Among the Jasmine Trees. Jonathan Holt Shannon

families encourage the study of the “classical” repertoire as part of a heritage-based program of self-enrichment and study not dissimilar to classical notions of adab, polite education, which recommend study of the musical arts (Bonebakker 1988). One prominent Aleppine family includes members who, though all accomplished in music and the arts, earn their livings through more “respected” professions, such as medicine and engineering; for any one of them to become a professional musician would be unthinkable. I was often suspect because of my association with musicians and their domains, such as the Artists Syndicate, which conjures ignoble connotations of dancers and night clubs in the minds of elites ignorant of the syndicate’s important role in Syrian arts. My position as a foreign researcher, though anomalous because of the subject matter, allowed me to retain some status in the eyes of suspicious elites; my focus on the “classical” repertoire and not the contemporary pop song assuaged their concerns. Paradoxically, the great Arab musicians and especially singers are praised and enjoyed on a daily basis, but nevertheless the upper classes do not consider music to be a noble profession. Acting and to some extent even painting also are frowned upon. This is especially the case for women artists, whose activities are suspect in the eyes of conservative members of society, elites and others.

      With respect to religious views on music, during my research I encountered individuals who told me that Islam prohibits music and that I might be better off leaving it alone. I recall attending a mawlid (a religious celebration, lit. “birthday”) held for a young man who had successfully passed Syria’s rigorous baccalaureate examination, a prerequisite for admission to university. A group of three munshid-s were invited to recite the Qurān and present some religious song. Afterward, I spoke with the main vocalist about his training and experience in religious song. He proudly stated that his golden voice was a gift of God so that he could better proclaim His praises. In fact, he claimed that while he was in London studying dentistry, many “unbelievers” (kāfir-s) had converted upon hearing his voice. He then took me aside and said, with some concern, that once I completed my study of music I should devote my life to something more “serious” and not let this interest lead me away from “the Straight Path” (that is, Islam). When I offered that many devout Muslims also have an interest in music and some in fact are performers, he stated that then they are headed for Hell because, according to Islam, only the human voice (ṣawt) and the frame drum (daff) are allowable, citing a well-worn Prophetic saying (ḥadīth) to support this claim. Musical instruments of all other varieties, he stated, are “forbidden” and should be broken.

      A young hotel worker also claimed that I was endangering my soul by studying music and learning to play the oud. When I asked him about the fate of great Arab musicians such as Umm Kulthūm and Muḥammad Abd al-Wahhāb, both of whom had strong religious training, he shook his head and said that they will pay a price for their music, that is, on Judgment Day. But many devout people, I offered, consider Umm Kulthūm to be a “munshida” (female religious singer) because of her religious training in Qurānic recitation (tajwīd) and religious song; there are even recordings of her reciting the holy text. “The female voice is an imperfection [al-ṣawt al-unthawī awar],” he stated in a mechanical drone, as if reciting from memory, “and Umm Kulthūm will suffer for her singing and recitation of the Qurān.”²⁸

      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