'Halal' Music Makes a Comeback

Last summer, when Ostad Mohammad-Reza Lotfi — Iran's most accomplished classical musician and tar master — returned from exile in the West to found a music school, hordes of eager young musicians stood in interminable lines under the Tehran sun, instrument cases tucked under their arms, waiting to take the entrance exam. The opportunity to study with the legendary composer drew star-struck young people from all across the country. Enough women showed up for an all women's orchestra.

Located on a dilapidated block near Pich-e Shemroon, a central neighborhood that retains the dusty charm of old Tehran, the school occupies the quarters where Lotfi taught before being shut-down by authorities after the 1979 revolution. He returned once in the mid-1990s to re-open the school, but the government promptly cracked down and Lotfi returned to Europe. So, why now, under the tenure of hard-line President Mahmoud Ahmadinejad, is Lotfi's school of music is being tolerated?

The authorities' new tolerance for Iranian classical music has mystified Tehran's musical community. As Gelareh Mahmoudi, a 32-year-old daf player, put it: "Everyone expected the worst, more restrictions at the least, but not this." The thaw, of course, was unannounced; musicians seeking permission to organize ensembles or hold concerts simply found themselves facing fewer bureaucratic obstacles. It gained momentum last year after Lotfi's school opened, and Ostad Mohammad-Reza Shajjarian (the beloved classical singer who is Iran's answer to Luciano Pavarotti) held his first concert in nearly a decade. The government also permitted a rare open-air concert series, and even produced its own pamphlet showcasing Iranian musicians for international festivals. An Iranian orchestra participating in festivities welcoming Ahmadinejad to China last year drew admiring comments from a president not known for indulging art forms suppressed by the mullahs.

To be sure, there's not much in Iranian classical music to rile the conservative sensibilities of the country's clerical leaders: Often described as somber, it consists of solo performances on ancient instruments, accompanied by lyrics borrowed from the poetry of Rumi. It's not exactly Britney Spears or the Persian pop sounds of Los Angeles. And while the formal status of music under Islamic law is a matter of debate, ornate music rooms in old Persian palaces and miniature paintings of female musicians attest to the tolerance of previous Shi'ite rulers. Even the mass protests that brought down the Shah's regime in 1979 were energized by revolutionary songs complete with harmonies and instrumentals.

But the religious authorities who came to power during the Islamic Revolution dealt harshly with music, declaring musical instruments and a woman's singing voice haram (forbidden), almost extinguishing the classical tradition. Museum-quality instruments were burned in bonfires; professional musicians lost their livelihoods and many emigrated to the West. Instruments were banned from being shown in television, films, stores or even classrooms, leaving the generations of Iranians born after the revolution unable to distinguish a tar from a setar — the equivalent of a Western child being unable to tell a cello from a guitar.

In 1989, Ayatullah Khomeini issued a subtle fatwa distinguishing between haram and halal forms of music, which created small openings. Possession of an instrument was no longer illegal, although a permit was required. Musicians could apply to perform in public, although only the most committed could deal with the difficulties in renting suitable auditoriums, the censorship of lyrics, and the presence of mullahs dispatched to preach before the concert.

One possible explanation for the recent thaw is the fondness for Iranian classical music among top officials of the regime itself. Classical musicians perform at private gatherings of some of the country's important clerical families, and it is widely known that one of the country's most powerful leaders plays the tar. An Administrator at the University of Shiraz, a mullah, is often seen sitting in the front row of performances by a major orchestra, moved to tears by the music.

Others see a more political motive behind the thaw — to project a more tolerant image abroad. "They may not have had a change of heart," says a ney player who wished to remain anonymous. "But they care about their international image, and will exploit music to that end."

Even the more relaxed rules leave Iranian musicians facing limits outrageous by international standards. The government promotional brochure may feature a female musician on its first page, but several provinces have banned women from appearing on stage. Lyrics are still aggressively vetted by censors, who often bar verses of poetry that are tolerated in print. Most prohibitive, though, are the high fees charged by government bodies for holding concerts, resulting in net losses for most performances. Permits are often issued on the very day of the concert, making it impossible for organizers to advertise ahead of time. "Today it is possible to work, though the pressures are still vast," says Majid Derakshani, leader of the Khorshid Orchestra, which traveled to China for the summit attended by the president. "The government would cancel music entirely, if it believed it could. But they now realize that society needs music."

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