent from Bach's tempered twelve-tone system. The size of this interval, which is approximately (but not exactly) a "quarter-step" larger than a minor 2nd, is not standardized. On a stringed instrument, the neutral 2nd is in the middle of a minor 3rd.
· Example of neutral 2nd and neutral 3rd on tar
Interestingly, the interval used in the blues is similarly described as "hover[ing] between the major and minor third."
While theoretically there are a large number of tetrachords possible (especially given the "extra" available neutral intervals), in practice only a few are used in Persian music. Among the most heavily used are four tetrachords, each spanning a perfect 4th, which I will call "Major," "Minor," "Shûr," and "Chahârgâh."Both "Major" and "Minor" tetrachords have a major second, but the former has a major third, whereas the latter has a minor third. Similarly both the "Chahârgâh" and "Shûr" tetrachords have a neutral second, but the former has a major third, whereas the latter has a minor third.
· Example on tar
Major C D E F (major 2nd, major 2nd, minor 2nd)
Minor C D Eb F (major 2nd, minor 2nd, major 2nd,)
Shûr C Dp Eb F (neutral 2nd, neutral 2nd, major 2nd)
Chahârgâh C Dp E F (neutral 2nd, large 2nd, minor 2nd)
Using dastgâh Mâhûr as an example, I will demonstrate how tonal modulation takes place in dastgâh Mâhûr by using all four of the above-mentioned tetrachords.
· Example on tar
The opening tetrachord of dastgâh Mâhûr is Major (written here from C):
Major C D E F
To go higher we need to stack another tetrachord. Mâhûr gives several options:
Major F G A Bb (gûsheh Khâvarân)
Notice tetrachords can be stacked in several ways: conjunct, disjunct, overlap.
Minor G A Bb C (gûsheh Shekasteh)
Shûr G Ap Bb C (gûsheh Delkesh)
Chahârgâh G Ap B C (gûsheh Râk)
Let's say we choose the Râk path. To ascend yet higher, we would need to stack another tetrachord. The established path to ascend from Râk is to stack the Minor tetrachord.
Minor C D Eb F
To go even higher, the standard path stacks a Shûr tetrachord.
Shûr D Ep F G
From this example, we can see that dastgâh Mâhûr—despite being likened to the major scale—is actually a series of modulations through different tetrachords.
Perhaps more than anything else, the primary motivation for creating this approach to performing Persian music is personal. Having lived my formative years equally in Iran and the West, I consider myself bicultural and, as ethnomusicologist Mantle Hood calls it, "multimusical." My father's family loved Persian classical music, my mother's Azerbaijani and European classical music, and like many others of my generation, I was brought up on American music. I've studied, composed, played, and love many different kinds of music –but cannot call any of those idioms alone my "mother tongue." I am most comfortable with an identity that is hybrid; a hybrid of musics and cultures I've experienced throughout my life.
Compared to a century ago, Iran and the New World are now inseparably entangled culturally, as well as politically. Today, more than ever—as "the clash of civilizations" dominates world news and Hollywood—it has become necessary to show that human cultures are more similar than different, and that the arts, especially music, can be powerful tools for bridging cultural divides. The improvisatory nature of jazz and Persian music allows direct and intimate communication among the musicians. The satisfaction we musicians get from playing this music is immense, since it lets each of us—in the elegant words of ethnomusicologist Christopher Small—"make full use of his or her musical skills and imagination to explore, affirm, and celebrate an identity." Furthermore, it also serves as a metaphor for an ideal society—one in which harmony exists between generations and cultures. Through this music we model for ourselves and for second-generation Persian-Americans now coming of age, how to revere the old culture, while acknowledging the new. It is precisely the sound of the tar and tombak, juxtaposed with the counterpoint of the bass and the harmony of the Persian-tuned keyboard, that symbolizes the hybrid identity of Persians in America. Answering the question posed at the outset of this lecture, we play this music because this is who we are.