EID MUBARAK: UNIFIED ALWAYS

It’s Eid! Mubarakis to all. 

The Global Concert which began yesterday in celebration of Eid ul-Fitr is reviving spirits all around the world!  “Ali Goyam” was included in that concert. It played during last 15 minutes of bandagi. Kinda perfect, huh? Watch that lovely video here.

The huge amount of programming I’ve seen from Ismailis says so much about what it means to be a part of an evolving and progressive community.  When I speak with Ismailis these days, (even one who was on the front line for a while), they seem minimally shaken by the covid crisis. They always find a way to adapt.  They always find a way to come through for each other and feel unified. 

I had an experience recently where I felt really alone, only to be rescued by Ismaili and non-Ismaili friends. I know you’ve read a lot about “Ali Goyam,”but here’s one more story I need to share. 

It’s about what happened when I realized I just didn’t have the know-how to speak the fullness of production magic into existence.

If you’ll take me at my word, I’ll tell you something almost completely unbelievable: A mind-reading-production-expert-friend came along.

Adnan Khoja. 

He knew production, but more than that, he knew ME. He’d been my friend for over a decade and knew exactly how my mind worked.  He knew that my gibberish amounted to a grand vision.   Adnan stayed up late several nights working on it even though he had to get up early for work in the morning. He answered calls at the most inopportune times.  He came through as MORE than a smart producer. He came through as a true friend. 

Adnan also helped me communicate my vision to the others involved.  It was amazing to see how friendship turned a near-debacle into an beautiful experience!  On the final night of Ali Goyam production, a few of us sat there talking, working, and laughing into the night.  That’s a memory I’m going to carry forward with. 

So, as we celebrate Eid, I also want to celebrate friendship.  And, I want to say thank you to so many friends who have come through for me over the last few months. You are SO appreciated. 

Here’s a pic of me and Adnan from back in 2011. So many musical memories! 

STORIES: ARTISTIC ARREST

Stories: Our American Journey | Playwright and Musical Composer Samira Noorali

Stories: Our American Journey was an endeavor of a lifetime. Something that no one in the cast, crew, or program team will ever forget. 

Fall of 2017, I sat on my Palm Springs patio writing scenes inspired by real people as well as characters in my head.  I was sweating like mad out in the desert heat, but I liked working outside, bantering with sweet little Saleem and Noori (if you watched the show you’ll know who I’m talking about). They were funny, annoying, and as real as ever.    

Stories: Our American Journey | Saleem and Noori

I was, in a way, assembling the project in addition to writing it. The documentaries that we recorded before I had started scripting would become the centerpiece of the show, and boy oh boy, did they move me.  The subjects of the documentaries impressed upon me a kind of hope and pride that I’d never felt before. 

As such, I knew the Stories Universe well. Somewhere in my heart the whole thing had already been created. 

Once the children stopped chattering in my head, musical stories came to me.  Unlike most musical experiences in my life, this one was remarkably graceful. Ideas came without resistance and musicians came along to take the reigns at rehearsals -- each person finding their own truth within the scores I handed to them. 

Somewhere within the scripting process, dance concepts filled up my soul, too. I wrote movement ideas into the script not knowing that talented choreographers would wring them out and bring them to life in their own unique and glorious fashion. They would turn mere words into profound, visceral, meaningful dance. 

Stories: Our American Journey | Snow Dance

Watching the recent video of Stories that came out on Ismaili USA, there were a few moments that caused me to enter a sort of artistic arrest.  One was when I heard the musicians playing the “Snow Dance” that contained the choral Salwat. They were so good. So full of innocence and peace.  Another was when I got a chance to see Farah Alwani, my co-director, do her production magic during the Uganda piece. The dancers were perfection as always, but Farah’s lighting made it surreal. 

Stories: Our American Journey | Uganda Piece

Etched in the memory forever.

ALI GOYAM: SEEK NOW OR FOREVER HOLD YOUR PEACE

Seek seek seek… and then seek some more. 

We are living in a strange time. COVID has many of us confused, overthinking and anxious.  Our process of seeking for what’s better or higher has now been steered inward. 

The final days of mixing and mastering “Ali Goyam” coincided with the first COVID lockdowns. But, I barely even noticed. (Well, I went on a mandatory Costco trip with my parents to get everything for doomsday, or doomsyear, but that’s it). My mind was in the one place it needed to be… my piece.  

