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RECITAL REVIEW A Summit of Persian Masters November 2, 2002
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By Fredric Lieberman
If Rumi, Persia's great mystic poet, were to sing, the voice of
Mohammad Reza Shajarian would be the ideal vehicle. From the first phrase of
Shajarian's concert to the last, dying notes of the encore (a song of
Rumi's), the audience was transported to the silent zone of contemplation
that becomes, while the music lasts, "the still center of the turning world"
(in T.S. Eliot's memorable phrase).
Shajarian is the greatest living singer of Persian classical music, and
stands high on my list of the world's greatest living vocalists (in the
company of North India's Pandit Jasraj, South India's Sri Balamuralikrisha,
Thomas Quasthoff, Ray Charles, Blossom Dearie, and a few others). The
sold-out audience of 700 at the Rio Theater, about 70% of Middle Eastern
origin or descent, sat silent and entranced through each of the two
one-hour-long sets, with the exception of boisterous standing ovations at the
end of each set. Traditional audiences in Iran normally feed back their
appreciation vocally during the performance (interjections such as
"Beautiful!" "Well done!" "Bravo!" — of course in their Persian
equivalents — would be frequent). But Saturday night, perhaps due to the
rarity of the occasion and the formality of proscenium stage, concert
lighting, and the intensity of the performance, rapt attention ruled.
 Ostad Shajarian was supported with elegance and excitement by three colleagues (precisely appropriate in this chamber music tradition). Hossein Alizadeh, a superb performer on the tar (a long-necked plucked lute); Kayhan Kalhor, an extraordinary virtuoso on the kamancheh (a bowed spike fiddle); and Shajarian's son Homayoun, who both provided rhythmic support on the clay goblet-drum tombak and added vocal lines. A gathering of such outstanding musicians would be rare even in Iran, so the "world music" movement which has created an audience for such remarkable tours deserves some consideration. The performers sat cross-legged on the stage, maintaining a calm demeanor, and letting the music do its work unimpeded by stage mannerisms. Shajarian in particular made his performance seem relaxed and effortless, even when soaring to heights of emotional expression. His light baritone voice, unforced, rich, grounded, occasionally reached a powerful tenor register in climactic passages. One characteristic vocal ornament, perhaps describable as a cross between a trill and a yodel, was always beautifully executed, and on one occasion performed in canon with his son Homayoun, to spine-tingling effect. Homayoun's voice, sweeter and less powerful than his father's, shows great promise; his performance on the tombak was competent but not virtuosic. In all performances of this ancient tradition, much is improvised — though this can be misleading, since the essence of "improvisation" varies greatly throughout the world. In Persian tradition, performances build upon a large repertory known as the "radif," which every musician learns by rote from his teacher (ostad) or, nowadays, at a conservatory. (The radif, however, may vary from region to region and from teacher to teacher.) The radif is organized according to twelve modes known as "dastgahs." Each dastgah has a scale, characteristic beginning and ending pitches, and melodic motifs. Further, each dastgah has a series of sections or compositions called "gusheh," some of which are highly improvisatory, others virtuosic showpieces or dances. The majority of those in the audience who understood the poetry had a major advantage over those who do not speak Persian. That's a particularly limiting factor when the poetry is as powerful as that from the Sufi mystical tradition, performed to perfection by a great master. Those carried away by the poetic-musical fusion were simply unaware of acoustical problems. The hall had poor sound-reinforcement equipment. There was excessive reverberation, problems of balance, and occasional harshness or edginess in instruments and voices. When a concert of such significance is involved, I believe that the presenter, UC Santa Cruz Arts and Lectures, should go out of its way to ensure pristine sound. The Persian audience, who already venerate Ostad Shajarian, may not need it; but building an audience of world music lovers from other backgrounds absolutely depends upon presenting the magnificent but subtle sounds faithfully. (Fredric Lieberman serves as Professor of Music at the University of California, Santa Cruz. Former editor of the journal Ethnomusicology, Lieberman has published widely on Chinese music, Indian music, organology, world percussion (with co-author Mickey Hart). His recent study of composer Lou Harrison (Oxford U Press, 1998), will soon be followed by the first book on composer John Adams (Faber & Faber and U. California Press, in process.) ©2002 Fredric Lieberman, all rights reserved |