Letter from the Composer

My body of musical work, whether chamber or orchestral, draws on Syrian, American, and Arabic traditions, filtered through my own experiences to compose original works that hopefully speak to all listeners. This album is a colorful amalgamation of folk melodies, traditional Syrian themes, Andalusian muwashahat, and the Aleppian vocal suite known as the wasla, presented in a trio format with Western forms and harmonies.

The unique combination of the Western piano and cello with the Eastern oud both highlights my aims as a composer and speaks to my desire to preserve and protect the authentic sounds of the ancient maqamat. The collaboration with Alsiadi, who studied under the master oudist Nadim Al Darwish, son of Ali Al Darwish, gives the listener a rare opportunity to hear the traditional sounds of Syria in new, colorful oud techniques. 

In the East, the term oud designates in a generic way a category of lutes with variable sizes, proportions, and sounds, though it has a smaller neck and no frets. This large family of lutes spreads throughout the Turkish and Arab world. The popularity of the oud derives on the one hand from its simplicity, and on the other from the fact that its different striking techniques can throw into relief the simplest melodies. The oud, which in certain cultures is also dedicated to devotional and sacred music, can be considered an extension of the soul—a medium through which to convey inner states and emotions that defy expression through words.

I grew up in Syria with the sounds of church bells, calls to prayer from minarets, folk songs, oud improvisations, and chants of ancient melodies, but I was also listening to live concerts and recordings of the masters of Western classical music that my parents loved. Art both reflects and shapes the human condition, and my hope is not only to preserve the rich history and beauty of Syrian culture but to engender peace and humanity through music. The Malek Jandali Trio, which I formed in 2011, continues its message of unity, harmony, and peace through this album, The Jasmine Tree.

The Music 

An album named for its opening work, The Jasmine Tree offers “an increasingly rare opportunity to turn within and appreciate firsthand the lost sounds of authentic Syrian music,” says Jandali. He is inspired by “the melodic breaks of the traditional art of taqasim that represent the purest expression of the maqam music system in the Levant, reflecting its rich history, theory, practice, and spirituality.” In Arabic music, a maqam (plural maqamat) is a set of notes with traditions that define relationships between them, habitual patterns, and their melodic development. The nearest Western equivalent is the system of modes. Many maqamat include notes that can be approximated with quarter tones, although they are rarely the precise quarter tones that fall exactly halfway between two semitones. Jandali used Western notation for the album’s compositions, with the understanding that the exact tuning of each note in the oud might vary with each maqam.

The Jasmine Tree 

The old neighborhoods of the ancient cities of Aleppo, Damascus, and Homs echo with memories of authentic Syrian music and Arabic maqamat, as well as with the perfume not only of orange and lemon trees but of the distinctive fragrance of the beautiful white jasmine flower. “Yasmine” in Arabic, the jasmine flower is soft, feminine, romantic, and so luminous that it seems to glow in the moonlight. Damascus, known as the “city of jasmine,” is the oldest continuously inhabited capital in the world, known for centuries as a cultural hub of the region.

Says Jandali, “As a child I would string together necklaces of jasmine flowers for my mother and grandmother, and even now the scent brings back these special memories of my youth in Syria. In Farsi ‘yâsamin’ means ‘gift from God,’ and one of God’s gifts to me has been my beautiful wife Yasmine and our daughter Maya who inspired this album and to whom it is dedicated.”

Beginning with alternately dramatic and introspective phrases in the piano, Jandali builds to the entrance of the rhythmically distinct main melody in 5/4 meter. The oud takes over, soon joined by the cello, and the three instruments engage in imaginative contrasts of homophony and interplay, with the main melody returning periodically.

The Jasmine Tree incorporates the authentic Saba maqam on F in the oud taqasim of Alsiadi. Ethereal passages and a grand pause bring on the first of Alsiadi’s own imaginative improvisations, which skillfully integrate a number of maqamat on variations of the work’s basic motives.

