This theme was also probably inherited from a saintly figure who gave it his name. As in the case of Tarz, this melody sounds like it has traveled a long way, for it is both ancient and archaic in character.

This theme was also probably inherited from a saintly figure who gave it his name. As in the case of Tarz, this melody sounds like it has traveled a long way, for it is both ancient and archaic in character.

Tarz is a generic term that literally means “rule, manner, or way.” In Ostad Elahi’s repertoire, it also refers to a sequence of tunes belonging to the category of ancient and mystical melodies, only a few of which are performed here. They all rest on a C C♯ D chromatic modal nucleus, which makes them technically and aesthetically unique (these notes are transcribed one and a half tone higher than they are actually played).The atmosphere surrounding the Tarz mode is solemn, gradually livening as it reaches the higher register. It suggests an archaic or primitive melodic world prior to the invention of scales, an introverted emotional stage where singing was still confined to the narrow register of speech. This expressive archaism is probably the manifestation of a cultural trait. The Tarz mode only exists in Kurdestān and Pāmīr, two regions that have been particularly well-preserved from external influences and are still characterized by many of the cultural patterns of ancient and pre-Islamic Iran. Indeed, Tarz stands out as a totally unusual musical form in the Middle-Eastern modal tradition.Immediately conjuring up the idea of something very ancient and fundamental, the Tarz mode’s chromatic notes seem to echo a sort of prehistoric music, its melody resembling speech more than singing. Played on the lowest chords and notes, its rhythm is neither measured nor totally free. While these features as a whole allow for a strong narrative potential, the true domain of Tarz is that of interiority, intimacy, and secrecy. The various phases of the improvisation draw on fundamental mystical themes, while the hidden anguish of separation lurks in the background.(A) Before engaging in his narrative, the traditional storyteller would begin with: “Once upon a time,” to which he would sometimes add, “There was no one but God” (Yekī būd, yekī nabūd, gheyr az Khodā, hītch kas nabūd). It is with the latter part of this phrase that the tanbur appears to open the narrative, the memory of a time before creation when, according to the mystical gnosis to which this music constantly refers, the universe was empty except for the seven archangels absorbed in the ecstasy of contemplating God. According to the traditional myth of the Creation, the seven archangels had to relinquish their celestial universe and descend to earth, for the principle of the process of spiritual perfection required that they experience human existence to fulfill their mission. This is how a vast spiritual epic began, traces of which can be found in the books, sacred scriptures, and oral traditions of the various revealed religions. The recurrent principle is that of separation from divine proximity, followed by a long quest for the Beloved that eventually culminates in the ecstasy of reunion.The first theme is called Tarz-e-Yārī (Tarz of the Companions of the Beloved). Composed of seven parts, an allusion to the archangels, it is a nostalgic evocation of pre-eternity accompanied by the sighs of separation. The first of these parts was transmitted to Ostad by his father, Hādj Nemat.The ancient melodies from which Ostad would draw inspiration for his compositions and improvisations were generally mere patterns or schemes for the cantillation of sacred texts. Although accompanying these texts with the tanbur provided them with an artistic touch, the playing of this instrument had never been developed to the point where it could be considered as an art in its own right.In classical Indian music, the sign of high mastery is not so much the virtuosity that one might display in the performance of rhythmic pieces with fast tempos as it is the creativity and self-restrained power required by the slowest and most expansive phases of the alap. If Ostad’s art is particularly impressive during the sequences of high virtuosity, it stands out even more forcefully with the minimal pattern of the three chromatic notes of Tarz, to which he manages to confer an unexpected depth. In fact, no tanbur player has ever been able to develop the expressive potential of these few notes in such a powerful manner. One of Ostad’s many devices consisted in blurring the vibration of the lower note instead of allowing it resonate “in the void,” resulting in the formation of an iridescent halo around the principal theme. It was after hearing Ostad improvise on a similar melody that Yehudi Menuhin stated in an interview: “This extraordinary musician was able to maintain a tension and concentration that I never imagined possible in the limited interval of a fourth or a fifth. . . . Never had I heard anything like it; it is the first time that I experienced such an effect. . . . It was very sensitive, very powerful music, and at the same time very precise and pure. I couldn’t believe what I was hearing, its refined power, exactly like some sort of laser. . . .”(B) The second theme introduces two characters from ancient Iran: Nakīsā and Bārbad, the minstrels of Shāh Khosrow Parvīz. Tales of these two great artists still resonate in the memory of Iranian culture, especially those of Bārbad, who is believed to have developed the most ancient musical system known in inner Asia. In Kurdish gnosis, they are considered to be initiates bound by a total and unshakeable spiritual love, such as that of Jacob and Joseph, or John the Baptist and Jesus. Their most painful ordeal was separation, although after many hardships they were eventually reunited. While Ostad’s music can be considered an art of sounds animated by a purely esthetical concern, leaving aside norms of tradition, it should be noted that he would often mention the title of the theme he was playing in the middle of his improvisations. The fact that he specifically mentioned the names of Nakīsā and Bārbad when playing their melody is a clear indication that his intention was to honor their memory and to recall their tribulations with an edificatory purpose. Two modes, E F G Ab Bb and E Eb Db C, follow each other with a free rhythm, each representing one of the characters. After a dialogue, the two melt into one another.(C) Shīn-e-Tarz expresses the grief and distress of separation, the weeping and moaning that accompany the torment. Yet, as this grief is a totally spiritual one, the melody deliberately stands beyond all conventional forms of expression. Ostad does not use the traditional analogical means of expression such as rhythm and harmony, instead making symbolic use of his musical material. After the slow undulations of Tarz, a tidal wave of transcendent acoustic density overwhelms the listener with the experience of separation as one of pure intensity. Ostad’s right hand whips the strings, while his left stretches them to their limit, producing incredible sonorities. This is a fundamental dimension of Ostad’s art, one that draws its expressive power from the distillation of energetic flows into precise bursts of sonic intensity.(D) At last, the two friends rejoin and exchange confidences (rāz o nīyāz) on the scale E F♯ G♯. The final piece is Zemzeme-ye Tarz (Tarz whisper), a sweet melody that announces the return to the point of departure, with a Gb F E Eb Db C (Bb A) modulation. This recording was made on a spring afternoon at Ostad’s house in Tehran in 1966, in the presence of two of his children and four or five close acquaintances.

