Haale-lujah: Mesmerizing singer rocks Bellow Falls

Condi Rice has met her musical match in Haale — the Bronx-born, Iranian-American singer who's been gathering a devout following here and across the country for the past few years with her distinctly diplomatic, transnation-building sound. And, like so many immigrants and their descendants, Haale (as in "jala"-peño) is fearless.

At last year's Bonnaroo Music Festival, there she was playing to tens of thousands of concertgoers in the middle of Tennessee alongside musicians such as The Police, The Flaming Lips, The White Stripes and Lily Allen, all the while happily educating her audience on the difference between a sitar and a setar.

In sewing together the various elements that make up her signature style, from Persian poetry to arena rock bravado, she is helping to redefine the very notion of world music. Though some of the greatest rock'n'roll ever made has come from the basic guitar-bass-drums triumvirate and "baby-don't-leave" lyrics, this talented trio regularly pushes words and music across emotional, intellectual and geographic borders with diverse instruments, eclectic themes and enthralling, if not edifying, results.

Take the song "Chenan Mastam"— my favorite cut on her new CD, "No Ceiling"— and, in particular, this description in the liner notes: "'Masti' is a state of ecstasy and intoxication. It's a feeling of serenity, connection and love, our natural state of being according to many Persian mystical poets. 'Chenan Mastam' means 'I'm so mast' or 'smashed on the Great Big Everything,' as Kurt Vonnegut once said."

Hold on … Vonnegut? Yup, so then one has to consider the full quote itself, which comes from a reference he made to children at play in the preface to his 1987 novel "Bluebeard": "They get smashed for hours on some strictly limited aspect of the Great Big Everything, the Universe, such as water or snow or mud or colors or rocks, or echoes or funny sounds from the voice box or banging on a drum and so on."

Add to that a few intriguing morsels about Haale's myriad influences — who range from theoretical physicist Michio Kaku, sage Iranian philosopher and musician, Ostad Elahi, and renowned American Imagist poet, Hilda Doolittle, known as H.D. — and you get the idea that Haale isn't your average rock star.

On Saturday night, however, when she and her bandmates shake up the Bellows Falls Opera House, her particular brand of star power will become evident the moment she takes the stage. Commanding the spotlight with the confidence of a seasoned icon, whether wielding an electric guitar, traditional Persian instruments or just a mic stand while in the throes of a powerpop crescendo, Haale is a consummate professional who is wise and worldly as well.

When we spoke earlier in the week, her clarity on everything from politics to purpose was manifest. "I don't believe in war and I think that we know when we look at a family unit or a small community," she asserted. "We know violence isn't a solution to anything and also on a global scale. We should evolve past that."

At the suggestion that music can bridge chasms between two nations, she was ardent. "Exactly. If anything can heal, music and art can. I feel fortunate to be in the world of music and, being from two cultures, I guess I'm inherently a bridge. I want people to come to the shows and enjoy the music and feel the beauty of both cultures and see how wonderfully they integrate."

"No Ceiling," her lush, sonorous debut album, is a vibrant immersion into that amalgam of musical sensibilities, with fresh textures, temperatures and tones not often juxtaposed against traditional guitar riffs and stadium decibels. Haale and her skillful comrades deliver all of it in one invigorating ocean of sound that weaves other genres as well — grunge, folk, alternative, African, even spiritual music — into a cohesive, potent cocktail of flavors.

With Matt Kilmer on percussion, including cajons, djembe, floor toms and cymbals, and cellist Brent Arnold providing deep, cavernous tones throughout the CD, this is an exotic collection of original tunes that manage to strike a compelling balance between ancient and modern, East and West. Binding it all together is Haale herself.

"Off Duty Fortune Teller" showcases the luminous, slightly girlish core of her voice and lucid story-telling skills, all buoyed by an unapologetic splash of phrasing from The Beatles' magical mystery paint box. Shades of raspy blues temper whimsical lines in what is a sweet-and-salty nod to "I Am the Walrus," one of Haale's many dips into '60s psychedelia. Her sound is all her own, charging forth from whispers to wails to meditative chants, but with distinct hints of Grace Slick's soaring delivery, Joan Osborne's melodic grit and a touch of Heart at their fierce "Barracuda" best.

The songs are almost sculptural, shaped and molded by strong lyrics and surreal auralscapes. In "Zero To One," Pink Floydian warnings and bleak, unstructured spaces render a raw dreamscape roiling with anguished moans, atonal murmurs and surreal imagery that reads like über-obtuse haiku:

Everything is surprising from zero to one
Where were you hiding?
The empty house just saw the sun

"Middle of Fire" grows from the rich poetic soil of Patti Smith's songbook, specifically "Dream of Life," and the gorgeous lament "Hastee," based on a poem by Forugh Farrokhzad, one of Iran's most celebrated female poets, is yet more hypnotic.

One recurring intoxicant is Haale's nimble work on setar. With roots going back to the tanbur, a pre-Islamic Persian lute, it has a small, fig-shaped belly and a long, delicate neck spanned by 4 strings — c, c, g and c. The tremolo drone it emits is known as a "shorr," which translates to "the pouring of water," and is lighter and brighter than the sitar.

"I use it for its timbre as a rhythmic instrument," Haale said, "but I'm not classically trained on it." Her overall evolution as a musician, in fact, was not typical either. "I was studying biology at Stanford and during my time there I realized 'Wow, I don't want to do this for the rest of my life.'"

Raised by Iranian parents who emigrated to the U.S. more than 30 years ago, Haale was on a path more academic than artistic. "I didn't pursue music as a child, but then a friend gave me a guitar," she explained. "And I always wanted to be a singer."

It is in the context of her Persian singing that Haale achieves her most primal, intuitive vocalizations, reaching beyond those sung in English with dazzling authority and moving, earthy resonance.

"Ay Dar Shekasteh," set to reflections on the metaphysical by 13th-century Persian mystic Rumi, pulses with ecstatic praise and percussive energy, eloquently illustrating why the setar was originally reserved for devotional or "djamm" gatherings and why Sufi mystics play it in their liturgical ceremonies today.

Motivated by a long list of great minds and talents, Haale has also collaborated with a number of celebrated contemporary musicians, including David Byrne, who invited them to perform in his Carnegie Hall shows last year. All of them, past and present, fuel her work and her philosophies.

"They're all people who were and are authentic creators and thinkers, taking their world seriously enough to make better and better art."

With charismatic stage presence, a versatile, soulful voice and a bold, inventive band, Haale cross-pollinates the musical traditions in her heritage with a decidedly modern moxie, following her own path and focusing on that Great Big Everything.

As Ostad Elahi wrote, "Truth, for every human being, consists in knowing who we are, where we have come from, what we must do, and where we should be going."

Clearly, Haale has found her truth.

Online: www.haale.com
Annie: annieguyoncommunications.com