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Home , Davul, Oud

Learning to Make an in Istanbul Working Practice - Instrument Construction - Background

By Jonathan Hill

Contents

About Me …………………………………………………………………………….. Page 3

Background of my Fellowship - About my Project …………………. Page 4

My Aims & Study Approach ………………………………………………….. Page 6

My Fellowship – Findings and Observations

Part 1 – Working Practice Working practice and life in Istanbul …………………………….….…. Page 7

Component parts made by specialists ………………………………….. Page 12

Part 2 - Construction Constructing an Oud bowl ………………………………………………..….. Page 14

Part 3 – Musical Background Istanbul as a crossroads of musical styles …………………………….. Page 20

History of Turkish Classical Music - Cultural influences & main instruments ………………………….……. Page 22

Turkish Music system and how it relates to the West ………….... Page 26

Conclusion & Recommendations..………………………………………….. Page 28

Acknowledgments …………………………………………………………..….... Page 29

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About me

I am a - a maker of stringed musical instruments. I specialize in the making of early bowed instruments as well as the modern violin family.

I completed my formal training at West Dean College in Sussex, where I passed the Making Stringed Musical Instruments Diploma programme with Distinction.

I then gained full-time employment at ‘Roger Hansell Violins’ in North Yorkshire, where I built fine concert standard Violins, Violas and ‘Cello’s for professional musicians.

Upon leaving this job in 2013, I immediately began working as a freelance maker and spent time working in various workshops with other including Nupi Jenner in Vienna, Renate Fink in Germany and Peter Barton in the U.K., to develop my knowledge and further my skills.

My time is now divided between being a freelance maker, and the Associate tutor of the FdA in Historical Craft Practice, at West Dean College in Sussex. My own work predominantly involves completing commissions for early bowed instruments such as the Viola da gamba, Viola d’amore, Baroque Violin & other related instruments.

I am particularly stimulated by the unique mix of Craft, Art, Science and Geometry, which is intrinsic to this area of work. As a maker of period instruments, it’s essential to have a sense of the working practices of the time from which the instrument was originally developed. Research is inevitably a large part of the work- closely studying original examples of period instruments to better understand how they were made, and researching historical sources to gain both a sense of the working practices and the atmosphere of wider society at that time. I feel that a thorough understanding of the past is important, but that one should not look only backwards and remain too fixed. I strive to work with a historically informed creativity, which I feel is important as it allows the craft to continue to develop and maintain relevance in today’s world, thus, not only preserving it as it was then, but also keeping it alive, fresh and evolving now.

As Bruce Haynes said in ‘The End of Early Music’- “the harder we work to imitate the past, the more personal and contemporary the results will be.”

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Background of my Fellowship - About my Project

The word ‘Luthier’, the name ascribed to someone who makes stringed musical instruments, comes from the French word ‘Luth’, meaning . As this is my area of work, I felt it important to have an understanding of the early instruments, music, culture and traditions that influenced those of Western Europe.

In Europe, the Lute first appeared in Spain and in Sicily. The area of Moorish Spain, that is now most of modern day Spain and Portugal, was ruled by successive groups from the Berber kingdoms and Arabian dominions between 711-1492. These early Arab rulers brought the flower of an advanced civilization onto European soil, including their musical instruments. During this period, the ‘Ud’ (Oud) found its way into Europe and, over time, underwent some modifications until it became what we now know as the European Lute.

After 1800, the Lute almost completely fell out of use as its role was superseded by keyboard instruments and later by the in modern music. The Viol, or Viola da gamba, one of the most popular instruments in Europe from the 16th- mid 18th centuries alongside the Lute, also fell out of use as the power of the Violin family instruments was preferred, to fill larger and larger concert halls. Both of these two major instruments falling into non-use meant a substantial loss of craft knowledge and information, of which, since the 20th Century revival of early music, makers of period instruments have been piecing back together, based on the surviving instruments and from other historical sources from that time.

The Oud has been played for at least the last 800 years across the , and, unlike what happened in Europe with the Lute and the Viol, there has not been a significant period of non-use. Therefore, there has been an unbroken line of craftsmen building these instruments up to the present day.

Oud Pegs and Rosettes

4

Istanbul is the former centre of both the Byzantine (Eastern Roman) and Ottoman Empires and its location made it a far-reaching trade point between Europe and Asia. At various times in history it was seen as the most important city in the world and the result of this is a place where many different cultures and traditions have combined. Both its location, and it being a place of such significance, ensured that it became a hub of music between Europe and the Middle East. From this rich diversity was born the Turkish Classical music with its unique instruments as well as other arts and a high culture.

