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A Look at Women, Music and the Fourth Annual
Women’s Yaas Music Festival
Shadi Vatanparast
I have just arrived at Vahdat Hall to
cover the Fourth Annual Yaas Women’s Music Festival. Tehran,
Hafez Street, just south of Enghelab (Revolution) Street,
Shahriar Street.
Located in a culturally important and
happening area, if you’re attending a theatre performance or
major concert event, you’re bound to wind up here. On just two
blocks of Shahriar Street there are three concert halls, a music
school, several restaurants and cafés, and the Ministry of
Culture and Islamic Guidance’s Office of Music, which among
less notable tasks, is responsible for approving every album and
concert in the country. A walk through Daneshju Park further down
will lead you right to the City Theatre, Tehran’s most
important theatre venue. As for Vahdat Hall, being the only hall
to have been built specifically for live music performances, it
is arguably the most prestigious music locale, and certainly the
most acoustically sound. And for an entire week, the Ministry of
Culture has reserved it for an all-women’s music festival to
showcase their talents.
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I go through the women’s entrance and
begin the usual routine. The on-duty female attendant asks me if
I’m packing a camera or tape recorder. Although I carry a
reporter’s badge and am usually authorized to bring a camera, I
know better than to bring one today. I reply that I’m not,
knowing she will search anyway. She points to my bag, and I
comply. Once satisfied, she waves me through and I walk through
the open courtyard and into the main building. |
I look around for familiar faces and am
surprised at what I find. The place is swarming with women who
are unveiled, dressed in fancy clothing, styled hair, and
laughing faces. The atmosphere is filled with excitement and
anticipation. After mingling around, I head backstage and find
that same prevailing stir. The singers and musicians are dressed
in various styles- women from outlying provinces are dressed in
their regional clothing while those from Tehran have opted for
urban chic. They represent all ages, but most are in their
twenties. Bustling around in preparation for what is for many
their first major stage appearance, I can’t help thinking about
how much things have changed.
Two decades have passed since female
singers’ voices were first silenced, and then restricted. After
the 1979 Revolution, women singers were banned from performing
publicly. Based on Islamic precepts, a woman’s voice, like her
unveiled body, can arouse men and therefore cannot be heard by
the male ear. Although Islam has never banned women from singing
tout court (two or more voices singing simultaneously is ok and
soloists can sing for women-only audiences), unwritten
restrictions forced them into the corners of their homes and out
of the music scene for many years.
| During the austere revolutionary and
early war years, music in general was considered provocative
and severely restricted. The only music broadcast was
revolutionary and war anthems sung by choirs that included
both men and women. Then Ayatollah Khomeini issued a fatwa
that allowed for other forms of music, and Persian
traditional music performed by men seeped back onto the
airwaves and music stands. As for women, with a few
exceptions, their musical expressions were confined within
university music departments or underground classes. It was
not until after the Iran-Iraq war ended that music regained
some dynamism — music schools and conservatories were
established and other forms of music, like Iranian pop, were
allowed a public space. Alongside this trend, women
musicians and background vocalists began tentatively
appearing in public again. |
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A big break occurred five years ago when
the Ministry of Culture allowed prominently featured female
vocalists to perform for a mixed audience. The landmark concert,
entitled Raaz-e Now (New Secret), featured singers Afsaneh
Rathaee and Homa Niknam singing duet, and was headlined by
Hossein Alizadeh, a tar and setar virtuoso highly
respected for his musical innovations and challenging
compositions. Significantly, the two women were not seated
modestly to the side, apart from the male musicians as expected,
but center stage among the men. Furthermore, although there was a
guest male singer, it was their voices that sang lead. Later, the
group broke further ground by releasing an album by the same name.
To people familiar with the music scene, the feat did not go
unnoticed. It was one thing for rules and norms to be subverted
for a night, but quite another on recordings that had to pass
approval by the Ministry of Culture. Soon after, another first
was achieved when famous pre-Revolutionary women singers- a group
historically maligned by the current regime- like Pari Zanganeh
and Simin Ghanem were given permission to hold public concerts
for women-only audiences.
While female solo performances for mixed
audiences are still banned, duets inevitably flirt with the
limitations by having one singer sing a few bars alone. Since the
relaxing of restrictions, women have mostly sung traditional and
folkloric music, but with the more recent emergence of female
background vocalists in pop music, there is growing anticipation
on what will come next.
In the meantime, the Yaas Music Festival repertoire
was limited to the safe sanctuary of traditional, classical, and
folkloric music (no pop was allowed). This year featured
orchestras performing classic Iranian oldies and ensembles
playing regional music from the provinces of Fars, Kurdestan, and
Azarbaijan. Fariba Davoodi, the head of the Festival, came
onstage to welcome the audience, and referring to the improvement
of quality every year, expressed great hopes for future
performances. Later, she returned to request that the audience
refrain from whistling and clapping with the music, upon which
she was promptly ignored once the performances resumed.
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The Music Office of the Ministry of Culture and
Islamic Guidance, the event’s sponsor, released an
overblown and self-congratulatory statement declaring the
all ways in which the Festival afforded women a spectacular
opportunity to elevate their cultural activities and enhance
their participation. Considering the restrictions imposed on
women and the infrequency and limited nature of such
opportunities, I couldn’t help viewing the Festival’s
exhibitionist nature as a form of gender discrimination.
Moreover, because the Festival offered a rare opportunity
for women soloists to perform publicly, only women could
attend, hence the public unveiling. As a result of this
visual and auditory unveiling, all audio and visual
recordings were strictly forbidden in the fear that they
could fall into the wrong hands. Exigencies required that
the Festival leave no record behind, unless of course, you
count the plaques that were handed out to the performers. |
In light of the Islamic Republic’s past,
government sponsorship of women’s music is no small
accomplishment. Yet this fragile détente doesn’t change the
fact that much of women’s musical artistry remains concealed
from the public at large. Deprived of wider recognition, these
artists have little beyond a sense of personal accomplishment to
serve as their encouragement and reward.
I exit Vahdat Hall. Outside, the car
headlights of men waiting for their wives are shining brightly in
the dark. I close my eyes for a moment. Someday men will be
filing out of the concert hall with their wives instead of
standing outside. I hear a woman say, “My father loves
Qamar’s voice. The singer in the blue dress sounded just like
Qamar. I wish my father could have heard her.” I open my eyes.
This is Tehran, 2002.
transl.: MS
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