Algeria from Within/Chapter 13
CHAPTER XIII
ARAB MUSIC AND DANCING
I have talked a great deal about music and dancing in Algeria without describing their characteristics. There are three very distinct classes of music: that for dancing, that for ballads about war or love, and that for religious chants.
These various forms of music have their respective instruments, which, though few in number, differ considerably one from the other. The first is the raïta: in shape it resembles a short trumpet bored with holes, on which rest the fingers, and with a bell-shaped mouth. The sound is created by vast quantities of air being blown through a reed mouthpiece, producing a sound not unlike the bagpipes, only much louder. In fact, I have rarely heard one man produce such an ear-piercing and strident squeal as the raïta-player, and sitting close up to the music is pain and grief. This instrument is used exclusively for dancing, and it is accompanied by a man with a tam-tam or a derbouca.
The tam-tam resembles in shape a very large tambourine, and is played with both hands, producing a rather dry, rhythmical cadence. The derbouca looks like a large flower-vase with a round body and a long neck. Over the farther end is stretched a piece of skin, and the playing is the same as the tam-tam, but with a much deeper sound.
In addition to the above, one often sees a tambourinist; but the usual orchestra for dancing consists of two men—the raïta-player and the drummer, with his tam-tam or derbouca.
The second type of wind instrument is the flute. This is either the ordinary penny whistle made out of a reed and producing the same sort of music, only softer, or the long flute, chiefly found in the southern areas. The flute is the most interesting of all the Arab instruments and the hardest to play. It consists of a long reed hollowed out, about half an inch in diameter and from two to three feet long. It has eight stops, but there is no sort of mouthpiece.
The sound is produced by the player blowing across the top of the flute at some particular angle which I have never been able to discover, and producing the softest, saddest, deepest note one can possibly imagine.
To the most unmusical the sound of the long flute must appeal, and when accompanying one of those love ballads of the far South it is enchanting.
These two flutes are used to accompany all kinds of songs, but chiefly those concerning the exploits of heroes and the love lays which hold such a big place in all Arab melodies. Occasionally it is used to follow religions chants, but not always.
The flute is usually accompanied by the tam-tam or the derbouca, which is played very softly. Moreover, the accompaniment to the song is more often only heard between each verse, while during the singing it is just a faint drone with a distinct time-beating, and sometimes no music at all.
The religious chants, which are not, as might be supposed, sung in the mosques but at the shrines of saints or in private houses, have usually no accompaniment except the tam-tam. These chants consist of either hymns in praise of some saint or marabout, or else in long passages of the Koran telling one of our well-known Bible stories. At first sight it would seem that such music without any sort of instrument would be singularly dull, but when one hears the singer bending over his tam-tam, pouring out a volume of sound, keeping a wonderful time with his hands, one is carried away by the rhythm.
At the end of each verse or group of verses there is usually a chorus in praise of Allah or of Mohammed, which is taken up by the audience.
The performers in the cases of the dance-music and the ballad-singing are professionals who either earn their living by playing nightly in the local cafés or by wandering about the country earning their supper as they go. Some of them are poets, and will ex-temporize songs about the host or about his mistress.
There are also mandolinists and violinists, but these are usually found among private individuals who perform for their own amusement or for that of their friends. They play the same sort of music, both religious and otherwise, and if one has a friend who owns a mandolin a very pleasant evening may be passed with delightful music. It is much gayer, and there are some airs which could almost be used for modern dancing.
The violinists are disappointing from the European standpoint. The player does not place the instrument to his shoulder, but holds it upright on his knee and draws the bow across the strings rather after the fashion of a man with a double bass, emitting a somewhat corresponding sound.
At first Arab music seems all the same, and the unaccustomed listener can not differentiate between the melodies, but little by little the ear becoming accustomed, he can tell at once if the air is from Oran or from Algiers, from the mountains of the Tell or from the far South; and the beat of the religious chant is unmistakable.
There are occasionally companies of musicians who travel around with a variety of instruments and singers, male and female, and dancers. There are also those who sing only the Koran, and serious marabouts almost always have their private musicians. One also sees troupes of actors, usually Tunisians, who give small plays interspersed with music and dancing. The performance goes on for hours and hours, and the audience sits spellbound without uttering a sound of approval or disapproval. Occasionally a comic scene provokes laughter, but generally speaking a dramatic performance is carried through in absolute silence.