Interior of Topkapī Palace, Istanbul

As a craftsman, I was interested to experience the working practices in such a historically important place. Due to the direct link between the Oud and the European Lute, I wished to learn about the making techniques used and the relevance of them in understanding the way in which musical instruments such as the Lute and the Viol would have been constructed in a European workshop in the 16th to 18th Centuries.

5 My aims

-To experience working practice, culture and wider society in Istanbul. A place of such historical importance, would it be possible to gain greater insight into my area of work, relating to the working practices of European makers in the 16th- 18th Centuries?

-The learn the specific construction techniques used to build an Oud, using traditional materials and methods.

-To learn about Turkish/Ottoman Classical music, past and present, in order to better understand, and give context to, the evolution of European music styles.

Ultimately, through these aims I hope to develop my own practice in building period instruments with greater historical awareness, to the benefit of musicians who will play my instruments in the future, and to the craft of instrument making, as I hope to pass on what I have learnt to future generations.

Study Approach

• Immerse myself into life in the city in as authentic a way as I could.

• Apprentice style work with a master. Due to the practical nature of my Fellowship and the length of time it takes to build one instrument, I decided to commit to working in just one place for the entire length of my Fellowship. Through my initial contacts I found what I thought would be the most ideal work location for me; a busy and successful instrument making workshop, with an emphasis on working only with hand tools.

• Go through the process of making one full instrument in order to experience each part of the process fully and in context, as well as dealing with customers, buying wood etc.

• Visit other makers to gain perspective of the wider scene.

6 MY FELLOWSHIP - FINDINGS & OBSERVATIONS Part 1 Working practice and life in Istanbul

I arrived in Istanbul in early August 2016, just two weeks after an attempted military coup. The country de-stabilized, due to a series of recent terror attacks, large parts of the population unhappy at the direction the current government were taking them, an increasingly suppressed Kurdish population, the war in in full swing, and the resulting refugee crisis. Not ideal, you could say… Nevertheless, if I was to learn about the place first hand, I was to continue.

My first impression of Istanbul was how busy it was. I approached the city by car, and although it was early morning, there was a spectacular amount of traffic on the roads. Everyone seemed in a rush to be somewhere, yet no car was moving faster than 5mph. The noise of car horns mixed with the heat from the sun on the tarmac- it was already too unbearably hot to be sitting in a traffic jam. Still, drivers swerved frantically in between the rows of cars to try to get a better position on the road. Other people walked in-between selling water, bread and packets of tissues. Building work was going on, on both sides; concrete, dust, heat, noise combining.. It was chaotic, yet the pace was somehow stimulating. Where was the Sea? After what seemed like hours, I was on the Bosphorus Bridge. It was now mid-morning and the traffic was as bad as ever. The Bosphorus Sea shone blue below me, overlooked by hills, dense with houses. As I crossed the bridge and entered into Asia, I gained a brief overview of the place where I was to spend the next few months working.

My workplace was the workshop of Mustafa Copcuoĝlu, who has a reputation as being one of ’s leading masters of Oud making. He has carried out considerable research on the work of the old master makers, as well as collaborating with current musicians to get the best out of the instruments acoustically. His are currently in the hands of some of the top Turkish players, as well as musicians around the world.

Mustafa drinking Çay in his workshop

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The workshop was small but very well organized. When I first walked in, I was struck by its simplicity. Against one wall stood a very old workbench, its edges worn from years of use, and arranged up on the wall behind it were all of the hand tools needed to make an Oud. Everything was neatly hung in place, ready for use and there seemed to be nothing there that was surplus to requirements. As well as being a place of work, the workshop was also a social space, and so along the other wall were chairs. Sitting to drink Çay (Turkish tea) and to talk is an important custom in Turkish culture and hosts will provide tea for their guests without fail. Visitors to the workshop would sit and talk, play an Oud, or watch us as we worked, giving the place a very personal, honest and open feel. Mustafa’s workshop

Mustafa spoke very little English and I could not speak Turkish. During the first two weeks, as I assisted him with various jobs in order to settle into the workshop, we both taught each other how to say “Are you happy?” in our native languages, which we exchanged regularly from then on. The dynamic between us was interesting; teacher and student unable to talk to each other. There were of course some very funny moments, but I progressed through the process of building an Oud with him fairly smoothly and I found that a common spoken language was not essential, due to the practical nature of the work.

