More Music

14.More Music (18 April 2018)

A church’s Palm Sunday parade, complete with children and
adults waving palm branches, guitar accompaniment, singing…
“Lord, I Lift Your Name on High” in Arabic…
(25 Mar. 2018 – Burj Hammoud)

            Something that has always fascinated me about Middle Easterners, and about Lebanese in particular (that context with which I’m most familiar) is how everybody seems to know all sorts of Arabic songs. Let one person start singing or humming a line from an Arabic popular (or folk) song, and everybody joins in, singing along, clapping (helpful if you don’t know the words), and getting up and dancing (cue the dabké dancers!). Television shows from this region, featuring hosts/guests/contestants often have an on-stage band of Arabic instruments, and laced through the program are musical snippets or complete songs. If a soloist is singing the song, those on stage and those in the audience heartily sing along. It doesn’t fit the TV genres in the U.S., where there is a very hard line between stage and audience, and between the role-players on stage.

New talents in a student worship band at an Armenian
Evangelical high school. The guitarist just won an award at a
festival in Gyumri, Armenia (16 May 2017 – Ashrafieh, Beirut)

            Music seems to be an integral part of life here. There is a type of music all around, and people use their voices to “musically” ply their trades. A man pushing his “tabla" (rolling table) or pickup truck, calling out from one block to the next what he’s selling. Another pickup (aptly named) truck calling out for people to bring out their scrap metal for “recycling”. A fellow on a motor scooter squeezing his bulb horn as he goes, selling the local equivalent of a soft pretzel, called “kaak” (a large purse-shaped sesame bread, filled with sumac and thyme). The music of church bells or the five daily calls to prayer from the minarets. The Lebanese singer Fairuz filling the morning airwaves in just about every taxi, service car, or bus rumbling through the city streets. As noisy a city as is Beirut, there is still discernable music throughout the day and into the night, with the pounding from clubs wafting through the darkness.

            But I wish it were more. I’ve always wish for more music.

Beirut International Jazz Day 2017 – Ali Jreidi Quartet, with
Shahan on bass! This year’s event features a group led by one of
my students from the 1990s (29 Apr. 2017 – Downtown Beirut)

            When so many other things came and went, music was the “constant” in my life, beginning with music lessons I received in public elementary school in the U.S., then onward to things like pit orchestras, playing oboe, alto sax, cymbals, even the sousaphone (sort of) in marching band, entering a high school “battle of the bands”. In my first attempt at a higher education I switched my major from sociology (I had no idea what sociology was) to music, and then realized that where I was studying (sorry, Muhlenberg) was no place for someone seriously pursuing music. So, off to music school I went, and that pursuit continues to this day. Consult my complete résumé (as yet unpublished) for all the gory details.

            So far, since moving back to Beirut – it’s been 14+ months – I have played with church musicians in a variety of settings. I’m conducting two choirs. I’ve worked up a number of choral arrangements for said groups. I’m mulling over the digitizing and updating of the Union’s hymnal (hold on; did I just hear someone say “hymnal”…?) and puzzling over what to do with the youth songbook/ lyric slides/ accompaniment tracks in use here. Four weeks ago I presented a public lecture on Bach’s Johannespassion. And this is all supposed to be just one third of my work responsibilities.

Warmups before the concert: the emcee of Haigazian’s event
sings his opening speech to the tune of “My Way”
(14 Apr. 2018 – NEST Auditorium, Hamra, Beirut)

            But I don’t just wish for more music; I wish for better music.

            A few nights ago was the performance of a student musical event I directed (about which I’ve previously written), bringing Haigazian University students together for a pretty good and varied program, if I do say so myself. After months of work with them, and me bugging them about general musicianship issues (e.g., tune up before you start your performance); or about musical details that would improve their performance (e.g., make sure to not to pronounce “t” or “d” when it is “th”, as is the habit among Armenians, or as “z”, as many Arabs do); or about stage presentation (e.g., the soloist always bows first, accompanist second); these 18 students rose to the occasion, and exceeded expectations – their own and the audience’s. But not mine. By the last week I knew they could do it!

