Touching Hearts with Poetic Music

I sat in the first row to be very close to the podium. Maybe I lied to my friends when I said I want to be there to take good pictures. I wanted to be close to his music.

Dozens of people sat behind me. They were all enthusiastic to hear him playing his 5000-year-old Middle Eastern stringed instrument in one of Philadelphia’s cultural centers. I was enthusiastic too but in a different way. Maybe people came to hear something different, something they may have never heard before. But I was there for one reason, longing. I miss this music and now it’s the chance to hear it live in a concert by one of Iraq’s talented musicians.

Coming from the door wearing his brown suit and carrying his lute, Rahim al-Haj was welcomed with applauds. After the warm welcome, the Baghdad native thanked the audience and briefed them with the content of the pieces he composed and the ones he was going to play.

I heard about the concert by emails from Karen, one of my best friends at school and Bill, one of my blog friends whom I met in person a few months ago. Before deciding to go, I thought about it over and over. I had a bulky schedule. Eventually, I realized that this does not happen frequently. So I called Karen and said “I am going with you.”

The first piece al-Haj played was “Dream”. With his glowing eyes he mentioned his nephews and nieces whom he asked one day about their dream. I could see the sadness and the longing in his eyes. “We want to go to school and study in peace,” he recalled them saying. He composed this piece for their dream.

As his fingers hit the strings, I felt I was in the music in every part of it. Dream, dream, dream. So many dreams I had and I still have. The music took me back to Iraq. I was in a train, a fast one. I recalled my dreams when I was a child. I even saw myself through the train window. I saw myself playing with my friends and cousins. It’s really amazing how music makes you see your life in different periods. The dream went on with the rise of the tone. It went faster. Yes, I am no longer a child. The music took me to the other dream when I was in a teenager. I took me to the days when the sanctions were chopping our souls into pieces and throwing them away. It took me to a dream that never came true, a dream of a normal, happy life. As the piece was coming to an end, I saw my niece through the train window. I wondered what her dream and future are going to be in this unfair world that betrayed every Iraqi.

As al-Haj played his second piece, “Second Baghdad”, I found the melancholy in his eyes and face and even in the words he used to describe his piece. The piece itself was not a mere music. It was speaking, narrating a story.

After the 1991-Gulf War where Baghdad’s infrastructure was completely bombarded and destroyed, al-Haj composed this piece. “When I went out in the streets, I barely knew Baghdad,” he said. “All the bridges were destroyed and Baghdad was not the same Baghdad I know,” he added. The idea of “Second Baghdad” came originally from the “Baghdad” piece that was composed by his teacher-performer Munir Bashir, one of Iraq’s most famous lute musicians.

“When I composed [Second Baghdad], I hoped there would be no ‘third Baghdad’,” he addressed the audience. “Unfortunately, we are in a ‘third Baghdad’ now.”

As he started playing, his train took me back to Baghdad. It went by al-Rashid and al-Mutanabi Streets, Karrada, Adhamiya, Mansour… The music was soaring his in the hall where all ears were concentrating on the details of the poem-like piece. It was telling them about Baghdad, the sadness, the sorrow and the destruction of this beautiful city. It touched my heart and brought tears to my eyes. It made me want to go back and see Baghdad. I needed to hug her and kiss her and tell her how much I miss her and miss everything beautiful the war destroyed. I needed to tell her that she is in my heart and mind all the time. I needed my hands to wipe her tears. I needed her to forgive me.

“Time for cigarettes?”, al-Haj asked laughing.

We had a break. Karen, her husband and I went outside to smoke. It was twenty degrees Fahrenheit. I thought I was the only crazy man who wants to smoke in this cold weather. Apparently, ten others were as crazy as I was.

Al-Haj went out to smoke too. I decided to introduce myself to him and thank him and tell him how much I enjoy his music. As I went close to him, he noticed me approaching. Before I even said a word, he said, “You are…” and before he finished it, I said, “yes, I am… Iraqi!” His eyes glowed out of happiness. He hugged me and told me how much he was happy to see me. Eagerly, he asked me what was I doing in Philly and asked me about my family and where I came from. We didn’t even feel the freezing weather outside while we were talking. Talking about Baghdad brought all the warmth I needed there. Then, we entered the hall together. He signed his latest CD for me and we took pictures together and promised each other to keep in touch.

“Time to have fun, right?” he asked the audience. “Yeeeeeeees” they replied. “The Dance of Palms” was his next piece. As he did before each of the previous pieces he played, he told the story behind this composition. “Iraq is famous of Palm trees,” he said. “Don’t believe it’s a desert like what you see on TV,” he added. During the Iran-Iraq war, more than two million palm trees died. When the war was over, he decided to compose this piece to describe how palm trees were dancing happily and joyfully. I felt the palm trees here represented all Iraqis.

By the end of the concert, al-Haj played some of his best compositions about his mother, the sanctions, Iraqi women waiting for their husbands coming back home from war and the best traditional Iraqi and Arab songs accompanied by the audience’s clapping.

Bidding farewell, the audience stood up and applauded and asked him to play one more piece. He never hesitated.

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Listen to some of Rahim al-Haj's music HERE.

You can find more details about his life and struggle HERE and HERE.