Magnificently Composed

We, two Greek/Australians, drove to Marcel Khalifé’s concert at the Opera House, listening to the Cretan musician Xilouris. In retrospect, his music served as the perfect appetizer.  Xilouris’ music is defined by the use of the Cretan lute or laoúto, a close cousin to the Arabic lute, the oud, Marcel Khalifé is so famous for.  We feel, that the most beautiful songs in the Mediterranean are uttered best by the oud and its cousins. The Arabs brought the oud to that world and ever since, from Morocco to Crete and from Armenia to Palestine, it is the oud that still sings the songs of the desert, the laments of lost homelands and the joys of eternal love. As children of that world, even if we are a generation and thousands of kilometres away, these are the songs that our souls want to sing. Although our spirits yearned to sing, Khalifé spawned a response that transcended mere song. The poetry, the oud, and the tales conveyed by Khalifé came together to encourage a certain nostalgia, solidarity, communion and joy. Although we connected deeply with the music, atmosphere and message of Khalifé, we feel an advanced authority (and one who could better comment on the subject), would have been the gentleman in the row in front of us. Constantly removing his glasses to wipe away his tears, his access and understanding of the message of Khalifé’s music was the ideal.

We are the first to admit that in the poverty of words we cannot adequately explain the affect and the visceral surge that was. Nonetheless, as witnesses, audience members and conduits, we can begin to explain what Khalifé realised in musical terms. Marcel Khalifé was accompanied by a piano (Rami Khalifé), percussion (Bachar Khalifé) and the double bass (Peter Herbert). The musicianship of Khalifé is well established and so it was inspiring to see the other members of his ensemble demonstrate equal high standards. Our biggest surprise of the night was Rami Khalifé’s manipulation of the piano and its sympathetic vibrations culminating  to creative nothing short of spectacular theatrics. Rami Khalifé ventured practically inside the iron frame of the piano pulling and knocking strings, consequently resonating and creating an echo and a soundstage for dreaming and most importantly, playfulness.

Yet it is the audience’s response to this ‘playfulness’ that is of particular significance. Despite the fact that Marcel Khalifé (alongside Anouar Brahem) is known as our most contemporary and innovative oud musician, the response to his, at times surprising and experimental concert, could be described as somewhat ambiguous. The audience seemed at worst alienated, and at best indifferent, to the surprising and theatrical musical involvement of Rami Khalifé. The veil of silence engulfing the audience whenever seemingly improvised jazz instrumentals entered the theatre, would indicate that the crowd was less interested in musical experimentation than they were the familiar music, narratives and sentiments they associated with Marcel Khalifé.

This having been said, it was the musician’s recognised songs and oud playing that translated as the most emotive. Take for a example a friend who accompanied us to the concert. A middle-aged Cretan-born Greek/Australian mother of three, who does not understand a word of Arabic, looked over at us half way through the concert with eyes welled up with tears. It would seem that Khalifé, if we are to take our friend as a model, has the unique ability to transcend literal language. In effect, his work exemplifies the way that music can surpass the confines of language and can convey the affect of a narrative and message. Put simply, his music has the ability to converse with our soul.

Art, and by definition – music, has the ability to record and disseminate narratives and tales excluded from the historical archive. Music, like poetry and the visual arts, is by its very nature a subjective discipline. As such, artistic attempts to record and circulate a tale or chronicle are understood from the outset, to contain subjectivity and emotion. One only has to look to the way that Marcel Khalifé approaches the historically excluded Palestinian collective narrative, history and experience in his music. Khalifé’s music often rests upon the aching, beautiful words and works of the Palestinian national poet, Mahmoud Darwish. In so doing, he draws upon a Palestinian history of recording their collective narrative in the arts. Khalifé’s commitment to the Palestinian story is so well established, that Palestinians often refer to him as an honorary Palestinian. His commitment to recording the Palestinian ‘chronicle’ is perhaps best evidenced by a 2002 statement, where Khalifé, addressing those living in the Palestinian territories, wrote, 'If I had the power, I would slay death, and keep you inside my bosom. But all I can do is record your actions…singing your chronicle.'

His words remind us of the recognised Palestinian artist Kamal Boullata, who in 1979 wrote 'I have chosen the hard way to respond to the call of history.' Writing in reference to his art making practice, Boulatta went further to say, 'I shall – within the limits of my vocabulary – attempt the difficult task of stating what I see.'  Here, both Boulatta and Khalifé make clear the confines of their art but announce nonetheless, their commitment to the Palestinian narrative and plight. To take the point one step further, we must acknowledge that the vocabulary of art and artistic practice plays a fundamental role in the creation of a cohesive voice, solidarity and political movement. Edward Said, the most prominent of Palestinian writers and theorists tells us that ‘successful liberation movements were successful precisely because they employed creative ideas, original ideas, imaginative ideas…The future like the past, is built by human beings. They, and not some distant mediator or saviour, provide the agency for change.’[1] We are not claiming that creative agency is the only mode for ‘liberation’, but we do believe however, is that creative agency plays a fundamental role in expanding the vocabulary, message and potential of any political or cultural movement.

It is the particular critical engagement spawned as a result of the artistic ‘vocabulary’ that takes chief priority for Khalifé. In 2006, the musician encouraged members of UNESCO to be a 'roaring anger, magnificently composed, unruffled by people's rage and unyielding to the temptation to escape the question with an obscure, prepared answer '. His words serve to reinforce Said’s point. Maintaining creative, original and magnificent composition, whether in one’s own person, art or music, is the first step in critically distilling a message or story. In this regard, one begins to understand the motivation behind Rami Khalifé’s seemingly impromtu jazz piano solos. They signify Marcel Khalifé’s resolve to bring to music, politics and culture an effect and response that is innovative and openly disavowing of ‘prepared answers’. In the end, we must remember that it is Khalife’s reputation for musical excellence and his commitment to peace and justice that came together to give him a place at the Opera House. His place as the first ever Arab musician to play at the Opera House signals something of considerable consequence; Khalifé’s concert allowed the ‘Arab’ narrative and experience, one that is so often excluded from critical and cultural engagement, to enter the privileged space that is our Sydney Opera House.