Si Pare
On Setar Learning
and the Metamusics of Iranian Music
Hesamoddin Jafari, 2023, Tehran, Moin.
and the Metamusics of Iranian Music
Hesamoddin Jafari, 2023, Tehran, Moin.
Si Pare is intended for readers who do not use—or do not wish to rely on—current mainstream methods of training. It is a self-study book designed primarily for two groups of setar students: first, those who are unable to attend music schools, especially for financial reasons; and second, those who do not have access to such instruction where they live. It may also serve those who live in large cities and have no financial limitations, yet prefer to study the setar privately for personal reasons.
It is also addressed to those who consciously seek a path different from the mainstream and find the ideas of Si Pare more suitable to their artistic and intellectual orientation.
In terms of age, Si Pare is best suited to readers who have completed at least secondary education and possess a sustained desire to learn. Independent study may be difficult for younger children, though they can still benefit from the book if guided by a teacher through the Dastgāh of Shur and its foundations.
In my view, those with a deep interest in such subjects can engage seriously with Si Pare. The book touches on Iranian music in its more subtle and often neglected dimensions, as well as meditation and introspection, the works of Mawlānā Jalāl al-Dīn Rūmī, reflection on the philosophy of art, Eastern art, and aspects of Iranian history and culture. Readers drawn to such concerns may find Si Pare especially meaningful.
As far as I know, Si Pare is the first self-study book written for the setar—or more broadly for Dastgāhi music. My aim has been to compensate for what I regard as major deficiencies in common educational practice, so that the student need not depend on additional instructional systems outside the book.
That said, the reader of Si Pare is not entirely “self-taught” in the absolute sense, since guidance remains available whenever needed.
Simplicity is not the same as ease, yet simplicity makes ease possible. When the constituent parts of a composition are clearly identified, the process of understanding and producing that composition becomes more manageable. If, by contrast, we do not understand how those parts are ordered and related, the whole remains complex and therefore difficult to construct.
Si Pare has been written with considerable effort so that the student may attain the greatest possible clarity and simplicity in performance. In my view, simplicity is one of the essential conditions of serious education.
Si Pare is built upon its own music theory, developed specifically for Iranian Dastgāhi music. This theory is the result of prolonged reflection and experimentation. It is intended to remain simple while still fulfilling its task effectively.
A music theory should be able to address different aspects of a musical work’s structure and, to some degree, guide its performance. It should also provide a language—a set of concepts—through which the structure of a work may be discussed and evaluated. Through theory, one can distinguish what is coherent from what is not, and thereby make criticism possible.
Si Pare makes a sustained effort to clarify the rules that govern the execution, structure, and notation of its lessons. The aim is to answer, in a principled way, many of the questions a student may raise.
For example, if a student asks why tremolo appears in a particular passage, the answer should not merely be that it “fits,” but that there is a more general principle behind its use. Likewise, if one asks why a left mizrāb appears in a certain place, or how one determines when to use left rather than right mizrāb, the book seeks to provide a clear and simple answer. The intention has been to establish rules that are learnable, coherent, and consistently applied throughout the work.
Si Pare introduces a philosophical dimension to the education of Dastgāhi music and attempts to apply that dimension directly to pedagogy. In my view, such work is necessary, because the neglect of musical vision has contributed to the weakening of Dastgāhi music in the present day.
Others may disagree with this necessity. My response would be that methods which do not give central importance to vision and insight have already had ample opportunity to show their results. It therefore seems reasonable that a different path should also be explored.
The philosophy of music in Si Pare offers the student a distinct orientation, and those who work through it will likely pursue a different artistic path in the future.
One part of this philosophy, especially in the first volume, concerns silence and the relation between sound and silence. From there, the discussion moves toward different kinds of Iranian silence, each understood as a domain through which the musician passes. In this sense, music may become the narrative of a journey through particular horizons, lands, and inward states.
At first, the language of Si Pare may seem difficult to readers who are unaccustomed to it. Yet as one proceeds through the book and becomes familiar with its manner of writing, this difficulty tends to diminish. Part of the challenge may also come from reading too quickly. For this reason, I do not recommend haste in reading the text.
At the upper corner of the first page of Si Pare appears the word Adagio—a musical indication that something is to be played slowly. In a similar spirit, the language of the book invites a slower and more attentive reading.
The language of Si Pare is also my first experiment in what I call “writing for the eyes,” as distinct from “writing for the ears.” This method rests on several principles: precision, attention to the structural capacities of the Persian language, the avoidance of unnecessary dependence on foreign grammatical models, resistance to certain literary and historical habits that have weakened Persian expression, and an attention to aesthetic form. I have discussed, and will continue to discuss, these principles elsewhere on this website.
