Ishtartv.com
- syriacpress.com
30/06/2025
DARAMSUQ (SyriacPress) — In
the winding alleyways of Old Daramsuq (Damascus), the sounds of a workshop grow
faint as an ancient craft fades. Daramsuq is one of the oldest cities in the
Middle East, its narrow streets famed for its flourishing craft industry since
the Middle Ages. Among the city’s historic crafts — swordsmiths, lace-makers,
and silversmiths — one stands out as uniquely Syrian: the making of the oud, a
pear-shaped lute central to Arab music.
Syria’s state news agency notes
that “the oud is the beacon of authentic tarab” (emotional music) and “an
essential part of [Syrians’] intangible cultural heritage inherited from their
ancestors.” Even in the 21st century, the instrument’s form is closely linked
to Daramsuq. As one expert puts it, a true Damascene oud “is based on grief …
sweet sound and warmth.” It is precisely this tradition that Antoun “Tony”
Tawil, and now his young daughter Mary, strive to preserve under one workshop
roof.
The Oud Tradition in Daramsuq
The story of the oud in Daramsuq
spans centuries. In 1897, a Damascene craftsman named Abdo al-Nahhat built the
first Damascene oud, launching a local tradition. By the early 20th century,
the oud was ubiquitous at Syrian weddings and women’s social gatherings. The
famous Nahat family — Greek (Rûm) Orthodox from Daramsuq — went on to make
instruments often regarded as the finest ever made. In fact, surviving labels
and museum examples show dozens of ouds from Daramsuq bearing names like Hanna
Nahat, George Nahat, and Toufik Nahat.
One specialist notes that these
Nahats were “Christian Arabs.” More broadly, historians record that many of the
city’s pre-war musicians and luthiers came from its Christian communities. For
example, one 19th-century virtuoso from Daramsuq, Selim Qudmany (also spelled
Kutmany), was described as “a Syrian-Orthodox Christian.” Like the Nahat
family, these Christians helped make Daramsuq a storied center of lute-making.
As a Higher Institute of Music researcher recently observed, Daramsuq still has
its own distinctive oud style — one “based on grief … a soulful sound” — handed
down through generations of craftsmen and musicians.
Yet, the oud craft in Syria has
been under siege. Before the 2010s, Syria boasted roughly 20 oud workshops
spread across Daramsuq, Holeb (Aleppo), and Hemto (Hama). But war and
emigration have shrunk that number to half a dozen, only four of which are in
Daramsuq. Many Old City studios have shut, and even those that remain worry
about the future. “It’s a profession under threat,” Tawil says, speaking of the
declining market. Young Syrians displaced by war often lack time or training to
carry on the craft, and walnut trees, which provide the traditional backing for
ouds, are now scarce in nearby Ghouta. Internationally, Damascene ouds still
fetch admiration, but domestically, demand has all but vanished.
In the Workshop: Tony’s Story
Tony Tawil, now 64, is one of
Syria’s last traditional oudmakers.
In his tiny shop in the alleys of
the Bab Touma crafts market, Tawil holds court over dozens of hanging ouds and
tools. His previous shop, slightly larger than his current one, was a mere
nine-square-meters tucked under the domes of the Tekkiyeh Sulaymaniyeh, an
Ottoman-era mosque complex which served as a Sufi convent.
However, the scarcity of space
creates a density of beauty. Richly inlaid instruments line the walls. Despite
the turmoil outside, he continues the slow, laborious work: selecting and
steaming walnut staves, bending each rib by hand, carving the elegant wooden
soundboard, and fitting ivory pegs. His hands know every step — he learned them
from his father Ibrahim in their Daramsuq home decades ago, and now he
carefully shows them to his young daughter, Mary.
Like so many in Daramsuq, Tawil
earns little. Before the war, he opened his shop at 7:00 AM and often sold a
dozen ouds in a single month. Today, entire months can pass without a sale. The
country’s inflationary crisis has seen prices soar but the real value of goods
plummet. An instrument that once sold for 5,000 Syrian Pounds (SYP) now goes
for 700,000. Despite a price increase of nearly 14,000%, the real value has
decreased by 30% — 5,000 SYP used to be roughly 100 US Dollars (USD), it is now
closer to .50 USD.
