Like its inspirations, Symphony No. 6 harbors an elaborate interlocking structure. Bookmarked in A-flat major, in which key the first and last movements end, the Symphony comprises three interlaced musical forms—a symphonic suite and two symphonies. One is a Qatari symphonic suite based on traditional folk music and dances using the principal of contrast: Movements II, III, V and VII. Second is a traditional “old-fashioned” symphony of four Movements I, IV, VI and IX. The third combines the first two “symphonies” with Movement VIII, which brings about the grandiose conclusion of the Desert Rose Symphony.

1. Epigraph: Grandioso

A powerful statement, with full orchestra and piano, introduces the “desert rose” theme. 

1. Praise: Con moto

The first of the interlocking movements of the Qatari suite is based on ancient devotional chants that still welcome people of faith to praise and worship. A misaḥḥarātī (wake-up drummer and caller), often accompanied by someone playing a mizmār (reed instrument), rouses people before dawn during the holy month of Ramadan so they can eat saḥūr before prayer and fasting. The tradition reaches throughout the Arab world, though it is disappearing due to technology. The chants feature a free melodic accompanied by a precise rhythmic pattern.

III. The Sea: Allegretto

Here Jandali features Qatar’s most celebrated sea song, “Umm Al Hanaya” (literally Mother of Curves), named for the legendary Qatari dhow that traversed the turquoise waters of the Arabian Gulf, Asia, and South Africa on long journeys in search of precious pearls and goods such as dates. Women sang this song to express their feelings towards the men aboard the ship and the dangers they faced diving for pearls. The jaunty ostinatos lend a sense of adventure while surges of sound suggest waves.

1. Nocturne: Andante

Representing the slow movement of the interlocked “symphony,” Jandali employs the form of a rondo—a recurring refrain interspersed by episodes—to paint the Qatari landscape. He uses a combination of colors and textures based on the harmonic progression of the first movement as his refrain to create the nocturnal atmosphere of sea and desert. The main melodic material in the first episode (oboe, then the atmospheric alto flute) returns in a full orchestra statement before the final refrain. The middle episode with its ethereal violin solo gives an astral ambience to the night scene.

1. Ardah: Moderato

Jandali draws on the unique rhythm and melody of the Qatari Ardah, which men with swords danced to the accompaniment of drums and poetry. Formerly the Ardah displayed the power and unity of a tribe, whereas today celebrations feature this dance as a symbol of Qatari kinship and solidarity. Says Jandali, “I had in mind replacing the swords with the bows of the stringed instruments, which are often made from the tail hair of the finest Arabian horses. Thus, in a symphony for peace the power of music rather than that of the sword makes a plea for unity.”

1. Scherzo: Vivace

This playful movement is based on a lively regional folk tune, “Al Karnakouh,” sung by children celebrating the evening that marks the middle of the holy month of Ramadan. Sacks in hand, they happily collect candy and treats from family and neighbors. The first theme draws again on the harmonies of first movement, and a modified reprise suggests the “da capo” (return to the opening section) of a traditional scherzo.

VII. Fete: Vivace

In the finale of the Qatari “suite” movements, a traditional children’s song, “Al Aydo,” celebrates the unity of a bride and groom’s family using a charming rhythmical pattern. This song inspired the second of the minor-key themes in this movement.

VIII. Paysages: Andante

A set of three paysages, or landscape paintings, was inspired by the Qatari countryside starting with the desert theme that leads to windy sunrise on sand dunes, rain in the oasis, and the Dhal Al Misfir (Cave of Light) where gypsum crystals give rise to desert roses. All three “landscapes” are built on an ostinato pulse (repeating pattern) representing time.

Sudden changes of timbre and the low register of the contrabassoon represents the gloomy atmosphere of a lagoon that lies between the National Museum of Qatar and the nearby Corniche Promenade. The lagoon is enlivened by fountain sculptures by artist Jean-Michele Othoniel that are reminiscent of Arabic calligraphy.

The movement climaxes with the loud dissonant ticking of the everlasting power of time. According to Jandali, “Some of the images that I tried to paint in this and the last movement include Arabian horses, sand dunes, an eagle, a caravan of camels, rain drops in the oasis, and the eternity of time that it takes for nature to create the desert rose.”

1. The Desert Rose: Con moto

Jandali grandly concludes his Qatar “symphony” with an epilogue in the form of a chaconne or passacaglia (a set of variations on a short subject, usually introduced in the bass, but which can weave itself elsewhere into the texture). Based on the first movement’s theme, his five variations represent how very slowly over time the desert creates the astounding beauty of the desert rose.

Adds Jandali, “I created multiple arches by integrating the motives and rhythms of Movement II, the ticking of time from Movement VIII, and a poly-ostinato rhythm by combining both traditional Qatari patterns with the pulse of time. I also replaced one of the variations with an ‘intermezzo’ that fades to silence before the final ‘variation’—a return to Movement I. This final movement contains a total of 539 measures in different time signatures, resembling the exact number of interlocking disks of differing diameters and varying curvatures that comprise the walls and ceilings of Jean Nouvel’s National Museum of Qatar.”