Willow Wind

The weeping willow with its graceful, cascading branches has long been identified in various cultural contexts with deep human emotions. In its native China, the weeping willow symbolizes immortality, and its wreaths were thought to protect their wearers from poison. Branches of these water-loving trees were used in China to perform rainmaking ceremonies, and ninth-century Chinese gardener Ji-Cheng wrote, “The curving bay of willows in the moonlight cleanses the soul.”

In Ireland, the willow is traditionally thought to inspire people to dance, leading to its use to construct harps. Weeping willows have also been associated in Syria with sorrow and forsaken love, and have inspired many Arabic poems and songs. The weeping willow has sheltered farmers, and shepherds have used its branches for guiding flocks. In the ancient Sumerian epic, Gilgamesh heroically cut down the huluppu tree, often said to be a willow—which had been taken over by a snake, a mischievous Zu-bird, and “maid of desolation” Lilith—so that Inanna, queen of heaven, could use its wood for furniture after having carefully tended it for that purpose. Perhaps Gilgamesh would not have cut it down had he known of its healing power, for its bark is rich in salicylic acid, a key component in aspirin.

Jandali drew his inspiration for this piece from all these memories and stories as well as the first collection of Chinese-American poet Arthur Sze, The Willow Wind, which aims to capture the vast spectrum of emotions represented by the willow. Jandali derives his two main themes from ancient Syrian melodies from Homs and Aleppo, presenting them in imaginatively scored variations.

To Youth

Energetic, rhythmic, and full of surprises, To Youth was inspired by the poem of the same name by Sarojini Naidu (1879–1949), who was a distinguished poet, renowned freedom fighter, and one of the great orators of her time. Famously known as Bharatiya Kokila (The Nightingale of India), she began writing poetry and plays at the age of twelve. Her first collection of poems, The Golden Threshold, was published in 1905. Her 1916 meeting with Mahatma Gandhi sparked her interest in India’s fight for freedom. Naidu’s words as interpreted muscially by Jandali resonate with the current noble quest of the Syrian youth for freedom, democracy, and peace. The composer draws on a traditional Syrian folk tune, skillfully integrating the Nawa Athar maqam, while the oud unexpectedly features the Sikah maqam on G.

To Youth

O YOUTH, sweet comrade Youth, wouldst thou be gone?

Long have we dwelt together, thou and I;

Together drunk of many an alien dawn,

And plucked the fruit of many an alien sky.

Ah, fickle friend, must I, who yesterday

Dreamed forwards to long, undimmed ecstasy,

Henceforward dream, because thou wilt not stay,

Backward to transient pleasure and to thee?

I give thee back thy false, ephemeral vow;

But, O beloved comrade, ere we part,

Upon my mournful eyelids and my brow

Kiss me who hold thine image in my heart.

The Moonlight

Jandali based The Moonlight on one of the oldest songs in Islamic culture, “Tala‘ al-Badru ‘Alaynā,” which dates back more than 1,400 years. The people of Madinah received the Prophet Muhammad with this song, a sign of the value that the first Muslims placed on art and music in their daily lives. The piece features the Nahawand maqam, beginning quietly but winding up to a powerful conclusion. The solo oud section presents the original tune in its authentic sound and maqam with an elegant improvisation and variations on the main melody.

The full moon rose over us

From the valley of Wada‘

And it is incumbent upon us to show gratitude

For as long as anyone in existence calls out to God

O our Messenger (Emissary) amongst us

Who comes with the exhortations (good advices/commandments) to be heeded

You have brought to this city nobility

Welcome you who call us to a good way

At Dusk

Natasha Trethewey’s collection of poems, Native Guard—in particular At Dusk—provided the impetus for this composition. The nineteenth poet laureate of the United States, Trethewey was awarded the Pulitzer Prize in Poetry for this 2006 collection, which contains elegies to her mother, who died while Trethewey was in college, and a sonnet sequence in the voice of a black soldier fighting in the Civil War. Dramatic pauses and bold fragments play a significant role in the piece’s striking effect, since they interrupt the rocking flow. Occasional piano cascades and a delicate music box–like texture at the conclusion add to the piece’s allure. 

