Those who view musical styles and artistic development as straight lines are generally lost when it comes the real story. Songs and forms flow in organic ways over time as directed by individual choices, personal contact, and cultures that collide for all sorts of reasons.
When saxophonist Basel Rajoub was a boy in Aleppo, Syria, he wasn’t much interested in the Middle Eastern classical music surrounding him, yet he found his ears drawn to the panoply of sounds within Aleppo’s rich cultural blend. The stuff that grabbed his ears most, though, were the American jazz recordings his aunt played him. Miles Davis became a hero, and he picked up a trumpet.
He studied classically at a conservatory in Damascus. By the time he was done with school, his musical interests settled back on jazz and, somewhat to his surprise, on the traditional Syrian music he’d once rejected. By then, he’d switched to saxophone. He took up the challenges of learning to improvise in jazz’s language, for which the saxophone is well suited, and of adapting the saxophone to the microtonal demands of Syrian music. He saw the lines between styles blurring. He began composing and recording music to reflect that approach and sought out musicians who felt the same way.
He found his most profound connection with an Iranian musician in, of all places, Shanghai, China. Before performing at a world music festival there, Rajoub was entranced by the music of another band, whose leader, Saeid Shanbehzadeh, played the ney-anbān, an Iranian bagpipe. Rajoub didn’t understand the lyrics, but the Iranian melodies sounded familiar.
The two musicians met, talked, and then moved on until a year later, when they connected again by chance.
Their subsequent collaboration has flowered into “Sound: The Encounter,” an ensemble that will make its New York debut December 7 at the Asia Society’s Lila Acheson Wallace Auditorium in Manhattan. (They’ll also perform at the Smithsonian’s Freer-Sackler Galleries on December 12 and the Asia Society in Houston, Texas, on December 14. The December 7 concert will be webcast live.)
Though it is subtitled “New Music from Iran and Syria,” in reality the program features both ancient songs and recent compositions, draws on the traditions of several countries, and suggests an imagined space beyond borders. In addition to Rajoub on saxophones and duclar, a Syrian reed instrument, and Shanbehzadeh, who sings, dances, and plays several traditional instruments, the ensemble will include Shanbehzadeh’s son, Naghib, a percussionist, and Kenan Adnawi, an oud player from Syria.
The concert is the result of an institutional collaboration between the Asia Society and the Aga Khan Music Initiative, which, according to its website, takes as a mandate “to support musicians from the Muslim world who are striving to reassemble diverse expressions of a shared musical heritage in contemporary forms.” That organizational collaboration began in 2010 and has led to several cross-cultural projects, bringing rarely heard traditions to American audiences. For the Asia Society, this concert fits within broader goals: it is part of “Creative Voices of Muslim Asia,” a multi-disciplinary series started in 2008, and is presented in conjunction with “Iran Modern,” an exhibition of Iranian modern art from the 1950s-70s on view through January 5, 2014.
Theodore Levin, who is senior project consultant for the Aga Khan initiative and a professor of music at Dartmouth College, will give a pre-performance lecture on December 7. In an email, he wrote: “The ensemble’s multi-layered mixing of musical influences from East Africa, the Persian Gulf, the Levant, and Western Europe is like a sonic version of time-lapse photography in which you hear a millennium’s worth of history roll by in a couple of minutes. The group brilliantly illustrates that no music is ‘pure,’ and that musical migrations of the past leave an imprint on the present.”
Rachel Cooper, a director for arts and culture at the Asia Society, was drawn to the project, she said, for the music’s beauty as well as its straddling of ancient and modern. “What has so moved me above all,” she said, “is the integrity of the meeting. I only wish more of our cross-cultural diplomatic encounters could be as productive and receptive.”
Iran and Syria once shared rich musical traditions, which have been severed as a result of political realities. The mention of Aleppo now calls up mostly images of civil war, not the cultural ferment it meant to Basel Rajoub as a boy.
Rajoub, who now lives in Geneva, Switzerland, spoke with me over the phone from his Manhattan hotel room earlier this week about his musical roots and ambitions, and his collaboration with Shanbehzadeh.
What was Aleppo like for you as a boy?
Aleppo was a nice place, and very rich musically. When you switched on the radio, there were at least 10 kinds of music to hear. So without thinking about it, I suppose I got the idea very early that there were many ways to make music. The city is known for its music, and it is a home to Syrian classical music. But at the time, I didn’t find that interesting.
What music did interest you?
