Among the Jasmine Trees. Jonathan Holt Shannon

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      However, other Aleppine artists who consider themselves devout Muslims argue that the above views are excessive and that those who hold them are rigid extremists (mutazammitīn). For my teachers, all of whom were raised in religious families and served at different times in their lives as muezzins (those who give the Muslim call to prayer) and munshid-s, it is more the context of musical performance and less the music per se that determines its permissibility, though the type of music performed is also an important factor. If performed in a “respectable” venue—one defined tautologously as a place where “respectable” people would go—then music is something allowable (masmūḥ) in Islam. That is, it must be performed in a place where no alcohol is served, dancing is limited or non-existent, and where men and women do not mix in a socially unacceptable fashion. Examples of “respectable” venues include the Citadel’s amphitheater, Aleppo’s few public theaters and concert halls, the ancient caravansaries that are being renovated as performance spaces, and the private homes of “respectable people.”

      With few exceptions, those musicians and “respectable people” who denounce “vulgar” music decry Aleppo’s night clubs as disreputable venues because they serve alcohol and cater to listeners’ carnal rather than spiritual interests. One leader of a heritage-style ensemble, when I praised the voice of a promising young singer, told me that he would like to have that singer join his ensemble but since the young man performs in a cabaret he cannot allow him to join his group. Performing in the cabarets is definitely ḥarām from this musician’s standpoint. Of course, from the perspective of the young singer and others who make a living performing in the cabarets, such work is permissible because it allows them to survive and provide for their families, especially in the absence of alternative “respectable” venues. One friend who performs in a cabaret claimed to earn approximately $800 a month performing six nights a week in a cabaret. By comparison, a university professor might earn $150 to $200 per month. Though they recognize that the atmosphere of the cabarets usually is not conducive to proper Islamic behavior nor very healthful, many of these performers claim to be at least as devout as those who spurn the cabarets.

      However, repertoire is also an important factor in determining the permissibility of music. “Allowable” music usually means the classical repertoire, often including what some term folkloric or popular (shabī) songs. The important criterion is whether the music feeds listeners’ spiritual needs or rather leads to irreligious thoughts and motivations. Most contemporary pop songs are thought to fall in the latter category and therefore are decried by more conservative listeners as immoral, debased, and inappropriate. Yet, many contemporary listeners also take issue with certain songs performed within the context of the classical repertoire, such as songs that are overtly amorous (ghazalī). For example, some consider a well-known song performed by Ṣabāḥ Fakhrī to be inappropriate because it suggests the drinking of wine and irresponsibility.²⁹ While some listeners argue that such songs refer metaphorically to spiritual love or have deeper, Sufi meanings and therefore should be permissible, others argue that the style of the performance makes the difference in deciding whether or not a song is appropriate. For example, an amateur musician found Ṣabāḥ Fakhrīs performances “vulgar” (shāriī, “from the streets,” or sūqī, “from the market”) because he felt that Fakhrī emphasized the profane and not the spiritual aspects of the words.

      Aside from ambiguous Qurānic verses and various examples from the ḥadīth literature concerning music, many of my teachers and friends cited the twelfth-century Muslim jurist al-Ghazzali’s statements on song and dance in his The Revival of the Religious Sciences (al-Ghazzali 1901–1902, 1991) to support their advocacy of a “Golden Mean” or Middle Way between prohibition and unequivocal acceptance of music in Islam. In his writings, al-Ghazzali evaluates the evidence for a prohibition of song and dance and argues, in essence, that so long as song and dance lead the participant to serve Allah, then they are permitted; song and dance that excite only the carnal desires are clearly forbidden. He refers to song and dance with the term samā, which literally means “listening” or “audition” and associated kinesthetic practices, and which in Sufi literature refers to a spiritual audition of sacred truths and not merely listening to music (al-Faruqi 1985/1986; see also Hirschkind 2001, 2004). According to alGhazzali and other Sufi thinkers, samā leads one to Allah if done properly; otherwise it is dangerous and can excite desires and lead to sin.³⁰

      Learning Music in Syria

      I conducted most of my research among intellectuals and artists, including many who consider themselves to occupy a middle-ground position in these debates: devout Muslims who are also practicing professional musicians. Although some Syrians might not have thought my studies to be serious enough, for one reason or another, one prerequisite of my engaging in debates in the field was learning the critical language used by Syrian intellectuals to discuss aesthetic issues. Regarding music, this required that I acquire numerous tapes for different artists, learn to follow the melodies and modulations, appreciate vocal qualities, and differentiate between strong and weak performances. Achieving this aesthetic awareness required intensive study and listening, often carried out in cassette shops over glasses of tea or small cups of coffee. It also meant taking music lessons and learning an instrument. Prior to my arrival in Syria, I had studied the oud for several months in Cairo with a private teacher.³¹ This came about almost as an accident. While studying Arabic in Cairo, I had hoped to get acquainted with more Egyptians in order to learn the local dialect better. I also was pursuing a preliminary investigation into Islamic discourses in non-traditional domains and had decided that musicians might be an interesting group in which to study contemporary forms of Islamic practice and discourse, precisely because of music’s ambiguous status in Islam.

      In Egypt, I learned many of the basic modes and several popular Egyptian songs. I began to appreciate what numerous musicians told me are the three most important elements of a good song: the melody (laḥn), the lyrics (kalimāt), and the performer’s voice (ṣawt). For a song to be good—and also “authentic”—it had to have a strong combination of all of these elements; lacking one of them is enough to make the song or the artist weak, if not “inauthentic.” Despite my studies in Egypt, my understanding of the modes and technical skill on the oud remained limited, due in part to the complexity of the task, my own limitations, and my instructor’s limitations as well.

      Arriving in Syria in the late fall of 1996, I sought an oud teacher and found both a teacher and friend in the Aleppine virtuoso Muḥammad Qadrī Dalāl. Through our intensive sessions on the musical modes, the major genres and history of Arab music, and oud technique—over an hour a day almost every day for several months—I came to appreciate better the subtleties of the music and to become familiar with the terminology and critical discourse of music in contemporary Syria. Nonetheless, much of my fieldwork time in fact was spent convincing Syrians that I, as a foreigner, actually could understand their music and appreciate it. Many Syrian musicians and others expressed the common and not entirely unfounded belief that Arab music is too complex for Westerners and non-Arabs in general to understand; in fact, many Arabs do not understand it. Oftentimes I was told that a period of a year or two or three is insufficient for a non-Arab to understand the music and write anything intelligent about it. Quite accurately, one scholar suggested that I would probably be suspicious of him if he went to America and proposed to write a study of American jazz after only a year or so of study. One would need ten years in order to understand the music and its intricacies, not to mention the language, he suggested (and he had a valid point).

      My

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