At the Side of Ustad Davami by M. R. Shajarian translated by Iraj Bashiri copyright 1995

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It was in the fall of 1973 when Faramarz Paivar took me to Abdullah Davami's house in Jammaran for the first time. The house was small, but neat. The eighty-one-year old Abdullah Khan, small of stature and somewhat weakened by age, met us warmly. Paivar visited Davami, who lived alone, twice a week. The two seemed to be very close friends.

Paivar introduced me. Abdullah Khan smiled and welcomed me. Paivar then added, "Shajarian hopes to learn the radifs from you." He answered, "He is welcome to do so. He should bring a notebook. No tape recorders, however."

Paivar then looked at me and whispered, "Abdullah Khan does not like tape recorders. Make sure you don't bring one. If you do, he will not admit you to his house."

After tea, Paivar received his instructions regarding Davami's affairs and we left. Abdullah Khan walked us to the door.

The Master's Murmurs

Beginning the next day, until the end of his life, I spent a good deal of time with Ustad Davami. Every other day I drove him either to buy something or just for a ride down Shamiran Avenue. I felt as if I was a semi-valet for him and he acted as if he was my father. He shared his thoughts with me and, whenever he needed me, he called me up. He would say, "Get here quick, I need to talk to you," or "On your way, buy such and such." Throughout this period, I used to ask him about music and he shared his memories of the past with me.

When we worked at home, I took notes; but, in the car, I could not take notes and drive at the same time. Besides, when cruising in the car he used to murmur a tasnif or sing a radif for me. In order to have a record of this, I had a secret tape recorder installed in my car. I could turn it on with a button. Ustad did not know that I was recording his voice and, twenty years after, I still feel awkward when I reflect on those days. Yet, this very act has created a small treasure of his knowledge and voice.

The instruction of the vocal radifs began with the Mahur dastgah and practice of the gushes. Sometimes, after learning a tasnif from him, I performed it on the radio. This situation continued until 1977 when Nur Ali Khan passed away at the age of seventy, leaving everyone in a state of shock and sorrow. The night before he passed away we both were guests at the Gulistan Palace to listen to the Tehran Symphony's opera version of a ghazal of Hafiz. The master was invited to give his opinion on the performance. That night, when we reached the bottom of the stairs, he stopped to rest and, before starting to climb, said, "Old age has arrived. Time for youth to depart." Then he added, "No, I am fine." And he was fine and quite healthy. After viewing the program, however, he was angry. "Even Hafiz's poetry is not immune from their inroads!" he said angrily. The next night, he died of a heart attack.

Davami's Anxieties and Doubts

A week after the death of Nur Ali Khan, Davami called me and asked me to visit him. When I met him late that afternoon, he was very depressed. looking out the window, he said, "Nur Ali Khan was young. It's a pity that he left us." Then, placing his finger on his lip, he added, "But I am healthy." He was fifteen years older than Nur Ali Khan but was sorry for him. The way he consoled himself made me chuckle.

Abdullah Khan, after a moment, continued, "Son, Paivar wanted me to sing the traditional tasnifs for the Ministry of Culture and Arts. They wanted to record the sessions. They even signed a contract to pay me a sum at the end. I have sung the tasnifs in shur for them. But its a year since then. I haven't had any news about the progress of the project. I want you to go to them and tell them that I shall not live forever. They should bring their recording machines and record these songs before I forget them." Then he added, "I think Paivar has been asking for an enormous amount for this and they have refused. He might even have abandoned the project."

The Master's Lost Notebook

I should add that, in general, Abdullah Khan was a suspicious person, especially with regard to his fellow musicians. I do not know the reason, however. He suspected even Paivar who helped him so much and who did everything for him. For example, he had a sitar hanging on his wall. Once he said, "This sitar is a good instrument. Lutfi has his eye on it. He offered to take it and have it fixed. But I didn't let him. I wasn't sure that he would bring it back." But I knew Lutfi. He was ready to sacrifice his life for Ustad Davami.

Another example. One day he asked me to go to Mahmud Ali Khan, Nur Ali Khan's brother, and retrieve his lost notebook. That notebook had been lost one night in a get-together. There had been many guests with their eyes on that notebook. "It contained all my tasnifs," he said. "I used it to refresh my memory. Later on, I found out that Haj Aqa Muhammad had it."

