Читать книгу Among the Jasmine Trees - Jonathan Holt Shannon - Страница 9

Now in the final act,

disaster tows our history

toward us on its face.

What is our past

but memories pierced like deserts

prickled with cactus?

What streams can wash it?

It reeks with the musk

of spinsters and widows

back from pilgrimage.

The sweat of dervishes

begrimes it as they twirl

their blurring trousers into miracles.

—Adonis, from

“Elegy for the Time at Hand”

Maṭla: An Elegy for the Time at Hand

In his “Elegy for the Time at Hand,” the Syrian-born poet Adonis evokes a sense of the modern condition in the Arab world.¹ With lines echoing T. S. Eliot’s The Waste Land, he conjures a bleak vision of a society mired in decay and grief for a withered past. Later in the poem, images of decay and waywardness mix with an almost apocalyptic violence as the Arabs approach what the poet calls “the final act” of their contemporary drama. Facing an eternal “sea” of exile and impotent to shed tears, they utter bootless cries while the salt spray stings their wounds. According to Adonis, “the time at hand” has come, the here and now of the struggle for the future; and yet, in this vision the Arabs respond to impending disaster by escaping to the banality of nostalgia and the solipsistic comforts of mysticism.

Adonis presents a bleak vision of contemporary Arab society, and a deeply cynical view of current responses to the crisis of modernity in the Arab lands. Indeed, the Arabs find themselves living through a period of marked crisis, their aspirations for cultural and social modernity thwarted by lengthy periods of colonialism, postcolonial instabilities, persistent economic stagnation, and crises of political legitimacy. From the struggle for Palestine and the devastation and bloodshed in Iraq, to internal struggles for self-determination from the Maghreb to the Mashriq, Arabs still face numerous challenges in meeting the needs of the present and in articulating visions for the future—one that looms as increasingly uncertain.²

Among the Jasmine Trees investigates how music in Syria shapes debates about Arab society and culture, and how discourses of decline and crisis have shaped music. In doing so I attempt to show how, contrary to Adonis’s bleak vision, many Syrians recover a source of strength and vitality in their cultural heritage in an effort to negotiate a pathway to modernity. In the context of the search for modernity, aesthetic practices such as performing and listening to music come to play an essential role in the elaboration of concepts of personhood, community, and nation. They do so through accessing rich domains of sentiment and affect, which, I argue, play an important role in defining modern subjectivities in Syria today.

In Syria, as around the Arab world, the arts are an important arena for the struggle for the future. These visions increasingly evoke the past, often through discourses of a return to the Arab heritage—a response that Adonis decries in the poem yet that remains powerful in Syria today. The turn to heritage in the quest for an authentically Arab modernity produces in contemporary Syrian art what I call “the aesthetics of authenticity”—practices of cultural creation and consumption that promote the formation of social worlds based on a dichotomy of the authentic, perceived as true and good, and the inauthentic, perceived as false and bad. In aesthetic realms ranging from music and poetry to painting, architecture, and narrative, among others, Syrians find either remembrances of lost glories—of the literary and scientific achievements of Abbasid Baghdad, medieval Cordoba, or early Arabia—or reminders of present failures—of imitation of the West, the loss of traditions, and shattered hopes for the future.