“Before the crisis … so much
demand,” he recalls wistfully. “Nowadays, a month goes by without selling
anything,” Tony told SyriacPress. Yet in the gloom, he remains passionate about
the craft’s splendor. He points to the smooth glow of spruce and walnut, and
says quietly, “Our ouds can last 70 years without needing maintenance. I’ve
made pieces as beautiful as a Persian rug.” Behind his bench sits an expert
from the music institute, Issa Awad, who confirms that it is “the way Damascene
wood is dried and cured” that gives these instruments their legendary
durability. Tawil often tells visitors that a hundred-year-old Damascene oud
still sounds true today — a testament to what he calls “the most exquisite Arab
lutes.”
Passing the Torch to a Daughter
Tony Tawil learned the craft of
oudmaking from his father Ibrahim, who had himself apprenticed in the 1950s.
Ibrahim, a nephew of one of the Nahat luthiers, was also Christian. Like many
craftsmen, he learned the trade from his father and is now passing it on to a
child. Tony regards his own daughter Mary as the hope of the lineage.
Though still a teenager, Mary
already works alongside him every afternoon lining ribs, smoothing sound holes,
and memorizing the subtle Eastern tuning. For Tawil, teaching her is a sacred
duty. “The oud is still present on many social and cultural occasions,”
observers say, and it “has moved from one generation to another.” By involving
his daughter now, Tawil ensures that when Syrians next gather for an evening of
music or a wedding celebration, a piece of Daramsuq heritage will not be lost.
Even as his workshop empties,
Tawil takes heart that the craft has not vanished entirely. “We used to sell to
Europe and Canada,” he notes. Indeed, many displaced Syrian artisans carry
their skills abroad. He proudly mentions Syrian oud workshops now emerging in
Montreal and Paris, saying that “in Quebec, there are now Syrians who are
opening their own production workshops.” His daughter’s future may lie in Syria
or beyond, says Tawil, but the craft will survive eitherway. Preserving it, he
says, is “preserving a large part of [our] memory and the pillars of [our]
cultural identity.” For the Tawils, each chiseled walnut stave and each fret
slipped on is a note of that legacy.
Throughout Daramsuq’s history,
Christians have quietly undergirded the city’s musical arts. The Tawils’ story
is one chapter in this tapestry. Syrian (Rûm) Orthodox families like the Nahats
and Qudmanys populated Old City guilds, training sons and daughters alike.
Rachel Beckles Willson, a scholar of Middle Eastern music, notes that the
Daramsuq-born oud virtuoso Selim Qudmany was a Syrian-Orthodox Christian.
Likewise, the Nahat dynasty — which forged the first Damascene oud — traced its
roots to the city’s smaller communities. In this way, the instrument’s soul and
the city’s faith communities have been intertwined.
Today, as Daramsuq reawakens from
war, the fate of its cultural heritage hangs in the balance. UNESCO formally
recognizes the Old City as a World Heritage site, a living museum of customs
and crafts. Within it, the Tawil family works to ensure that one priceless
sound does not fade: the mellow, tremolo cry of an oud built by Damascene
hands. It is a sound that, in their case, carries both a musical lineage and a
family name — one Christian artisan’s legacy played from father to son to
daughter.
Oudmaker Antoun “Tony” Tawil in his shop in Bab Touma, Daramsuq (Damascus), Syria.
Left: Portrait of oudmaker Ibrahim Tawil. | Right: An oud made by Ibrahim Tawil in 1965 now owned by musician Michael Joseph Burdi (Image: Michael Joseph Burdi)
The shop of oudmaker Antoun “Tony” Tawil in Bab Touma, Daramsuq (Damascus), Syria.
An oud made by Antoun “Tony” Tawil.
|