Louis Armstrong. Billie Holiday, John Coltrane. And especially Miles Davis.
Where did you hear that stuff?
I had an aunt who was a close listener to that music, so she had a good jazz library. I don’t know if it is strange for a Syrian boy of 12 to be listening to Miles Davis’s “Kind Of Blue” and Coltrane’s “Ballads” album, but I was. Without those ideas, I’m not sure if I’d be a musician. And it was at that time that I fell in love with the sound of the trumpet.
What grabbed you?
This music, when you listen to it and when you get to play it, makes imagination primary. When they play solos, you can sense the freedom.
Isn’t improvisation important in Middle Eastern classical music?
Yes, that’s true, but I guess I didn’t hear it the same way I do now. I couldn’t appreciate it.
Your studies on trumpet were in Western classical tradition, right?
Yes. My family moved to Damascus, and I attended conservatory there. Damascus was very different than Aleppo. There is not as much a focus on culture and music. To study music, there was the old Syrian music, the Oriental School, which I wasn’t interested in, and the conservatory, which is a Soviet-style music school. But I found out I didn’t want to play classical music. And I developed a physical problem with my embouchure, which forced me to switch to the saxophone. I started on alto, and then moved to tenor and soprano saxophones.
What kind of music were you playing?
After I graduated, I played with a couple of bands in Damascus. I started playing Syrian music as well as jazz. I realized that I liked the Syrian music, and I especially liked the idea of mixing the two. The Jazz Ambassadors program from the U.S. would bring musicians to Damascus, and I would come to their workshops. That was really the first time that someone said to me, “OK, improvise.” It was difficult at first.
And what about the Middle Eastern classical music — was that hard to master?
On trumpet, it was nearly impossible because of the scales and microtones. But once I switched to saxophone, I could do it.
Was it considered strange to play that music on saxophone?
I can’t say it’s strange. The problem with any classical musician is that they are limited. I understand instruments like kanun and ney are technically limited. But also the mentality was limited. Most of these musicians weren’t listening to different kinds of music.
When I began composing music, I was thinking about using Oriental instruments because I didn’t want to do a traditional jazz ensemble. The idea is that I want to put the melodies and solos I wanted within the Oriental sound. In Oriental music, there are solo parts and ensemble sections but there is very little real interaction between instruments. The parts are assigned, much like Western classical music. I wanted the beauty of Oriental music with the interaction of jazz.
Was there much work as a musician in Damascus?
In light of what’s happening now it’s a bit strange to think, but between 2000 and 2011 there was a music and culture revolution. The government started to support music and culture. They created festivals. When I lived in Damascus, I played 100 concerts a year.
There was huge support for musicians in Syria. My very last day in Syria, I played a concert to celebrate the release of my album at Damascus Opera House with my quartet.
It’s so painful to see what’s happening in Syria now. Do you fear that everything you knew will be lost?
Thank god I didn’t lose any family in Aleppo, but I lost friends. I know plenty of musicians who are now in the military. It’s heartbreaking to see my friends selling their instruments. It’s not easy.
Do you fear the culture being destroyed?
I fear that my country and my culture will be destroyed.
How did the collaboration with Saeid Shanbezadeh start?
We both were playing in different projects at the Shanghai World Music Festival in 2011. He was playing before our band. When I heard his music, it was a shock because we have the same thing in Syria. We have the same kind of music. It’s so similar to the Bedouin music of Syria, it’s almost the same song. That was a revelation.
In my country, this music is only played at weddings. But Saeid has pursued this music in a professional way, as concert music. This was interesting to me.
After the concert, I approached him. I asked him, “Where are you from?” He told me about the seaport on the Persian Gulf, about the city of Bushehr. We jammed a little bit, just improvising, and we decided to work together. But we had to plan.
And that was it?
Until we met again, in Paris about a year later, by chance in a café. I was there to play with a group called “New Sounds from Arab Lands.” I told him to come to our rehearsal, and to bring his instruments. We played together again for a half-hour, and the producer decided then and there to make it a real project.
What is so appealing about this combination for you?
Well, there are challenges. His bagpipe plays in only one key, which would be like a G minor, but with altered microtones. These are hard to play on the saxophone. Also, the Iranian bagpipe is a sensitive instrument. If the weather is dry, for instance, the tuning will change. You have to listen to each other very carefully. So we are listening closely, like having a conversation. And it’s folk music. It has a beauty that is pure and it also gives me freedom.