From the early twentieth century through the 1950s, Syrians, like their counterparts in other Arab nations, drew inspiration from the West and embraced many elements of European culture, just as Europe drew enormous inspiration from the Orient, as Edward Said (1978, 1994) has demonstrated. Yet, from the 1960s onward, many intellectuals, politicians, and artists sensed that Westernization simply had gone too far and had led to a loss of local cultural specificity. As one Syrian film critic told me, “In the fifties we used to say ‘kull shī faranjī baranjī’ [Everything from the West is Best], but now things are different. There’s a lot more interest in heritage and old things.” The category of “heritage and old things” does not consist simply in a catalogue of cultural traits and artifacts, such as what one might find in a museum. Understandings of heritage are fluid and contested, and many factors play a role in determining what particular individuals consider to be heritage in the first place. For this reason, heritage might best be understood as a tradition involving collective memories of the past, conceptions of selfhood and social identity, and attitudes toward the future (MacIntyre 1984; see also Kirshenblatt-Gimblett 1995, 1998). In a similar manner, the Moroccan critic Muḥammad Ābid al-Jābrī (1991) suggests that heritage is to Arab society what the autobiography is to the individual. That is, like the individual’s attempt through autobiography to create order from the chaos of a life’s events and experiences, heritage represents Arab society’s attempts to make sense of itself, to find or impose order, and often to round off the rougher edges of what is commonly understood as history.

Different cultural agents use heritage in different ways to support their interests. Self-styled defenders of tradition, for example, tend to emphasize the Islamic aspects of heritage, while cultural modernizers often see these same elements as sources of backwardness and instead emphasize more secular intellectual and artistic domains. Some Syrians reject heritage altogether as an impediment to modernity. For their part, politicians utilize the discourses of heritage and authenticity to promote claims to authority and legitimacy. This often occurs through specific channels of patronage, for example in organizing heritage arts festivals, as well as through forms of censorship that restrict the public sphere.

Yet, Arab fascination with heritage and history, suggests Adonis, has resulted not in its valorization so much as its debasement; now reified as “heritage,” Arab history is being dragged, the poet writes, “on its face” by the disastrous circumstances of the contemporary world. Echoing Adonis, one Aleppine poet remarked, “We walk on our turāth (heritage) as if it were turāb (soil); here there is little respect for the past, and little understanding of it.” According to these poets and others, an overriding interest in the Arab past and the numerous discourses of authenticity and heritage that accompany it have not led to a sought-for reawakening—instead, it merely has produced another form of cultural slumbering (see Mbembe 1992, 2001).

Another way of understanding cultural “slumbering” is as a crisis of cultural confidence—what Adonis has described as a “double dependency” on the Arab past and on the Euro-American present for cultural models because of a lack of Arab creativity in the present (1992: 80). Evidence for this abounds in contemporary Syrian culture. From modern poetry to architecture, painting, and music, the glories of Arab civilization are considered by many Syrian commentators to be long faded as novel genres, many inspired by European cultural forms, dominate the cultural scene today. Decay, if not decadence, tends to be a prominent theme in discussions of Syrian culture, and music has come to occupy a prominent position in current debates about the present course of Arab society and its future prospects. Six centuries ago, the Andalusian scholar Ibn Khaldūn argued that music serves as a barometer of social-cultural change—prophesying cultural upswings and declines.³ How can the crisis of contemporary Arab culture be heard in its musical forms? What might the turn to heritage in all its aspects, including the musical, indicate? Can it bring forth new currents of thought and give new directions to Arab society in the twenty-first century?

Poetry is the supreme art of the Arab peoples, with a rich history and vibrant contemporary presence. Indeed, modern Arab poets are somewhat akin to American rock stars and it is not uncommon for a reading by such well-known poets as Adonis or Mahmoud Darwīsh to draw crowds in the thousands. Music has been closely allied with poetry from pre-Islamic times to the present, with shared oral aesthetics of performance and listening, and shared roles in the construction of modern subjectivities around the Arab world (see Racy 2003). For that reason, the twentieth-century Egyptian diva Umm Kulthūm could rise to prominence not only as the “voice of Egypt,” as Virginia Danielson (1997) shows in her important study, but in many ways the voice of the Arab people more generally, and of their aspirations. Both because it has a distinguished place in Arab cultural heritage and because it is the most popular, accessible, and portable of artistic media, music engages and orients debates about culture and society in Syria and is an essential player in how the past is used to authenticate and thereby legitimate various contemporary cultural practices. Popular music in its many varieties is easily the most widely listened to music in Syria as elsewhere in the Arabic-speaking Middle East. The music associated with high culture and the classical Arabic language—what some might call “classical Arab music”—has more limited popular appeal, though many Syrians would acknowledge its symbolic weight and importance. Yet, because of its associations with tradition and heritage, the music offers a rich cultural space in which performers and listeners mutually construct “authentic” aesthetic experience, and at the same time mutually construct what it can mean to be modern in Syria today.

