Musician and researcher Rachel Beckles Willson, Professor of Music at Royal Holloway, University of London, is about to launch a new project tracing the different musical traditions in which this exquisite instrument plays a central role, and the stories of migration that go with it. I asked her to tell us all about it... JD
Hearing the Ottomans
in London
“So tell me, which singer does she aspire to be?”
“Almost all the famous singers. But always with the
same voice, the same makam, and
interpreted in exactly the same way.”
“That means she is a true original! It’s solved.
Unique and new. Pay attention here! I mean new, new in capital letters! For
when it’s a matter of the new, there’s no need for any other talent. Now we
need only choose which direction to take: folk music or classical Turkish
music, or folk music with a hint of alafranga,
or perhaps alafranga with a hint of
folk?” (The Time Regulation Institute,
trans. Maureen Freely and Alexander Dawe, Penguin Books 2013.)
 |
| Rachel Beckles Willson (oud) and Nilufar Habibian (quanun) in concert |
Music threads through the novels of Ahmed Hamdi Tanpinar in
a tapestry of love, ambition, nostalgia and ambivalence. For a society newly
ruled by clocks, radios, and popular song from Europe, what use were Ottoman
repertoire and classical modes (makam)?
Tanpinar’s protagonist bemoans his sister-in-law’s disregard for tradition
(‘she knows nothing about music’) whereas his friend dismisses it: ‘Today who would ever think of
trying to distinguish the Isfahan
from the Acemasiran?, he asks.
While in
Europe, classical music institutions flourished beyond the collapse of empire
following WWI, in Ataturk’s Turkey, the centuries-old repertoire of the Ottoman
courts and dervish houses was sidelined in favour of music that could embody
the new Republic. In Greece the situation was similar: the focus fell on music
that could express essentially European qualities of the modern state.
But the
last decades of the 20th century saw a new growth of interest in
Ottoman music, and public support emerged as well. So much so, in fact, that one
can now study classical Ottoman repertories in Turkey, Greece, Germany,
Holland, France and beyond. There are printed scores, recordings, theory books,
teachers… and of course there are many concert performances.
On 13 April, one of London’s most beautiful
salons, Music at 22 Mansfield Street, is hosting an evening of Ottoman
classical music.
The concert
will begin with some of the earliest Ottoman pieces of all, several of which
are attributed to Persian musicians at the court of Selim I (1512-1520). We
draw the music from scores prepared by Wojciech Bobowski (1610-1675), a
Polish slave-musician and translator who converted to Islam and took the name
Ali Ufki; and Dimitrie Cantemir (1673–1723), the Moldavian Prince, musician and
man of letters who lived in exile in Constantinople from 1687 to 1710. Their scores
and other remarkable notated sources reveal the continuous development of
Ottoman musical styles from around 1630 right through to the present day.
Our
programme then moves on into the late 19th century and shifts south to
present the tradition in the Egyptian Nahda
(Renaissance). We exchange kemencheh for
violin to demonstrate the flamboyant Arabization that was part of that
development. We also present Egyptian settings of Andalusian poetry, muwashshahat, along with a range of more
recent music from Turkey, Armenia and Iraq.
At the
heart of the concert is the oud, which
is the predecessor of the European lute and reminds us of Europe’s debt to Al Andalus, the Muslim rule of southern
Spain, Portugal and parts of France 711-1492. The oud itself is
still played throughout the Middle East and North Africa, and increasingly
widely in Europe and North America. I first discovered it by chance while I was
researching western style music education among Arab communities of Palestine
and Israel. I was increasingly captivated by the sound of the oud, its beauty, and by the way it could
transform a social event, triggering laughter, song or tears – or all three of
these.
I bought an
oud in East Jerusalem, hoping my Arab
friends would play it when visiting me back in London. But I found myself trying
to play myself, initially grappling with the Iraqi tradition, then slipping
into the music of Egypt, Turkey and Crete. A couple of years further on I
started to integrate oud with my professional
life, drawing it into undergraduate teaching and research. Gradually I’ve found
myself performing in public again, many years after leaving my career as a
pianist behind.
In the
London concert on 13 April I am joined by several brilliant musicians (their
origins combine Egypt, Iraq, Iran, Kuwait, Lebanon, Palestine and Turkey)
to launch a website that is part of my current research [www.oudmigrations.com].
The website illustrates how ouds can be keys to unlocking stories of
migration, and how they offer us fresh perspectives on the ever-changing relationships
between Europe, Asia, and North America. The UK’s oldest oud was sent as a gift from the Khedive of Egypt to the South
Kensington Museum in 1867. But Europe’s oldest surviving oud probably arrived in Brussels from Alexandria 28 years earlier,
ordered by a Belgian researcher.
Several
writers will be contributing to oudmigrations.com, so there will be stories
from a range of places and in a range of voices. Please visit to watch the
project develop. More details about the concert will be posted there shortly.
13 April 2016, 19.30 (welcome drinks served from 19.00).
22 Mansfield Street, London W1G 9NR.
All the artists are giving their services
free, ticket prices cover costs only.
Tickets:
Welcome drink and concert: £20 (students and under-18s £10)
Welcome drink and concert, drinks and canapés after: £30 (students and
under-18s £20) Book by email – boas22m AT
btinternet.com
Rachel Beckles Willson
