Taos

Efrén López Sanz / Stelios Petrakis / Bijan Chemirani
Taos
Buda Musique, 2017


Taos's opening tune, Helicobtir, is easy to love, and a great choice for an opening track. As Efrén has indicated in the liner notes, the term "Helicobtir" is used in some Arabic dialects in Palestine, Lebanon, and Syria to indicate a dragonfly. Undoubtedly, it can also reference the flying machine, and the dualistic nature of the flying machine -- it is a wondrous flight that can evacuate you from trauma, but also, in this era of conflict, can rain down death and destruction. The melancholia of this tune's melody features some wonderful highlighting by Bijan Chemirani, and is ultimately punctuated by solos from both Stelios and Efrén. Efrén's solo features an intriguing moment of slides on fretless guitar (toward the end of the clip below), which seems to be executed by quickly moving within the same general area of tones, but across two different strings. Although Efrén's solo is steeped in sensibilities he's acquired through the study of music from the middle east, there also seems to be an artistic freedom, and an air to it that is reminiscent of beautiful solos in jam tracks such as Pink Floyd's "Cluster One".



Starting with a beautiful intro, the melody of 'Imeres Siopis' is given even more gravitas when it drops a whole step down and is accompanied by the other instrumentalists. Before long, the 'flamenco link' that is discussed in the liner notes is apparent, as the structure of the tune is based on phrygian chord cadences well-used in flamenco music -- i-VII-VI-iv-V; in this case: D minor - C major - B major - G minor 6 - A major. Flamenco fire and duende is in full flow for the finale of the piece.


The first tune inspired by eyes (this time of cats),  'Sîn û zer', is awash with steel-string instrumentation, until it drops its tonic (from E down to D at 1:56) without changing its melody.  Just at the right moment, where the tune's melody evades phrasings in 5/8, the melody and pace leaps into a sprint like a startled deer in the forest.  With Petrakis's flashy Pontic-sounding melodies on the lyra, thus begins a riotous and progressive jam session full of exploration. A highlight of the album is here, in how Mr. Chemirani's wit with rhythm interacts with the melody line. To close the tune, the initial melody gets repeated under this new tonic, almost like a character in a movie plot that returns home a wiser man after many years of insane adventures and travels. Taos's affect is not only a matter of genius musicianship and profound technique -- which all three of these musicians have -- but a matter of arranging that which makes a composition's nature sink its hooks in deep enough to never be removed.


Moving into the realm of Kurdish rhythms is 'To Katehon,' with the shuffle of the daf providing the backbone to the tune after a serene intro solo on the Afghani Rebab. Although the melody line has 4 parts, the real joy of the melody is the latter, where the wisdom of Efrén comes into play. Although melodically sparse, it is the nature of the tremolo within a crescendo of volume that brings a sense of firmness and urgency to the melody.


Stelios' Pentozolis carries on the flame that Efren's Kontylies started, and brings it to newfound levels of riotous energy. The fire behind his bow is even fiercer than what he played when he was younger. Tracks like 'Sitia', from his 2003 album, Akri Tou Dounia, show plenty of speed, but without as much ornamentation as he plays here in his Pentozolis. A Pentozolis is a tune used to accompany a Cretan style of dance, and as such, I would highly recommend that you put any fine dining ware away before dancing. A tune this vivacious ensures that plates and glassware will get broken.


Efren's mastery and experimentation with the Hurdy-Gurdy has given me a respect for the instrument, which I didn't previously have. It's also worth noting the role it plays on the album: the hurdy-gurdy, combined with Petrakis's stringed instruments, offers a sound with a richness that is akin to a chamber orchestra. Although I'm not exactly sure how all the sounds of '100 Ulls' are created, it gives of the vibe of a heavy metal 'orchestra', with a stomping beat -- initially counted in threes, and accenting the first and last of those three beats, like a Scandinavian polska folk dance tune.


And by all means, if you considered the percussion as mere accompaniment, sink your teeth into 'Zayandeh'. Named after a river basin in Iran containing evidence of paleolithic hunters from some 40,000 years ago, Bijan Chemirani's composition on the zarb, daf, and riqq drums is a whirlwind of rhythms, seeming to float around counts of 15 beats. A composition of this depth can take a well-trained musicologist or drummer a couple of weeks to figure out. Efren and Stelios initially provide some nightmarish sounds to given the rhythm some suspense and further its intensity, which eventual culminates into a melody line, and an outro played by Efren on the harp.