Aesthetic practices such as music need to be understood not only as art forms but as mediating practices that promote modern conceptions of self and society. While these conceptions are related on some levels to European ideologies, Syrian artists and cultural brokers deploy them as critical alternatives to European modernity in what some scholars are calling a quest for alternative or counter modernities.⁴ The construction and evaluation of authenticity in musical performance engage with much broader and deeper debates about culture and the nation that are at the heart of postcolonial aesthetics in a variety of contexts.⁵ For many Syrian musicians and music lovers, modernity consists not so much in European techno-rationality, but rather in a cultural realm animated with spirit and sentiment, and expressed through a discourse of the emotions. “Oriental spirit” (rūḥ sharqiyya), “emotional sincerity” (ṣidq), and “musical rapture” (ṭarab), among other terms, not only describe musical aesthetics but also promote conceptions of personhood, community, and nation that need to be thought of as posing a counter-narrative to European Enlightenment ideologies that stress the autonomous, rational self. As Kathryn Geurts (2002) has shown, sensory aesthetic terms often index deeper affective and moral states. My aim is to uncover these associations in Syrian musical worlds and to show how affective and moral states associated with musical aesthetics participate in the construction of modern subjectivities in ways more subtle and perhaps more powerful and deeply seated than more overt intellectual discussions and debates.

For many Syrian artists, intellectuals, and critics, debates over the present and future course of Syrian and Arab culture and society often revolve around the question of how to achieve authenticity within modernity, not against it. In their formulations—expressed in diverse performance situations from listening to cassette tapes, to participating in Muslim ritual, to performing on stage—authenticity, as embodied in the diverse practices and ideologies understood to comprise heritage, is what will carry them into the future on solid footing. Far from being atavistic, in many ways heritage is connected intimately to how these Syrian artists and thinkers envision their future, their modernity.

Unlike discourses of modernity in the West, which tend to emphasize the role of rationality and its public (and published) constructions (Berman 1982; Giddens 1991; Habermas 1987; Taylor 1989, 1999; cf. Reddy 2001), in Syria, I argue, it is the aesthetics of sentiment and emotionality that constitute the basis for creating an alternative modernity. In Syria, as elsewhere in the Arab world, music often bore the brunt of modern cultural criticism, as many intellectuals blamed Arab weakness, emotionality, and “backwardness” on the music’s heavy emotional appeal; some critics even called for the banning of traditional music, especially the ṭarab-style associated with emotional rapture or ecstasy.⁶ Yet, in a more positive evaluation of musical heritage and sentiment, the question of emotionality has played an important role. Like their counterparts in other Arab nations, many Syrian artists and intellectuals have embraced emotionality as a positively valued aspect of their search (usually implicit) for models for a national culture. Against those who may disparage emotional expression and interest in heritage as hindrances to progress and change, these culture brokers find in the sentimentality of heritage points of resistance not only against the more general cultural drift toward the West, but also against the corruption and desuetude of the modern Syrian state. Indeed, the valuation of heritage and emotionality sometimes has come into conflict with the interests of the modernizing state, which promotes secularism and rationality. Yet, just as often, the state has recognized the appeal of these domains in articulating a vision of a progressive and modern Syrian nation with a unique spiritual-cultural heritage.⁷