At first I think she is calling a child,

my neighbor, leaning through her doorway

at dusk, street lamps just starting to hum

the backdrop of evening. Then I hear

the high-pitched wheedling we send out

to animals who know only sound, not

how they sometimes fall short.

In another yard, beyond my neighbor’s

sight, the cat lifts her ears, turns first

toward the voice, then back

to the constellation of fireflies flickering

near her head. It’s as if she can’t decide

whether to leap over the low hedge,

the neat row of flowers, and bound

onto the porch, into the steady circle

of light, or stay where she is: luminous

possibility—all that would keep her

away from home—flitting before her.

I listen as my neighbor’s voice trails off.

She’s given up calling for now, left me

to imagine her inside the house waiting,

perhaps in a chair in front of the TV,

or walking around, doing small tasks;

left me to wonder that I too might lift

my voice, sure of someone out there,

send it over the lines stitching here

to there, certain the sounds I make

are enough to call someone home.

Piano Dream

Piano Dream, originally a piano and orchestra work for Jandali’s 2008 album Echoes from Ugarit, appears here in a new trio arrangement. The piece may evoke a Bach toccata with its red-blooded chromatics and quirky Baroque turns and ornaments. The composition opens with a running piano accompaniment, which for Jandali indicates the inner voice of the heartbeat of time. There are feelings of rushing, nonstop activity, and agitation. “Imagine,” says Jandali, “a Venetian merchant in the sixteenth century visiting the ancient Syrian bazaars, experiencing in awe its vivid colors, rich spices, and exotic sounds. There is a mischievous feeling, but also one of grace.”

Darwish

This piece honors Syrian composer and renowned scholar Ali Al Darwish of Aleppo (1882–1952), who was a pioneer in archiving and notating Syrian and Arabic music to preserve its rich heritage. The main theme, introduced by the oud, is based on Samaii Nahawand, whose original rhythmic structure is intricate and mesmerizing. Containing ten beats to the bar, it calls for a specific beat pattern in the accompanying percussion, here introduced by the pizzicato of the cello. Jandali particularly highlights the cello’s singing quality in this piece, which comes to a lovely peak involving delicate interplay of all three instruments before subsiding gently.

With Passion

Medieval Sufi mystic Jalāl ad-Dīn Rūmī (1207–1273), popularly known simply as Rūmī, was a Persian poet, jurist, Islamic scholar, and theologian, whom Time magazine has called “the most popular poet in America.” The Big Red Book—Rūmī’s poetic masterpiece and one of the classics of world literature—as well as other collections such as The Essential Rumi, have made Rūmī one of the best-selling poets in America to this day. Allegorically, Rūmī’s work aims to transport the reader to a higher ground of consciousness, awareness, and unity with his fellow human beings. Jandali finds special significance in the poem With Passion, one of Rūmī’s most popular, as it speaks to his own passion for preserving the beautiful culture of Syria, the birthplace of both the alphabet and of music notation.

The only work on the album for piano and oud alone, With Passion features the two instruments in a dialogue that draws on traditional Syrian folk tunes and songs of the region as well as ancient melodies from Mesopotamia. In medley fashion, the two instruments touch on some rare maqams such as Suzidil, Awj, Iraq, Rahat Al Arwah, Nikriz, Rast, and Busalik, combining the quarter tones of the oud with the harmonic patterns of the piano. Jandali incorporates into his dialogue motives from Aleppian Muwashahat and traditional folk songs such as “Ya Toyoura Tayra” (Flying Birds). Jandali and Alsiadi treat this musical dialogue with poetic sensitivity and nobility.

With passion pray.

With passion make love.

With passion eat and drink and dance and play.

Why look like a dead fish

in this ocean of God?

—Notes by Jane Vial Jaffe with Malek Jandali