Zayandeh's nightmarish atmosphere and storm of drums conspicuously leads to the dream landscape of 'Nekya' -- which is the album's masterpiece by Stelios. Although Stelios's playing is ornate by itself, there is just a moment toward the end of the tune where Efren's harp playing emphasizes notes that allude to a harmony upon the melody. Just a moment, though. Nothing could be a more suitable backdrop for a masterful melody than Chemirani's purring finger rolls on the zarb drum, which gives the tune a weary-but-resilient foundation -- all suitable for the myth of Odysseus, which inspired the tune. In the myth, Odysseus has a death and rebirth, receiving wisdom he needs to return home safely by talking to dead in the Underworld .  The act of consulting with ghosts of the dead is what a Nekya (often spelled "Nekyia") refers to.  One shade of that wisdom is the need to harness the vanity in one's own ego.   As Achilles tells him in the Underworld:
"Let me hear no smooth talk
of death from you, Odysseus, light of councils.
Better, I say, to break sod as a farm hand
for some poor country man, on iron rations,
than lord it over all the exhausted dead."
The works of Joseph Campbell and Carl Jung reference this myth (and other myths or folk stories like it), and indicate the importance of the transformational power that comes with self-awareness.  Such stories are almost always accompanied by a low point of "going deep within" -- a katabasis -- whether Odysseus in the Underworld, or Jonah and the whale, or Dante's Inferno. The immersion leads to the acquaintance with one's shadow, the shattering of some illusions about the self, and the resultant 'more whole' individual.  Within an individual psychological context, Jung had put it:

"Nekyia [is the] introversion of the conscious mind into the deeper layers of the unconscious psyche [...] [It is not an] aimless or destructive fall into the abyss, but a meaningful katabasis ...[with] its objective being the restoration of the whole man..."

During two of the 5 phrases of Nekya's lamentable melody, Efren's harp accompaniment goes silent -- a wise decision, as the modal nature of Stelios' tones ventures into microtonal waters. This also gives extra attention to all of the minute details in Stelios' style: faint ponticello, quick mordants, a fleeting moment of ghostly harmonics, and an attention to volume that is not easy to find elsewhere. Stelios' lyra cries alone, like Odysseus, for two portions of melody during the tune, which perfectly embodies despair. Nekya is a tune that seems to draw out a sense of timelessness -- a sense of old wisdom at work -- and to a certain degree it is reminiscent of Ross Daly's, "χελώνα στο βυθό του κόσμου μάθε με να κινούμαι αργά", or "Tortoise at the bottom of the world, teach me to move slowly."


One observation about the album is how the final tune, Nekya, and the first tune, Helicobtir, have the same tonic note, as if they were cut from the same thread of musical fabric. This also means you could play the album in continuity and feel that the 'story' keeps moving along -- a perfect analogy for the stories and ideas in the album's booklet which indicate where some of the inspiration for the compositions comes from.

Instrumental music may not be everybody's 'thing', but at a certain point in our lives, I don't think some of us listeners feel the desire to be told by a lyricist or vocalist what to think about -- in addition to the presented music. If you've got a good set of ears, the music itself is enough. In the hands of highly-polished, life-long committed musicians, the compositions speak for themselves, and yield a lifetime of enjoyment. In this era of international 'pop tunes' (often created by men in their 60's, sung & performed by women in their 30's, and with lyrics that appeal to the sensibilities of teenagers), I would like to think that we can take the bulk of that material and throw it in the trash, without being reluctant.  The soul and the craftsmanship in albums like Taos makes too strong of a case to be bashful about saying so. This will be yet another goldmine album (in a series of goldmine albums by the trio -- both individually and collectively) for those who reach it. 'Taos' is what results when folk musicians are in their prime.

-Seth Premo

You can find and get regular updates on the Trio of Stelios Petrakis, Efrén López, and Bijan Chemirani on Facebook, and their music is available digitally, but I would recommend buying hard-copies of their albums from the actual publishers, since the liner notes elaborate on the experiences and mechanics at work in the tunes.
Trio Petrakis/Lopez/Chemirani

Trio Chemirani - Dawâr

Trio Chemirani - Dawâr
Harmonia Mundi, 2015




In the world of rhythm, one isn't hard-pressed to find an album of a soloist on percussion instruments.  In America, it is usually student dancers whom adore belly dancing that will seek out various compilations to practice to, like the best-selling "Bellydance Superstars."  Others who buy percussion albums (often musicians) acclimate themselves with world percussionists as a way of studying new rhythmic forms, with some aspiring to carve out their own niche and understanding in the world of hand drums.  The result of having mostly these two areas of public focus is that America gets a limited selection, and so we have a very limited understanding & appreciation of the social, spiritual, and historical role of traditional drumming throughout the world.  If you want proof of that, ask your average American what tabla tarang is, or what instruments are traditionally played in a Persian Zurkhaneh.