Another concern of the book’s language is to address two common weaknesses in discourse on Iranian music. First, when we attempt to speak about Iranian music, we often lack adequate concepts and vocabulary. Second, many of the technical terms currently used in teaching and analysis are coarse, imprecise, or aesthetically unsatisfying. In other words, we often lack the right words and remain burdened by the wrong ones.
The phrase “editing the Radif” may sound provocative to some, as though the very idea were improper. In my view, this reaction reflects how little the matter has been seriously considered. Otherwise, one would expect by now to see multiple attempts at revising, rethinking, and critically editing the Radif.
As far as I know, Si Pare is among the first works to take this task seriously. That such work has appeared so late should not be taken as evidence of the greatness of Si Pare, but rather as a sign of how little critical editorial work has been done in the field.
My suggestion has been—and remains—that accomplished Radif performers should periodically present newly reworked or newly learned versions of the Radif, rather than continually reproducing the same inherited version year after year in increasingly weakened form.
Attention to detail is one of the distinguishing characteristics of Si Pare. Unfortunately, such sustained attention to foundational details has been rare in educational writing on traditional Iranian music.
As far as I know, in the field of setar at least, the total number of practical teaching points offered in many instructional books of the last century is smaller than the number of such points presented in a short section of Si Pare. This should not be read merely as praise for the book, but also as an indication of significant gaps in earlier pedagogical works.
If we lack the courage or clarity to examine the limitations of earlier efforts, we will not preserve their legacy more faithfully; rather, we will fail both to extend and to revitalize it.
It is often said that our music education is primarily oral and lacks a developed written dimension. Yet very little serious work has been done to examine this condition itself.
My own view is that a mixture of carelessness and intellectual laziness—whether in the recent past or the more distant one—has deprived us of a considerable part of our musical inheritance and may continue to deprive future generations of it.
Si Pare has attempted to help open another path: one in which musical culture and technique may also be taught, preserved, and transmitted in written form.
Methods of notation in this tradition have certainly developed over time. If, for example, one compares the notational practices of Mahdi Qoli Hedayat with those of Darius Talai, the difference is clear. Yet despite such developments, very little sustained attention has been given to the criteria by which one notational method may be judged stronger, clearer, or more effective than another.
Had this question received the attention it deserves, students and teachers of Iranian music would by now be able to discuss the strengths and weaknesses of different systems with precision and examples. The fact that little has been done in this area does not mean the problem has been solved; rather, it suggests that it has not yet been examined with sufficient seriousness.
Si Pare proposes several principles for notation. First, it seeks to establish rules and a theoretical basis for all aspects of writing, from the smallest components and compounds to their larger combinations and spacing. Second, it emphasizes simplicity, visual clarity, beauty, and ease of reading and writing.
Alongside a notational method for the structural components of compositions, Si Pare also proposes special symbols for ornaments and other details of Radif notation. Some of these are new; others revise earlier attempts. The goal has not been novelty for its own sake, but the advancement of notation through greater coherence and usefulness.
From what I have seen, there is still no fully standardized notation for the Radif—at least not in the strict sense of standardization found in spoken language writing, mathematics, or computer programming.
Several principles guide the recording of the sample materials in Si Pare. The first is that recording serves an educational purpose. For this reason, particular attention has been given to matters such as tempo, tuning, clarity of execution, and naturalness of sound.
A second concern is that the recordings should allow students to approach the music without intimidation and to engage with it directly.
Another important feature is that the lessons are performed in different ways, giving students the chance to practice through multiple approaches. They may choose the version most useful to them, or work with all of them in order to deepen their understanding.
In addition to the conventional setar, the recordings have also made use of the silk-string setar and the three-string setar.
In this respect, Si Pare’s treatment of recordings and audio examples forms part of the book’s broader pedagogical innovations.
As of March 2025, nearly a year and a half has passed since the publication of my book Si Pare: On Learning the Setar and the Metamusic of Iranian Music (Moein, Tehran, 2023). During this time, the book has received very little sustained or serious attention. Apart from an unsettled launch session at Book City in Hamedan—where the discussion, in my view, did not adequately engage with the substance of the work—there has been almost no extended response.
