(http://www.facebook.com/afropop) (https://instagram.

com/afropopworldwide/)
(https://soundcloud.com/afropop-worldwide) (http://afropopworldwide.tumblr.com)
(http://www.twitter.com/afropopww) (https://www.youtube.com/user/afropopworldwide)
Audio Programs (/audio-programs)
SEARCH Articles
Email Newsletter (/articles)
(http://eepurl.com/cF5VA) -->
Video
Donate(/articles/videos)
(/page/donate) Podcasts (/page/podcasts)
Vision Events (/events)
Fund (/page/vision-fund)
About (/page/about-afropop)
All Articles (/articles) Reviews (https://afropop.org/articles/reviews)
Videos (https://afropop.org/articles/videos) Blog (https://afropop.org/articles/blog)
Contests (https://afropop.org/articles/contests)
Features (https://afropop.org/articles/features)
Discography (https://afropop.org/articles/discography)
Best of The Beat (https://afropop.org/articles/best-of-the-beat)
Voices in Vinyl (https://afropop.org/articles/voices-in-vinyl)
Charts (https://afropop.org/articles/charts)
Fresh Eyre (https://afropop.org/articles/fresh-eyre)
Film (https://afropop.org/articles/film)
Field Report (https:/October
Interviews (https://afropop.org/articles/interview) /afropop.org/articles/field-report)
11, 2011
Interviews (https://afropop.org/articles/interview)
Michael Frishkopf and Kristina Nelson
on Koranic Recitation
Kristina Nelson is the author of “The Art of Reciting Written by:
the Qur’an,” a foundational text on a phenomenon so Banning Eyre
(https://afropop.org/team/ba
pervasive in Egypt that one can hardly walk the
eyre)
streets of Cairo without hearing it.  Kristina lives in
Artists
Cairo and has been a key advisor on many aspects of
Michael Frishkopf & Kristina
Afropop’s Hip Deep in Egypt project.  Banning Eyre sat Nelson
with her at her home near the Dahshur pyramids, and Countries
they discussed, among other things, Koranic Egypt
recitation.  Here’s that portion of their conversation. Genre
Koranic Recitation
B.E.:  Why don’t you introduce yourself to start?
Share this page on
Twitter, Facebook, or email
K.N.: I’m Kristina Nelson and I’m here because I .
originally came to study Arabic.  I have an
undergraduate degree in music.  And in my doctorate,
I brought together music and Arabic studies with the
recitation of the Koran as a sound art form.  I’ve lived
in Egypt continuously since 1994, but I’ve been in the
Middle East since 1983, starting with Gaza.
() B.E.:  What was it about recitation that attracted
you?

K.N.: I found, and I still find the sound extremely

powerful, and I was curious how it was put together
and how it worked, and I couldn’t find anyone who
could explain it.  And I think one reason for that is that
it’s a unique art form (detailed rules for pronunciation,
rhythm and sectioning and complete melodic
freedom create a powerful tension) and  more than a
religious text.  It’s considered a holy text, the word of
God, the very sound of God, a divine revelation.
Muslims are reluctant to link it with man -made, or
man -created arts.  No local scholars, or Muslim
scholars have studied the Koran in terms of
anthropology or sociology or music until very
recently.  There was one scholar, Labib al-Sa’id, who
wrote a book about the sound and was promoting the
recording of Koranic recitation in a  very clear, didactic
style, without elaborate melody for the purposes of
making it perfectly understandable and easy to learn.

B.E.:  And when was that?

K.N.: This was in the late 60s.

B.E.:  Really? It’s that recent?

K.N.: Yes.
B.E.:  So this whole culture of recorded recitation of
the Koran is only since the late 60s.

K.N.: No, no.  Recorded melodic recitation goes back

to the beginnings of radio and recordings. There are
some very early recordings that date from the end if
the 19th century.   Putting recitation  on the radio
raised debates as to whether this was appropriate or
not.  For example, one of the objections was that you
could be in the bathroom and you could be hearing
the Koran.  And that is not appropriate.  I met one
reciter, and interviewed him—Mohamed Salama.  He
was a great guy.  He was quite old –he was very
proud of having participated in the 1919 revolution,
marching in the streets..  He used to play oud  but
stopped playing at some point as he felt it was not
appropriate.  And he was the only one who refused to
recite on the radio.  Not only because of the
inappropriateness of the settings, but because there
were all these little girl announcers tripping around
him when he went to recite and he felt that, too, was
totally inappropriate.  So he refused to record for the
the radio.

B.E.:  This is a very old art.  The idea of speaking the

Koran was there from the start, right?

K.N.: It’s there from the beginning because, according

to Islamic belief, the revelation was transmitted to the
Prophet orally.  There wasn’t a written text.  And after
the Prophet’s death, they collected the written down
bits, which he had dictated to his followers, and put
together the written text.  This was sent out to Muslim
communities all over the area, with reciters.  And the
oral recitation has always been the authoritative
backing for the written text.