The Desert Rose Symphony amazes on so many levels, just like its models. Driving rhythmic ostinatos contrast with poetic beauty, old interlocks with new, Qatari folk with Western classical, natural with manmade. Through it all runs the voice of hope for peace and unity. 

The symphony was recorded by the ORF Vienna Radio Symphony Orchestra, led by Marin Alsop at the ORF-Funkhaus Wien, on May 15, 2021, just days after its completion. This collaboration between Alsop and Jandali stemmed from Alsop’s commissioning of The Silent Ocean for her contemporary festival in Baltimore after being impressed by the composer’s Syrian Symphony. Says Alsop, “I don’t know of another composer who so successfully weaves in the Arabic, particularly the folk elements. . . . and by bringing that into the symphonic structure and integrating them, opens up a whole new form. Jandali belongs among the superb composer poets of our time. A meaningful voice of quite astonishing, almost unearthly beauty.” 

As to nature’s desert rose, an example of which she was able to touch leading up to the recording sessions, she was struck by its sturdiness. “Seeing the actual desert rose today,” she reported, “made me feel much more connected to our heritage as human beings on the planet. And maybe that’s the goal . . . to find that fundamental connection among all of us as human beings instead of all these superficial things that we have to fight about. So . . . we can aspire.”

Symphony No. 4

Malek Jandali composed his Fourth Symphony in 2020 inspired by the idea of writing for strings only. “I was especially interested in trying to obtain all the colors of the orchestra using a palette of instruments that on the surface seem to present a similar timbre.” His equally important aim was to continue his quest to “preserve and present the rich Arabic musical heritage.”

The work—in D, not minor nor major, simply in D—unfolds in three movements, much like symphonies of the eighteenth century before four movements became standard. Here the scherzo is “missing,” but Jandali ingeniously weaves scherzo elements into Movements II and III.

The first movement features a full sonata form in which, says Jandali, “I had thoughts about war and how it feels—war in the city.” He represents machine gun fire in the initial violin repetitions and the siren of an air raid in a subsequent two-note motive. “The changes of mood,” he says, “are meant to create the strange feeling on the edge of absurd—life so familiar and normal but with war and death so very close.”

Jandali uses all manner of inventive means to achieve his variety of colors, one of which is to present his main theme in a particular kind of unison amid the interjections of “gun fire”—that is, the violas play smoothly while the cellos play the same notes but accented, sometimes joined by the violins. This kind of unison, now called heterophony, dates back centuries both in folk and classical traditions. This theme stems from an old wasla (cycle of vocal or instrumental movements) in the maqām (mode) “Iraq” from the muwashah (poetic/musical form) “Tala Layli” (My Everlasting Night) by the father of Syrian musical theater, Abu Khalil Al-Qabbani (1835–1902). 

Another type of contrast that Jandali uses to great effect is that of solo versus sectional playing. His second theme—derived from an old bashraf (instrumental form) by an unknown composer that was preserved in Syria—enters as a beautiful violin solo.

The development section is remarkable for its wealth of different textures—imitative entries, countermelodies, contrary motion flourishes, and intriguing harmonic juxtapositions—and the recapitulation employs imaginative rescoring that suggests we have come too far on this journey to simply repeat the opening. The ending, with its ethereal upper layer and its underlying rocking pulls at the heartstrings for its illusion of calm. 

The second movement plays the role of a slow movement, though its lyrical moments are constantly interrupted by angry interjections and restless figures. It begins with fragments of a theme from an old Andalusian nawba from Tunisia. At the midpoint, after a series of high trills, Jandali had in mind the image of a leader saying something and the people repeating the last words. After an intense buildup with the first violins piercing the atmosphere in incredibly high register, a section of fascinating contrast ensues when under high sustained tones of three solo instruments, the section violins play a ticking pizzicato (plucking), suggesting the ticking of time, as in the Sixth Symphony. 

The rollicking third movement plays a role similar to those of Borodin and Bartók in the late nineteenth and early twentieth centuries, when they incorporated folk themes infused with their own sensibilities to create a whirlwind finale. There are contrasting quiet passages as well as boisterous ones, such as the many intricate solos for violin, viola, and cello. As in the first movement, Jandali infuses a sense of the absurd with creative distortions of his materials. A supreme example occurs at the end, when after an intense buildup all motion stops, and a quiet oasis appears only to be banished by the return of the frenetic dance. The main theme was inspired by two old Syrian melodies, the first a samā’i (instrumental form) in the maqām “rast” by Iskandar Shalfun (1877–1934) and the second one from “Bashraf Yetkah” (“Yegâh Peşrev”) by Ottoman composer Osman Bey (1816–1885).

Symphony No. 4 was recorded by the ORF Vienna Radio Symphony Orchestra, led by Marin Alsop, in the ORF-Funkhaus Wien on March 3, 2021. In an extended series of recording sessions, they brilliantly brought to life several of Jandali’s symphonic works, which Alsop describes not only as “inspiring” but “very, very challenging.” Of the “very tricky” Fourth Symphony, she praised the players saying, “As they got into it, I saw them starting to move and, you know, it was almost as if it was a freeing experience for them.” Alsop concluded describing Jandali as “a wonderfully gifted artist and a superb composer…his music is intensely passionate, eminently approachable, and filled with sophisticated surprises…music making of the highest caliber.”