Music to my (covered) ears

I got a message the other day from an old school friend of mine who I hadn’t spoken to in years. She was writing, barely-practising Muslim to a slightly-more practising Muslim, to ask me what I knew about Islam and music as she was writing an essay on it. Truth be told, I know none of the theory, only how I feel about it and snippets that I’ve read in newspapers and websites. Like all religions, Islam in its extremities bans everything, but when it comes to music there seems to be a bit of a grey area. My dad always tells me to stay away from the grey areas, but I’ve never been the type to discriminate on colour…

I went to see the famous Cat Stevens (now Yusuf…but he wasn’t that night, trust me!) at the Royal Albert Hall with a good friend on Tuesday night. It was absolutely phenomenal, not only because he still had the performance skills of a young hippy in the 70s, but also because of the resonance that his music has. Islam is actually a very artistic religion when practised – its more spiritual side is ignored in the political rhetoric you see in the media, but the knowledge I’ve grown up with is that music is allowed, but only when played with natural instruments. Typical Islam, making use of God’s creation in every way possible – which leaves a lot of scope for interpretation. A lot of Muslim music out there today (most if not all with religious and political overtones) uses more beats than guitar strings – music in general, however, is lot more ranging in its use of instruments and vocal capabilities. It’s a phenomenon so beautiful that it makes it difficult for someone like myself, a great appreciator of the arts when she gets a chance to discover them, to limit herself only to the sound of a kindly old man with a beard playing the bongos rather than double bass.

A vehicle for self-expression, I think the importance of music is underrated in people’s lives. Of course, it serves as a cultural indicator of who you are as a person – if you like Yann Tierson, you’re a beautiful geek; the Wombats, a drunken dancer – but more than that it is a way of expressing emotion through something even language, in all its vast capabilities, cannot master. I’m talking about dancing, people.

Unrelenting physical movement in sequences that show no sense whatsoever (when done properly, that is). Islam completely forbids intoxication, stressing this prohibition on external sources such as alcohol and drugs, but for me, this cannot rule out the overwhelming effect of emotion, sensation, and the natural high received in a happy moment, whether it’s seeing a friend or a loved one, getting a decent grade, finding a fiver in your pocket that you didn’t know you had, or, if you’re like me…eating.

I find as a follower of Muhammad’s teachings, a certain tension between my desire to follow him and my internal pull towards the Romantic poets of the 18th century, like Keats and all the other depressive drug-users that rolled out a poem or two. Just look at how indulgent he is, how he lets the pure beauty of life and nature just wash over him – yes, okay, he was using opium, but I’ve never touched a bad substance in my life (unless you count everything I’ve ever eaten from Efes) and I get it. I completely understand. Excuse my religious ramblings but to appease the spiritual ones out there, God’s made life so utterly brilliant, the human body so completely receptive for those of us who are lucky enough to have all five senses intact – how can one not take advantage of this? For me, music is one way of doing that.

The artistic relationship between lyrics and melody is one many find difficult to master – those who manage it become the artists that we know and love, but it just got to me when I was dancing away to Moonshadow next to my perplexed companion, how, to take one example, I didn’t think Yusuf was doing anything wrong in returning to the stage. It’s the business surrounding the music industry these days that Islam cannot be compatible with – the hero worship of the artist, the hierarchy between performer and the audience, the extortionate ticket prices (£45 – a standing ticket at the Royal Albert. Seeing the soundtrack to my childhood being played out on stage – priceless), but the pure essence of what he was doing, encapsulating the soul-searching woes and natural joys that so many of us feel, was, I felt, completely within the spirit of Islam. Celebrating the human mind and the capacity of the human heart can never be a bad thing, surely?

I guess the problem is however, how humans handle it: we ruin everything, we do. Alcohol was allowed before the Quran was written you know. Seriously, it was! But because people abused it to the extent that they were losing control of themselves, it was outlawed when the Quran was set down on paper. Cheers guys, thanks a bunch! It’s the ‘free-mixing’ and the new ideas that music promotes which turned my mother off it completely – let’s face it, a sweaty gig at Fibbers is hardly the environment for a good Muslim girl (those of you who’ve seen me there, keep schtum) Who however, doesn’t see the joy in such reckless abandon? When you’re not so constrained by social expectation that you stand, frigid, existing, barely surviving. Why not move, why not flail, and kick, and wind and grind, and jump around just like House of Pain tell you to?

What I’m saying is that I feel that intoxication, what Keats felt, which, whilst possibly being forbidden to me, is in truth unstoppable. It’s the heart’s reaction to a gorgeous melody, an uplifting chord or infectious beat. It’s what Junior Senior sang about that one time they had a hit. And yes, from an Islamic point of view it may encourage such salacious behaviour as drawing attention to oneself, or distorting your mind into such romantic notions that things like boys and alcohol no longer seem unattainable, but if you’ve got your scarf pinned on straight you’ll know exactly what you’re doing. You’ll know that you are relating to kindred spirits, who sing words they’ve plucked straight off your tongue (in a non-sexual way, obviously), playing melodies that could well have been written on your heartstrings. Perhaps some people can sit and listen to music and appreciate it through the ears, the mind and the soul, but I myself am someone who could not stop herself when Cat started strumming his guitar – the feet went first, then the legs, the hips soon followed and before I knew it I was dancing in the dark in the scarcely filled standing area of the Royal Albert whilst hundreds of fans sat below having paid a good deal to tap their feet for two hours.

Guys, this is my message to you. Relate to your music. Listen, and love, and dance. As Charles so Wright-fully said (hello, you can tell I’ve done this before, can’t you): express yourself.

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