B.E.:  Earlier today, I interviewed a young Egyptian

rapper, Karim Rush of Arabian Knightz, a hip hop
act.  And he made the observation that the Prophet
lived at a time when the art of poetry was
ascendant, and that is the reason for this attention
to oral tradition, poetry, that has to do with where
the culture was at during that time.  Does that
sound right to you?

K.N.: Absolutely.  I mean, literacy was restricted to a

few people.  There were huge oral poetry
competitions in Mecca.  There was criticism of the
Koran when it first began to be disseminated, that this
was "only poetry.", not divine revelation. And that’s
because it was within the tradition.  It was beautiful,
eloquent.  If you look at the text in detail, though,
there are only a very few sections, short sections, that
use the poetic meters.  The poetic meters were very
much developed in the pre-Islamic poetry tradition. 
And these poems are learned by kids in school today.

B.E.:  So it really is fair to say that this tradition of

recitation goes all the way back.  It’s a straight line
back to the time of Mohammed.  It’s fundamental.

K.N.: It's fundamental.  And one of the justifications for

the divine miraculousness of the beauty of the Koran
is that the Prophet Mohamed was illiterate.  And so
what he learned, he learned orally, and he recited it
orally.  He passed it on orally.  And the oral tradition of
the Koran has been in place ever since.

B.E.:  And we know, if I’m not mistaken, from the

hadith—the sayings of the Prophet—that he valued
a beautiful voice.  That’s also true?

K.N.: That’s also true.  Though the idea has its

detractors.  Well, the people I met who were against
the melodic recitation of the Koran were not against a
beautiful voice, but were against it as an art form.  And
that’s because it has developed into an art with its fan
base and superstar cult.  And another tradition is that
you shouldn’t make money off the Koran, and some of
the reciters were charging superstar fees for their
recitations.  But nowhere in the Koran is there clear
prohibition of melodic recitation or of music.  It’s all
interpretation.  And those against music, or melodic
recitation, find and interpret verses their way.  And
those for it interpret verses—and hadith—their way.
B.E.:  So there’s no winning that argument.

K.N.: No.  But there are still Masters and PHd

disertations on “Is music forbidden or permissible in
Islam?”  And the Sufis hold the high position on that in
that they have more or less come to the point where
they say that music is neutral.  It’s a neutral art.  It can
be used for good; it can be used for ill.

As for the singing, there were different kinds of

singing in pre-Islamic times.  There were the work
songs.  And then there were songs of the courtesans,
who were extremely well-educated.  They knew lots
of poetry.  They were cultured women, but they were
operating in contexts that came to be seen as anti-
Islamic—taverns where there was drinking, there was
sex….  And that had something to do with the bias
against it.  And also, looking to the Arabs of the desert
as the source of true Arabness and true Islam, in the
face of Byzantine and Persian civilizations, which were
the great civilizations of the time, many people saw
these as corrupting influences on this pure desert
culture.

Even today, you can find people who believe that

that’s true.  Up to at least, well, maybe less than 100
years ago, people would send their sons into the
desert to soak up this pure ethos.
B.E.:  Interesting.  Now, separate from the words of
the Koran, there is the musical art involved in
recitation, the maqam system. How old is that
system? Does it predate Islam?

K.N.: No. No, no, no. There's a wonderful book called

"The Book of Songs," by Abu l-Faraj al-Isfahani, that
was written in the 10th century AD.  And that’s a
compendium of songs and written texts, basically,
and singers, and also a description of musical
practice. And he's documenting things that went on
for several centuries before that. I think there was a
great Persian influence. I don't know exactly when you
can say maqam started. It's old, but it doesn't predate
Islam.

B.E.:  Did it exist before he wrote that book?

K.N.: Yes.

B.E.: So between the seventh and the 10th century.

It kind of grows up with Islam. So what do we know
about when the two things join?  Whether or not we
think of it as music, when does the art of maqam
become part of the art of recitation?

K.N.: Well, we don't know exactly. We know that

people appreciated beautiful recitation. But we don't
know what that means, other than appreciation for the
voice. At the end of the 19th century, we have
recordings from a reciter, Yusuf al-Manyalawi, who
was also a singer who used to go and recite at the
court of the Sultan in Istanbul.  It must have been
before that, but we don't have any documentation.
And since then, musicians have always looked up to
reciters as masters of the art of maqam and
improvisation, because the recitation must be
improvised.

B.E.:  So let's describe the phenomena. This is not

music composition, singing in the conventional
sense. Let me ask you the question more open-
ended way. How does the reciter conceptualize
what he or she is doing?

K.N.: Well, I think that reciters do it differently. The fact

that rhythm is not part of the Arabic music system is
one thing that keeps it separate. A lot of people might
think that, "Oh, this is just a rationalisation by the
Muslims, by the Sheikhs, to keep it as a separate art
form.” But I think it's more than that. I would classify
the different sounds as “secular music,” secular texts
in the Arab music system, “religious music,” which is
religious texts that use the Arabic musical system,
and then the Koran, in a class by itself because it
doesn't use the rhythmic system, that’s (divinely)given
in the rules for reciting. And the text, it’s pronunciation,
its language is unique.   Reciters I knew did not
practice their melodic recitation using the Koran. They
would practice using another text, or they would use
a less melodic, more chanting style to just go over
their text. Again, this idea of keeping the divine and
human separate.