Çay with Oud Pegs

8 One day, Mustafa asked me to help another apprentice who was struggling with a particular process. This apprentice could speak good English, so I went over and began explaining to her what I thought she should do. After some minutes of me trying to explain with words, Mustafa came over and said something, which was directed at me. The apprentice was able to translate; “Why are you explaining what to do? You see that when I teach you, I show you by doing it with my hands, and then you can see it working. There is no need for words!” He was right, and after I demonstrated the procedure she was able to understand. I think that this lesson will always stay with me. When teaching a practical subject, words are often not nearly as effective as action. This insight revealed itself quite clearly within the setting of practical workers who don’t share a common language and the lesson is something that I try to incorporate into my own teaching much more now.

The workshop was situated in a building made up of shops, workshops and studio spaces, and the surrounding spaces contained the likes of tailors, cobblers, booksellers and other small businesses and independent shops. Significantly, under the same roof were the workshops of two other instrument makers and the studios of two prominent musicians and teachers of Turkish Classical music. One of the instrument makers was a maker of the Classical Kemençe, a bowed stringed instrument used widely across Turkey, and surrounding countries in both classical and traditions. The other maker, from , specialized in the Arabic Oud. Upstairs was the studio of Necati Çelik, a world renowned Oud player who teaches students from around the world playing techniques as well as the theory behind Turkish classical and ‘maqam’ music. The other studio was home to a well-known Classical Kemençe player and teacher.

Necati Çelik teaching the Oud in his atelier

9 This set-up, a mix of instrument makers whose skills compliment one another alongside prominent musicians, meant that the location was a hub, attracting a large stream of musicians. The benefits that I experienced coming from this type of set-up are manifold; the large number of musicians that are attracted is obviously good for business and the makers have greater exposure to the outside world rather than being hidden away and alone in the workshop. This ensures that the Luthiers remain at the cutting edge of the musical requirements of the time- the interaction between musician and maker is vital for the development of new ideas, as sound preferences coming from musicians allows instruments to evolve in line with the changing demands of the time. The makers also benefit from having other craftsmen in close proximity, for the sharing of ideas, whether about acoustics, technical construction, or simply needing to borrow a chisel from next door.

Having leading teachers of Turkish classical music in the same building also enabled innovation and development of ideas between master musician and Luthier, with regards to the set up and sound of the instruments. There was some degree of collaboration, and these teachers attracted a large number of students from around the world to the area.

As mentioned earlier, the workshop was a very social environment. Each day players would come in, by appointment for a repair or adjustment to their instrument, but often just to sit and play music and drink Çay. A ‘Çay wallah’, or ‘Çayci’ in Turkish, was at hand to provide tea for the workshop as well as for all of the surrounding shops. From these visits, some very interesting conversations were had, ideas shared and connections made. It was a richly stimulating environment and I particularly enjoyed the luxury of working whilst some of the leading Turkish classical musicians would sit and play music whilst we worked!

Ahmet the ‘Çayci’ collecting empty glasses whilst a guest practices the Oud

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Murat the Kemençe maker singing with guests in the workshop

The situation was an idyllic mix, a melting pot of craftsmen and musicians from around the world, and I couldn’t help but to draw parallels to similar situations that occurred throughout history in Europe. In Paris during the early 18th Century, it is written in historical sources that the Collichon family business, (Nicolas Collichon, a Lute maker, and his son Michel Collichon, one of the finest and most innovative makers of the Viola da gamba) provided lodgings for several notable professional musicians, and the famous French Viol player and composer, Sainte Colombe, is known to have taught here, implying, at the least, a connection between himself and the Collichon workshop.

During the 17th Century in , a group of the most prominent Viol makers worked in St. Pauls’ Churchyard, and the site was also home to a famous music publishing house, suggesting that this small area was the epicentre of the Viol scene in London at that time. The surviving instruments from here are some of the most beautiful Viols ever made and one can see an obvious cross-over in style between each makers work, suggesting that there was some degree of exchange.

Similarly, Italy’s most celebrated Violin makers, Stradivari, Guarneri, and Amati, worked within a few hundred yards of each other in the small town of Cremona. Written sources state that Cremona was the place to buy the finest Violins at that time and the surviving instruments support this. It is thought that Stradivari was a pupil of the Amati family and the similarities in their working styles and instrument design seem to suggest this.

Historically, the great centres of instrument making seem to have been where groups of makers have worked in close proximity to one another, stronger together due to the sharing of knowledge and for attracting a greater number of customers to their shops.

Workshop Tavla (Backgammon) tournament

11 Component parts made by specialists

After visiting other instrument makers in Istanbul, I saw that many of them buy certain component parts (that are not critical for the sound of the instrument) ready-made from specialists. There is, for example, one workshop in Istanbul that specializes in the making of ‘Rosettes” for instruments.

Cow Rosettes for Oud Carved wooden Rosette

Another workshop makes only the ‘bowls’. These are made using a technique of bending thin strips of wood and joining them around a curved mould, making up the distinctive bowl back shape common to many instruments from the Middle East.

