Haft Khān-e Rostam part 1

Haft Khān-e Rostam part 2

Haft Khān-e Rostam part 3

Haft Khān-e Rostam part 4

Haft Khān-e Rostam part 5

Haft Khān-e Rostam part 6

Haft Khān-e Rostam part 7

Tarz-e Jafarī

Tarz-e Khān Bābā Khān

Tarz-e Leylī o Majnūn

Tarz-e Mūye

Tarz-e Arke Bāzī

Tarz-e Marhūm-e Seyd Brāka (Tarz-e Sūz o Godāz)

Tarz-e Teymūrī

Tarz-e Yārī part 1

Tarz-e Yārī part 2

Tarz-e Yārī part 3

Tarz-e Yārī part 4

Tarz-e Yārī part 5

Tarz-e Yārī part 6

Tarz-e Yārī part 7 (Wākhān-e Tarz)

Nakīsā o Bārbod

Nakīsā o Bārbod (Hamdīgar rā Gom Mīkonand)

Shīn-e Tarz

Nakīsā o Bārbod (Hamdīgar rā Peydā Mīkonand wa Rāz o Nīyāz Mīkonand)

Zemzeme-ye Tarz

Forūd-e Tarz

Mobārak Bādā dar Sārū Khānī

Shān Jonbān dar Sārū Khānī

Bargasht be Sārū Khānī

Hey Dāwed Sangīn dar Tarz

Hey Dāwed Sabok dar Tarz

Nakīsā and Bārbad are two characters from Ancient Persia, both famous court musicians for the Sassanid King Khosrow Parvīz in the early years of the 7th century. In Kurdish gnosis, they are thought to be linked by an absolute, unfailing spiritual love, similar to the one that united Joseph and Jacob or Jesus Christ and John the Baptist. In spite of having to undergo the trials of separation, they overcame all the obstacles before them and were finally reunited. Ostad Elahi was fond of honoring their memory and would often say their names aloud when he included their melody in the middle of an improvised passage.

Nakīsā and Bārbad are two characters from Ancient Persia, both famous court musicians for the Sassanid King Khosrow Parvīz in the early years of the 7th century. In Kurdish gnosis, they are thought to be linked by an absolute, unfailing spiritual love, similar to the one that united Joseph and Jacob or Jesus Christ and John the Baptist. In spite of having to undergo the trials of separation, they overcame all the obstacles before them and were finally reunited. Ostad Elahi was fond of honoring their memory and would often say their names aloud when he included their melody in the middle of an improvised passage.

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>

Pā Kotakī Suite

A Spiritual Epic

Tanbur

Instrumental

Fifths (Tarz)

CD 2

This suite, the pure expression of a profound quest wherein material preoccupations have no role, is the supplication of one who aspires solely to meeting and reuniting with the Beloved. The piece has moments of pure imploration calling upon the intercession of Bābā Yādegār, Soltān’s companion and the manifestation of one of the seven archangels. His indifference to base worldly matters makes him a symbol of the esoteric aspects of the relationship with God.The story of Ābedīn is one of the accounts passed on orally in the Ahl-e Haqq tradition; it is included in The Book of the Kings of Truth, a mystical epic written around 1912 by Ostad Elahi’s father, Hādj Nematollāh. Ostad himself has written a detailed commentary on this work entitled Hāshīye bar Haqq ol-Haqāyeq. The story of Ābedīn is as follows: A devout man at the time of Soltān had four sons, three of whom embraced the mystical faith of their father and believed in Soltān as the earthly manifestation of the divine essence. But the fourth son, Ābedīn, denounced this mystical approach as heresy, placing his enthusiasm and faith in Islamic theology and jurisprudence instead. According to Ābedīn, the salvation of the soul lay in the literal study of the holy texts and the rigorous application of exoteric rules. He felt such animosity toward Soltān and his followers that he even strewed thorns along the path leading to Soltān’s abode to lacerate the feet of pilgrims going to see him.When Ābedīn’s father sought Soltān’s counsel, the latter replied, “Leave your son alone. Though he doesn’t possess the same faith as your other children, his soul is even purer than theirs. The day he reaches illumination, he will become as my own son.”A few days later, Ābedīn, engrossed in his theological studies, felt a wave of mystical exaltation rising within him, something he had never experienced till that day. Suddenly lifted outside of himself, he found himself projected into another dimension where the secrets of creation were revealed to him and his previous lives were disclosed to him.When he came to, he was no longer the same man. Whatever he gazed upon, even the tiniest thing, he could feel the presence of Soltān’s essence. As though inebriated with this essence, he threw all his books and lessons into the water; they were no longer of any use to him. While all this was happening, a few beautiful young women were sitting at the water’s edge. Ābedīn’s teacher (a holy man) had witnessed the whole event, but thought Ābedīn’s wild gestures were a reaction to seeing the beautiful young women and designed merely to attract their attention; he rebuked him, invoking punishment and divine wrath. But Ābedīn’s feelings were elsewhere. His newly enlightened heart longed for different shores. In a state of exaltation, oscillating between passion and remorse, he rushed off toward the abode of his Beloved and henceforth became one of Soltān’s close companions.In this suite, Ostad Elahi sings some lines from the long poem recounting the story of Ābedīn. The instrument is tuned in fifths (Tarz). From the very start, we are plunged into the heart of a deep meditation. In spite of the reduced range of the melody in the early part of the work, it is extremely intense. The notes of the motif never follow one another in the same manner. Through ornamentation, rhythm, and phrasing and their different combinations, the whole piece is constantly renewed and recreated. The play of chromatic fifths between the lower and higher registers gives dramatic fullness to the piece, expressing the noble quality of the quest. A counter-melody played in chromatic notes on the low string imbues the work with a mood of deep longing and nostalgia, a sign of the heartrending suffered due to separation from the Beloved.A few lyrical passages at the higher end of the scale reinforce these feelings, which are then aroused again by their seemingly obvious musical treatment in the form of the most delicate intervals (a succession of fifths, augmented fourths, a major seventh). Finally, the voice joins the instrument in its expression of this quest.

