A student recently asked me to name some Turkish songs in 9/8 besides the well-known Rampi Rampi and Mastika. Here are a few that are easy to find.
Each song below links to a single example. There are many, many recordings of these songs – choose the ones you like best.
Did I miss one you think should be on here? Let me know. 🙂
My husband took tae kwon do for many, many years. At the end of each class, the students were required to bow to each other and say “gamsamnida”. I was quite surprised when I found out that the instructor had never told them what it meant – it’s Korean for “thank you”. (My best friend is half-Korean; I’ve picked up a number of Korean phrases over the years, as well as a habit of making my own kimchi.)
My mind went back to this anecdote when I was trying to come up with a way to end my classes – just saying “OK, we’re done” seemed anticlimactic after all the work we’d been doing. A friend and student of mine who teaches her own tango classes mentioned having her students clap at the end of every lesson, and that she thought I needed some kind of a closing “ritual”.
Since teaching is one of my greatest joys, expressing appreciation to my students for coming appealed to me. I started ending each class with “teşekkur ederim – thank you all for coming.” (“Teşekkur ederim” = “thank you” in Turkish.) It feels right. I like it.
Last week in my beginner class, my students wanted me to write the phrase out for them. Then one of them asked me, “how do you say ‘you’re welcome’?” Caught flat-footed, I promised to look it up.
The closest to a literal “you’re welcome” is “rica ederim”. There are a couple of other options for responses that I also like: “mutlu oldum” (“my pleasure”), and “ben teşekkur ederim” (“I thank you“).
I’m curious who else out there has rituals for starting or ending class. I’d love to see what other people do in the comments.
The video above of Reggie Watts at TED is almost 10 minutes long, and I’m going to ask you to watch it twice. Twice, because it deserves to be watched the first time with wonder and pleasure, without analysis.
The second time because I think this performance is a spectacular example of stage presence, pacing, and the manipulation of audience anticipation.
Watts spends almost the first full minute speaking in languages that he must assume the majority of his English-speaking audience doesn’t understand. I, watching, spent that entire minute in a state of sharpened attention, wondering what was coming next.
Minute two he spends slowly, getting his audience warmed up and feeling connected. We develop a sense of his rhythm as a performer. It’s not until about 3:40 that he settles in and gets down to business. That’s when things become suddenly very technical and layered. It’s impressive. But imagine if he’d start right off the bat with that, with a cold audience.
Often new dance performers worry about the time spent standing in the wings while the music plays, letting the audience’s anticipation build. The time spent walking around the stage, greeting the audience and doing a few hip drops during a set’s opening number. But really – by the time Watts pulls out the stops at 3:40, he has us on the edge of our seats, in the palm of his hand.
There are additional parallels to a well-done dance set. No one piece is too long. The middle section of his performance is once again slower-paced, and rich with repetition and variation on a theme. He uses dramatic pauses to good effect. His finale is high-energy and leaves his audience wanting more. Then he takes his time to bow appreciatively to his audience without rushing off the stage.
There’s no question that pacing a performance this way requires confidence and faith, two things that come with experience. But allow yourself to move in this direction as you develop as a performer, and eventually you, too, will hold your audience in the palm of your hand.
Since I reference these instruments when talking to my students, I thought it might be a good idea to put up a quick guide to the instruments you’ll hear most often in Turkish music.
Oud
A fretless lute with a big, bowl-shaped body. The most common type of lute heard in oriental music.
Keman
A violin.
Darbuka
A goblet shaped drum played with the hands. Known in Arabic as a doumbek or tabla.
Klarnet
A clarinet.
Kanun
A stringed instrument related to the dulcimer and zither. The strings are plucked with the fingers.
Tef
A frame drum.
Zilli tef
A tambourine. (“Zilli” = with cymbals, so literally a frame drum with cymbals.)
Davul
A two headed drum hung on a cord worn around the neck and played with sticks. Very common in Roman music, probably due to its portability.
Saz/bağlama
These names are often used interchangeably. They are lutes with smaller bodies than the oud, used in central Anatolian folk music and classical Ottoman music.
Nay
A reed flute.
Cümbüş
A stringed instrument that looks much like a banjo. They were developed in Istanbul in the 1930s as a cheaper alternative to the oud.
Zurna
An ancestor of the oboe, with a strong, whining sound. Associated with mehter (military) music.
Kasiklar
Wooden spoons. Played in southern Turkey, often while dancing.
Ziller
Cymbals. Generally refers to finger cymbals. “Ziller” is simply the plural of “Zil”.
Just a quick post to note that my article on Turkish song names, and what they tell you, has been published by Belly Dance New England magazine:
EDIT:
Fixed link – try this one:
Turkish Music Primer
It happened again. A wonderful New England dancer got local media coverage for a Middle Eastern dance event. I have it on good authority that the writer’s original article was respectful and appreciative of the art. And before it was published, the editor added some references to “boobs” and “boom-chicka-boom”. *sigh*
This happens all too often. It’s a combination of genuine ignorance, and the (admittedly correct) belief that some titillation will get people to read the story. The reaction from the dance community is a combination of those who are angry and disgusted, and those who are resigned.
Typically many of us write letters and emails to the editor, post comments on the publication’s online version and social media pages. I know a number of us ask, does it really make a difference?
I don’t expect the media to stop taking this tack in my lifetime. And I suspect that the editors to whom we address these comments aren’t going to change their minds. But, honestly, they aren’t who I write them for.
If we leave these articles unchallenged, they are the only viewpoint much of the general public gets exposed to. By writing public challenges, we inspire some of the readers to question what the real truth about this art is. Sure, some of them will dismiss us. But others will dig a little deeper and see our dance for what it really is.
