There are clear practical reasons for this: whilst all the other players can alter their tuning, the notes on the qanun are fixed, both by the way in which the performer tunes the strings and then sets the intricate system of tiny keys that raise the pitch for playing the quarter tones that are so integral to the magham (Eastern scale patterns). The Ôud and kamanja are unrestricted by frets and a ney player can temper notes through breathing; such freedom can add startling colour and individuality to solo performances but, in an ensemble, itÕs the qanun they have to follow. The qanun is, technically, a chordophone Ð that massive musicological category of stringed instruments from around the world. It is closely related to the English psaltery (a regular feature in illuminated medieval manuscripts) and various other zither-like instruments, including the Finnish Kantele (Tools of the Trade in Songlines 26). At first sight, its trapezial box, crossed with strings, looks very similar to the European hammer-dulcimer or Iranian santoor: however, it is the distinctive plucking of the strings with flexible plectrums that makes the sound of the qanun so immediately recognisable and individual.

The History
The qanun is first mentioned in the Tales of the Arabian Nights, though it does not seem to have been in common use until the 13th century. A writer at the time claims that it was invented by the great 10th century musician, al-Farabi, though he never thought to mention it in his own very thorough treatises about music. We know that it was well established in Turkish court society by the 16th century and found its way around the Middle East through the network of the Ottoman Empire; by the 19th century it was also popular amongst the cultivated elite in Syria, Egypt and Iraq. However, there were some parts of the Arab world it didnÕt reach: because Turkish influence never took such deep root in Morocco, the qanun has never been a part of the rich Andalus musical tradition from the Maghreb. The sheer complication, size and sophistication of the instrument meant that it never found favour amongst Bedouin tribes travelling through the Gulf and Arabian Peninsula: however, in recent years, Saudi stars like Mohammed Abdu and Abadi al-Johar have incorporated the sound into their music to stunning effect. Inevitably, over such a long and geographically diverse history, the instrument has evolved and changed. A detailed engraving from the early 18th century shows a girl playing a simple rectangular box with only a limited number of strings Ð probably 24. However, an instrument in the Horniman Museum from about 150 years later is more like those that are commonly found today: it has 72 strings (with three strings to a note, giving a diatonic scale of 25 notes) and a system of mechanical levers for raising the notes. Modern Turkish and Arab instruments are very similar, though some Turkish instruments tend to be smaller and are therefore able to play higher notes.

The Development
The qanun is integral to many styles of Middle Eastern music, from the classical takht to the latest pop goddessÕ backing band. During the 1920s it became an established part of the Arab ÒorchestraÓ, which is effectively an expanded takht, modelled on its western counterpart. It was especially favoured by the great Egyptian diva Oum Kalthoum and there is a charming early publicity short of her pensively plucking on the instrument. The qanun player in her group, Mohamed Abdo Saleh, was one of the first performers to reach international prominence through her immensely popular regular radio concerts. You will now frequently hear the distinctive resonance of qanun amidst the drum machines and synths of Egyptian and Turkish hits; though, horror of horrors, the sound is now as likely to be coming from a sampler as a genuine, wood-and-strings instrument. To get some perspective as to the qanunÕs exalted position, itÕs interesting to compare the very different images that it and the Ôud have in the Middle East. The Ôud (lute) is regarded in much the same way as the acoustic guitar is in the West; thereÕs one lying around in every other household and many people can strum a tune or simply accompany themselves for a song; you can pay big money for something handcrafted in the finest tonewoods but you can also pick something up for just a small portion of your wages. Basically, itÕs cheap, cheerful and approachable: any visitor to an Arab souk will see dozens of Ôuds hanging up outside music shops. By contrast, the qanun is a very much more rarefied instrument and few people would think to take it up in a dilettante way. For a start, it is very expensive to buy and comparatively difficult to find, so a prospective qanun player will have to either seek one out from another player or commission one to be specially made: even a modest instrument would set your average worker in Egypt or Syria the equivalent of six months wages.