Suite Ābedīnī, with a Yādegārī Introduction

<blockquote>Yār dīdagīānī, Benyāmīn pīra Pīr Mūsī vazīr / Dāwed dasgīraO Friends, / Benyāmīn is the leader Pīr Mūsī oversees the register / Dāwūd is the intercessor (the succor, the savior).</blockquote>Three more of Soltān’s companions are invoked with regards to their mission. In fact, in the spiritual hierarchy of the Ahl-e Haqq, several individuals guide those who are making their way toward the spiritual Ruler, the manifestation of spiritual enlightenment and divine Truth. These include the Dalīl, who guides the soul, and the Pīr, who intercedes and establishes a link between the soul and the Divine.<blockquote>Dowr-e yārāna Haqq o Haqq / Rahmat wārāna Haqq o HaqqThis is the reign of God’s friends / The rain of goodness showers upon God’s friends.</blockquote>The “reign of God’s friends” can have several meanings, including a period in which divine grace showers down upon God’s friends—those who genuinely love Him—like a gentle, restorative rain shower (wārān).

Hymns

Kākā Redā was one of the close companions of Shāh Khoshīn, who was among the 11th century theophanies according to the Ahl-e Haqq. It is due to Shāh Khoshīn that the tanbur became the choice instrument for expressing spiritual love. The spare structure and slow tempo of the mode make it difficult to perform. There is immense delicacy in Ostad’s highly-individualized ornamentation. The language of his music is transcendent, a supplication addressed to the Beloved, an intimate conversation tinged with sweet gentleness and closeness, yet containing within it strong energy and high tension.Seyd Khāmūsh, who occupied the rank of an archangel, lived around the 15th century. His name has been attributed to a mode presenting certain analogies to Kākā Redāī, but the mystery as to its precise author remains. In general, it’s difficult to know the extent to which tunes named after holy figures were actually part of their personal creation or a tribute to them. Whatever the case may be, their music is present in the history of the Ahl-e Haqq, with nostalgia, lamentations, and the never-ending quest for the Beloved as recurring themes throughout.

Kākā Redāī followed by the Saharī Suite of Seyd Khāmūsh

The literal meaning of shān jonbān[ak] is “to move one’s shoulders.” Ostad Elahi used to say that if one could not move one’s shoulders according to the movements suggested by this dance, then one would never be able to play it properly. What’s more, he was the only person able to reproduce the rhythm to perfection on his instrument, thereby imparting momentum to a whole assembly.The scansion of the rhythm here carries listeners to new heights. The dance-like quality of the music is present throughout the work in spite of certain more nostalgic passages and those that are simply played more slowly. Ostad takes passages from several other themes, reshaping them as he likes on new rhythms. He even goes so far as to strip down the theme with a pizzicato by the left hand, before the twirl and the dance resume more beautifully.

Shān Jonbān[ak]

This ancient tune from pre-Islamic times enables us to understand the amazing powers of expression reached in a tessitura as concise as a tone and a half. Indeed, the suite of three sustained semitones acting as an ostinato that this short piece gradually builds generates a tension that is truly unheard of. The apparent lack of movement is the pretext for Ostad to install the dynamics of his music, using changing rhythms and a profusion of subtle embellishments that endow each note with unusual depth and relief. The listener is not accustomed to this, but anyone who is willing to let oneself be guided by the sounds will find they touch both mind and soul alike. It is as though a mere few notes hold both a time and a place immemorial condensed within them. The tension is somewhat relieved when a diminished fourth is reached, then right at the end of the piece, when the perfect fourth bursts through to introduce the following key, the space opens up as though suddenly filled with light.

Tarz

Nakīsā and Bārbad are two characters from Ancient Persia, both famous court musicians for the Sassanid King Khosrow Parvīz in the early years of the 7th century. In Kurdish gnosis, they are thought to be linked by an absolute, unfailing spiritual love, similar to the one that united Joseph and Jacob or Jesus Christ and John the Baptist. In spite of having to undergo the trials of separation, they overcame all the obstacles before them and were finally reunited. Ostad Elahi was fond of honoring their memory and would often say their names aloud when he included their melody in the middle of an improvised passage.As with all the melodies in the Tarz mode, the Nakīsā and Bārbad suite is weighted with nostalgic longing, for these ancient tunes are charged with the feelings and emotions of entire generations of mystics who sacrificed themselves along the path to God. In spite of its apparent simplicity, this composition is quite difficult to play, for if everything is not absolutely right (such as the harmony and rhythm), the desired effect will not be obtained. The Tarz mode requires subtlety and interiority; if performed as such, it will touch the innermost core of the listener.