In this period, only a very small number of people seem to have opened the book with real attention. When it first appeared, a friend suggested that I send copies to well-known musicians in the hope that they might write about it, as is often done. I chose not to pursue that route. Aside from a few brief online mentions—only two of them by musicians—and several short notices from Moein Publishing, the book has remained largely undiscussed.
Faced with this silence, and thinking about the weakness of reading and critical reflection among many of our musicians—a weakness that has brought Persian music into a vulnerable and diminished condition—I felt it necessary to say, briefly, what this book is and what is new in it. I should add that my other book, Unthoughtful Thoughts in Iranian Music, deals more directly with this lack of critical thinking and seeks to trace some of its roots.
I wrote Si Pare for three main reasons:
to avoid repeating foundational teachings separately for each student;
to make these teachings available to a wider circle of those interested in Persian music;
to offer a path toward a deeper technical and inward understanding of Dastgāhi music while addressing the common difficulties encountered along the way.
What follows are nine ways in which Si Pare is, to my knowledge, a first.
A self-study book must guide the reader in the absence of a teacher. In writing Si Pare, I tried to anticipate as carefully as possible the usual questions, confusions, and obstacles faced by those learning alone. For this reason, the book may be useful to at least three groups: those who cannot afford regular lessons, those who prefer to study independently, and those who do not have access to a teacher nearby.
As far as I know, no such guide has previously been written either for Dastgāhi music in general or for the setar in particular. Existing materials may be used in self-teaching, but that does not make them self-study methods. A spoon may dig a hole, but it is not a shovel. In the same way, conventional teaching materials do not become a self-study guide simply because someone happens to use them alone.
By a clearly designed method, I mean one that has been consciously shaped, critically examined, and tested in practice. Such a method must at least make several things clear:
The goal.
A teaching method should state from the outset what kind of musician it seeks to form, and to what degree at each stage. It is not enough merely to say that the student will learn Dastgāhi music. Will the student become a solo player, an ensemble player, an improviser? Each path requires different preparation. In most current methods, this remains unclear.
The path.
Once the goal is known, the path toward it must also be known. Its stages, sequence, and purpose should be clear, and its effectiveness should be tested. Si Pare proposes a theory of how melodies in Dastgāhi music are formed and builds its pedagogical path accordingly. I do not believe current methods have treated the matter with this level of explicitness.
The student.
For the first time, this book pays close attention to the point at which teaching meets the actual experience of the learner: the student’s needs, desires, technical difficulties, and inner obstacles. It does not merely mention these things; it attempts to respond to them.
The shortness of the path.
When the destination is clear, the path should be as short as possible without losing effectiveness. This book attempts to reduce that path to its shortest workable form.
The pleasure of the path.
A path of learning must also be livable. For the first time, the book tries to face directly the question of how joy may be preserved within the discipline of study.
In these senses, Si Pare is, I believe, the first deliberate and clearly structured method for teaching Dastgāhi music. Other methods may also be judged by these same criteria. In my view, most current methods do not yet meet them.
Si Pare is, to my knowledge, the most extensive and detailed book yet written on Dastgāhi music. Its treatment of playing technique in particular goes far beyond that of other instructional books. This first volume, devoted entirely to Shur, is 520 pages long.
A few examples suggest the level of detail:
tuning is discussed more than 170 times throughout the book;
one chapter is devoted to the wisdom of breaking a silence, with earlier chapters preparing the ground for it;
likely mistakes a student may make in Shur are anticipated and answered in detail.
In this sense, the book attempts to meet needs that other setar methods have largely left unmet.
If an instruction is to be taught well, it should not remain arbitrary; it should rest on a rule. A teacher should not merely say, “Here play a downstroke, there an upstroke.” The student should also be able to understand why: this stroke appears here because of such-and-such a principle, and wherever that principle recurs, the same rule applies.
One sign of the weakness of current methods is that even on such elementary matters, clear answers are often unavailable. Ask where a left stroke should be played and where a right stroke, and one may receive no real explanation. This is striking. Even these basic matters have often remained unsystematized, because no sufficiently explicit theory of Dastgāhi music has been developed to answer such questions plainly.
Si Pare proposes a simple and clear rule for left and right strokes, along with many other principles of execution. It is, I believe, the first method to seek such rules deliberately, and also the first to formulate them in a usable way.
Many believe that teaching should not begin with the Radif, and that one should arrive at it only after a long preparation. In my experience, this belief rests largely on untested assumptions. It is worth remembering that many of the greatest musicians of the last century were in fact trained through the Radif from the outset. This book tries to show, in practice, how such a beginning is possible.