These parts are bought by the master from the various sources and assembled together in his/her workshop with the other components that more decisively shape the sound of the instrument. This is a cost effective and time efficient way of working, allowing for greater output.

Surviving instruments and written sources show that this was also the case in Europe during the 16th-18th Centuries. Due to the guild system, carving work for musical instruments would have commonly been done by a specialist woodcarver and not by the instrument maker himself. It is clear that during the 18th century in Paris, a carving workshop supplied carved heads to instrument makers. Many surviving instruments from this time including Viols, Violas d’amore, Hurdy Gurdys and , by many different makers, display these heads which are clearly by the same hand, or at least, coming from the same workshop, as they are carved in a distinctive style, showing consistent punch marks and decoration.

Mustafa’s son with newly delivered Oud bowls from the bowl maker

12 In the diary of Samuel Pepys, during a 5 week period between the dates of 16th July-21st August 1663, Samuel writes of visits, first to a woodcarver in Wapping who carves a head, and then to his Viol maker, Christopher Wise. Once the carver has finished the head, it is delivered to the instrument maker and he begins work constructing the instrument. A visit by Samuel Pepys on 31st July shows that the instrument construction is underway and by 7th August it seems to be completed and ready for varnishing, clearly showing the speed at which makers worked back then.

From around the time of the early renaissance onwards, it would have also been possible to buy varnishes, suitable for use on musical instruments, from an apothecary. At the time, there was a long-standing relationship between art and medicine fostered by the church. Experiments of a botanical and chemical nature would have been carried out in the laboratories of the monasteries and sold on into the public sector by the apothecaries. Numerous European art treatises in the 15th-17th centuries recommend buying the best varnish from an apothecary for use on paintings, furniture and musical instruments. This was also the case with the pigments used to colour the varnish. As trades became more specialized, the job of creating colouring pigments became a craft in its own right, carried out in Italy by ‘Pigmentarious’ – a branch of the apothecaries guild solely devoted to the sale of dye-stuffs and ready made pigments.

Topkapī Palace interior, Istanbul

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Part 2 Constructing an Oud ‘bowl’

The first day he cut Rosewood for the back, bent Sycamore into ribs and made a belly of Mahogany.

The second day, he carved a camel-bone base for the fingerboard.

The third day, he made a nut of Sandalwood and a pick guard of black Cherry. He damascened a rose of horn with arabesques, He inlaid the sound-hole with ivory swans, each pair a valentine of entangled necks, and fitted tuning pegs of Apricot, to give a good smell when rubbed.

The fourth was a day for cutting high strings of camel-gut. For the lower course, he twisted copper A traditional Oud made from an Eagle feather pale as tarmac under frost.

The fifth he laid down varnish. Behind the neck he put a sign to keep off the Evil Eye, and I watched him whittle an eagle-feather, a plectrum, to celebrate the angel of improvisation who dwells in clefts on the Nazareth ridge, where love waits. And grows, if you give it time. from the poem, ‘Learning to Make an Oud in Nazareth’, by Ruth Padel

The following is a method for constructing the ‘bowl’ of an Oud using traditional techniques and materials, which I learnt during my Fellowship.

Firstly, the outline of the body of the instrument is drawn. The length is set in relation to the required string length, and the width is altered to affect playability as well as the instruments tonal qualities. In between length and width, the curves are drawn to make up the traditional ‘pear’ shape. Most makers have his or her own recognizable shape, according to their own aesthetic preference.

Full and half outline templates 14 Finished Mould The depth of the ‘bowl’, or body, is commonly equal to half of the body width at that corresponding point, so that if a cross-section of the body were to be taken at any one particular point, it would form a half-circle.

With the shape finalized, a template is created, and then from this a mould is made.

With the mould complete, the top and bottom blocks are added and shaped ready to accept the ribs. The rib widths are then marked onto the mould and blocks, acting as a guide to help ensure each rib is of equal width. The bowl is commonly made up of 21 ribs, and a combination of woods can be used which, when alternated, produces the instruments’ characteristic & striking appearance. For this instrument I chose to use two traditional woods; ‘Oriental Plane’, (Platanus Orientalis- the Eastern version of western/London plane) and Walnut, as these are both hard woods that grow abundantly across Turkey.

The first rib (in this case Walnut) is bent on a hot iron in a similar way as commonly used in violin, viol or guitar making. The sides of the rib are then planed on a planing table (an upturned hand plane held in a supporting flat ‘table’).