Nakīsā and Bārbad Suite

CD 1

Sheykh Amīrī is a generic term designating a type of melody and a specific way of tuning the tanbur in fourths, known as kūk-e Sheykh Amīrī. The basic melody dates back to the time of Sheykh Amīr, an 18th century Kurdish mystic who was a simple, illiterate shepherd. As a result of a sudden illumination and spiritual awakening, he was inspired with numerous symbolic poems replete with mystical and philosophical teachings.Ever since Sheykh Amīr, this melody has become the archetypal musical appeal to the Beloved in the context of this mystical tradition. It is often sung at the beginning of a religious meeting to prepare the adherents to detach themselves from their worldly preoccupations and to meditate on their true origins and the homeland from which they’ve been separated. It is usually followed by other more lively pieces with a stronger rhythm.Ostad Elahi’s repertoire contains seventeen variations of the melody, some of which go under the title of Sheykh Amīrī followed by a person’s name, for each one is attributed to its composer; others are designed to pay tribute to a spiritual personality (e.g., Sheykh Amīrī-e Hādj Nemat, Sheykh Amīrī-e Shāh Hayāsī); still others go under the title of Sheykh Amīrī followed by the name of the region where they’re traditionally played (e.g., Sheykh Amīrī-e Gūrān (from the Gūrān area), Sheykh Amīrī-e atrāf-e Sahne (from the Sahne area, with its three variants)). The least complex of these different versions is that of Sheykh Amīr himself, and the most elaborate that of Ostad Elahi.The suite featured on the present CD comprises all the versions of Sheykh Amīrī, one of the most captivating and meditativepiecesin the Ostad Elahi’s whole Ostad Elahi’s repertoire. Each of the seventeen melodies expresses a close personal relationship with the Beloved, embellished, ornamented, and integrated into a varied yet homogenous whole. The introduction, soft but dense, immediately demonstrates the exceptional talent and finesse of Ostad.The Sheykh Amīrī piece is inherently simple but difficult to execute. In general, the song provides the matrix that enables the basic structure of the melody to be preserved while offering infinite possibilities for variation. In the case of Sheykh Amīrī, however, the two do not coincide and matching song to the tanbur is indeed a perilous exercise. To add to this difficulty, Ostad Elahi’s personal style consists of rich and subtle ornamentation, using shors1, vibrations, vibratos, and the plucking of strings, all of which require a technique that demands extreme dexterity.It should not be forgotten that the tanbur uses a regular chromatic scale, and dividing the octave into twelve semitones of equal value means any melody can be played on any basic note, thereby offering an infinite number of combinations. The numerous passages occur in what seems like a random order, though it is in fact predetermined, always producing a feeling of meditation even in passages where the rhythm is tenser and less stable, especially toward the end of the piece with the passage of a perfect fifth to an augmented fifth. But calm returns with Ostad’s version. In spite of its density, this part gives a profound impression of deep peace; from an uninterrupted flow of music and a cascade of notes somehow emerges a feeling of serenity and gentle melancholy tinged with sweetness, one of the paradoxes of Ostad’s style.<ol class="number"><li value=1>The shor is a roll, a tremolo typical of the Kurdish tanbur style. Ostad Elahi perfected a technique in which each finger was used autonomously, quite distinct from the others. The most frequently occurring shor consists of striking the string with the fleshy part of the fingertips of the right hand, one finger after the other, at a constant speed so as to produce a continuo.</li></ol>

Sheykh Amīrī Suite

A series of three hymns devoted to Dāwūd (Dāwed in Kurdish), the manifestation of Raphael, the archangel of divine clemency and one of Soltān’s close companions.1 Ostad Elahi was especially fond of Dāwūd, about whom he would say: “I rejoice when Dāwūd’s name is invoked, for he is the embodiment of goodness. He has been granted permanent permission to intervene and doesn’t need to make a special request to Soltān for each individual case. Dāwūd has never been observed to become angry with anyone, for he is pure goodness and kindness from head to toe.”2 Similarly, Ostad states: “There are a few people whose names bring sheer pleasure to my ears: Christ, for his goodness toward all living beings . . . Dāwūd, the personification of mercy, who is always present, ready to help anyone in need.”3 Ostad sings three songs one after the other, beginning with the slowest and proceeding to the most rapid, as though drawing the participants into this invocation to Dāwūd.1. Hey Dāwed (slow)<blockquote>Hey Dāwed, gīān Dāwed O Dāwūd, life Dāwūd</blockquote>This first appeal, charged with longing, is very rich harmonically, with numerous variations and modulations. The slow tempo makes it difficult to perform. Ostad rarely played as long as he did on this occasion. Some of those close to him comprise the assembly around him, and spontaneously take up the refrains when moved by the emotions of the supplication. The supplication closes with a passage on the tanbur recalling the introduction.2. Hey Dāwed (faster)The piece begins in an almost relaxed manner, but gradually draws the listener along through its uninterrupted, insistent rhythm, offering an identical drone throughout to form an immense symbiosis between the low notes of the chant and the high ones of the chorus.3. Hey Dāwed (fast)<blockquote>Hey Dāwed, Haqq gīān Dāwed / Dīn Dāwed, īmān Dāwed O Dāwūd, Haqq, life, Dāwūd / Religion, Dāwūd, faith, Dāwūd</blockquote>This very old hymn was recorded informally in the intimate context of a family gathering. No other musician or professional singer was present, simply a few people whose fervor gives the chorus its special quality. In spite of the rather rudimentary conditions of these recordings with a single microphone positioned haphazardly, a natural balance has been achieved between the chanting, the voices, and the instrument.<ol class="number"><li value=1>Soltān Sahāk (or Eshāq), founder of the mystical order of the Ahl-e Haqq, lived in the 14th century.</li><li value=2>Āsār ol-Haqq, vol. 1, sayings 1442, 1441.</li><li value=3>Ibid., saying 1355.</li></ol>