Tarz-e-Yārī Suite

This modal melody bears the name of its saintly author or transmitters and belongs to the category of tunes that have a purely mystical and devotional origin. One the most popular songs of the religious tradition of Eastern Kurdestān, it is said to celebrate mystical love, although unlike many other songs in which one engages in an intimate dialogue with oneself, Sārū Khānī is characterized by an important narrative and discursive aspect. The internal rhythm is that of language itself, bearing an articulation very close to declamation; therefore, it is quite remote from the whispers and moans typical of other pieces of the same sort. This tune can be easily coupled with classical Persian poetry (with alternating patterns of long and short vowels), whether lyrical, didactic, or narrative.As is generally the case with the playing of bards, instrumental patterns are introduced between two declamations, during which it is still possible to hum a few words. In Sārū Khānī, the three-beat intermediary theme (Zang-e Shotorī) suggests the gallop of a camel and is accompanied by the recitation of divine names such as Haqq and Ali. After Sārū Khānī, Ostad interprets in a restrained manner a variant of Halparka, a dance with a rhythm of ten brief beats (3+2/2+3).A two-beat dance called Shān Jonbānak (“moving one’s shoulders”) concludes this improvisation. Ostad used to say that this tune could not be played correctly unless the shoulders were moved in the proper manner. This sequence was recorded at Ostad’s house sometime in the late sixties during an evening gathering of fifteen to twenty people. Following a talk with his spiritual students, Ostad would often start playing before tape recorders could be turned on. This was the case that particular evening, which is why the recording starts shortly after the beginning of the introduction. Unfortunately, it was not possible to eliminate ambient noises that occasionally mar this masterful rendition.