Then, again, placing his index finger on his teeth, he said, "Of course, Haj Aqa Muhammad was not a musician. But, well, he had his eye on that notebook. I often went to his house. All musicians did. Once, I even mentioned to him that my notebook was in his possession, but he said that he has no idea about what I was talking about. I think he was lying. He liked those kinds of things. He had collected all existing traditional musical instruments. Of course, he was not an evil person. But I think he had learned many traditional tasnifs, especially those of Sheida, by studying my notebook. They say, when Haj Aqa Muhammad died, Nur Ali Khan Borumand took over the instruments and the notebook. Now I want you to go and collect that notebook. I might have forgotten some of those tasnifs. Although I remember all very well. But one can never be sure. It's a pity if I forget some."

The Roots of Davami's Suspicion

I knew that what Ustad said was not true. Neither was he to blame. The blame was due those who created rumors, promoted them, and poisoned the minds of their senior fellow musicians. This situation is more compelling today when back-biting among the members of the artistic community has become a cancer. Ustad Davami's words about Borumand and Haj Aqa Muhammad Mujarrad were inspired by such influences. I felt I should clear the master's mind of those thoughts. I said, "Believe me, Ustad. You should not be suspicious of Haj Aqa Muhammad. You respect the man. Why would he want to hide your notebook and not return it to you? His house was the gathering place for all artists. He presented his guest with the best of everything. He loved and respected you in a most special way. Besides, Borumand did not have any use for tasnifs. Neither does his knowledge of radif-i mirza, overtures, and rengs have anything to do with your notebook. The tasnifs that he recited have other sources. Can we doubt that a talented man like Borumand who has spent his life listening to and learning from the masters could learn a few tasnifs? I am sure he, too, doesn't have your notebook. If he did, we surely would know about it. Please do not allow these trivial issues to destroy your thoughts. Believe me all these are baseless thoughts put into your head by those who wish you ill."

Suggestion to Record the Tasnifs

He listened carefully to all that. Then, allowing his anger to subside, he said, "You are right. Maybe it fell into the stream. That night, the party was held in a big garden. I was sitting on a bench which was placed over a small stream. I could have placed it next to me and it could have fallen when I got up. But, how could it happen without my knowledge? I kept that notebook next to me. I am sure they stole it. Many people were around me."

This suspicion pressed heavily upon him because it was related to something for which he had worked very hard and which he had lost. This situation was made worse by the constant fuel that war-mongers added to the flame.

Anyway, after all this, a thought occurred to me. I said, "Would you consider transferring your contract with Culture and Arts to me? I will bring a good recorder. You sing and I will record. I will pay you whatever amount they intended to pay. Unless, of course, you have received a down payment from Culture and Arts." "No," he said, "I have not received anything. And, considering all aspects, maybe you are in a better position to do it. You are interested and can help me do them in one take. After all, we are human. How do I know? One night I may go to bed and not get up the next morning. The major thing is that you must learn them well and sing them well. and Saba, too, took some of these and sang them on the radio. But they sang them spaced out. These pieces have a particular rhythm that must be followed. This is not to speak about the inexperienced performers who might botch them and register them under their own names. I want you to keep these in a safe place and perform them professionally."

104 tasnifs

I promised Ustad Davami that I would protect his compositions and that I would not perform them before I learned them well. The next day, when I returned with a tape recorder, he handed me a contract that he had prepared. The necessary instructions and the required advance were both indicated in it. I had received some money from Radio Shiraz that day for my performance of Rast Panjgah at the Shiraz Art Celebration. I gave that money to Ustad Davami as the down payment. The recording of the tasnifs took a year and a half.

Two days a week were devoted to the project. We got together in the afternoon; he sang while I recorded and took notes. We worked with Davami's notes, reducing them until we had 140 tasnifs instead of the 250 traditional tasnifs he had. The discrepancy was due to the fact that he had sung different lyrics to the same basic melody.

Finally, the 140 tasnifs were organized and recorded. But, even after this close scrutiny, there were still some melodies that carried two lyrics. I am glad, nevertheless, that I was able to record these tasnifs for the Persian music archives. My future plans include the singing of all these tasnifs with the accompaniment of traditional instruments. Of course, most of these are already performed by myself or by other singers. But to date, we still have not mastered the subtleties that distinguish Davami's performance. I intend to perfect the performance and present his tasnifs in a way that would satisfy Ustad Davami.

End of the Road

Abdullah Khan lived many years without a wife. Only during the last three or four years of his life he married an elderly woman from Rasht. His wife, not liking the small house in Jammaran, forced the Ustad to sell the old house and buy a new one in one of the crowded districts of Tehran. The location and the summer heat affected Davami's health adversely.

Ustad Davami died of a heart attack in the winter of 1981.