The sides of this rib are angled, so that the rib is wider in the middle than at either end, similar to the centre stave of a bent Viola da gamba front, or as employed in Walnut rib being bent using a bending iron the construction of a barrel. With the first rib planed to the correct widths and with both sides planed flat at the desired angle, it is ready to be glued onto the mould. A traditional ‘hide’ glue is used as is common in making due to its strength, reversibility and a property of it that allows, due to it being thinned with water, very quick setting of the glue when heat is applied. This property of the glue is exploited in order to put the remaining ribs together with speed.

Planing table for planing the rib joints

15 The first rib is glued to the blocks on the mould and held in place with metal pins whilst the glue is drying, which are then removed ready for the second and third ribs to be fitted.

Once bent to the shape of the mould, the second and third ribs (in this case both ‘Plane’ wood) must be fitted to the centre rib. This involves planing the inside faces flat and at the correct angles so that, when offered up to the centre rib, there is a good joint with no gaps along the length. Once the inside faces are fitted, the outer sides are planed so that the rib is the correct width at the widest point and at each end. The outer face should also be at the desired angle and flat along its length, so that a good join with the next rib to follow is possible. The first rib being pinned onto the mould

With this complete, the second and third ribs can then be glued.

Commonly, a very thin strip of wood, similar to that which would be used to make ‘purfling’ for a violin, is sandwiched in between each rib of the bowl for visual effect.

Gluing the Ribs Starting at one end, the hot glue is applied to the block and the part of the rib that will be in contact with the block. This end of the rib is then put into position, tight up against the centre rib, but with the thin ‘purfling’ strip sandwiched in-between. This arrangement is held secure with metal pins hammered into the block. Next, and for the remaining length of the rib, the glue is applied to the purfling strip only- Second rib held in place ‘dry’ with pins on both sides- working along it’s length whilst pushing the two ribs together and sandwiching the purfling strip between the two.

Whilst working along the length, drawing pins can be pressed into the mould to keep the ribs tight together and once the other end is reached, glue is applied to the rib and block, and this end is held as before with pins hammered into the block.

Glue being applied to the ‘purfling’ strip and the rib being held by pins pressed into the mould

16 With the rib glued and secured all along its length, the joint is ‘set’ using a hot iron, allowing for removal of the pins and immediate fitting of the next rib, speeding up the process considerably.

To do this, small paper strips or squares are put over the glue joint, spaced apart by a few centimeters, and then the iron, which should be very hot, is pressed onto the paper and, due to the heat, the glue beneath the paper very quickly sets, holding the joint. The paper acts to both protect the wood from scorching and to stop the tool from sticking to the wood due to the glue.

Once the joint is held in this way, the pins are removed and the next rib can then be fitted as described above. This procedure is repeated until all 21 ribs are bent around the mould.

Paper strips along each glue joint, used in the quick setting of the glue

Tool used to set the glue joint beneath the paper strips.

17 With all ribs glued in position, the bowl can be removed from the mould. Both the inside and outside are then scraped clean and linen or parchment glued over the joints on the inside, for reinforcement.

The bowl, removed from the mould

Paper reinforcement glued over the joints

Linen strips glued on the inside for reinforcement

The bowl is then complete, ready for the other parts to be assembled to it.

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The image above is from Denis Diderot’s ‘Encyclopédie’ (1765). This particular plate shows some of the tools and equipment used by Luthiers in Europe at that time. In figure 27, we can see a handheld metal iron tool very similar to that which is used by Oud makers today for the construction of the bowl. The use of this particular tool has been largely lost in Viol and Violin making, but the fact that it was included on this engraved plate in the ‘Encyclopédie’ amongst moulds and other common Lutherie tools shows that it must have been widely used back then, giving us an insight into working practices of that time.

19 Part 3 Music Background

Istanbul as a crossroads of musical styles, from the - Present day

A view of Galata Tower across the Golden Horn During my time in Istanbul, I heard a compelling mix of music and sounds, some from far, some more local, which combined to give the city its unique voice.

My first experiences were in the small lanes surrounding Istiklal Street at night, where during the summer months, musicians gather and jam together out in the open until early morning. The musicians I saw here were from all around the world and their instruments reflected this. I heard, amongst others, the , Violin, Guitar and Accordion mix with Turkish folk instruments and the crisp metallic sound of the Darbuka , the sound of which carried far down the maze of streets. The area was a bustling hive of activity and in the surrounding bars, bands and DJs played an exciting mix of Middle Eastern, Arabic and Western music.