Hey Dāwed Hymns

This track marks a pinnacle in the art of improvisation, a kind of journey of initiation where several tunes are evoked, refreshed, placed alongside each other, ornamented, and rendered more complex, both through changes of rhythm and the counter-melody on the low register string. Ostad enjoys making them talk, sing, and laugh all at once in the most disconcertingly natural way. He seems to be setting out on an adventure without any predetermined musical schema; he plucks whatever comes his way and uses it each time as the starting point for a new creation, only more complex and more finely wrought. He shapes the melodies at will, like clay softened in his hands, much like his instrument, which also becomes wax under his touch. Technical difficulties vanish, as in the two-chord passage using the Farangī chord, where improvisation is notoriously hard. Whereas each melody he alludes to is normally presented in a single block, with any omission likely to cause the whole thing to collapse, Ostad takes the liberty of moving things around, taking things out here and there and putting them elsewhere, perhaps even a second time, without ever altering the inner cohesion and harmony of the whole.Throughout the piece, the binary and tertiary rhythms alternate smoothly. A melody usually expressed in binary rhythm makes a foray into a ternary section before completing its transformation into a new motif altogether. Most unusually, a daf (frame drum) accompanies the tanbur here. In fact, in spite of its simplicity, the tanbur is a complete instrument in itself; the right hand marks the rhythm very clearly as well as all the desired variants, such that no other instrument is needed. This is the first recording among all the releases of Ostad Elahi on the tanbur where he has a percussion accompaniment, but its support is extremely sober and does not seek the limelight. The percussionist here is Hādj Amīn, Ostad Elahi’s eldest son. As well as being an outstanding daf player, Hādj Amīn was also an exceptional tanbur player and a connoisseur of the Kurdish dance repertoire.

Improvisation in Bābā Jalīlī in Fourths Followed by the Suite Zang-e Shotorī in Seconds

Destinations

Nakīsā and Bārbad are two characters from Ancient Persia, famous court musicians of the Sassanid King Khosrow Parvīz in the early 7th century (pre-Islamic period).1 According to Jean During, “We owe to Bārbad the invention and classification of a large number of melodies and modes; some thirty tunes have come down to us.”2 He is traditionally credited with inventing the musical system incorporating seven modal structures known as “royal modes” (khosrovānī), thirty derived modes (lahn), and three hundred and sixty melodies (dastān) corresponding to the number of days in the week, month, and year of the Sassanid calendar. His favorite instrument was the barbat, a sort of tanbur considered to be the oldest stringed instrument in Iran.It is said that Bārbad had a considerable reputation even before he became a famous court musician.3 The court favorite at the time, Sarkīs, was jealous of Bārbad’s reputation and (fearing that he would be overshadowed) prevented him from coming to the court. One day, Bārbad met the royal gardener and persuaded him to allow Bārbad to remain in the garden incognito when the King came for a walk. At the appropriate time, Bārbad came in and hid in a tree. The King arrived with his courtiers. As he was being served a goblet of wine, Bārbad began to play.4 The King was amazed and asked who was playing; Bārbad stopped and stayed hidden. He began playing again as a second goblet was served to the King. Again, the King was deeply moved by the music, but Bārbad did not emerge. When the third goblet was served, Bārbad and his instrument set nature to music with such emotion that the King stood up and cried: “This must be an angel sent by God to bring us joy!” He begged the musician to show himself. Bārbad came down from the tree, fell to his knees and, from that moment, was the incomparable court musician. His name reflects his new status, as bār means “court” and bad means “possessor.”Bārbad’s musical supremacy was such that he could evoke at will any feeling in his audience. The story goes that the King had a black horse named Shabdīz, which he loved above all else, to the extent that he had decreed if Shabdīz should die, the person announcing such news to him would be executed. The fateful day came and nobody dared tell the King the sad news. Bārbad was given the task. So he composed a tune he called Shabdīz. When he went to the King and played it for him, the King exclaimed: “Shabdīz is dead!” Bārbad was subsequently assassinated, though no one knows whether it was the work of Sarkīs or one of his students.Sources disagree as to whether Nakīsā was a man or a woman and whether he or she was born in Persia or Greece.5 This musician’s favorite instrument was the harp, though Nakīsā was equally famous as a singer, with a musical standing almost as great as Bārbad’s. They met at the court of King Khosrow Parvīz and collaborated on the composition of the “royal modes.” In Kurdish gnosis, Nakīsā and Bārbad are bound by a deep and enduring spiritual love, comparable to that between Joseph and Jacob or Jesus Christ and John the Baptist. They endured the trial of separation and were finally reunited after overcoming a number of obstacles (tradition does not tell us the circumstances of either their parting or their reunion).According to Jean During, “Nakīsā and Bārbad is a (dastgāh), an Iranian mode with no particularly marked Kurdish character. It seems to belong properly to the school of Ostad Elahi. Its noble and serene expression suits equally well the instrumental solo as the cantillation of kalāms or mystical verses.”6 Ostad Elahi liked to honor the memory of these two illustrious musicians and often referred to them when he played their melody in the middle of an improvisation. In this piece, after a short introduction, the rhythm becomes livelier; the playing grows louder before taking an unexpected turn. A series of sudden changes occurs, achieving integration only as a result of Ostad’s virtuosity and technical mastery.<ol class="number"><li value=1>See CD, Destinations, vol. 2, Le Chant du Monde/Harmonia Mundi, 2008.</li><li value=2>Musique et Mystique dans les Traditions de I’lran, Paris, IFRI Peeters, (Book II, part 2), 1989.</li><li value=3>Tārīkh-e mūsīqī-e Iran (History of Music in Iran), by Hassan Mashhūn, published by Cimorgh, 1373 (Iranian calendar), vol. 1, p. 56-66.</li><li value=4>In the pre-Islamic period, wine was not forbidden in Persia.</li><li value=5>Tārīkh-e mūsīqī-e Iran, 66-67.</li><li value=6>Musique et Mystique.</li></ol>