The Modern Player Syrian virtuoso, Abdullah ChhadehÕs first steps as a qanun player seem to embody the challenges that beset those who fall under its spell. As a 22 year old Maths and Physics student at Damascus University, he had already reached a high standard on the Ôud, but then events conspired to change the course of his life. ÒI was playing at a concert and this qanun player, Yaseen Habesh, was sat next to me: I was just preoccupied with his hand movements and the sound. That was it: from then on I forgot about the Ôud.Ó However, it was an extraordinary sacrifice that allowed Abdullah to start playing the instrument that would become his lifelong passion. ÒI went home and told my mother that I had heard this incredible instrument. But I had no money and, in Middle Eastern society, this is something that you would only admit to a close family member. She didnÕt say much but, the next day, came to me with her wedding jewellery and told me to go and sell it to buy a qanun. I was, as you say, Ôover the moonÕ.Ó Having bought his first instrument, Abdullah then had to go through a particularly testing process when trying to find the right teacher. He was fortunate enough to live near to one of the Arab worldÕs finest players, the veteran Mohammed Salweh. However, the maestro did not take new students on lightly. He told me, ÒIÕm very busy and IÕm very expensive Ð I doubt youÕll be able to afford my fees.Ó AbdullahÕs persistence eventually wore the old manÕs reluctance downÉ up to a point: ÒHe agreed to give me two lessons, but said that if I was no good I could just go and sell tomatoes in the street outside!Ó This prickly start to their relationship soon thawed, however, as Abdullah progressed quickly. Eventually, his teacher suggested he attend the prestigious Higher Institute of Music and Drama, though even this proved to be something of a trial.

ÒAt my audition I was told that they didnÕt really need any qanun players at the Institute, but IÕd be welcome if I would take up the double bass!Ó So, Abdullah dabbled in playing bass while nurturing his real love for the qanun. Indeed, as a musician visiting Damascus for the British Council during the mid 1990s, I first met him practising diligently in a drafty corridor at the top of a very long flight of stairs. No musician will ever tell you that their chosen instrument is easy to play. However, the qanun does seem to demand a particularly exacting level of manual dexterity. While the simple task of plucking a string is not, perhaps, especially difficult, there is also the tricky matter of simultaneously co-ordinating the system of tiny levers with your left hand. The open strings of a qanun are tuned to a simple C major scale and each lever allows you to alter the string up by a quarter-tone: on a traditional qanun there are four levers, so one string can play its open note and the quarter-tone, semi-tone & three-quarter tone above it. ItÕs rather like a pedal harp with quarter tones, but you canÕt use our feet! Abdullah has encountered players who have customised their instruments with as many as 13 levers for each string in order to give an incredible flexibility of micro-tones. By contrast, his own lo-fi option is to nurture the nail on his left thumb and use it to stop the strings wherever the mood dictates; he also uses it to extract some very unusual slide effects. Having more than one string to each note offers many advantages and is something found on numerous instruments around the world. Even when well tuned, there will be a fractional difference between each string and this variation adds richness and depth to the note. It also makes it easier for the player to maintain an even tremolando. As with all plucked instrument, the qanun has limited sustain and so the player compensates for this with repeated richay (plectrum) picks, back and forth, across the note. Traditionally, eastern music is monophonic and only one note is played at a time; however, contemporary performers like Abdullah have developed a way to keep the tremolando going with only one finger whilst plucking counterpoint notes with their other hand. This opens up a whole new range of musical possibilities which, if not actually incorporating harmony into Arab music, certainly implies it. The instrument that Abdullah is playing in the photos is a standard qanun that can be found throughout the Arab world. It was made for him by the noted maker Mohammed Zen from Aleppo, SyriaÕs very musical second city. Like all the best instruments, it is made from walnut and inlaid with intricate marquetry that is typical of Syrian craftsmanship. The wood is well seasoned and experienced makers choose pieces that have an even, straight grain to give the best sound. The bridges that carry the strings sit on sheets of tightly dried fish skin that cover the sound holes. When we met for this interview, Abdullah had recently brought the instrument back from being repaired in Allepo. The rigours of a modern, touring musicianÕs life had taken their toll and the fish skin had split just before a concert: hasty, improvised repairs had narrowly saved the dayÉ The standard instrument has 72 strings, arranged into sets of two or three to each note: the top note has two notes tuned the same, the next 20 are in threes and the bottom five are normally in pairs Ð though Abdullah prefers the clarity of single strings for these last five notes. Traditionally, the strings would have been made of animal gut but this has now been replaced by nylon; however, even this modern development cannot completely save the player from the ongoing chore of keeping 72 strings in tune. Similarly, the original richay (plectrum), which are secured onto the playerÕs index fingers with a metal ring, would have been whittled out of cowÕs horn Ð ideally soaked in olive oil for a few weeks and then thinned out with sandpaper. The vast majority of players now use plastic, though many still become jealously attached to a particular pair of richay with a perfect balance of flexibility and strength, which allow them to perform the elaborate ornaments and trills that make the sound of the qanun so dazzling. Considering its central place in Middle Eastern music, itÕs surprising just how few recordings there are that really present the qanun as it deserves. Hopefully, more young musicians like Abdullah Chhadeh will explore the instrumentÕs potential as a prominent instrument and redress this balance.

Abdullah Chhadeh & Nara Seven Gates (ABYC CHH1001) AbdullahÕs first solo CD brings the qanun into the 21st century with his haunting and very personal reflections on his home city of Damascus.