Of these two categories of percussion music we get in the west, the purpose-driven Raks Sharqi albums for dancers to practice to grow old fast, with their malfoufs in every tempo from 90 - 210 beats per minute.  But then again, the soloist's albums get old quick, too: their dizzying energies, endless finger tricks on drum heads, and excessive overdub result in the kind of experience that makes you want to shut it off after listening to a mere two or three tracks.  The album is so busy that you very quickly begin to appreciate the idea of silence.  These soloist albums can often feature very odd or complicated time signatures.  Although complex rhythms are great as a demonstration of skill, if a drummer isn't careful, a tune in a 22 or 9 1/2 beat cycle can be smothered of having any sentiment, as the oddity of it gives the audience nothing to latch on to or anticipate.

And then there's that other kind of album... where little knowledge or skillset is applied by neo-hippies who have fallen in love with the idea of themselves group-hugging the world through embracing its instruments.  Often in this context, a monotonous rhythm is played over and over again while singers lackadaisically chant something like:
"Peace, love, and toleraaaaance... Tolerance, peace and looooove...
Two heaping cups of peace with 3 tablespoons of looooove...
And don't forget to knead your toleraaaaaaaance...
While you preheat the peaceful oven of looooooove."
And then they pass out from hypoxia, slumping over their harmoniums and djembes, face-planting into their Chinese-made Persian rugs, almost knocking over their bong.  True story.  I tend to stay away from those albums.  One can usually tell (before purchasing) which albums have that flavor about them -- especially if you look at the back of the CD and see that the instrument(s) attributed to the percussionist(s) is in vague terminology like "hand percussion" or "drums".

Fortunately, The Chemirani Trio albums never have any of the above-listed problems, no matter what instruments they pick up, and no matter what albums they appear on.  It could be due to the fact that the senior member, Djamchid, is the father of the other two, and a master who had learned from a master while living in Iran.  It could be due to the fact that, over the last few decades, each member has collectively and individually been involved in projects that worked with masters of folk traditions all over the globe -- to such a degree that they might soon run out of actual folk musicians to work with, and they'll release an album of collaboration with Antarctic penguins.
Whatever the reason, the Trio have a way of making drumming that feels like poetry.  Similar to all of the albums that preceded it (but most comparable to the albums Qalam Kar or Trio de Zarb), Dawâr is the type of recording that commands attention.  Some tracks start with a base rhythm, but it is also common for there to be no static back-drop to the opening rhythms of the compositions.  In these compositions, the track starts as a bit of a mystery for the listener, with the goal being to find the rhythmic cycle, and watch it develop.

The idea of three people playing the zarb or daf (circular frame drums with brass rings hanging from the interior) at the same time affords interesting opportunities, even though the idea might sound a bit redundant at first.  Firstly, with the drums tuned differently (as in "Adjab"), little melodies emerge from the integration of rhythmic patterns passed back and forth between the drummers.


The fact that they're all playing an instrument with approximately the same register requires the Chemirani Trio to be very judicious in who is using what space, and when.  One might say that this is one of the dominant themes in their compositions: moments of syntony highlighted with elaborate interlocking patterns -- as evident in "Mochaéré":


Patterns unfold in layers of purring finger rolls, tonal pops, and klacks, like a soundtrack to the unraveling of an ancient clock, revealing elaborate wooden mechanical cogs.  These superimposed but differing patterns are used as a clever vehicle to switch a composition's main rhythmic motif entirely, as this excerpt from "Attar" illustrates:
 

Regarding the zarb (or tombak) drum itself, it is not a drum like the Egyptian tabla/dumbek or Turkish davul, loudly and instantaneously cutting through the air like a bullet.  Similar to the nature of a stringed instrument in a western orchestra, the stress of a zarb is audible when it's played loudly or carelessly -- usually evident in strong overtone ringing or an imbalance in the bass tone of the drum.  For best results, zarbs require a level of finesse, and to do the instrument justice on a recording or performance, they need to be well-mic'ed.  The Trio wield the drum's sensitivity as an asset, playing it like an instrument for chamber music.  As this excerpt from the 10-beat cycle of "Shékasté" demonstrates, Djamchid, Keyvan, and Bijan Chemirani are all very capable of cutting up a time signature, but they are conservative in their application of such soloist sensibilities.  They seem to prefer letting other elements of the music be illuminated: the empty spaces between phrases, a keen attention to dynamics, and witty interaction between the players throughout the drum patterns.  What starts off as a 10-beat pattern divided 3+2+2+3 migrates into 2+2+3+3 (at some point after this excerpt):