We are immediately plunged into the heart of an intense musical landscape where rhythm and melody evolve along lines of continually renewed inspiration. These successive changes are perfectly executed: Notes added in a different mode, strong tempi sliding into a different rhythm, risky transpositions, unlikely modulations, etc. These are but a few examples of the boldness and complexity of Ostad Elahi’s musical project.Toward the end of the piece, the music gathers speed as if to sweep the listener into a dance of joy with a captivating rhythm. Nakīsā and Bārbad are reunited and their purely spiritual love intensifies with each moment they spend together, an exaltation expressed by the virtuosity and creativity of Ostad.

Reunion of Nakīsā and Bārbad

A recording of Farangī appeared on the CD Dialogue with the Beloved.1 Farangī, which literally means “Frankish” or “European,” is distinguished by a sense of the foreign or strange. “Farangī tuning” (kūk-e Farangī) is when the tanbur is tuned in seconds rather than the usual fourths, giving it an unusual color and atmosphere while allowing for great subtlety as the thumb plays on the low string. Ostad Elahi introduced this tuning to the tanbur, one that is rarely encountered in the Oriental lute family of instruments.Praise the Divine lies at the heart of this piece. It is preceded by a preparation, a sort of introduction that is characteristic of Ostad Elahi and to which he held the key, creating shades of meaning around lively playing in unison. Just as an orchestra tunes in preparation for a concert, successive rows playing an A, so too does Ostad appear to introduce all the beings taking part in the celebration and have them play in unison. The hymn of praise unfolds during the Zang-e shotorī theme, reaching a dense climax. Then, step by step, the atmosphere lightens until a passage of gentle sweetness is reached, where the murmur of the voice seems to fuse with the tanbur to express joy and gratitude. Yet Ostad Elahi’s music does not allow the listener to “settle” into any single state: he is instead drawn to a different place and made to break from what he is accustomed to. The music takes him ever further, toward other levels of perception, finishing with a zekr and a simple dance tune performed with the instrument.<ol class="number"><li value=1>Le Chant du Monde, 1997, reissued 2004.</li></ol>

Farangī Suite

This smooth, rhythmic recitative is a prayer to the Creator, expressing intense emotion in a deeply contemplative atmosphere. In a low voice and confidential tone, Ostad addresses simple and direct words to his Beloved.The tanbur is heard first, in a melody rising toward Him. Then Ostad begins his song, invoking Ali, a divine name. Voice and instrument mingle in total symbiosis throughout this appeal to divine clemency and mercy. Ostad Elahi plays here in a style entirely his own. One may occasionally recognize a theme from a previous recording, but closer listening will reveal that this is definitely an improvisation with the motifs unfolding in a totally unexpected manner. The passages evoking more familiar modes and themes (such as Hey Dāwed toward the end of the piece)1 are themselves played in an original way. Even listeners used to Ostad’s compositions can be taken unawares and led from one new experience to another. Ostad’s universe is infused with gentle sweetness, but the pain of separation from the Beloved can be clearly felt. The emotion is even more palpable when Ostad’s voice catches and the appeal becomes more urgent. According to Ostad, “weeping (in a spiritual state) soothes the soul and brings it joy; if music is based on the aspirations of the soul, it will be more attractive both in its technical and spiritual quality.” (Āsār ol-Haqq, vol. 2, 359-360). When the soul is touched, as it is by the awareness of separation from its Beloved, one cannot control one’s tears. Like purifying rain, they finally afford some relief.Ostad Elahi’s emotion inspires this poem, improvised as he plays:<blockquote>Ali (x 6) Ali, agar bogzarī, Ali (x 5) Ali, gonābāranān, Ali (x 7) djān Gonābāran yā Ali, Ali, Ali, Ali Gonām bar gardan, yā Ali, yā Ali, yā Ali Va gonāy sar va jīr-e bār yā Mowlām, Ali (x 5) Gonāy wīm bardan yā Mowlām āmān Ali (x 5) djān, Ali, Hū Sar va jīr-e bār Ali djān Mowlām Gonāy wīm bardanVa gonā(h) kārān mabū weyardan, ey Khodā-ye man, ey Mowlā-ye man Bī gonā(h) va kas ey Ali djān mennat nabardan, amān amān amān, amān Agar bogzarī, yā Mowlā-ye man va gonā(h)kārī Aw vakht malūman yā Mowlām to karamdārī Djān Ali, ey Khodā-ye man, Ali (x 4) karīmī, rahīmī, bozorgavārī Ey Khodā-ye man (x 3), Khodā-ye man (2 x) Ey khāleq-e man, ey Khodā-ye man Ey Ali, amān, Ali (x 6)</blockquote><blockquote>Ali Ali, Forgive me, O Ali My sins are innumerable, Ali, Ali my life Forgive me, Ali Take this weight from me, O Ali You are my refuge, O Ali My head bows under the weight of my sins Yes, I have been so remiss, O God With this burden on my heart, whom else shall I call upon, O Ali? I take refuge in Thee Pardon me, Lord And thus show Thy generosity Ali my Beloved, O Lord, You are generous, magnanimous, all-powerful O my God, my creator, my educator, my God</blockquote>Like Ali, the terms Mowlā (Lord), Khodā (God), Djān (Beloved), and Hū (Him) are expressions of the divinity, a way of invoking God.Then, to the slow Hey Dāwed theme:<blockquote>Yā Dāwed-e dāwedan Ali Hū har Dāwed-e khāsan Ey Khodā-ye man ey rabb-e man Yā Hayy yā qayyūm</blockquote><ol class="number"><li value=1>See CD Destinations, vol. 1, Le Chant du Monde/Harmonia Mundi, 2008.</li></ol>