Istanbul is a sprawling metropolis and currently home to around 16 million people. It is fast paced, vibrant, and in a seemingly constant state of change. The city is spread over both sides of the Bosphorus Strait, a waterway marking the border between Europe and Asia and which connects the Black Sea to the Sea of Marmara. As an important trading point between East and West since long ago and a stopping point for traders on the silk road, it has always been a

Street musicians on Istiklal Street 20 place subject to a great deal of movement of people. Christians, Jews and Muslims have lived side by side and the result is a very rich and developed culture. At various times throughout history, Istanbul has been open for immigrants to settle, for example during Ottoman reign, when large numbers of Jews were invited by the Sultan after their expulsion from Spain, Portugal and Italy. A similar migration of people is occurring Street musicians playing on a mix of folk and contemporary instruments now, as Turkey accepts refugees from neighboring Syria, many of whom are now in Istanbul.

As I walked around the city by day, I heard many street musicians from Syria and Kurdistan performing, as well as from all over the surrounding region- countries of the Middle East and Eastern Europe. They would play their folk music on instruments from their homeland, singing local songs, and when taking a ferry across the Bosphorus, between the Asian and European sides of the city, Gypsy and refugee musicians would often perform, with someone coming around to collect money from the passengers.

The diversity of sounds that I heard was striking, and the migration of people from neighboring countries in particular was evident through the music I heard around the city.

Exactly what long term effect this will have on the development of music, only time can tell, but a look back at history shows that the movement of people between places and subsequent exchange of ideas can bring about great advancement in terms of Music and Art. When researching the history of Turkish Classical Music during my Fellowship, I found that this was a central theme in the development of the genre, and I was again reminded of the early Arabic people who entered into Europe at the beginning of the last millennium, bringing their culture with them and greatly influencing the development of European music and instruments.

Istiklal Street, Istanbul, Summer 2016 21 History of Turkish Classical Music - Cultural Influences & Main Instruments

At the beginning of the last millennium, highly developed music traditions existed across the Islamic world. Instruments and music from these elite- traditions were to later enter into Europe with the Moors, Berbers and Arabic people. These traditions were also to become the foundations on which Turkish Classical music was built.

Mosaic tiling inside the Topkapī Palace, Istanbul- Centre of the Ottoman Empire from 1453-1922

The high point in the development of the Turkish Classical style was between the 15th- 20th centuries, and during the Ottoman period. Ottoman society was composed of people from various different religious and ethnic communities, living side by side and with their own traditions, customs and way of life. The social structure could be described as a mosaic of cultures- the territory of the Ottoman Empire was a vast area spread over three continents, and so the diverse musical styles of these various ethnic and religious communities also co-existed under one society. Each community preserved its religious music for worship, and it’s folk music within the folk culture. All of these musical genres formed the peripheral musical cultures of the empire, with the music of the Ottoman elite forming the central culture.

In its formative times, this central music was influenced by pre-Ottoman, elite-Islamic music traditions from the great centres of music in the Middle East, like Herat (Afghanistan), (), Damascus (Syria) and Samarkand (Uzbekistan) which were stopping points on the Silk Road.

22 The Ottomans built upon these traditions from which they had inherited, putting their own trademark on the genre they had taken over, composing a new style and setting up a new tradition. This resulting classical art music maintained its strength for five centuries and this was largely due to the fact that the tradition was not a closed one like the other elite traditions of the Middle East. It was open, not only to wealthy classes, but also to people of humble social background, non-Muslim communities and other ethnic groups, like some of the peripheral communities of the empire and even further afield.

Musicians of the ethnic and religious communities making up the peripheral musical cultures of the empire, namely those of non-Muslim and non-Turkish communities (ie. Gypsies, Jews, Greeks, etc.), got in touch with the central classical Ottoman music if they wished to display and test their talents on a central level. Hence, Ottoman music became an ‘art music’ which stood above all of the local, ethnic and religious musical styles. It was appreciated by the elites, but open to influence from the outside, as it was not based solely on ethnic conventions or limited to religious functions, but based more on the tastes of the elite class.

Musicians from non-Turkish or non-Muslim communities appear to have been valued for their musical knowledge and talents and they were seemingly welcomed to give lessons on their instruments, both in the city of Istanbul and in the imperial court at Topkapī Palace. At the height of the Empire, the Sultan also sent the palace’s cooking staff to Europe for training, in order for them to bring back new ingredients and recipes, demonstrating that the Empire was keen to have the best of what the rest of the world had to offer. Similarly, Ottoman music owes the bulk of its written authentic repertoire to non-Muslim musicians coming from the Tiled interior of the Topkapī Palace, Istanbul peripheral cultures of the Empire; places such as Greece, Poland, Moldova, Armenia and the Balkans.

The impact that these cultures had on the elite central culture of the Empire can also be seen by noting the variety of musical instruments that were used throughout the course of Ottoman Classical Music.

