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 religious 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 extemporize
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 peering 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 I 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.