            Note: most of them were Armenians. Partly that’s a function of the university that was on stage, but partly it is precisely because who they are. Cultural expression is fundamental to the identity of this particular group called “Armenians”. Though it has diluted considerably with the westward leaching of the community from this region, music especially is still practiced in homes here and performed on church and school stages. And, like in Arabic culture, I find a lot of young (and old) Armenians here able to recognize and join in singing Armenian music after hearing the first few notes. Even though I probably know much more 20^th century American music than they (I’m not limiting myself to rock), but I rejoice to see how much Armenian music is part of their lives, and by extension, my world here. And I desire more of it for my life.

A sample of the election posters covering the city. Some declare
the tie between their party and the country, some criticize the
current status quo, some look like a fashion shoot, some are
relying on magic charms or the “evil eye” to win, some just
scream in frustration. A number of Armenians are among
the candidates. (Mar.-Apr. 2018 – Beirut)

            Continuity is the challenge. Just as the number of people who read Armenian literature (or any literature for that matter) is plummeting, and both young and old use their English keyboards to hatchet their connection to the Armenian alphabet, so it is with all of cultural expression. We Armenians have overdrawn and misspent our cultural reserve account. And we will need to aggressively reinvest in that account (in people, really) if we’re going to have any hope for flourishing in the years to come. As human life becomes more fully mechanized, the urgency increases for every culture to produce music and artwork and literature and history and more, in order to remain human, to remain culturally viable, and to retain the spark of God’s image within us – albeit alongside our great need for God’s redemption.

LebCat 13: There is obviously an agreement with the owner
for keeping the seat warm. Hmm…  is there a possible future
in politics for this cat? (11 Mar. 2018 – Burj Hammoud)

            Does it really matter? Some think and act as if the Middle East is “finished”, and preach that it’s a waste to invest anything more here, financial, cultural, human, or any sort. But it’s not. There is life and creative output around us, despite the uncertainty and misery emanating from policies and weapons aimed from distant lands at this region. Certainly, what happens here politically (May 6 is parliamentary election day) is partly driven by local calculations, but it is more a reaction to the “weather” outside.

            As helicopters swirl overhead and huge election banners cover every available vertical surface, we need to help each other focus on things deeper and higher and more lasting. That’s part of why God put us here. For my part, I’m going to keep thinking, keep writing, keep making music, and I’m going to help others to do so as well. It’s what matters.   [LNB]

Resource Management

8.Resource Management (26 September 2017)

Water delivery to NEST (22 Aug. 2017 – Beirut)

            If I were to choose one thing to invest in here in Lebanon (something from which I could easily get rich), it would be water. I would go out and buy a fleet of those big tanker trucks that were ubiquitous all over the city during the hottest days of summer, and sell water to all of these meaninglessly tall buildings that are filling up every inch of open space in Beirut. You might ask, “Are there no water pipes in the city? Aren’t buildings connected to the public water supply? Shouldn’t there be plenty of water, as the city is right on the sea?”

            Well, yes, yes, and yes. Lebanon is a country rich in water resources. It has rivers and rainfall, lakes and, of course, the Mediterranean. But it suffers from resource mismanagement. And not just the water, but all of its resources, natural, man-made and human. For example, in 2019 I’ll be writing a post about waste mismanagement, because there is a trash collection crisis scheduled for that year. But for now, I’m just going to talk about water.

The Mediterranean Sea, as seen from the American
University campus (7 Aug. 2017 – Beirut)

            A recent study by the United Nations noted that despite the surplus of water sources in the country, people are still obliged to buy water or dig private (and mostly unlicensed) wells, or both. And all of that is resulting in an ever-increasing salinity of the water that comes out of the tap. So, late each night, and early each morning, and throughout each day this summer, one could hear the rumbling of water tanker trucks through the streets of the city, parking in front of this building or that, hoisting its hose up to the rooftop cisterns, and emptying its precious cargo. Not to forget, this is just washing and bathing water.

            Drinking water is a different story. You have to either buy single-use plastic bottles of water (more about plastic below), or subscribe to a local or multi-national drinking water company, whose trucks trundle through the streets all year round, delivering 18.9 litre jugs of water for your home or office water cooler/heater. We trust that these companies have done the necessary purification and filtration work, so that we do not also have to install a carbon or ultraviolet or some other type of purification system. Hopefully.