23 Popular instruments in the 16th Century were the (drum) and the (a conical, reeded ). These were both of gypsy origin, and made their way into the classical music. Zurna Later, during the 19th Century, the Clarinet was introduced to replace the Zurna in classical music. Most of the Clarinet players in Turkey were of gypsy origin.

Another instrument popular during the 15th and 16th Centuries was the Çeng, a small . ‘Çengi’ was the name given to both the performer of the instrument and the dancer who danced to the ‘Çeng’ music. Most of the ‘Çengis’ were gypsy women, and the word ‘Çingene’ means gypsy, in Turkish. Ceng This was used both by court musicians and itinerant musicians in the city.

The , an ancient bowed stringed instrument which spread over Islamic trading routes to , the Middle East, parts of Europe and the Far East, was used in the Ottoman court as well as in the city. It was favored up until the first half of the 18th Century, at which time the Violin overtook in popularity. The Violin was first used on peripheral levels before making it’s way into the classical ensemble. It was played in coffee houses and in taverns and most of the performers who cultivated the instrument up Rebab until the 20th century were also Gypsy, Greek, Armenian, or Jewish musicians. The ‘Cello, from the Violin family, is now also used in Turkish Classical music.

The Viola d’amore was also included in the Classical ensemble in the 18th Century, probably appealing to the Ottoman Court as it was a new, highly decorated, technically advanced instrument from Europe, but this fell out of favour in the 19th Century, as it did in Europe.

The other favourite bowed instrument is the Kemençe, also known as the ‘Lyra’ in the Balkans and Greece. An ancient instrument, it was used widely in folk and urban light music up until the beginning of the 20th century. A Greek musician of gypsy origin called Vasil (1845-1907), played the instrument with such mastery and cultivated the performance of it so much that it was introduced into the classical music. Following in his footsteps, ‘Tanburi Cemil Bey’ (1873-1916) who is now considered the greatest instrumentalist of Ottoman music, played the Kemençe with equal mastery, cementing the instruments place as a permanent member of classical music ensembles. The Greek/Gypsy tradition of Kemençe playing has also been carried on to this day. Classical Kemençe

24 The Oud was the most prestigious stringed instrument used in the classical music during the 15th and 16th centuries (probably inherited from former Arabic/Muslim music traditions from which Ottoman Classical Music is rooted). Turkish folk musicians, however, were more accustomed to long-necked stringed instruments like the ‘Baglama’, and so eventually the ‘Tanbur’ was developed to replace the Oud. The Tanbur, a long necked stringed instrument with a bowl shaped back, which is constructed in a similar manner to that of the Oud, was used only for genres of music appealing to the elite, but is another example of how the folk music tradition had an effect on the central elite music. The Oud did not fall into non-use, but it was briefly displaced in classical music by the emergence of the Tanbur in the 17th century, before later regaining it’s place, alongside the Tanbur, as the prominent plucked instrument. Nowadays, the Oud is played in both classical musical ensembles and folk music contexts.

During my Fellowship, I was lucky enough to be invited to attend a Turkish Classical music concert, with accompanying Mevlevi whirling. Here, I saw the full music ensemble perform on the wide array of instruments typically used, and there was also a full choir; the voice being another important aspect to the Ottoman music to convey beliefs, sometimes religious, but also about love and human values.

The structure of the concert was interesting to me, as the main instruments like the Oud, Kemençe, (a wooden ), and Tanbur, would take it in turns to play a solo improvisation, called a ‘taqsim’, which preceded each main composed piece, acting like a short introduction. These ‘taqsims’ are the musicians’ chance to display their skill and virtuosity on their instrument and are commonly backed by a drone. It was great to be Mevlevi (Sufi) Whirlers able to hear the instruments played in this way, separate from the rest of the ensemble and they added great atmosphere and feeling to the concert.

Following each ‘taqsim’, the main compositions involved the full ensemble usually playing in unison. Due to this unison and the instrumentation, listening to the music was a powerful experience, especially when the choir joined in. The melodies sounded very distinct and ‘oriental’ to my ears, and the rhythms used were complex- I found it difficult to count the number of beats, or to work out when each phrase of the music begun or ended.

25 Turkish Music system and how it relates to the West

Whilst on my Fellowship I was able to visit Necati Çelik, who is a leading Oud player, for music lessons. He taught me some basics of Oud playing, as well as the theory behind the Turkish music system. After this, I was able to better understand the music that I had heard during the concert and why it had sounded alien to my ears, both melodically and rhythmically.