B.E.:  But they are using the maqam system in the

sense that they are modulating, introducing
different tones from one maqam to another in order
to create emphasis. But this is not composition.
What is it?

K.N.: Well, it's in the tradition of Arabic music

composition, which is sort of on-the-spot
composition, what we would call improvisation or
composing in perfomrance. Of course, you have a lot
of building blocks to deal with.  A reciter might quote
himself for example. Sometimes reciters will quote
other reciters and well-known bits. And especially as
recordings have become more widespread, people
have memorized certain performances. And so they
will recognize one reciter, and they might even ask for,
"Let's hear some of this." That's a bit rare, because
most people realize that that's not what is desired.
What is desired is a moving rendition of the text,
something that takes you to a different place. I mean,
what you are hearing when you're hearing the Koran
is ideally the moment of revelation. And that's
because of the pronunciation, which is also uniquely
Koranic. It is not the pronunciation of literary Arabic
and not of the colloquial languages either. It is the
voice of God for a lot of people. Reciters at the same
time would say melody and voice are what helps the
text reach the hearts of the listeners.  And this is what
I found interesting in my research. Because,
ultimately, that could be seen as a contradiction. The
Koran is divine. It is perfect, yet it can be enhanced.

B.E.:  By melody and voice in perfect pronunciation.

Tajwid.

K.N.: not enhanced by Tajwid.  Yes, Tajwid is the code

of rules for pronouncing the text. This is a
fundamental requirement for reciting as these rules
preserve the orginal revelation.  It is artistry that
enhances the text, how a reciter uses melody and
sectioning of  the text to bring out meaning, to
engage listeners emotionally.

B.E.:  Even beyond the realm of recitation.  When we

interviewed the great Sufi singer Yasin el Tuhami,
Mariam referred to what he was doing as "singing,"
and he corrected her. Now, of course this is different
because he is a munshid, a singer, not a reciter. But
he also showed the sensitivity about that
characterization. Tell us about the sensitivity. It's a
kind of mental process so they can feel free to
express themselves in this art form, but not let it
become confused with "music."

K.N.: Yeah, I think that's because music is seen as

dangerous, even a rival for people’s hearts and minds.
It leads you away from God, not toward God, which is
completely opposite from the Sufi point of view.
Which is why I'm surprised that Yasin el Tuhami would
be sensitive about that. Because his art is one which
brings people closer, not further away.
B.E.:  Well, I'll have to go back to the interview and
be sure about that. But how do they think about it if
it's not singing?

K.N.: Is reciting the Koran. It's its own setting. It's sui
generis.

B.E.:  But there is musical knowledge involved. It's

not just anyone who knows how to do that, how to
modulate among different maqamat or modes.

K.N.: Right, but you can use elements of music, and it

not be music.   And what's interesting also is I found in
my research that people reacted to it as they would to
music, criticized it in musical terms. This is in my book.
I sat with the radio committee who auditioned reciters
and also reviewed recordings, live recordings to put
them into the archives. And one reciter finished and
everybody was blown away. They thought it was
fantastic. But, one of the musicians says he really
needs to work on his musical cadences, where you
end a phrase. And one of the religious scholars said,
"Absolutely true, but let's not use the word ‘music.’
Let’s use the word ‘vocal’ cadences." They were writing
this down. So even there, recognizing, yes, it is a
musical thing. It moves us like that. But it isn't music.
We've got to keep that barrier.

B.E.:  So, it's kind of a subtle place where this art

resides. It's fascinating. You talked about
superstars. When did that start?

K.N.: Probably pretty early. Sheikh Mohamed Riffat

was one of the first to record. And when I was doing
my research in the late 70s, he was seen still has the
ideal reciter. First of all for his musicality, and secondly
because he was an example of the pious, religious
man. He was a good man. People said of him, or
people say of him, or he said of himself, that he would
try to use as many different maqams in the text as he
could, because people respond differently to
maqams because of the emotions attached to them.
And in this way, he could reach more people. So he
was aware of the effect of his musicality on his
audience, and how it connected him with them, or
how he was able to connect the text with them.  I
think Abdul Basit was the first to use cassette
recordings, and that of course changed the face of
recitation and music in Egypt generally.

B.E.:  How so?

K.N.: Well, before that, reciters were, Egyptian reciters

were recognized as the apex of recitation, and reciters
would come from all over the world to learn, not only
to learn recitation, but when I was there, there was a
Pakistani who came to learn the style of a particular
reciter, Sheikh Mustafa Ismail.  And during Ramadan,
still, Egypt sends reciters out all over the world to
Muslim communities.  But with cassettes, people
were not dependent on when it appeared on the
radio, or when there was a performance or a
memorial service or whatever context. And you could
hear it anywhere. And it became much more
ubiquitous. You hear it in taxis. You hear it in shops.
Now you hear it in elevators, in up-market men's
shops. There is nowhere where you couldn't hear it.
And I'm sure you've noticed that. And, bu the way, has
changed the way people listen or hear the recitation.