Bābā Jalīlī Invocation

Harmony, communion, and great sweetness are the keynotes of this ancient Kurdish zekr, played within the family circle.<blockquote>Yārān wa bāten ye dang-ī mayū / sedāy hey dayyār sarhang-ī mayūCompanions, from the world of the spirit comes a voice It is the voice of a Knight of God calling his divine Beloved</blockquote>"Knight" in this context refers to a high-ranking individual.

Yārān Wa Bāten Ye Dang-ī Mayū

This zekr was probably composed by Ostad in the 1930s, before a pilgrimage to the tomb of Soltān Eshāq.1 This impromptu recording was made at the point of breaking a forty-day fast (in fact, the beginning of the zekr is missing). Ostad had asked for all of his tanburs, chose a specific one, and played several zekrs, of which this is one.The choir is made up mainly of women and children in his family. There is a palpable intensity and the gathering shows great concentration, even though the intonation is shaky. When one voice sings spontaneously in thirds, there is an effect of “despatialization,” rare in this harmonic context. But more astonishing is the moment when the choir is responding and a different tanbur sound is distinctly heard; a low, highly rhythmic note, even though there was no other tanbur player in the room.<blockquote>Yā Soltān, āmān āgerem dāy / Dasht-e awrāmān wāvarem dāyO Soltān, mercy, You have set me aflame You have spread the plain of Awrāmān at my feet</blockquote>The meaning of these words is something of a mystery; they seem to refer to a personal spiritual event. At the end of this piece, which moved the participants deeply, Ostad can be heard addressing his family, a testimonial to the spiritual state that permeated the musical sessions he led: “When a family is united in heart, it can do anything… Had we spent ten years playing zekrs and praying, perhaps it would not have had as great an effect as this unity of heart in which we gathered as a family to approach God in one fervent outpouring. I hope God Almighty will always grant us the happiness of such faith and always look upon us with His benevolent gaze and light, as we unite in turning to Him with sincere faith and hearts to lead a life that is in accord with His contentment. Hū yā Ali; may God always grant us His blessings. This was truly a great joy for me.”<ol class="number"><li value=1>Soltān Eshāq, founder of the mystical order of the Ahl-e Haqq, lived in the 14th century.</li></ol>

Yā Soltān, Āmān Āgerem Dāy

As before, this dance piece is full of spiritual joy and begins powerfully, reinforced by a persistent humming on the low string. The listener is taken up in the movement, surrounded by the lightness and swirling rhythm of uninterrupted variations. In the sequence of tunes often played by Ostad, every change of rhythm creates a new atmosphere and carries one ever further. Then the music abruptly stops and silence sustains the emotion.

Harātī Suite

Presence

This piece was recorded in the 1970s at Ostad Elahi’s home in Tehran. It highlights the virtuosity, power, and speed of his playing, both with his right and left hands. The main theme evokes the story of Nakīsā and Bārbad, two characters of ancient Persia who were famous musicians at the court of King Sassanid Khosrow Parvīz in the early seventh century. According to Kurdish gnosis, they are bound by a deep and unwavering spiritual love, comparable to that of Joseph and Jacob, or of Jesus Christ and John the Baptist. Having undergone the trial of separation, they were finally reunited after overcoming many obstacles. Ostad liked to honor their memory and often mentioned their names when he played their melody in the midst of an improvisation.As was the case for classical music of Persian masters,1 Ostad’s music is based on the different states and needs of the soul. Thus, this heartbreaking suite vividly depicts the states experienced by true spiritual lovers, including profound nostalgia, the pain of separation from the Beloved, and the soul’s resilience in overcoming this pain. This improvisation is not based on and cannot be linked to any ancient, pre-Islamic foundation. It contains passages of Ostad’s repertoire, but they are played differently and in a new sequence. At first, the piece is meditative, but it then invites the listener into a dense and intense soundscape in which the most surprising resonances echo one another.Although the tempo increases, driven by a brilliant shor,2 the piece remains quite nostalgic at first. Successive waves are unleashed as so many cries for help. The repetitions are increasingly virtuosic, calmed by pauses from which dissonances still emerge, like a sorrow that has not yet been alleviated. Amid these cascades of notes, unexpected chords arise that gradually bring about a change in the atmosphere. Toward the end, Ostad plays a joyous air, a kind of catharsis, of plenitude, before returning briefly to the main theme pursuant to a pattern that is frequently found in his improvisations.<ol class="number"><li value=1>According to Ostad Elahi, “It is for the soul that the Iranian masters created their music, looking each time for the air that was the most suitable, the melody that would make the soul joyful and buoyant at that moment. This even includes music tinged with nostalgia, for weeping calms the soul and procures joy.” Āsār ol-Haqq, vol. 2 (Tehran: Jeyhūn, 1991), 359-360.</li><li value=2>A type of roll played with the right hand.</li></ol>

