The Value of Gossip

Last night I went to a concert of Shajarian- a most famous and unanimously well-respected classical singer from Iran. He is a living legend, so much so that when my father called on the way there, and I told him I where was going, his voice rose about 5 octaves in excitement. Its rare that past Iran and current Iran can agree or connect on something in the way everyone can respect and love Shajarian's music. In fact it might be near to impossible. But Shajarian does it because his musical form of classic Persian never lost its magic and was given an insulated place among everything else of pleasure that was politicized. He is one of few artists that perform in and out of Iran.

Shajarian's music is a great example of the strong thread of history and culture that runs through Iranian society. Though the question of what it means to be Iranian still hasn't been completely answered for me, if it is as I guess, a mix of secular and religious history, culture, language and the resulting heart ache then Shajarian represents being Iranian in every way. His lyrics are of poets from 800 years ago, they are of a love and of god, often at the same time. His vocals transmit and evoke aching and passion, in a way that is both completely raw and technical. He and his group sit humbly amongst beautiful rugs, making remarkable sounds with such little equipment. During the solos each of the men looks at the other as if he is a story teller.

Shajarian is a small man and during the performance he sits with his legs crossed at the ankles. When he sings, and his voice wails in waves like a Muslim call to prayer, he moves the skin of every single person in the room. This can be in stark contrast to many well-know performers today. I grew up obsessing about Madonna, but I always left wanting something from her performances. When I saw Googoosh, an Iranian singer from the pre-Revolutionary days who my mother always called "Iran's Madonna", I realized what was missing in many other performers. These people feel. They feel for you, in front of you, their passions are their art, their show is their emotion.

In the eighties at the mehmunis (Iranian parties) in Nashville, there was always the part of the night where the dancing stopped, the music turned off, everyone sat around, and one of the men would start to sing in the same way as Shajarian. This singing, and those vocals must have been incorporated into me. Because instead of sounding like foreign howling, Shajarian's singing sounds close and comfortable.

I would close my eyes during the concert hoping to get the rolling beat of the songs, the gentle sway of the Daf into my subconscious so that my mind would roll with the rythym in my sleep later that night. Two of my favorite performances were the tasnif(s) "sokhan eshgh" and "Saghia". Although I am neither native, nor fluent in the arts of Iran, these songs move me in their sounds, especially as the daf bounces up and down.

The last highlight was hearing son and father take turns and then sing together. The father's voice was more deeply passionate, I suppose one can only sing like that after truly living a full life of pain suffering and ecstacy. It takes year to make a life like that.

Throughout the concert my friends and I kept on moving around trying to find a spot where people weren't whispering to each other. The gossip culture of Iranians is something I hated for so long, it was against my American principles of straight forward and honest interactions. But as I listened to all of the chatter I realized that perhaps my "enlightened generation" has traded gossip for self-obsession. Instead of talking about others, all we do is talk about ourselves...maybe a little gossip would be good for us-