B.E.:  Yes. I mean I've been in Morocco. I've been in

Mali.  I’ve been in Senegal.  I don't remember
hearing it in those places. Is this uniquely Egyptian
thing? How many other cities would it be that
ubiquitous?
K.N.: Well, I've been in... I'm trying to think. I haven't
been in every country in the Middle East, but I've
been in Lebanon, Syria, across North Africa, Sudan,
Jordan. Turkey. And certainly, I never heard anything
like that in any of those countries. In Turkey, there are
reciters with the Sufi orders, and they become well
known within that context. But in Egypt, you have it as
a profession. A man with a good voice can actually
decide to make this his life's work, or his profession.
It’s not just a service like reciting for a funeral, or
reciting in the mosque, or whatever. He can put
himself forward as a reciter and anyone who wants a
reciter can call him.

B.E.:  This brings me to why this is so interesting to

us, people looking at music. Because it keeps
coming up in so many context within musicians that
we are learning about, that they're beginning,
whether it's Umm Kulthum or the singer in Wust Al
Balad, very diverse musical careers, and you go
back to the starting point, and the starting point is
Koran recitation.  So this really becomes a training
ground for singers in many different genres, even on
the contemporary scene.

K.N.: Well, for one thing, I think that when the rules of
pronunciation were codified, part of those rules were
very detailed explanations of where the sounds are
formed in the mouth, with the tongue, the back of the
mouth, the middle of the mouth, with the lips. This is
like a science.  It's called the makharif el huroof.  You
learn where the sounds are placed, so it's extremely
clear, articulate knowledge that improves your diction
and your pronunciation. And one thing people say
about Umm Kulthum is that you could always
understand her. She doesn't swallow her vowels or
whatever, and that this is because she studied tajwid. 
And it's interesting that the Conservatory of music in
Cairo actually employs a teacher who is teaches
tajwid as part of the singing curriculum. It makes you
aware of how you form your words and your sounds.
It's interesting, because it's not just the music.
If I can go off on another tack, traditionally, Arabic
music is with words. Especially the more elite music.
The work songs, the court music, and then the
entertainment music -- these all have words. And it
was only recently that for example a Lebanese
composer and singer, Marcel Khalife, put out an
album with... no words. And I was actually a concert at
the Cairo Opera House, where he sang some of his
songs. I mean, he's dearly, dearly beloved all over the
Arabic world. But he wanted to perform one of his
new compositions, a song without words, and people
were extremely rude in the audience. They actually
stood up and said, "No, we don't want that. We want to
hear songs, and we want to hear your voice."

B.E.:  When was that?

K.N.: This was in the 90s, the late 90s.

B.E.:  You mentioned Sheikh Mustafa Ismail.  Tell us

who he was.

K.N.: He was born in the Delta. And he started going

around to recitations. He had a good voice and he
was encouraged to recite. He came to Cairo, and he
became a very impressive reciter. He sang for the
government, starting with prerevolutionary
government. And then Nasser, Sadat.  What's
interesting about him is that he learned the music in
the totally traditional way, which is by listening. And I
remember him telling me, for example, he said, "I
would recite, and someone would say, 'Ah, that's a
wonderful Saba.'"  Maqam Saba.  And he would say,
"Ah, so that's Saba.  I'll have to remember that."  He
didn't even know what he was doing. He was just
giving back all he’d absorbed from hearing. And that
was the traditional way. Now, more and more, people
go to the Conservatory and learn the maqam system
and then put it together with the text.
(Sheikh Mustafa Ismail)

B.E.:  The tajwid.  You know, the reciter and teacher

we interviewed, Ahmed Mustafa Kamel, idolized
Sheikh Mustafa Ismail.  They had a sort of mentoring
relationship. And when you say that he learned by
ear, that makes sense, because Kamel's whole
approach is about listening and repeating.

K.N.: And you sort of absorb all these models.

B.E.: He said that if the person doesn't get it right,

and we saw some examples of that, he never
repeats. He always just goes on to something else.
And I asked if that was because repeating it was
sort of codified as music. As composition. And he
said no, that wasn't really it. That was just his
method. But you saw some of his YouTube videos.
You found that an unusual way of teaching. Why?

K.N.: Because he would have them repeat exactly

what he had recited, melodically., Which means they
were putting together the text and, I mean, to all
points and purposes, set melodies. Whereas a reciter
is like Sheikh Mustafa Ismail would never do that. If
they were trying to work something out, they wouldn't
work it out with the Koranic text. They would work it
out with another text.

B.E.: How does one teach if not that way?

K.N.: Well, the way you learn music. But you learn it as
music. You don't learn it as Koran recitation. You put
the text to the side. You learn the whole maqam
system, and then you apply it. But you don't work out
melodies using that text. So for example, when you
learn the oud or singing or whatever the
Conservatory, you are given a set of actually written
exercises in maqam, and you gradually become
familiar with the parameters of that maqam.