Shīn-e Tarz in the Nakīsā and Bārbad Suite

With this piece, also recorded in the 1970s in Tehran, the listener is transported directly into an intimate and personal atmosphere. The tanbur precedes the singing and guides it in the melody. The cantor here is a visitor who was quite fond of Ostad. In a way, this supplication was “his” piece and Ostad appreciated the simplicity, humility, and sincerity with which he addressed God. Ostad affectionately affords the cantor the opportunity to join his voice to that of the tanbur, to express his love of the divine through this sensitive and profound declaration. The voice and the instrument respond to each other with strong emotional tension, each silence complementing this emotion and seemingly even strengthening it. This entanglement of sounds is punctuated by Ostad’s appeals to Ali.1 This poem was originally written in Kurdish Kurmānjī (close to Turkish) by Hazrat-e Qosh tchī Oghlī, a great spiritual figure of the Turkish Ahl-e Haqq tradition:2<blockquote>I am no more than a sinner, but You, a reservoir of generosity, Forgive us in the name of the Friend Forgive us in the name of the pact with Benyāmīn,3 the guide Our Lord, light of divine power Pearl of the Ocean without a shore, You who take Your friends by the hand Forgive us, in the name of Dāwūd, the intercessor Do not immerse us in earthly attachments and worries Do not throw us into the circle of the unjust Forgive us, in the name of Pīr Mūsī, the scribe with the golden pen And in the name of the devotion of Razbār It is in You that I seek refuge, O peerless Friend You, above whom there is no one In the name of Khān Almās, the masterful (proficient), the greatest among the humble, forgive us! It is in You that I seek refuge, Seigniorial Essence I am intoxicated, inebriated Forgive us in the name of Mostafā Dāwdān Who bears Your wrath as half of his name4 Preserve us from the glittering tinsel of the world Do not cast us among unjust men Forgive us, in the name of Pīr Razbār, from the crucible where she bakes bread From the King who commands all that there is The true friend is one who has crossed the mountains and meanders of the way And who has reached the destination The fire that burns the deniers, Forgive us in the name of this fire that burns the deniers The master, the true sage, is one who knows Whoever has renounced his head, his life Forgive us, in the name of King Jamshīd, Who drank from the chalice,5 with intoxicated eyes Qosh tchī Oghlī says: O Unique Friend, Peerless, the Efficient in everything You who have 70,000 [spiritual] servants Forgive us, for the sake of all of these servants!</blockquote><ol class="number"><li value=1>In this context, Ali’s name is a way of invoking the divinity, similar to Haqq (Truth) and Hū (Him).</li><li value=2>The Ahl-e Haqq constitute a religious community numbering about one million among the Kurds of Iran and Iraq, as well as the Lors and Turks of Northwestern Iran.</li><li value=3>In the tradition of the Ahl-e Haqq of Kurdestān, Benyāmīn, and later in the poem, Dāwūd, Pīr Mūsī, Razbār, and Mostafā Dāwdān, are archangelic essences who, in the fourteenth century, were companions of Soltān Eshāq (or Sahāk), the founder of the Order who served as their spiritual pole and was himself deemed a theophany. Each of these essences had a specific spiritual function.</li><li value=4>Mostafā is the agent of divine wrath.</li><li value=5>The chalice in which the pure wine of mystic initiation is poured.</li></ol>

Turkish Sheykh Amīrī

Drawn from the dance repertoire, the Tchapī suite often appears in Ostad Elahi’s interpretations, both in a developed form or as a reference within another suite. As with all his other pieces, it is rendered in an innovative way.Here, it is played on the five-stringed tanbur (two trebles and mediums, one bass), a special tanbur invented by Ostad Elahi. Played in a major key, the melody is joyful and harmonious, giving an impression of sweetness. The slow and soothing tempo invites the listener on a distant musical journey, one where landscapes can be envisioned passing by. The listening induces a feeling of protection and benevolence that reassures the traveler about the road ahead.