What is it about contemporary Syria that allows for discourses of authenticity to flourish there perhaps more than in other Arab contexts? The turn to heritage in contemporary Syrian art does not occur in a vacuum, isolated from the social and cultural contexts in which artists and audiences engage in aesthetic experiences. Syrian artistic production and reception occur within the context of Syria’s relationship to the other Arab lands, and especially to Egypt. Moreover, many contemporary Syrian artists have studied at European academies, sometimes those of Paris, Rome, and Madrid, but more often institutes and universities in the former Soviet Union and Eastern Europe. Syria’s connections to Eastern Europe have been stronger as a result of military and economic cooperation. New York and Los Angeles, for their part, historically have drawn few Syrian artists and intellectuals. Thus, the work of postcolonial Syrian artists and intellectuals needs to be understood in these large circuits and orientations, both regional and global.⁸

Among the Jasmine Trees seeks to identify and explore some of the discourses, assumptions, theories, and ideologies of contemporary Syrian artists for whom the question of authenticity is an important determinant of their artistic practices. Many but certainly not all Syrian artists are concerned with heritage and authenticity, and even for those who are, conceptions of cultural heritage and authenticity vary and there is little consensus on what constitutes authenticity. In fact, there is more consensus on what is inauthentic culture, the most often mentioned example being the contemporary popular song. For that reason, the aesthetics of authenticity is constituted largely in cultural performances as a negative aesthetics. In addition, for many artists, the urge to work with heritage derives from its potential financial benefits as well as (or in lieu of) any innate dedication to heritage preservation or authenticity. Heritage pays, both in terms of local and foreign consumption of heritage commodities (especially so-called “traditional” handicrafts) and in terms of official sponsorship and patronage of heritage-related arts: paintings of the Old Cities, the “classical” Arab musical repertoire, folkloric dances, and festivals, for example.⁹

My analysis of the turn to heritage focuses on musical performance, though I refer to a range of cultural practices that constitute the contemporary Syrian art world (Danto 1964), including painting, poetry, and certain spiritual practices. With respect to music, I focus not primarily on popular music but on the performance and reception of the waṣla, a suite of instrumental pieces and songs in both classical and colloquial Arabic arranged according to melodic mode (maqām). Syrians of all walks of life associate this music with Arab-Ottoman high culture, the Andalusian heritage, and earlier Arab-Islamic civilizations, and across the Arab world it is heard as one type of Arab classical music.¹⁰ The genres of the waṣla include instrumental preludes (samāī, bashraf), instrumental improvisation (taqsīm), classical poems set to music (muwashshaḥ, qaṣīda), and colloquial songs (mawwāl, qudūd ḥalabiyya). Yet, the notion of a “classical” Arab musical heritage is a modern one with a specific genealogy of developments in twentieth-century Egypt, Syria, and Lebanon. In many ways, the quest to define the outlines of a modern Arab classical musical tradition parallels the rise of Arab nationalism and the search for an Arab modernity, so analysis of the musical domain implies analysis of these others as well.

In Syria, the waṣla is associated closely with the city of Aleppo, the traditional seat of music in the pre-modern Levant and still a rich source for contemporary musical performance and the birthplace of many important Syrian artists, including Ṣabāḥ Fakhrī, perhaps the greatest living Arab vocalist. For this reason, I conducted much of my research on musical aesthetics in Aleppo and with Aleppine artists, both instrumentalists and vocalists. Yet much of what they say about the music applies to musical communities and discursive practices in Damascus and elsewhere in Syria, as well as across the Levant. Readers familiar with the high-culture musical traditions of Egypt and Palestine, for example, will find similarities in my discussions of Aleppine practices and ideologies.