Turkish Classical Music differs from that of Western Europe in quite distinct ways;

Instead of the western scale system where an octave is divided into 12 equally tempered semitones, in Turkey, a system of modes is used, called ‘Maqams’ (which means ‘place’ in Arabic). The intervals that make up these Maqams obey a natural harmony; the octave is not divided up equally, but proportionally using whole-tones, half-tones, quarter tones and even smaller tones. If one wanted to precisely interpret all of the Maqams current in Turkey, one would have to adopt around 41 precise intervals. Each interval has its own name, and the unique combination of these makes up the particular Maqam. Turkish Maqams closely reflect Pythagorean thinking in the use of proportional tuning, as the eighth-tone is equal to 1 Pythagorean comma (approx. 23 cents in the western system).

Western music, both classical and modern, commonly uses harmony (chords with a melody, or tune, over the top.) In Turkish music, and likewise, in the majority of the musical cultures of the world apart from that of post-Renaissance Europe, we find pure melodies without chords. Due to the lack of such harmony coming in the form of chords, the lines of melody are often very complex, both tonally and rhythmically, with a large amount of expression and ornamentation taking place. The music is often in time signatures that are quite alien to the western ear (for example in 7, 9, 11, and 12 beats) and the rhythmic cycles can sometimes be upwards of 25 beats!

An improvised performance featuring three Turkish musicians on ‘Cello, Kemençe and Tanbur 26 Image above shows the positions and names of the micro-tones used in the Turkish Music system, in relation to the string length of a Tanbur

27 Conclusion

When I look at my aims and what I set out to achieve, I feel that I have fulfilled them all, as well as learning some unexpected things that will surely be of value to my work in the future.

My first aim was to experience working practice, culture and wider society in Istanbul, due to it being a place of such historical importance. They way of life and culture in Turkey is quite different from Western Europe, and I didn’t expect to be able to draw such parallels to working practices in 16th-18th Century Europe. My experiences here have given me a more historically informed context to my own working practice as well as opening my eyes to the benefits that come from a strong collaboration between maker and musician. I now feel that this is vital to be a successful instrument maker; for meeting musicians requirements and allowing this field of work to grow and evolve.

My second aim was to learn the specific construction techniques used in the making of an Oud. I managed to find a very ideal workplace where I could fulfill this aim- a master Oud maker, who has an international reputation and with an emphasis on working with hand tools. Here I learnt some construction techniques that I had not seen before and that are relatively unknown in Europe, and I also widened my own instrument making knowledge to better understand this ancient and influential instrument.

My third aim was to learn about Turkish Classical/Ottoman music, as well as to experience musical life in Istanbul. Through my work in the workshop, I was constantly exposed to Oud music and I absorbed the sounds of the instrument throughout the day. This experience has opened my mind to different musical tastes and I carry forward a deep respect for the musicians that I heard playing. The tonal complexity and amount of expression in the melodies they played, both on the Oud and with their voices, were far beyond anything that my Western trained ears had heard before. I met many Turkish musicians and felt privileged to hear them play whilst I worked. The classical concert and lessons that I was able to attend, gave me at least a basic understanding of Turkish/Ottoman classical music and opened my ears to the differences between the European and Turkish classical music. I discovered about the history and the development of Ottoman classical music, which, combined with my experience of music elsewhere in the city, sparked some interesting insights and ideas about the development of musical styles and gave my own view of myself, as an instrument maker within a particular musical area, greater context.

Recommendations • Close collaboration between musicians and makers- to build up a community and create a rich hub; a place that attracts musicians and where makers can share ideas. • In order to build instruments of greater historical accuracy, makers of period instruments should develop a thorough knowledge and understanding of the ways in which past craftsmen worked, using materials and techniques that are authentic to a particular time and place.

28 Acknowledgments

Firstly, I am very grateful to the Winston Churchill Memorial Trust for giving me this incredible opportunity. Also thank you to the Heritage Crafts Association for their support.

I also wish to thank the following people for helping to make my journey what it was;

Sinibaldo de Rosa, for his warm introduction to Istanbul, for helping me to meet the right people, and for his continued friendship. Gülsün öykü dogan, for introducing me to the instrument makers I would later work with, and for her amazing support all along the way.

I wish to thank the instrument makers; Mustafa Copçuoglu, for welcoming me into his workshop in Kadiköy and teaching me his craft. Also to Hatef Shaterian, Murat Yerden, Ismail Fencioglu, Ozan Özdemir and Thanasis Giannopoulos for giving me an insight into their skilled and beautiful work.

Thank you to Necati Çelik, for his lessons about Oud playing and Turkish music.

Thank you to the ‘De Rosa’ family in Luco dei Marsi, Italy, who hosted me during the attempted military coup in Turkey in July 2016. Thank you for the amazing hospitality and the most delicious food.

Mustafa and I with my completed Oud, September 2016

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