Sārū Khānī Suite

This theme was also probably inherited from a saintly figure who gave it his name. As in the case of Tarz, the melody sounds like it has traveled a long way, for it is both ancient and archaic in character. The scale on which it rests does not abide by the diatonic logic of eastern musical traditions, but is instead made of a succession of intervals of tones or semi-tones: (C) D E F G Ab Bb Cb Db . . ., so much so that the melody never reaches the exact D or C octave, either coming close to it (Cb) or surpassing it (Db). In addition, the alternating tones and semi-tones are sometimes dissonant with the counterpoint of the lower string. Only in the concluding part, with the return to the low note (C), do the tensions built up by the melody finally resolve in a peaceful way. The original core of the melody revolved around a series of notes, F G Ab Bb, but Ostad expanded this theme by more than an octave.This piece is merely the concluding part of a much longer improvisation, the first part of which was omitted for technical reasons. Nonetheless, it is indicative of another facet of Ostad Elahi’s art: the ability to create a profoundly intimate atmosphere akin to personal prayer or meditation even when playing in front of a dozen of his relatives or students, as was the case here. (Among the two or three words that he is humming, the only one that can be clearly distinguished is dīn, which means faith or conviction.) From early childhood until the end of his life, music was a means of addressing God and sharing his experiences. Ostad used to say: “A musician must consider music as a means of delving within, discovering truths, and reaching divine love, not as a means of achieving fame and glory.”

Tan Amīrī

It may seem curious that dance tunes belonging to the secular dimension of life play such a prominent role in a spiritual repertoire. The domains of the secular and the sacred are not as clear-cut in eastern culture as they are in the occidental world, however, and in fact are interwoven. Similarly, the boundary between spiritual and merely human emotions is not always evident, and it is the intention that defines their true nature in every case. After all, it is always possible for an artist to divert a given form from its original purpose and use it according to his needs. In any case, it would be contrary to the principles of spiritual ecology to reduce musical expression to a single purpose such as meditation or dance, or to one type of mood such as nostalgia or tenderness. The playing of Ostad embodies the principle of opposites. As he states: “Antipodal states are necessary for the soul, which is why ancient melodies always come in pairs: An impassioned melody is followed by a sweet melody; a jubilant melody is followed by a nostalgic air, etc.”1 Hence, it is not rare in spiritual gatherings to hear dance tunes identical to those heard at weddings (which generally have a sacred aspect) or celebrations of important figures.While it is no longer the suffering of being distanced from the Beloved that speaks here, the prevailing feeling is not the elation of union, either. Rather, it is a restrained joy, an intense but regulated vital force. This impression is mainly conveyed by the rhythm, with its seven beats pulsating throughout the whole improvisation with the precision of a quartz metronome. This tension and rigorous progression are not incompatible with a form of sensory exhilaration that can carry a listener to the verge of ecstasy.This improvisation rests on the theme and rhythmical matrix of a certain Kurdish dance, of which there are about ten different versions. In this particular one, the dancers are gathered in a circle, waving a handkerchief or linking arms. It is named Pāykūbī (literally, tapping one’s foot against the floor) in reference to its special steps. Once the theme is exposed, Ostad adapts several two-beat melodies to his 7/8 rhythm—Tchapī (on E), Saharī (F G Ab Bb Cb Db) and Gol va Khār—before returning to the initial theme. Not content with simply stringing these pieces together one after the other, he actually combines and weaves them together.Most of these pieces are usually played on the zurnā (oboe) or the dozaleh (double clarinet), accompanied by a powerful dohol (drum). It appears that prior to Ostad these pieces were never played on the tanbur. One of his innovations, therefore, was to adapt these tunes for the tanbur and to create ornamentation typical of wind instruments for the lute. The performance of these tunes on the tanbur requires technique of an unprecedented kind. The most remarkable thing, however, is the set of daring and even modernist technical devices through which Ostad manages to reach a level of musical intensity that is scarcely conceivable on a simple three-stringed lute. At some point, it seems that another voice makes itself heard, perhaps that of the “celestial tanbur,” which he would say occasionally accompanied his own instrument. This piece was recorded at Ostad’s home on April 6th, 1964, on the occasion of a religious feast.<ol class="number"><li value=1>Āsār ol-Haqq, vol. 2, p. 360.</li></ol>

Tan-e Amīrī

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Tan-e AmīrīVocal

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Renditions of Tan-e Amīrī

More Mystical Airs on same Album

Tan-e Amīrī