B.E.:  So the fact of him singing the lines of the

Koran and then having his students attempt to re-
create exactly what he has sung is not only unusual
but it's potentially dangerous territory, because in
the moment that that student is trying to reproduce
what they just heard, they are essentially
conceptualizing words and the music as one thing
that is set.

K.N.: Together. And then there's much more chance of

them reproducing that in performance as a set, text
and music.

B.E.:  I tried to ask about that. I'm not sure I

succeeded, because he is one of these people who
pretty much says what he wants to say, regardless
of the question. But he said, “Tell me.  What is this if
not singing?”

K.N.: That is unusual. He is unusual in lots of ways.

B.E.:  He was a delightful character. And he seemed

to know you. You must've met them somewhere
along the way. His students were in awe of you. "You
know Kristina Nelson?"

K.N.: Well, let me just add a footnote to that.  In

Indonesia, that is exactly what they do.  They learn bits
of text with set melodies, and there is no hang-up
about that at all.  At the same time, there is
improvisation.  But you could look at it as pre-Islamic
poetry or any oral tradition where you have formula
that you hang your performance on, whether it’s text
or melody.  You vary a few set formulae.  You could
conceptualize it that way, I suppose.
B.E.:  Kamel told a great story about Umm Kulthum
going and listening to Sheikh Mustafa Ismail.  She
would go to where he was reciting, but with the
curtains drawn so that she could listen without
being seen.  Did you ever hear that?

K.N.: No. But, I mean, he is greatly revered.  The

anniversary of his death is in December, and it’s a
well-attended event.  I think that El Sawy [Culture
Wheel, a diverse, young performance space] has
taken over hosting the event, and besides playing his
recordings, they also have films.  His family is very
active in keeping his memory alive this way.  But the
story he told me was being with Farid el Atrash in
Lebanon, in Beirut, and el Atrash says, “How can you
say this is not singing?  How can you deny this?”  And
he replied, “It’s God.”

At the same time, not all of his recordings were

accepted by the radio because his audiences would
get so carried away. You know, at the end of one
phrase, you could hear this thunderous explosion of
sound, and you'd think you were at a soccer match
not a recitation, and the people at the radio would
have to edit it by turning down the volume of the
audience response in order to keep the recording in
the archive.  And sometimes, he would get carried
away to the point where the melody became more
important than the text.  The emphasis was on the
melodic arc. The text got lost.  There is one famous
example where he repeats one line maybe 27 times in
different permutations of melodic maqam, before he
goes on to the rest of the text.  And that’s overdoing it
in terms of ideal recitation because you get lost.  You
forget what is being said.
(Umm Kulthum)

B.E.:  That kind of repeating is what Umm Kulthum

would do in order to elicit tarab, ecstasy, among
listeners, right?

K.N.: Right. Well, he definitely had tarab, but he

usually had really good balance.  I mean, he usually
had tarab and good recitation.  I mean, nobody could
fault him for his tajwid.  Some reciters have been
faulted for their tajwid, but not Sheikh Mustafa.  But
he did sometimes get carried away.  This idea about it
being God…  He also has a story about reciting in
Alexandria and someone from the audience calling
up and saying, “Do it again.”  And he said, “No way
could I do it again.  I don’t know where I was.”  It was
like he was in a trance or something.

B.E.:  Kamel had some women students the night we

were there.

K.N.: Egyptian?

B.E.:  No.  Arab Canadian.  But what is the situation

with women and recitation?

K.N.: Well, there used to be much more latitude for

women to recite publically.  Women still recite.  It is
actually the duty of every Muslim to learn correct
recitation with tajwid.  But now women recite in
closed areas for women, say at funerals or memorial
services, or together as a learning experience.  But
the women I knew did not consider it an art.  They
weren’t consciously using artistry to move their
listeners.  They were communicating the text.  And
that is a big, big difference.

B.E.:  What about recordings.  Would you ever find a

cassette or CD of a woman reciting the Koran?

K.N.: There are some, very old ones.

B.E.:  But not new?

K.N.: No.  Not in Egypt.

There will be more from Kristina Nelson in future

broadcasts and postings.

Here are some additional comments on Koranic

recitation from Michael Frishkopf.  Michael is a
professor of music and associate director of the
Canadian Centre for Ethnomusicology at the
University of Alberta.  He edited a fascinating 2010
anthology of essays called “Music and Media in the
Arab World.”

M.F.: A lot of singers/reciters from the early 30's

would receive initial training performing in religious
contexts, such as the school for Koranic recitation, the
kuttab.  And then, they might move out of those
contexts.   In the kuttab, young children would
memorize the Koran and also learn to recite Koran. 
So, the kuttab provided a means of identifying vocal
talent. Imagine that a child has a good voice, a
musical talent.  That talent would be recognized by
the kuttab shayhkh (teacher), by the other students,
maybe by the child himself or herself.  And that would
be a signal that maybe you have a career as a singer
in front of you.

