Sirventès
Mahdis Golzar Kashani
And the Moses Drowned (2017)
Nina Barzegar
Vulnerable (2018), for solo cello
Nasim Khorassani
Growth, for string trio (2017)
Niloufar Iravani
The Maze, for string quartet (2017)
Anahita Abbasi
Sirventès, for cello and percussion (2017)
Mina Arissian
Suite for Cello (2020)
Katherine Bormann, Alicia Koelz (violins), Eliesha Nelson (viola), Brian Thornton, Amahl Arulanandam (cello), Nathan Pepitas (percussion)
Callisto Quartet
rec. 2021/22, Cleveland, USA; Torontom, Canada
New Focus FCR367 [61]
There are many fine CD covers these days; yet, beautiful as many covers are, few of them say so much about the music contained on the disc inside and its wider significance as this one does. This cover design is by Deniz Khateri, an Iranian-born artist, designer, actress (and much else) based in the USA. The cover contains the title of the disc Sirventès and the important information that the disc contains music by members of the Iranian Female Composers Association, which was established in 2017 by Anahita Abbasi, Niloufar Nourbaksh and Aida Shirazi. Visually, however, the cover is dominated by a remarkable image of a woman without facial features, whose body has the form of a stringed instrument, perhaps a cello, and whose long black hair streams across the larger part of the cover. Even those who have no special interest in Iran will be aware that in recent years the Islamic Government of Iran has sought to force all its female citizens to keep their hair covered in public and that many brave women have resisted the government’s attempts to enforce this law through its so-called Morality Police. Hundreds have been imprisoned and often tortured, while more than a few have been killed. This image of loose, unbound hair becomes, in this context, a forceful (albeit non-verbal) comment on the current oppression of women in Iran (and, of course, in many other countries too).
I have enough knowledge of Farsi (the language of Persia/Iran), to be able to recognise that behind, among, and at the extremities of the strands of hair in the cover image there are some letters and words in Persian calligraphy, but I have insufficient knowledge to be able to read them with any confidence. For that I turned to my Iranian wife (a widely published writer on Persian poetry); she tells me that there is ‘hidden’ a phrase which might be translated thus “this is the story of your tresses”. This imitates an idiom common in medieval Persian poetry and may perhaps be taken from a specific text. Whatever the exact source, it further emphasises the importance of the hair in the context of contemporary Iran.
The other word which appears on the cover is the disc’s title Sirventès, which is also the title of the composition by Anahita Abbasi which is recorded here. The sirventès was a genre of medieval French poetry and song. The entry on the term in The Princeton Encyclopedia of Poetry and Poetics (4th edition, 2012, p.1309) says that the term refers to “a poem in medieval Occitan … [whose] main themes are politics and current events”, which encourages further the belief that we should approach these works by contemporary female composers from Iran as more or less indirect comments on the political and social circumstances of their fellow women in Iran; some sources suggest that such poems pretended to represent the views of the underprivileged, which is also relevant in this context). In the note on her piece Sirventès, Anahita Abbasi refers to the origins of the term and goes on to relate it to Iranian traditions, “A sirventès is in some ways very similar to the storytelling tradition in the old Persia (current Iran). Iranian myth-telling [naqālī] has long played an important role in society … In this piece, the composer is the storyteller whose work is inspired by these origins and characteristics. It is an illustration of a ritual and the dialogues between two characters. With the repetitions and patterns, the bell ring, and the use of frame drum, the piece unfolds its abstract poem form to an intimate dialogue exploring the idea of touch”. For several reasons, Abbasi’s piece makes a good place to begin consideration of the music itself, after my long introduction which seemed to me necessary if the music was to be heard in the context from which it is, I believe, inseparable.
Abbasi’s score draws both conventional and unorthodox sounds from the instrumentalists. The sense of a ‘ritual’ is often present. One is tempted to observe that the gathering of women protesters and of their being confronted by violent repressive forces on the streets of Iran ‘s cities has become a ‘ritual’ of sorts in the last twelve (or more) months. If one ‘reads’ the music in this way, then it is tempting – but it is probably an over-simplification – to hear in some passages the cello as the voice of yearning and pain among the female protesters and in the percussion the violent forces opposing them and causing further suffering. But, as is the case with any work of art which is not mere propaganda, one can hear other significances too, one of which is suggested in the composer’s own words, when she describes this work as “an intimate dialogue exploring the idea of touch”. It is certainly a work which demands – and rewards – attentive listening, especially when played by musicians as perceptive as cellist Amahl Arulandam and percussionist Nathan Petipas.
