We went to a concert earlier this evening – Syrian Sufi music with whirling dervishes. One lead singer, a flute, a zither, a percussionist, two whirlers, and 3 background vocalists. The lead singer was good and had a pleasant voice, and the zither player was very skilled. Some parts of the show were a bit coarse and rough – there was a tendency for the sounds to become indistinct, as the group gravitated towards the “more! louder! faster!” school of music, where a more subtle and nuanced style would have suited better. (They played some taped sufi music after the show, as people were leaving the venue, and the difference in quality was clear: the taped music had a heartbeat-like natural pulse, where this evening’s performers had a harsher feel.) Even so, the concert as a whole was pleasing.

I enjoy many sorts of religious music – gospel, hymns, Russian and Greek orthodox and Gregorian chants, qawwali etc. Music has a different quality when it has a soul, and musicians sound slightly different when they sing/play for their belief and not for money – their commitment and devotion shine through. And I like the calm and weighty feel of chanting.

(The concert venue was, quite fittingly, a converted church: LSO St. Luke’s, in Old Street. It’s a nice space, simple and open. The nave has been opened up completely, and a balcony built along the north and south sides; the stage is towards the East. The walls are bare, and all the large windows with many small panes have been left in place, although they’ve been covered up for some concerts. It should look great from the outside at night.)

I wonder what an Arabic-speaking Muslim would experience in a concert like this. I do not understand any of the content (calling it “lyrics” doesn’t seem entirely appropriate) and I only know purely factually that these are devotional chants. I cannot be part of it the same way as the dervishes are.

And I also wonder what music sounds and feels like in Eric’s head. I know it must be an experience that’s very different from mine. For me, the percussion-backed song / chanting was the best part of the performance – immersive, meditative, passionate. Eric on the other hand enjoyed the zither most, and I could see others in the audience agreeing with him. I found the zither too alien: even though I’ve heard fair amounts of non-Western music, it was too different from what I’m used to hearing, and its music kept slipping out of my grasp. There was nothing that I could recognise as melody or rhythm, and while it made a pleasant sound, I was unable to really appreciate it. Sort of like a babbling brook – pleasant but ultimately not interesting.

Interestingly, about a dozen people left early, at various points during the concert. Did they buy tickets without knowing what Middle Eastern Sufi music sounds like, and find it too strange?

Following from yesterday’s post: I’ve now found the Tom Waits “song” that I was looking for. It was “Russian Dance” from The Black Rider.

I wonder what the theatre show looks like. I’m imagining something dark and bizarre and twisted.

It took me years, literally, to get used to Tom Waits. It’s an acquired taste, sort of like whiskey or spicy food. Give any of those to a child and they’ll spit it out.

In the beginning I really disliked his music, but Eric liked it, so I kept hearing it again and again. With time, I got used to it, and after a while grew to really enjoy it. It grows on you. By now, some of his songs are among my absolute favourites – and I like them even more because in my head they are inextricably linked to Eric. To me, Tom Waits is Eric’s music (not that Eric’s dark and bizarre and twisted!) and listening to them always makes me think of him.

When I’m listening to music – especially live in concert – and close my eyes, the quality of listening changes.

Music becomes immediate and intimate.

With my eyes open, I am an observer. With my eyes closed, I am immersed in the music and filled with it. It becomes closer, intensified, more real. It is like opening a door and letting the music in, instead of viewing it through a window. When my eyes are open, I see the musicians on the stage, and there is a distance between us. I close my eyes, and space and distance disappear. Music fills the space that used to be there. Instead of being in front of me on the stage, it is around me.

But at the same time, it is like closing a door, and closing out everything that is not the music – like darkening a room to make a movie projected on the wall stand out better. Music becomes purified and distilled. The material aspect is removed; music is no longer the result of instruments manipulated by human hands, but pure sound. I no longer hear individual instruments, and even the distinction between the vocal and instrumental components becomes blurred.

It is a timeless state of consciousness and joy, very much like meditation or sex. In fact it is like meditating with music, and puts the mind in a similar state of relaxed focus. Everything external and irrelevant goes away. Rational thought is suppressed; the music bypasses reason and goes straight to the soul. Time disappears. I could not tell you afterwards how long it took or how many songs I heard. Sometimes I cannot even remember the melody.

I only learned today that there is a word for this state of mind in the Indian raga tradition. It is called rasavadhana. (*)

This doesn’t work with all music, of course. It needs to be melodious and not too sharp, and even, as anything too sudden will break the spell. Some Indian music works very well, which isn’t surprising given their focus on this. Minimalist music like Philip Glass or Steve Reich has also worked well, as has jazz such as EST.

And this state is not always desirable, either. Sometimes I want to enjoy the human element – see how the musicians enjoy what they are doing, and see their virtuosity in action. Or to remember the melody and be able to appreciate the music from an intellectual perspective as well.

(*) I heard a concert today – Kronos Quartet and Asha Bhosle.