Also, learning to recite Koran gives a certain training

to the voice.  In the kuttab, students would learn to
pronounce Arabic correctly.  They would learn breath
control, because the breath is very important in
Koranic recitation.  If they got more advanced, they
might learn to improvise a little bit.   They would
develop a strong memory.  So in so many ways, the
kuttab was critical for singers.  But during the course
of the 20th century what we would call secular
education came in and the kuttab went out.  You still
have it to a certain extent, but it’s not the mainstream
of education.  These days, singers go straight into the
music industry, sometimes  passing through the
conservatory first.  But most don’t pass through that
kuttab stage.

In the past, singers might first become recognized

Koran reciters, and acquire the title “Sheikh”.  Sheikh
can refer to the latter phases of life, or to the leader of
an Arab tribe, but it also is a term of respect in a
religious context.  Somebody who studied in a
religious college would be given the title Sheikh. 
Expert Koran reciters are called “Sheikh”.  And to a
certain extent that title extended also to expert
reciters in other religious contexts, for example
reciters of religious poetry.  The title “Sheikh” might
even stick when they changed contexts.  For example,
Zakaria Ahmed, who was a famous performer and a
well known composer for Umm Kulthum, was often
known as Sheikh Zakaria Ahmed because he had
originally studied the Koran and performed religious
songs.  And Sheikh Sayed Darwish, who became a
very, very influential composer, also started in those
religious contexts, and was known as Sheikh Sayed
Darwish—even though he wasn’t performing religious
music anymore.
So recitation of the Koran, along with performing the
call to prayer (adhan) was one important religious
context providing basic training to future singers.

The other big one was the Sufi orders, which were so
prevalent in the 19th century.  Many people grew up
attending Sufi ceremonies, which are known as
hadra.  There they would hear the singing of religious
poetry.  Those with sweet voices  might also be
invited to participate in the singing.  In addition, there
were various styles of Sufi-tinged singing that weren’t
necessarily performed only within a strictly religious
context, but might be performed,   for example, at a
wedding. In those days there would be a lead singer,
what they call a munshid or a Sheikh, accompanied
by a chorus, bitana (literally, “a lining”).  This is how
Umm Kulthum got her start.  After attending a kuttab,
she performed in the chorus of a religious singing
group when she was quite young, accompanying her
father as he traveld from village to village.

B.E.:  Give us a brief description of Koranic recitation

and its Egyptian varieties.

M.F.: Way, way back in time, we know from sayings

(ahadith) of the Prophet Muhammad that it was
desirable to listen to the Koran recited in a beautiful
voice.  The Prophet recited, and also asked others to
recite to him.  Some people wrote down verses.  But
the Prophet himself was illiterate.  He didn’t.  This was
an oral tradition from the beginning.  Variations began
to develop.  But it was really oral recitation that kept it
all together. The  Koran was revealed in seven ways,
ahruf.  Some say that these made revelation
intelligible to different Arab tribes, who spoke different
dialects.  Arabic was not one language.  But the
Caliph Osman [7th century] fearing excessive variety in
the written text, or mushaf, fixed a single redaction. 
 Nevertheless, to the present day, there are multiple
canonical qira’at, or readings—usually numbered at 7,
or 10, or 14—of the Osmanic text.  They differ in
particularities, vowel sounds, for example.  But the
general meaning is always the same.

B.E.: Koranic reciters have to know the maqam

system. So they are really trained musicians, aren’t
they?

M.F.: Many are using detailed knowledge of melodic

modes, maqamat, in a very expressive delivery with a
wide dynamic range. Recitation can be very soft, very
loud, very low, very high. Many sonic parameters,
what we might consider to be musical parameters,
but which are not treated as music (musiqa), are open
to them. They still have to follow all the ahkam al-
tajwid [rules of recitation].  But as long as they're
following the rules, they have a lot of latitude. And of
course, they can also use different qira’at or “readings,”
of which there are considered to be 7, or 10, or 14. This
is a very interesting topic because many Egyptians
don't know that there are multiple qira’at, and so if the
reciter starts using a qira’a that is not well known,
people may call out to correct him, thinking that he
made a mistake. I've talked to some reciters who say
it's somewhat risky not to use the most popular qira’a,
which is Hafs `an `Asim in Egypt. But in principle
reciters can vary the qira’a.

In the mujawwad style of recitation, the reciter moves

through the text bit by bit, repeating phrases freely.
They don't jump forward in the text, but often jump
back.  They often insert long pauses. Traditionally, the
listening context for that would be, for example, a
funeral, or before Friday prayer, or before evening
prayer, often between the maghrib (sunset) and the
isha’ (evening) prayers, when there's a gap,  between
an hour and an hour and a half, suitable for reciting.
People gather around the reciter  in an attitude of
attentive listening , following the text, while being
influenced by the melody, including taswir al-ma`na,
 picturing of Koranic meaning through the melodic
line. Some listeners become highly emotionally, to the
point where some might make an analogy to musical
tarab, ecstasy. They won't call it tarab though; but
rather prefer a religious term, such as  spiritual
refreshment (nashwa ruhiyya), or wajd (finding), a
concept developed by  theSufis, the mystics of Islam.