Improvisation in the Tchapī Suite

Once again, this version of Sheykh Amīrī, played in the intimate setting of his family, provides a good illustration of Ostad Elahi’s sayings about music as a language of the soul, independent of any considerations of technique, aesthetics, time, or place: “Music is connected to the soul, and the soul is connected to God. . . if we play in this spirit, we will establish a connection to the Source.”1 The important thing is to have constant attention to the divine, to which Ostad adds: “Regardless of the time and place, whenever a state of attention is realized, do not let it slip away; time and place are of no consequence.”2 The act of worshipping God requires neither a special framework nor a particular form; only the connection of the heart matters. “We should seek to hear those true sounds of music. Music should be used as a means of establishing a spiritual connection, not as an end unto itself.”3There are multiple versions of Sheykh Amīrī, but the most complex and elaborate, which is played here, is that of Ostad Elahi himself. The melody, though highly ornamented, is devoid of any superfluity or artifice, marked instead by a kind of purity and original simplicity. Musical phrases are linked together, punctuated by dissonances that underscore a deep nostalgia. Despite its richness and its harmonic and rhythmic complexity, this air is imbued with great sweetness and seems to comfort a babbling child that can be heard not far from the musician.<ol class="number"><li value=1>Ostad Elahi, Āsār ol-Haqq, vol. 2 (Tehran: Jeyhūn, 1991), p. 215.</li><li value=2>Ostad Elahi, Paroles de Vérité (Paris: Albin Michel, 2014), saying 148.</li><li value=3>Ibid., saying 226.</li></ol>

Sheykh Amīrī II of Ostad Elahi

This recording dates back to the 1970s and was also made in Ostad Elahi’s home in Tehran. Among these four hymns, repeated in unison by the audience, the first three were composed by Hādj Nematollāh, Ostad Elahi’s father; we do not know the author of the fourth. The first hymn is sung by Ostad, the next three by his eldest son Hādj Amīn.(1) Intense and full of energy, the first hymn evokes the companions of Hādj Nematollāh who were all dressed in a long white tunic.<blockquote>Haqq sefīd pūshān / Haqq sefīd pūshān Kowsar manūshān[benūshān] / Haqq sefīd pūshān Haqq dressed in white / drink from the water of Kowsar / Haqq, those dressed in white</blockquote>“Haqq” is one of the divine names that evokes the Truth, while “Kowsar” literally means the source from which all the streams of paradise flow. For mystics, this source lies in the possession of Ali, a manifestation of God, who grants this water to whomever he wants in a quantity that corresponds to each person’s spiritual capacity.(2) This hymn was composed in honor of Soltān Eshāq,1 when Hādj Nematollāh received the manifestation of his Essence.<blockquote>Shām āmā, Shām āmā, Shahanshāy Shāhān āmā My King has come, my King has come, the King of Kings of all Kings has come.</blockquote>(3) In this hymn, the responses of the assembly end with some a cappella measures. The collective fervor is clearly perceptible.<blockquote>Shāh Nematollāh valīyan Haqq / Avval-o ākher Alīyan Haqq Shāh Nematollāh is the Valī of Truth / The beginning and the end are Ali, who is Truth</blockquote>(4) This more rhythmic chant has an unusual characteristic: at the end of each melodic phrase, it includes a surprising chord that reverses the melody. The playing of this chord corresponds to the only time when nobody sings, as if to allow everyone to catch their breath before expressing their gratitude.<blockquote>Shoq-e shādīman Khodā shokor Dowr-e bāqīman Khodā shokorThis is my joy and enthusiasm, thank you O’ God This is my spiritual (permanent) era, thank you O’ God</blockquote><ol class="number"><li value=1>Soltān Eshāq (or Sahāk), a great theophanic figure of the fourteenth century, is deemed the founder of the mystical order of the Ahl-e Haqq, to which Hādj Nematollāh belonged.</li></ol>

Suite of Zekrs II

Joy predominates here: the festive and joyous melodies sweep the listener away to another realm. Along with a basso continuo, Ostad makes this melody dance, with a few harmonic variations, as if to play along with the children’s voice that is heard in the background. The developed rhythm reinforces the invitation to dance.When the singing begins, the soft and fluid voice blends with the melodies and rhythms played on the tanbur. The song is addressed to the “Papū Soleymānī,” a mythical bird that resembles the hoopoe. Each verse is repeated twice.<blockquote>Papū soleymāna danūk zarrīna O Papū Soleymānī with a yellow beakBālakat vāka bechū va mūyna Spread your wings and travel over thereBechū va awrāmān Go to Awrāmān (the site of Soltān’s tomb)Soltān gīān būyna And visit our beloved Soltān SahākKhavar-e bāra Bring back some newsVao sarzamīna From that country there</blockquote>

Khān Amīrī in the Jelo Shāhī Suite

This improvisation is based on the theme and rhythmic matrix of a particular Kurdish dance, of which there are about ten different versions. It is named “Pāykūbī” (literally “tapping one’s foot against the floor”) in reference to the dance steps performed. The opening of this piece is quite particular: both fluid and irregular, it gives the impression of a mechanism that starts up in order to set itself in motion.Once the theme has been presented, Ostad Elahi introduces variations and sketches other melodies that then dissolve back into the main theme. He does not merely play each piece one after the other; he also melds and coordinates them, sustained by an invariable bass that is the counterpoint to the execution of the masterfully sequenced airs.Most of these melodies are usually played on the zurnā (oboe) or the dozaleh (double clarinet), accompanied by a powerful dohol (two-sided drum). Prior to Ostad, it seems that these pieces had never been played on a tanbur. The adaptation of these melodies to this lute and their ornamentations, typical of wind instruments, was another of his innovations. While playing these melodies requires an exceptional technique, perhaps even more remarkable are the host of innovative techniques that enable him to reach a barely conceivable level of musical intensity on this three-stringed lute.

Nakīsā o Bārbod

Details

Renditions of Nakīsā o Bārbod

More of Tarz on same Album