Although drumming is probably the first thing that comes to mind with the Chemirani, their projects over the years show a recurring theme of reverence for traditional Persian poetry, and the application of it within the context of their drumming.  For at least a couple of projects (dubbed "The Rhythm of Speech"), the Chemirani trio drew rhythmic inspiration from the poetry of Persian, Indian, and African traditions.  A taste of this exists in four tracks on Dawâr as well:


A few of the album's songs also feature saz and santoor, showing they are not reluctant to pick up their traditional stringed instruments when the time calls for it -- which is a very good choice of taste.  An album of compositions for only percussion would create a work suitable for a very limited and esoteric audience.  And as it turns out, one of melodies they play on saz, in "Sahar", is undoubtedly a gem of the album:


Pop artist Sting once opined, "Silence is the perfect music," and that one way of perceiving the goal of a musician is to create a framework around silence.  This backdrop of silence is very evident in a slow-moving baroque-era prelude on lute, or "saz va avaz" with a Persian kemancheh and a vocalist.  Within these forms is a kind of patience with one's own musical expression, evident when melodic phrases or chords are allowed to decay back to silence behind the tones and rhythms of our human ambitions, joys, sorrows, and wonderment brought into vibration. The utilization of silence is almost a reminder of the "nothing" which exists behind the threads of human thought.  Music seems to be at its most poetic when we are using silence instead of burying it.

In much the same way, I appreciate the Trio Chemirani's treatment of the zarb drum as a poetic instrument unto itself, and their use of silence.  This is apparent in every moment where (despite having three players) there may be a period of time where only one person is playing or developing the piece, or at times when the sounds of the drums are allowed come to a halt for a moment, with the tones decaying back to nothing.  This special attention suits the zarb, as the goblet shape of the zarb gives it much melodic potential, and its tones have an interesting wavering nature about them, oscillating slightly -- a quality which is not present in many other drums around the world.  Additionally, the use of natural skin heads gives their finger sweeps a certain texture not attainable on many of todays traditional drums which feature plastic heads.  And finally, I appreciate the Trio as composers who, though being percussionists, do not rush toward the finish line of a tune, subdividing the beat to exhaustion just because they know how to.  The wisdom of their compositions comes from knowing -- musically and artistically -- what should be said, not merely what can be done.
--Seth Premo

Naghmeh Farahmand - Unbound

Naghmeh Farahmand
Unbound

naghmehfarahmand.bandcamp.com

Being a great tombak player is comparable to being a great violinist, in that it requires the same level of conditioning, nuanced placement, and application of the fingers.  Many Eastern traditional percussion instruments have, by their very design, the potential for a great range of sounds.  The rich historical guru branches and diverse techniques built from that have resulted in giving the tombak player a vast lexicon to work with – one that is expanding and being polished by every generation.  This could be why, like the Indian tabla, the tombak is showing resurgence and integration with other folk ensembles outside of the Persian or Kurdish traditions.

Unfortunately, it is not uncommon for the tombak to take a back seat in music for Persian classical ensemble: either playing long phrases that revolve around melody instrumentation and the poetry sung, or in playing repetitive trance-like phrases.  Thus, Unbound is a great title for performance of this context, as most tracks run through phases of rhythms and instrumentation and can change spontaneously.  These changes sometimes add to what’s already there, and other times totally redirect tension to forge a parallel rhythmic sensibility – ultimately combining and culminating what has been built.  The result in being unbound is intimate illumination of the dense, variegated nature of both the player and the instruments.

As a player, Naghmeh has great and consistent technique; as an artist, her playing is marked with clever hooks and phrasings.  Despite being of small origins, the production quality is top-notch, and although Unbound runs shorter than an average full-length album, it is very diverse and does not suffer from “overdub in excess.”  Its nature makes it a great introduction to exotic percussion instruments of the area (for the audiophile), or a great source of inspiration for modern or tribal dance (for dance addict).  Best yet, in making a solo album, Naghmeh is utilizing her artistic license – a passport that could bring her and her playing to a great many new and outside-the-box contexts that both develop her as a musician, and bring forth wonderful fruit to the expectant listener.

-Seth Premo