When the reciter reaches the end of the melodic line,

pausing to take a breath, he closes with a melodic
cadence, known in Arabic music as the  qafla, which
delivers an extremely powerful emotional charge to
the listener. At that point, listeners may burst out,
exclaiming, "Allah, Allah"  or "Ya salam."  They may tell
the Sheikh to repeat the previous phrase, just as they
would do in a tarab context.  And for that reason, this
practice has drawn scrutiny and criticism from some
of the more conservative religious people, especially
in the last twenty years or so, who find these musical-
social practices of the mujawwad style to be
inappropriate in a religious setting.

The mujawwad reciter is typically highly trained, and

professional, often receiving a considerable sum to
recite at a funeral, say. Early in the 20th century they
were already being recorded; people would trade
recordings, and fan clubs developed to a certain
extent. Some , like Sheikh Mustafa Ismail, became so
famous that even secular people, not all that
religious, would want to go and hear his magnificent
voice and powerful delivery.

Now, there is also what came to be known as the

murattal style, which is more of a recitational mode,
where the reciter goes straight through the text. There
is not a lot of repeating or pauses during which
people could respond. Murattal tends to be used
more in a formal or individual devotional context. For
example, when the Imam is reciting in front of the
congregation during prayer, he can’t use mujawwad;
he uses murattal.  If someone is reciting privately, they
would also use murattal.  But the murattal does allow
some melodic freedom. It's just that it's a little quicker.
It doesn't move up and down so much, doesn’t
require so much expertise. It's the recitation style for
the masses.

Now, what happened in the 60s was they decided to

record that murattal for the first time. The whole
Koran, from start to finish, was recorded by a number
of reciters. And so murattal started to become a
mediated style also, whereas previously it really
wasn't. So now you have these two styles  circulating
in the market. If you went to the cassette vendor
asking for Surat Yusuf, the Koranic chapter telling the
story of Yusuf, the vendor might respond, "Do you
want mujawwad or murattal?”  Of course, the murattal
version might fit on less than one cassette, while the
mujawwad could require multiple cassettes,
depending. Mujawwad is much, much longer.

So those two styles both flourished in the media

space. Some people might prefer murattal because
they want to learn to recite, and they're not going to
be able to imitate those great mujawwad reciters. 
Interestingly, with all this recording, people began to
imitate the melodies. With recording, for the first time,
it's possible to repeat a performance exactly and
thereby memorize the reciter’s improvised melody,
and you find people imitating, very, very closely, the
famous reciters. So in a sense recordings have
imposed a set of fixed precomposed melodies,
 though nobody would use the word “composed,”
since setting the Qur’an to a fixed melody is
considered blasphemous, a kind of shirk (association
with God’s word).

Now the other thing that's happened is that women,

early on, were eliminated from the public soundscape
of Koranic recitation. Umm Kulthum did record some
Koranic recitation. But in the 1930s, shortly after
Egyptian national radio was founded, the government
decided that women reciters could not be broadcast,
because the woman's voice is what they call awra. 
Literally, this word refers to  the pudenda, and the
 implication is that the woman's voice is indecent. 
Now this is quite ironic, because at the same time, the
Egyptian radio is constantly playing popular songs
sung by women. So, again, here, you see that it isn't so
much that practices are being banned entirely under
religious pressure, but rather that a religious sphere is
being demarcated, and separated off from a
nonreligious sphere, within the broader media space.

In any case, up until the 1980s or so Egyptian  reciters

and their recorded recitations, whether mujawwad or
murattal, were globally dominant.  Muslims around
the world imitated them, as far away as Indonesia.
 Many of these reciters might not even know the
Arabic language or anything about Arabic music.  For
them the maqam system was foreign, but they
imitated the Egyptian reciters, held up as
representing the highest ideal. Now there were other
styles elsewhere;  you can hear very different voices
and melodies in Iran, or in Turkey, or in West Africa.
But the Egyptian styles dominated.
B.E.: I imagine that there are a lot of local styles.
And I understand that the Saudi style has been
particularly influential in Egypt, especially recently.

M.F.: Everywhere in the world where there were

Muslims there was recitation, and I speculate that
there had always been localization of those free sonic
parameters that are not fixed by either the Qur’anic
text (mushaf), the qira`at, or the ahkam al-tajwid. 
Together, these three factors restrict recitation,
requiring specific parameters to be fixed.   But in West
Africa, they're using pentatonic (five tone) scales,
without violating any of those restrictions. And in
Turkey, they are using a vocal timbre reminiscent of
Mevlevi recitations.  In Iran, you can hear the Iranian
vocal ornaments, and so on. So my guess is that up
until the media age, there was a tremendous amount
of sonic localization in Koranic recitation. We can't
know the full extent of this localization in the distant
past,  but when the media start to record it, we begin
to hear it, before the Egyptian styles—whether
mujawwad or murattal—achieve dominance as  the
highest ideal, and are imitated everywhere.