I was in do or die mode with the song -- my identity wrapped up in this one piece. I was warring through the musical crusade, finding discordant mistakes all over the piece and fighting the internal voices of mean critics. There was no clear light at the end of the tunnel.  

My own personal anxieties were top priority.  Life outside of music was a nuisance… so I stayed inside and did my work or went to Lucky Run Studio to work with the mixing engineer.  I was like “Coronawhat?”

When the piece was finally done in mid March, I opened my eyes and saw that people are sick, isolating, and in genuine fear. I thought to myself:

How important is a song in the midst of this strange new world? A world that is quiet and peaceful on the outside.  Blaring and anxious on the inside. We are living on top of each other in our tiny apartments, and yet tremendously alone amongst our loud thoughts. 

Now I’m sitting here wondering if the divine is showing all of us something through this sickness and collective anxiety. Are we falling apart for a reason?  Why is my life, your life, humanity’s lives characterized by so much anxiety? When can we all finally rest so that we can continue the search happily?

For Shia Muslims and many Sufis, Ali is the reprieve of all heartache.   And to sing about Ali is pure magic. 

“Ali ruh o ravan-i man

Ali aram-i jan-i man

Ali zikr-i zaban-i man

Ali Goyam, Ali Joyam”

Ali is my soul, Ali is my spirit, 

Ali is the repose of my life

Ali is the recitation on my tongue, 

I say Ali, I seek Ali

(From “Ali Goyam” written by Amir Hayati)

I sing these words and, sometimes, a little reward showers down from the skies above. All the harmonies crash against my skin, and tingle my spirit.  

The seeking is endless, and I certainly don’t have a cure for you, but I’ll tell you from experience that it’s a calm mind that can actually help you. That’s what music and poetry from many faith traditions does for me. It cancels out the stale thoughts and allows fresh ideas to come through.  

My little offer of calm to the world is my rendition of “Ali Goyam.” Listen here and see if it calms you down. 

ALI GOYAM: THE COMPOSER’S ADVENTURE

Why “Ali Goyam”?

Because I like it. Because I can’t get it out of my head. 

“Ali Goyam” is a Qasida that touched the hearts of Ismaili audiences during the Diamond Jubilee Homage ceremony in 2017.  

In July 2017, when I was practicing for a group performance of “Ali Goyam,” I couldn’t help but hear Pachelbel’s “Canon in D” playing in my head under the vocal melody. It wouldn’t stop… just like “Ali Goyam”. Relentless, beautiful, and searching for resolution… continuously. 

In October 2018, I composed v1 (a mashup of both pieces) and recorded it with a brilliant group of singers and put it away.  

I was completely unsatisfied. Caught in loops, muddled in a sort of craze. It just wouldn’t go where I wanted it to go. I felt like the song had it out for me. 

Then, I quit. It was too hard. Seeking was too hard. Prayers felt unanswered. So in my head… I was done. “Ali Goyam” was over, and I’d just have to choose another career… either ferris wheel turner or botanist.  Yes, the block hurt so badly that I was ready to work at a traveling carnival just to escape this piece and every other piece I’d been working on for Impressions of Devotion.

While dealing with my crisis, I read Steven Pressfield’s book, War of Art, gifted to me by an actor friend who’d been through the hurt and glory of creation. What I found was that my escape to the carnival or the forest would have been futile. Pressfield says, “When we fight it, we are in a war to the death.” Yes, it’s that serious for many artists… especially the ones who refuse to look resistance in its bloodshot eye. 

Then some 6 months later, the magic started to happen. A chorus developed. The journey of the piece became clear. The pain of my heartache would have to be translated, alchemized into something far more divine than a “song.” 

A song would never cut it. Not even close. I needed to EXPERIENCE something.  I needed to be transported. I needed to transcend the cutting pain, not avoid it. Transcend it with full awareness of the breakage in my soul and self-esteem. 

And so I sought, not out of desperation, but out of love.  I grew and matured, why? Because I had to. I had to seek the divine with no strings attached, no bargains, and minimal tantrums. I trusted the Source of all things and devoted myself to it.  Thanks to “Ali Goyam,” I have left of the business of making “songs.” I now am interested in creating experiences. 

All in all, the completion of this piece healed me. 

I think it could heal you, too.