Sketch of an Egyptian Violinist

Last weekend, I went to an art show of one of my best friends in San Francisco. The show was inspired by a theme of “revolutionary love” (briefly, this refers to a passion for positive ideals that drives socio-political revolution.) One of the performances during the show was given by an Egyptian violinist, a Juilliard-graduate named Basma Edrees.

Let me preface by saying that I am crazy for the violin. I think a good slice of my soul is solely and ecstatically devoted to receiving its music. The sound of the bow hairs dancing against the string is irresistible—it simultaneously soothes and stirs the spirit.

Needless to say, I was extremely excited for Basma’s performance  (the only other recital I had attended was one by Itzhak Perlman at the Hollywood Bowl in 2013.) Moreover, the promise of Middle Eastern violin music invigorated even more. And when Basma finally played, you can only imagine what sort of hypnotic state I was under. 

She played three pieces:

Her “Egyptian horse dance” inspired a cultural joy and nostalgia for old Egypt, a time and place I have never even experienced but somehow felt I knew through her music. It’s amazing that she is to transport her listeners to a faraway land of once upon a time. This was a celebration of the Egyptian spirit: playful yet intense.

Her Middle Eastern lullaby celebrated love—romantic love, parental love, youthful love. A repeated melody played on a loop from her laptop acted as a foundation over which her actual violin-playing laid. The effect of this setup was to connote how different types and phases of love have a solid foundation (the repeating melody), although at any particular point, the overplaying violin notes can add tones of excitement, sadness, melancholy, happiness, longing, passion, etc. to that foundational melody. Such might be the flow of love.

Finally, her violin sang of the Egyptian revolution: the start of the piece simulated the muezzin’s  call to prayer as heard in Muslim countries; I have always regarded the sound of the adhan (call to prayer) played out through the open air of a city to be the single most captivating, instilling sound I have heard; and here was Basma, combining the beloved sound of the violin with the depth of the adhan. The piece then used inspiration from the adhan but took independent turns that had the effect of encapsulating the struggles and hopes of the Egyptian revolution. In some moments, there seemed to be peace. In others, there was the passionate intensity of revolutionary struggle. And she ended it with the peace of adhan.

It’s incredible how Basma was able to tell such evocative stories simply by the not-so-simple, expert movements of bow hairs on strings. I find it equally mesmerizing to think that the physical contact of those hairs with the violin’s strings somehow induces such transcendent experiences in the room full of listeners. What a beautiful type of power that is.