I don’t lose sleep over these articles. But I plan to continue challenging them as long as they are published.
Excerpt from famous Zen story “The Taste of Banzo’s Sword”:
Matajuro Yagyu was the son of a famous swordsman. His father, believing that his son’s work was too mediocre to anticipate mastership, disowned him. So Matajuro went to Mount Fuhra and there found the famous swordsman Banzo.
But Banzo confirmed the father’s judgment. ‘You wish to learn swordsmanship under my guidance?’ asked Banzo. ‘You cannot fulfill the requirements.’
‘But if I work hard, how many years will it take me to be come a master?’ persisted the youth.
‘The rest of your life,’ replied Banzo.‘I cannot wait that long,’ explained Matajuro. ‘I am willing to pass through any hardship if only you will teach me. If I become your devoted servant, how long might it be?’
‘Oh, maybe ten years,’ Banzo relented.‘My father is getting old, and soon I must take care of him,’ continued Matajuro. ‘If I work far more intensively, how long would it take me!’
‘Oh, maybe thirty years.’ said Banzo.‘Why is that?’ asked Matajuro. ‘First you say ten and now thirty years. I will undergo any hardship to master this art in the shortest time!’
‘Well,’ said Banzo, ‘in that case you will have to remain with me for seventy years. A man in such a hurry as you are to get results seldom learns quickly.’
I’ve found myself relating this story to a student more than once, not (as in the story itself) as a rebuke for impatience, but to illustrate that pushing to learn a deep, subtle art usually only results in getting in your own way. I also frequently find myself saying “all moves will come to you eventually” – the other side of the same coin.
Oriental dance is so rich and varied that you could study it for several lifetimes and still not run out of things to learn. Mastery of the different aspects grows slowly and organically, a fact which sometimes frustrates beginners, but I see as one of the dance’s gifts, and a lovely antidote to our culture of instant gratification.
Additionally, much of the ability to dance blooms slowly in the subconscious – my students are often surprised at first to find that working hard with the conscious mind doesn’t gain them all that much, but after taking a break from practicing a move for a while, the skill seems to have developed all on it’s own. This too is a gift – learning to trust that, once your intent is set, things move forward without continually having to bring the force of your intellect to bear on them. The pursuit ceases to be exhausting, and the slow but inevitable unfolding of your dance abilities becomes profound and beautiful.
My next Intro to Belly Dance 8-week session starts July 20th and runs Wednesday nights 7:45pm – 8:45pm in Arlington, MA. Class on July 20th is free for new students – come try it out!
For more information or to register, contact me or go to:
http://www.tashkin-rhythms.com/aslahan/bellydance-classes-arlington.html
I was booked to dance at Hanover Hill Health Care in Manchester, NH, for Father’s Day. A bit of a drive from Arlington, especially with the work being done on I93, but we (Mike graciously agreed to come act as my assistant) made it in time to set up and get changed for a 2:00pm show.
I’m not sure what the residents and their families were expecting, but when the music began and I came out playing my finger cymbals, I got every thing from shy smiles to big grins. I heard murmurs during my veil number – surely admiring the work of SilkDancer, who dyed my colorful silk veil – and during the middle of my set I made sure to spend some time out in the audience, even getting a couple of folks to dance with me. There was rhythmic clapping during my drum solo, and more big grins for my lively finale. I took my bow to applause, gathered up my veil, and exited to the changing room set aside for me just off the dining hall where I was performing.
I shut the door and took a big swallow of water. And then – I heard the unmistakeable strains of “Miserlou” being picked out on the piano just outside the door. I couldn’t let this pass, could I? I dabbed my brow with a towel, and slipped back out of the room next to the surprised piano player. I danced a bit next to him, then headed back out to the open performance area. Most dancers know “Miserlou” as a piece for veil dancing, but it’s also a Greek line dance; I spent a few measures dancing the steps. When the piano player launched into “Hava Nagila” one of the residents came out on to the floor, stepping her feet side to side like the lively line dance. I took her hand, and we began gently circling to the right. A couple of visiting ladies came and joined the line, and we were off. Photos were snapped, hands clapped, folks grinned ear-to-ear. When the song came to a close I gave both my dance partner and the pianist a kiss on the cheek before heading off to get changed.
Moments like these are why I perform. Oriental dance has moved on to the big stage, developed theatrical styles, and really allowed artists to evolve some amazing visions, but it’s still here, as an interactive entertainer spreading joy and acting spontaneously, that I see the great beauty in being an Oriental dancer. These unscripted moments are the ones I treasure.
I’ve known or heard of more than one dancer or dance teacher who, when he or she finds a really great resource or hint of some kind, guards it as a careful secret. Instructors who hold back their special technique from students. I can’t deny that when I find a resource for a fantastic costume piece, learn or create a unique bit of dance technique, or receive a really great piece of advice, there’s sometimes a little voice inside me that says, “Don’t share this with anyone else. Then YOU won’t be special.”
I’m not ashamed of this voice. I’m only human. But neither do I heed it. Instead, I try to be generous.
Please note – I’m not talking about giving your time and knowledge away for free. There’s not a thing wrong with being paid to teach, coach, perform. You absolutely should be. I’m talking about being generous of spirit; not holding back the best of yourself from your students, peers, and friends.
I could list all the spiritual, psychological, soul-feeding reasons why this kind of generosity is beneficial. But in this post I’m instead going to outline two perfectly self-serving reasons to be generous of spirit. 🙂
So if you’re worried that you’re being naive to give so much of yourself, consider the points above. On the other hand, if you think *I’m* being naive, feel free to let me know in the comments. 😉