Although I do not focus on the performance of popular music—in the sense of Arab pop music and transnational and World Music styles—I refer to a variety of pop songs and the contexts in which they are produced and consumed in Syria because the contemporary pop song in its different guises features strongly in debates about contemporary cultural trends. In many ways, the popular songs are more “authentic” than the songs of the waṣla in that they more accurately and authentically convey the concerns and stylistic choices of Arab youth today. Given that approximately half of the overall population of the Arab world is age fifteen or younger (UNDP 2002), their consumption habits are not insignificant for understanding Arab aesthetics today. Although most Syrian youth today do not actively listen to heritage music, many of those I interviewed argued that the music of the waṣla is the most “authentic” expression of Syrian musical tradition; this was echoed in interviews with pop music artists, music producers, and recording engineers, suggesting the symbolic importance of the music for Syrian and Arab understandings of self.¹¹

I focus my analysis on musical performance and aesthetics—ways of music making, discourse about music, and habits of listening (what Christopher Small (1998) has termed “musicking”). These aesthetic practices are not unique to Aleppo or to Syria, but parallel region-wide musical aesthetics and performance practices in other urban Arab and Mediterranean environments. Nonetheless, both because the context of my research was Syria and because musical performance in Syria has been little studied, I devote most of the following pages to a discussion of the particularities of musical aesthetics in Syria, with a special emphasis on Aleppo. Scholars of other regions of the Arab East, and especially Egypt, will find in my analysis many similarities as well as important differences between conceptions of tonality, rhythm, emotional responses to music, and the overall social significance of musical performance in Aleppo and other urban centers in the Levant. In fact, given the very different trajectories of Syria, Lebanon, and Egypt in the twentieth century, the social and cultural contexts of musical performance can vary significantly in these countries, even when artists borrow from a shared vocabulary of terminology and aesthetics discourse about music making (see Racy 1986, 2003). The musical performance practices of North Africa, while often claiming similar origins in Andalusian Spain, are for the most part distinct from those of the Arab East (see Guettat 2000; Touma 1996).

Any study of aesthetics necessarily implies a study of the relationships among power, authority, legitimacy, and ideology—not the least being ideologies of art and aesthetics. Aesthetics has never been merely or primarily about conceptions of beauty abstracted from its social context and reified as an ideal (Eagleton 1990). Rather, like standards and judgments of authenticity and in-authenticity, aesthetic valuations are socially constructed. All aesthetic judgments are what Kant termed “dependent”—that is, grounded in certain contextual conditions; there is then no free beauty, in Kant’s sense of the term, nor can aesthetic experience be disinterested (Kant 1952).¹² In Syria, judgments of musical authenticity are relative to the cultural context in which they are made and subject to changing tastes over time. No single standard suffices for determining any musical work’s or musician’s quality or authenticity.

Furthermore, the study of aesthetics and aesthetic judgments necessarily implies an ethics, for labeling an art form or cultural practice “beautiful” or “authentic” often is to associate it with ethically proper behavior, if not virtue. Just as importantly, to call something “ugly” or “inauthentic” is to equate it with the dangerous and morally suspect. In many ways, the aesthetics of authenticity constitutes a moral discourse. In a similar manner, a given aesthetics also implicates a politics, since all artistic productions and cultural practices occur within the context of relations of power and authority that, through systems of patronage and censorship, condition or limit forms of production and consumption. As Robert Plant Armstrong has noted, “it is more useful . . . to think of the nature of the aesthetic as being more rewardingly approached in terms of relating to power than to beauty, for example” (Armstrong 1981: 6; see also Armstrong 1971). Following Armstrong’s insight, it is perhaps more fruitful in this context to examine what a particular work of art (whether oral or visual) does and not how it looks or sounds.