The dancing is as varied as the music. It is usually carried out by women, who start learning at a very youthful age. The danse du ventre, which is essentially of the North, or of Turkish origin, is decidedly ugly. It is, however, much appreciated and takes endless practise to learn.
The dance of the Ouled Naïls, on which is based most of the other dances, is very picturesque, and the movements of the hands, like the wings of a hunting hawk, and the feet, are a delight to watch.
Occasionally men dance too; sometimes in the cafés with a woman executing strange figures, but usually alone or with other men. One of the finest exhibitions of this kind I ever saw was at Ghardaia one warm evening in April.
A great fire of alfa grass had been lighted in the market-square illuminating the unsymmetrical arches; masses of men in white squatted all round, while above, on the flat roofs of the houses, could be discerned rows and rows of veiled women pecring down on the scene below like ghostly gargoyles. The music was the raïta and the tam-tam, and even in the open air the volume of sound produced by the musicians was sufficient to fill the whole square.
Suddenly a dozen or so men rose, formed themselves into two lines facing one another, and then majestically, with slow steps, they advanced toward each other; when they met they hesitated and then retreated. It was like the opening of a quadrille. At first it was all very solemn, and the figures consisted mostly of slow rhythmical steps, then as the music inspired them, their bodies seemed to stiffen and their feet to move more rapidly. Suddenly and simultaneously, as the raïta broke into a wilder air, the two groups stopped for a second and then, raising their arms, brandished their sticks in the air.
Again they advanced, but this time much more quickly, and as they met struck the sticks of the opposing group; back they retreated to the original post, again they advanced, and, passing through the other group, took up a place at the other end of the square. The fire blazed up and lit up the faces shining in the flickering light as they looked forward with bright, excited eyes.
A group of men detached themselves and started dancing alone; they moved slowly round the group of spectators, then as the music rose they went faster and faster until they were spinning in a mad whirl round the fire. Faster, faster, faster, until, with a gasp, a dancer fell in a state of exhaustion and another took his place.
And so the dancing went on; the few Europeans who were present gradually slipped away, but long. after I was in bed I could hear away in the distance the skirl of the raïta, and I could imagine those wild. men whirling madly round and round the market-square.
Another form of music and dancing seen in Algeria, but much less common than that which I have described above, is that carried out by negroes. The fact that a man is black does not confer any lowering mark on him in Algeria. He is not the common coarse nigger, but of the Senegalese and Sudanese type, and probably a blood descendant of the Numidians who ruled parts of the country before the Arab invasions.
The dances these men, and sometimes the women, perform are remarkable chiefly for the fact that the dancers and the orchestra are one and the same thing. Six or eight persons will get up, among whom one carries a drum and others two or three heavy cymbals and an instrument like an enormous iron castanet. The dancers form a compact circle and begin slowly chanting, accompanying their voices with the drum and the cymbals. Then gradually the voices rise, and with them the clashing of the instruments, until the whole develops into a wild war-song which increases in speed at every bar. The black men dance round and round, first on one foot and then on the other, perspiration pouring off their dark foreheads, their eyes starting out of their heads; nothing stops them; in fact, once they begin it is impossible to quell the dance until exhaustion has done its work.
I remember once going to a party at a private house where eight of these dancers, six men and two women, had come to perform. They started, and it was a wonderful sight to see them gyrating round the pillared court, with the setting of Arabs all round and the stars shining down from above. But after an hour or so of this, the audience got rather bored, and an attempt was made to get them to stop; this was, however, impossible, and on, on they went. Finally the host got angry, and with difficulty the performers were pushed into the street, still dancing and quite oblivious of all about them.
Our party continued, and some hours later, when J was walking home, I suddenly came upon the negroes still dancing. It is true that only a few remained, but these went on and on with their terrible chant, and on and on they whirled, unable to stop, unable to think, until their bodies gave out and they fell upon the ground.
Yes, dancing and music in Algeria is varied, and its charm, though an acquired taste, is something quite unlike anything else, and takes hold of the senses in a most extraordinary way.