            Another study has noted that Lebanon only has the capacity to store 6% of its total water resources. In so many ways, Lebanon is a land of contradictions, and water is no exception. It has the highest average rainfall of any Middle Eastern country, has more water than it needs, yet has the least water storage capacity of any Middle Eastern country. And the impact of a couple million Syrian refugees in a country of four million significantly reduces the possibility of averting the projected “chronic water crisis” due to arrive in 2020 [info. from “Far off the target”, p. 70, Executive Magazine (Beirut), April 2017 issue]. Yet there are individuals and embassies that have a vision for a verdant Lebanon, and are working on projects that will help it reach that goal.

Some of the wetlands in the Ainjar spring, as seen from
an Armenian-owned restaurant (10 Sept. 2017 – Ainjar)

            So what about plastic and water? Or plastic in water? A news report in The Guardian on Sept. 6 of this year quoted an investigation done by Orb Media concerning plastic microfibers found in the water used and drunk in cities all over the world. Guess what? Lebanon came in #2 in contamination rates (93.8%), slightly behind the “winner”, the U.S., whose contamination rate is 94.4%, but well ahead of #3, India, at 82.4%... a race I wish we'd lose. The study recommends further research into the effect of ingesting, breathing and drinking plastic microfibers, but also suggests that in the meantime, until the results are back, the use of plastic be decreased the world over. “Plastic is forever” is a helpful, though simplistic, reminder of the challenge we face in responsible resource management. But what do you do when there are virtually no facilities in your country for recycling plastic and so many other materials? Ah… another topic for another blog entry.

            The most precious resource of all, however, is human, without denigrating the natural and other resources that cry out for careful management. We are seeing up-close the constant hemorrhaging of young, talented youth from the country. Some, though not all, make a wholehearted effort to establish themselves in a career, to plan marriage and family, but find the entrenched interests here an impregnable wall above them and around them. They often promise that they will only go away to work for a few years at a decent wage, and then return in order to help Lebanon progress, but we have yet to see that happen. What we have seen in our eight months here is several of our young friends make that move, to the Arabian Gulf countries, to Australia or Europe, or to the U.S. and Canada.

            As one of the most important (and last viable) centers for the Armenian diaspora, and a bastion of the cultural life and language of Western Armenia, the issue of human resource management here in Lebanon is not merely important; it is a life-and-death issue. Schools here are trying valiantly to continue their essential work of inculcating Armenian identity in the young, while all too many families are distancing themselves from that culture and pursuing a French, or Arabic, or English environment in which to steep their children’s inner worlds. This, too, is a form of mismanagement, based on the view that one must sacrifice one’s identity to live a “successful” life.

There’s a reason why you don’t hear
the term “watchcat”. Behold, LebCat 7.
(25 Aug. 2017 – Beirut)

            While Maria and I pour ourselves into our work, we are mindful that we are also doing “resource management”. Our aim is to inspire young people to live a life of purpose, and to fuel that, to live a life based on vision. In order to do something that matters, something that will strengthen others as human beings, and as members of a specific culture group (like Armenians), you have to first have an aim far above yourself, and thereafter you can make your daily choices and sacrifices. We try to show by example that, “Let’s try this path and see where it takes us” is a poor option for those who truly care about their people’s future. We are learning new lessons about trusting God in all of this.

            Enough musing. For now.

            There’s an expression in English, “Never send a boy to do a man’s job.” I’d like to coin a new expression, “Never send a cat to do a dog’s job.” Take a look at LebCat 7, and you’ll know what I mean.

            Our time as permanent residents of the Hamra area of Beirut has come to an end. We’ve been living here at the Near East School of Theology since our arrival on Feb. 1. Tomorrow we’ll be moving to the Ashrafieh area, to start a new set of adventures. More stuff to write about! [LNB]

Humans

7.Humans (27 August 2017)

Random human, being
confused by his electronic
device. (28 July 2017 –
Brummana, Lebanon)

            Humans, especially in recent years, have forgotten the importance of networks. Things like “social media” have clumsily reintroduced the concept to people in the thrall of their electronic devices. But it is still not networking at its optimal, because it eliminates the face-to-face element that is the foundation of any society, human or otherwise. Like that thing called “church”, and those who pretend that their on-line gatherings are an appropriate substitute for fellowship. Or like that fellow, Mark Whatsisberg, who thinks that Facebook is going to replace community groups like churches and associations.