The ethical and political dimensions of aesthetic sensibilities are especially relevant in discussions of authenticity in Syria. Syrian officials seek to cultivate a sense of a national culture that they project not only as ethically, politically, and culturally authentic, but also beautiful, that is, aesthetically pleasing—even if only to the state. Since the 1960s, the Arab Socialist Reawakening (Bath) party—at the time of my research under the leadership of the late President Ḥāfiẓ al-Asad and now under the leadership of his son, President Bashār al-Asad—has played a dominant role in national and local political and cultural life.¹³ It is not uncommon, for example, for an artist to invite local party bosses to an exhibition or recital. Moreover, most major artistic productions are sponsored or patronized by the local branch of the Bath party or by the Ministries of Culture or Information, usually led by Bathist ministers. Through these avenues of official patronage (as well as via the darker alleyways of censorship), the Syrian state aims both to promote certain visions of Syrian and Arab society and culture and to frame or limit allowable discourse on culture and society. What gets promoted as “beautiful” is often what certain cultural and political authorities consider to be “authentic.” As a result, in a heavily politicized cycle of authentication and legitimization, the “authentic” then becomes construed as the “beautiful” and vice versa.¹⁴

A study of the aesthetics of authenticity in Syria thus necessarily seeks to uncover aspects of these relations of power and authority and the ideologies of authenticity that frame the very conception of artistic beauty as well as the production and consumption of art and forms of cultural practice. I address such issues as they arise in specific ethnographic contexts—arguments about the origins of Arab music, forms of patronage of musical concerts, and so on—and argue that the aesthetics of authenticity is, on the one hand, a discourse of culture and tradition, and, on the other, a discourse of power and privilege.

My research explores the question of how musical heritage promotes modern subjectivities, and how it helps Syrians navigate heavily politicized and policed terrains of the self and nation. But I do not do so by focusing entirely or even primarily on politics. This may come as a surprise (or relief) to those familiar with research on modern Syria, most of which has favored political and economic over cultural analysis. While being sensitive to the placement of my study in the wider context of American and European scholarship on the Arab world, in writing this study my aim has been to portray the human dimensions of contemporary Syria, what the majority of scholarship has neglected. Of the works written on contemporary Syria, most deal with politics, political history, the French Mandate period, Syrian authoritarianism, the Arab-Israeli conflict, and similar topics.¹⁵ While these issues are important, they certainly are not the only things that can be studied within Syria, and, as I suggest above, they also can be explored productively through analysis of aesthetic practices such as music making. In fact, I believe that focusing primarily on politics leaves us blind (and deaf) to the richness of Syrian culture in its many forms. It may also make it even easier to demonize a country and its people when we do not recognize that it is home to wonderfully creative artists, a centuries-old poetic and musical tradition, and ordinary people who strive to bring order and meaning to their lives in ways that are often far from the so-called “political realities” of the day, which are often more relevant to Western analysts than to “natives.”

Some readers may argue that by focusing on musical aesthetics I ignore authoritarianism and oppression in Syria, that I have not attended closely enough to forms of institutional power, or that I have been blind to the very real suffering of the Syrian people. Nothing could be farther from the truth. My Syrian friends and colleagues include many who have borne and continue to bear the weight of an oppressive regime. Yet, despite all of this, Syrians in a wide range of lifestyles continue to raise children, work, seek pleasure, solace, and meaning in their daily lives . . . and to listen to music. And they often do so with grace, humor, and charm to boot.

Acknowledgments

This work would not have seen the light of day without the support and encouragement of numerous individuals and institutions. The research on which this work is based was funded through the generosity of fellowships from the Near and Middle East Research and Training Program of the Social Science Research Council (1994, 1996) and the Fulbright-Hays Dissertation Research Abroad Program (1996–1998) and Middle East, North Africa, and South Asia Regional Research Program (2004). At the City University of New York Graduate Center, I benefited greatly from the guidance and comments of Vincent Crapanzano, Talal Asad, Jane Schneider, Stephen Blum, and Louise Lennihan. Julia Butter-field, Alcira Forero-Peña, Alfredo Gonzales, Murphy Halliburton, F. Trenholme Junghans, and Carmen Medeiros helped get the project on solid footing. Martin Stokes of the University of Chicago provided encouragement on the project and helpful comments on an early draft of the work. Ali Jihad Racy’s generous and insightful comments made the final text stronger and clearer. Suzanna Tamminen and the editorial staff at Wesleyan University Press and University Press of New England made the birthing of this project enjoyable through their efficiency, patience, and good cheer.

