How many conservatories have ever chosen a 21st-century concerto for their competition piece? And when was the last time they chose a composer from Iran, rather than Germany or Austria? With its centennial in mind, Juilliard broke new ground by selecting a concerto written by L&M faculty member Behzad Ranjbaran for its 2006 violin competition. William Harvey won the opportunity to give the work's New York premiere. A week after the competition in February, Harvey sat down with the composer to discuss the best place to find genies and fairies, life as a political prisoner, and what one can accomplish by practicing.

William Harvey

William Harvey: When did you meet Joshua Bell, for whom the concerto is written?

Behzad Ranjbaran: While a student at Indiana University, I was just walking on the first floor one day when someone told me that a prodigy is having a recital. I stumbled into Recital Hall, and there was a 12-year-old violinist on the stage playing Zigeunerweisen, which I was practicing at the time. I was astonished to see how young he was, and how fluent he was playing that piece. At that moment, I realized that there is so much you can accomplish by practicing! Afterwards I went to talk to him; I wanted to see those fingers that were able to play fast passages so effortlessly. I was very much impressed by two aspects of his playing: the range of colors and characters, and the brilliance. I tried to capture those two elements in the concerto.

WH: Since you grew up in Iran, did Persian musical traditions influence the concerto?

BR: I had in mind the kamancheh, an upright bowed instrument that is an ancestor to the string family. Its sound is very fragile, intimate, and lyrical; you can hear it imitated in some of the concerto's more seductive sections. The dance quality of the last movement is characteristic of a lot of Persian dance music. Also, some of the modes and ornamentation are Persian, but above all, the color and character.

WH: What was it like growing up a Western classical musician under the shah?

BR: I entered the Tehran Music Conservatory at age 9. We had academic courses in the morning and music in the afternoon, six days a week, so it was a thorough musical training: violin lessons, solfège, theory, and harmony. They called that the "golden age of [Western] classical music" in Iran. When I was 17, I became one of the first Orff instructors in the country, traveling to provinces north of Tehran every weekend to teach music to youngsters in small towns. I didn't expect much success with Austrian music in northern Iran, so I transcribed a lot of folk music. This gave me exposure to both Western and Persian music.

WH: When and why did you leave Iran?

BR: I left in 1974 for two reasons. One was to continue my musical education at Indiana University and Juilliard, and the other was because I was politically active so I had difficulty staying in Iran. I was very concerned about social justice and political freedom, and was actually imprisoned for a few months as a political prisoner. I met other political prisoners who were brutally tortured and eventually executed, so that made a great impression on me.

WH: How would you compare the government of the shah with that of the ayatollahs?

BR: A lot of political freedoms were curbed under both regimes. In that part of the world, people are always struggling for more rights, more democracy. Yet under the shah's regime, classical music was supported and financed: not ideally, but better than many countries in the region. After the 1979 revolution, that support diminished.

Read about the concert that will include the Ranjbaran Violin Concerto.

WH: Composers born outside Europe and the U.S. frequently fall victim to the expectation that their music will represent the cultural experience of their people. While writing your violin concerto, did you ever feel pressure to write the "Great Persian Concerto"?

BR: The concerto is a synthesis of many cultural and political trends in my life. I treat the violin like [it's treated in] Scheherazade. The work begins with a big tutti, after which the harp introduces the solo violin, just like the tradition of the storyteller playing the zither or harp as background music.

A number of sections are inspired by childhood experiences. I used to go to a village in the summer where the locals said that genies and fairies would come out after midnight for their rituals and weddings, and if you stay awake you'll be able to see them! So I stayed up late with the locals expecting to see genies and fairies. That made a strong impression on me. A lot of these impressions—the beautiful sky with stars, the expectation of seeing genies and fairies—are all in the second movement.

Every time I compose, the heroism that I witnessed in those political prisoners flares up. That's in the concerto as well: those big moments that some people say are a bit larger than what you'd expect from a violin concerto. But that's part of my experience in life.