Human bringing goods to
his apartment. He didn’t
have any food; I sniffed
as he walked past. (26
Jul. 2017 – NEST, Beirut)

            Anyway, humans are like that. I should know. I’ve been following one of them for the past eight months… I and my network here in Beirut, that is. You see, we cats look like loners, but we’re really very much in touch (especially when we’re hissing at each other). In case you were wondering, I’m “LebCat 6”, according to Human, who’s been following me and my network.

Human sitting on a chair,
as he does for hours each day.
(18 Aug. 2017, Geitawi, Beirut)

            A couple months back, when a fellow cat sleeping on someone’s keyboard in the U.S. caught a glimpse of this page, and my photos, out of the corner of his eye (you thought he was snoring, didn’t you?), he alerted me, and we immediately informed our teams to increase their surveillance of Human. And we “borrowed”, shall we say, this blog in order to make our voice heard to all of you “socially-networked” humans.

Human carrying Clanging
Metal Thing (3 Aug. 2017 –
Monteverde, Lebanon)

            Since our street has been dug up for the past two months (the street next to where Human lives), my routine has been messed up, to say the least. I’ve had to rely on my colleagues to keep tabs on what’s been going on. And we’ve noticed that Human has been harder to track, harder than usual. My contacts have noted his comings and goings, sometimes in another part of the city, sometimes outside the city, and sometimes pretty far away. He was sighted in Canada a couple of months ago, blowing into some curved yellow metal thing, and just a few weeks back Human callously interrupted my colleague in Shushi (in Artsakh) while she was grooming herself, simply because he wanted to take her picture. Canada, Armenia, Lebanon – seems he’s been getting around. Sometime in late July/early August, he was also spotted in the hills outside Beirut, with a group of other humans, wearing short pants. I don’t know if he was trying to evade us with a clever disguise, but we don’t bother with externals. Smell is what matters, not looks.

Fuzzy Human attempting to deceive
one of our agents with buza 3rabi.
(7 Aug. 2017 – Ashrafieh, Beirut)

            We’ve also noted that Human spends a lot of time going back and forth in the city. And wiping off his sweat with a piece of cloth. They haven’t learned the secret of wearing a fur coat the whole year. It’s a built-in, grow-it-yourself sweat rag – pure genius, whoever thought it up. Humans have so much to learn about what true genius is.

           Human lives with Another Human, about whom we don’t know much, because she keeps avoiding us. But we keep tabs on her, too. For a few weeks this summer a third one appeared at their apartment, Fuzzy Human; the three of them were spotted in and around the city quite a bit. Fuzzy Human tried to offer his “buza 3rabi” (Arabic ice cream) to our colleague, but, come on, everyone knows that there’s no milk in it, so what’s the point? Meats and dairy products – that’s the stuff we like. We also like whatever else you humans feed us, like canned food or table scraps. Anything that will spare us from having to hunt for our own food. You may call it “lazy”. We call it “smart”. Smarter than those phones you clutch all the time.

Our colleague, after being rudely interrupted
while grooming, by Human seeking a photo
op. (15 Aug. 2017, Shushi, Artsakh)

            Our network has been following the news, and is convinced that humans are having increased difficulties because they do not truly network. Theirs is a utilitarian motivation, and they rely on each other only when they need something from another human. In our recent information-gathering operations, the only time we noticed a change in this mode of relation was this summer, according to our agent in KCHAG, the humans’ conference center in the hills above Mansourieh. There humans would sit together, talk and laugh, seemingly just for the enjoyment of being together. And they would also sit in groups and read from a thick Book, and gather inside a building and sing songs to Someone. Nothing significant for them to gain from doing all that, yet they looked like they were actually enjoying life, for a change.

            So, there may be hope for them after all. As long as they keep their networks healthy. And that’s all I have to say.

            Pretty soon Human will have figured out that we’ve hacked his blog. And he’ll change his password, and think he’s locked us cats out.

            That’s OK. Let him think that. We know better. [LNBCAT]