I extend my deep appreciation to Ibrāhīm Ḥamad of Cairo, Egypt, my first oud teacher, and to his family for introducing me to the art of listening to and performing Arab music. Mustafa al-Kurd of Jerusalem, Palestine, offered important lessons on the oud and Arab musical aesthetics and politics. In New York City, Najib “The Oud Man” Shaheen and Simon Shaheen helped keep me close to the music when I was away from Syria through their good friendship and inspiring performances. Alexandre Tannous and A. P. Joseph always had good questions and abundant enthusiasm for the music and my research.

In Syria, I thank the many friends, acquaintances, teachers, and officials who made my research possible. I acknowledge the Syrian Ministry of Culture for permission to undertake my project and the staff at the Asad National Library for their generous assistance in finding materials. The staff at the American Cultural Center in Damascus, and especially Abd al-Raouf Adwān, facilitated my work in every way. Husain Nāzik first welcomed me to Syrian music, and Adnān Abū al-Shāmāt was a generous teacher in Arab music history and theory. Hussein Sabsaby has been a close friend and inspiring performer, and Ali Sabsaby provided me with excellent ouds, fine repair work, and friendship. Ādil al-Zakī and his son Ayman of the Shām Dān music store in Damascus provided friendship and hundreds of quality recordings of Syrian and Arab artists, which allowed me to form an essential sound archive and begin to learn the secrets of ṭarab.

Special thanks are due to Muḥammad Qadrī Dalāl, my friend and teacher, and to his family in Aleppo. Without Mr. Dalāl’s encyclopedic knowledge of Arab music and culture and his warm guidance and friendship, this project would have suffered greatly. I thank Sabri Moudallal for his inspiring voice and warmth, and Muḥammad Hamādiyeh, director of the al-Turath Ensemble, for his great friendship and assistance in my research. I also wish to extend thanks to Mr. and Mrs. Wasil al-Faisal and family of Homs and Damascus, Syria, and to Hala al-Faisal, for assisting in much of the research on which this work is based. The late Fateh Moudarres was an inspiration and provocateur throughout the period of my research, and I fondly remember the hours spent in his Damascus studio listening to music and talking about aesthetics.

Last but not least, I wish to thank my family, without whose support I never would have finished this work. Linda Shannon-Rugel and Herman Rugel offered unconditional love, respect, and support. To my brother, Chris, and sister, Pam, I offer thanks and gratitude for always asking how things were going. Extra special thanks are due to Deborah Kapchan for her patient encouragement, intellectual stimulation, and untiring love and support. May our son, Nathaniel “Nadim” Kapchan Shannon, grow to appreciate and love the music and the people who create it as much as I have.

Portions of Adonis’s “Elegy for the Time at Hand” are reproduced courtesy of Northwestern University Press. Earlier versions of chapters 4 and 6 were previously published as “The Aesthetics of Spiritual Practice and the Creation of Moral and Musical Subjectivities in Aleppo, Syria,” Ethnology 43, no. 4 (2004): 381–391, and “Emotion, Performance, and Temporality in Arab Music: Reflections on Tarab.” Cultural Anthropology 18, no. 1 (2003): 72–98, respectively.

It is with sadness that I note with the publication of the paperback version of this book the passing of two of my great friends and teachers in Syria. Mr. Ādil al-Zakī, one of the last of the great sammī’a and a connoisseur of all things related to tarab, died in August 2005, a year after we last shared together our love for Arab music in his famous shop, now closed. August 2006 marked the loss of Sabrī Moudallal, and with him one of the great voices of the twentieth century. His deep, hearty voice always reminded me of the purr of a gentle lion. Our world was made better by their modesty, humor, great spirits, and enduring humanity. May this book remain a small testament to the beauty and love they shared with so many. raḥimahuma Allah.