Another work of striking quality is the one which opens the disc, And the Moses Drowned by Mahdis Golzar Kashani. Kashani is based in London and, like Abbasi, is a pianist-composer. Her initial degree in Iran was in engineering, though she followed musical studies alongside that degree, going on to complete a Masters in Composition at Teheran’s Art university in 2012. Some readers may have been fortunate enough to hear her song-cycle The Phoenix at the 2023 Oxford International Song Festival – a work setting poems by the Persian Poets, Rumi, Sadi and Hafez. In And the Moses Drowned, the specific occasion of the composition is detailed by the composer’s note in the booklet: “One in every five fallen civilian bodies in the Syrian war was smaller than the others. One in every five ascending souls was lighter than the others. This piece is dedicated to the memory of the more than 25,000 smaller bodies and lighter souls”. Reading these words and hearing this music as I write this review (in November 2023) it is difficult not to have before one’s eyes and imagination the thousands of children slaughtered in Gaza. And the Moses Drowned carries a specific dedication to “Aylan Kurdi and all innocent children fallen victim to the war”. It is a measure of how soon we forget even the most horrible of events that I had (shamefully) to confirm my uncertain memory that this reference was to the two-year-old Syrian Kurdish boy who was drowned off the coast of Turkey in 2015, along with his older brother and his mother, as the family tried to escape to Greece. Scored for string quartet, And the Moses Drowned is in four short sections, played without a break, marked ‘Largo, Espressivo’, ‘Vivace, Con Brio’, ‘Lento, Con Moto’ and ‘Vivace, Con Brio’. In this performance the work lasts just under fourteen minutes. It makes for profoundly moving and, in places, painful listening, but there are moments when something of a child’s innocent joy is heard. In the section marked ‘‘Lento, Con Moto’ it is as if some degree of dignity is restored to young Aylan. This is a memorable piece (both for the skill of the composer and for its emotional weight and power).
Also written for string quartet is The Maze by Niloufar Iravani. The surname of this composer suggests that her family background may be Armenian, since it could be glossed as ‘coming from Irevan’ (i.e Yerevan). Iran has, since at least the 1600s, been home to a substantial Armenian community. While The Maze is a sophisticated and well-made piece, I find it less exciting and thought-provoking than the works already discussed; it is in three movements – ‘Energetic’, ‘Lyrical’ and ‘Mysterious’. The lively first movement, in triple time, is “inspired by the Phrygian mode” (quoted from the booklet note on the work, which I assume to be the work of the composer), the second is “based on three collections of the octatonic scale”, while the last movement “is an homage to Charles Ives Unanswered Question. In all three movements there are interesting developments of themes and subtle variations of texture. All three movements have their distinctive emotional registers: the first is full of excitement and happy eagerness, the second speaks of weariness and anxiety, while the last is shot through with feelings of troubled apprehension and anxiety. What I miss, however, is the kind of extra-musical passion which characterises some of the other works on this disc; but perhaps I am being unfair – it might be argued that in moving from excited hope to anxiety and apprehension, The Maze traces the experience of the brave women who have continued to demonstrate and resist on the streets of Iran’s cities and their sense of being trapped. I hope that, even recognising that possible interpretation, it isn’t unfair to describe The Maze as ‘academic’ – having been an academic for some fifty years this is a word I use not as an insult, but to recognise both a learned competence and certain kinds of limitation.