Now the Saudis, no doubt, have always had their own

local ways of reciting as well, though without old
recordings from Saudi Arabia, we can't say exactly
what they sounded like in the past. But in the 70s,
with a sudden influx of oil revenue into Saudi Arabia,
suddenly the Saudi version of Islam started being
disseminated everywhere, as a sort of competitor to
the Egyptian version of things, and with this came
Saudi-style recitation.

The impact on Egypt was amplified by the economic

opening (infitah) under President Sadat. Many
Egyptians went to Saudi for work. They would come
back with Saudi recitations.  More generally, Egyptian
tastes started to turn towards things Saudi, not just in
recitation but in dress. People even started to like
some of the Saudi singers too.  Mohammed Abdu
became very popular, a Saudi singer.  The taste in
Egypt started to shift a little bit. One of the things they
started to import was a Saudi view of Islam, a more
conservative form of religion.

This phenomenon dovetailed with other significant

trends in 1970s Egypt. Unlike President Gamal Abdel
Nasser, Sadat leaned towards a Western capitalist
model. In order to counter Egypt’s communists, he
granted more freedom to revivalist Islamic groups,
many of which cultivated links with Saudi Arabia.  He
took the cork out of that bottle in an attempt to allow
Islamic currents to proliferate, silencing the leftists,
portraying himself as a more devout “believer
president” than his predecessor. In the end that totally
backfired, as he was assassinated by the very forces
he unleashed.  But connections to Saudi Arabia
continued to grow.
During the early and mid-1990s, the revivalist current
in Egypt was political, often militantly so, and
sometimes violent.  But toward the end of the 90s
that violence died down, not only due to government
repression, but also due to its popular expansion.  As
this Saudi-influenced Islamic revivalism spread, the
political and revolutionary dimension become less
salient. Rather, the really striking feature was a large
group of mainstream Egyptians who had worked in
the Gulf, or with relatives who had worked there, who
began taking on Saudi attitudes and cultural values.
The subtext was something like “Saudi Arabia is
wealth, while we’re poor; if only we had practiced
Islam correctly, we wouldn’t have lost the war in ‘67
and we would be on a sound footing today.” This
Saudi Islam is conservative, not only socially but also
politically. It’s not about rocking the boat too much. In
fact, it reaches high up in the government and in the
business sector. They have their shops, their
businesses, their companies, and are not interested in
 revolutionary activity, as were many of the militant
groups in the 1990s.  They are conservative.  For all
these reasons, they lean toward the Saudi style of
recitation which has been coming in on cassette, as a
means of expressing their religious posture, while also
disseminating it.

The Saudi reciters strike many Egyptians as more

proper than the Egyptian reciters who verged on
tarab. The Saudis use fewer melodic modes, and in a
more limited way.  For a lot of people, understandably,
this style appears more properly religious, as it’s
further from being a musical art. During the 1990s, this
Saudi style rapidly began to catch on in Egypt.  It not
only represents a new Islamic ethos, but has actually
propelled the art of recitation in new directions, as
some Egyptians come to practice it. It has come to
represent, in an emotionally powerful yet non-
discursive way, all of the values which are carried by
this new capitalist, conservative, religious current.
Which is very much the way Saudi Arabia works – it’s
consumerist, it’s capitalist; it’s also very religious and
conservative. The Saudi recitational style embodies
all of that.

So, people take to it. Even the national recording

company, SonoCairo (Sawt al-Qahira), started to
produce and distribute popular Saudi reciters like
Shaykh `Ali `Abd al-Rahman al-Hudhayfi,  Shaykh `Abd
al-Rahman Sudays,  and  Shaykh Ahmed al-`Ajmi, who
are not known primarily as professional reciters, but
rather as preachers, imams who lead congregations
at  some of Saudi Arabia’s major mosques. This gives
them a lot of religious credibility. They’re not seen as
professional performers as many of the Egyptian
reciters were. Many Egyptians prefer their style, and
have begun to move toward their recitational model
when reciting themselves.

As a result, there are now three broad style signs in

Egypt:  the old Egyptian mujawwad, the Egyptian
murattal, and the Saudi style, which sounds a bit like
murattal, but in a Saudi accent and with several other
distinctive properties. This Saudi style has become
very popular, and all three have come to take on a
political significance which they might not have had in
the past, when they were simply local styles that
evolved in adaptation to a local context. Now that
they’re juxtaposed, they take on a broader meaning,
and when you select a cassette to play in  your store
or home, you’re making a significant political choice,
even if you’re not aware of its significance.

B.E: Could I tell the difference?

 M.F.: Yes, it’s very clear.  It’s absolutely clear in vocal
timbre, timing. Even the modes are different.  The
Saudis seem to prefer mode Rast. The Egyptians
prefer mode Bayyati.

Much more from Michael Frishkopf coming…

(/)

Audio Programs (/audio-programs) Articles (/articles) Donate (/page/donate)

About (/page/about-afropop) Contact (/page/contact)

Media Partners Funding Partners

(https://www.arts.gov/)
(https://www.busaramusic.org/) (https://www.neh.gov/)
(https://www.prx.org/)