It may seem surprising that so little has been written for teaching the Radif in this way. In my view, this reflects a long neglect of the matter. I should also add that this book is the first to edit the Radif deliberately, consciously, and methodically for pedagogical purposes.
This may unsettle some readers, as though one were editing a sacred text. Yet such discomfort often arises from not having looked deeply enough into the beauty, strength, and internal order of the Radif. Without such understanding, one can neither strengthen what is strong in it nor improve what is weak. Much of what is said in praise of the Radif remains superficial for this reason.
As Rumi says: “Wherever there is trouble, there goes the cure; wherever there is poverty, there goes the blessing.”
By “content,” I mean the soul and meaning of the music as carried by its sounding body and musical form. These meanings may differ from one performer or listener to another, yet they may still be understood as belonging to recognizable families of experience. From this point of view, Dastgāhi music becomes the musical expression of such contents, which in this book are called gahan.
Si Pare introduces a way of teaching through the exploration and practice of these gahan. The shaping of a melody cannot be separated from an understanding of its inward character. A student who practices only the outer form of a melody learns something incomplete; one who also grasps its inner state gains a more living relation to the music.
This has practical consequences as well. Work with gahan gives energy and direction to practice, and helps the student endure the long discipline of study with greater purpose. Throughout the book, I try to show that the body of the melody and its soul are inseparable.
One could say that each melodic gesture, each tone, and each technique receives its physical character from the inner state that seeks expression through it. In this sense, the book attempts, for the first time, to treat the poetic and spiritual dimension of Dastgāhi music systematically within pedagogy.
I believe that one major cause of the present weakening of Dastgāhi music is precisely the neglect of this inner dimension: its meanings, states, and spiritual substance. Si Pare tries not only to lead the student toward the Radif, but to do so with attention to this neglected center.
For the first time, the book takes steps toward a philosophy of Persian music that may ultimately extend beyond Persian music itself.
Some parts of this philosophy are presented in the book, though they cannot be fully explained here. What matters for the present is that, in Iran today, music is rarely approached philosophically. Discussion usually remains limited to theory, classification, or the history of musicians. These are valuable, but they do not yet amount to a philosophy of music.
To understand music, one must turn toward music itself. The book asks lovers of Persian music to do precisely this: not only to discuss the theory surrounding the music, but to attend to the reality of musical experience. Music is not identical with sound; rather, it arises through sound within human experience, perception, and consciousness. For this reason, it demands another kind of inquiry.
One name I give to this inquiry is Metamusic. It begins, among other places, with silence. My belief is that teaching Dastgāhi music without some understanding of its essence is, in the end, a barren task. This approach attempts to open a path toward the inward life of the music, and through that path toward a deeper understanding not only of Persian music, but of music more broadly.
For the first time, the book offers a relatively simple way of judging—at least to some extent—the classical correctness or incorrectness of a piece of Dastgāhi music, as well as its eloquence, structural strength, and refinement.
Suppose one wishes to evaluate a performance—whether by a student or a master—and ask whether it is sound or unsound, mature or raw, eloquent or weak. What language is available for such judgment? In much current musical discourse, very little. Precise evaluation is often replaced either by vague praise or by equally vague disapproval.
This reveals the absence of a sufficiently clear framework of judgment. Without such a framework, one cannot explain with precision why a performance is strong, why another is weak, or what exactly gives a phrase its balance, firmness, or beauty.
The book attempts to offer a practical basis for this kind of judgment. It gives the student and listener a way to speak more clearly about rawness and maturity in performance, and also a way to learn from the work of a master without falling into empty admiration or unexamined praise.
For the first time, the book proposes rules of notation in which musical sounds are written according to the same principles by which they are formed and played.
As mentioned earlier, Si Pare seeks the underlying rule in the structure of Dastgāhi melody itself. Its notation therefore attempts to reflect that same order. In this view, notation should not be arbitrary; it should arise from the logic of the music.
The book argues for a general regularity in notation. Such regularity means that a melody, phrase, or musical unit should ideally be writable in only one correct way if the rules are followed. In other words, if two people write the same passage according to the same principles, their notation should be the same. This is one sign that notation has become systematic rather than personal or accidental.
Like any writing system, musical notation depends on both elements and rules: the units that are written, and the principles by which they are combined. These must be clear, economical, and consistent. In this sense, the book attempts, for the first time, to establish a notation method whose written form corresponds closely to the actual logic of composition and performance in Dastgāhi music.
The book also includes reflections on regularity in Persian script itself, but the central point here is musical: notation should mirror the structure of the music it records.