It is for string trio that Nasim Khorassani writes in Growth. Essentially self-taught, Khorassani was already writing music of her own before she had reached the age of ten. In 2016 she left Iran for the USA, where her work has been performed quite widely. According to the CD booklet and her own website, she is currently a Ph.D student (in composition) at the University of California at Santa Cruz. The booklet note on Growth (presumably by the composer) reads thus, in its entirety: “Growth is a cell constructed by B, C, D, and E flat, growing and expanding.” Violin, viola and cello constantly change roles as the piece develops, each being foregrounded at different times, so that the texture of the music is constantly shifting, across the seven minutes that it lasts. A sense of foreboding is evident through much of the piece, a sense of ‘changes’ that are fated to end in disappointment and tragedy. The ‘cell cycle’ is essential to life, but cells can, unfortunately, become cancerous. This is also true, metaphorically of the ‘body politic’. I suspect that in Growth some of the changes we hear are generated by a pre-planned process, while others are the product of the composer’s instinct or intuition. Certainly, Growth is ‘about’ (perhaps one should say it ‘enacts’) growth within or against constraints – which, in this context, would carry clear political/cultural relevance. However one chooses to ‘understand’ it verbally, Nasim Khorassani’s Growth, with its concentrated intensity, is both intellectually stimulating and emotionally intense.
The two works so far undiscussed – Nina Barzegar’s Vulnerable and Mina Arissian’s Suite for Cello – are both for solo cello and both are played by Brian Thornton (who apparently ‘curated’ this disc). Nina Barzegar’s note on the composition refers to “the two principal foundations that shape this piece: the vulnerability in Persian music and the vulnerability of human beings. In Persian classical music, the unique delicacy of the modal system, ornaments, intonations, and timbres are characteristics that have inspired my music. For me, the vulnerability of Persian classical music is when a single interval, quarter tone, sonority, or touch can alter the meaning and expression of the music. By being vulnerable, I do not mean being in a position where one can be hurt easily. Instead, I mean experiencing great human emotions: feeling shame, sorrow, gladness, love, belonging, empathy, and embracing who we truly are. Our vulnerability, physical or mental, has fostered connections between us and the world. In this piece, I tried to explore my vulnerability as a woman and the music which is rooted in me”.
Throughout Vulnerable there are dialogues between bowed and plucked passages and between low and middle registers, speaking of an inevitably divided self. Brian Thornton gives us a powerful, yet subtle performance of the work, in which the weight of emotion and the sense of division and fragmentation produce a ‘whole’ which feels like the account of a poignant journey of self- discovery – though this is a journey which has more than autobiographical significance.
Thornton is equally impressive in the work which closes this disc, Mina Arissian’s Suite for Cello. This Suite in three movements is more lyrical in manner than Nina Barzegar’s Vulnerable, being at times almost ‘romantic’ in its discourse. The bulk of the writing requires the use of the bow, pizzicato passages being short and infrequent. In the CD booklet Arissian tells us that “the name of the first movement is ‘Imagine’ and the name of the second movement is ‘desire’. The closing movement seems not to have been given a title. On the strength of her surname, I guessed that the composer has her origins in Iran’s Armenian community. My guess seems to be correct, given that after obtaining a Masters in Composition in Tehran, Mina Arissian went on to study at the Komitas Conservatoire in Armenia’s capital Yerevan. Later she emigrated to Canada, since she “didn’t want to raise [her] kids in Iran. Her Suite for Cello was written during the Covid pandemic, which coincided with her family’s first year in Canada. Given these circumstances, it is not surprising that this Suite should be full of hesitancy and uncertainty, things not being fully resolved even at its close. There is a tremulous quality to much of the music, the product of artistic choice rather than insufficiency. There is a deeply poetic quality to the first movement, shot through with yearning; the second movement draws on some of the same musical materials, but reworks them with a slightly greater sense of positivity, though the hope expressed is deeply qualified. Hope is expressed a little more explicitly in the closing movement, but it is constantly weighed against anxiety and even fear. This is a subtle and complex work, which deals in shades of emotion and expression rather than forceful directness of statement. It says much about the complex emotions of the composer and of many other Iranians, male or female, effectively forced out of their homeland.
All of the music on this disc is well-played and deserves to be heard. The recorded sound is uniformly excellent. While I am sure that anyone with an interest in contemporary chamber music would find much of interest here without necessarily having any awareness of its Iranian context, I feel certain that a response to the music is deepened by such an awareness.
Glyn Pursglove
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