I also want to address the idea that musical notation, at least as we know it, did not really exist yet in Ziryab’s era. Technically, people had been coming up with ways of jotting down how to play or sing a certain song before Ziryab’s time, but at that point, musical notation wasn’t exactly an orderly process with rules everybody followed. In Middle Eastern music at that time, while some musicians were making their own notes about how to play certain songs, it wasn’t a uniform or even super-popular method of instructing others how to play; it was better to learn straight from the teacher. When it comes to Western staff notation that you’re probably familiar with, New York Public Radio has an interesting article on Guido of Arezzo, a monk who in the 11th century invented an early form. It was way more specific than the system it replaced, called neumatic notation, which relied on funny lil’ squiggles to tell a singer to raise or lower the pitch.

Anyway, thank goodness for Ziryab’s amazing memory, and of course, major props to Ghizlān and Hunayda. By the way, in some versions of the story, Ziryab’s inspiration for the songs he came up with every night came from an interesting source. According to Akhbar Ziryab, “It was said of him that the jinn used to teach him every night one song from a nawba.” As in, a GENIE. Akhbar Ziryab is the early, anonymously-written source that may have been penned by one of Ziryab’s descendants, which has largely been lost to time; parts of Akhbar Ziryab are still known because it is used as a source in the 11th century work Kitāb al-Muqtabis [Plucking the Firebrand (From the Fire)], by Andalusian writer Ibn Hayyān in the 11th century. A lot of Ziryab’s biography that makes him into a larger-than-life star who did no wrong and influenced every part of society comes from this anonymous Akhbar Ziryab, so it is kinda interesting that this is where we get the idea that Ziryab’s songs were inspired by a sleep-genie.

Here’s another Ziryab anecdote for ya! Ibn Hayyān’s account tells us that Ziryab opened a school where he could train musicians, and some bios describe how Ziryab would have prospective students sit down and try to sing as loudly as they could. If someone needed a little help, he had the young man “tie a band round his waist to increase the volume of sound” (don’t try that at home). That may seem a little strict and unorthodox, but it was worse if Ziryab detected any kind of pronunciation he wasn’t happy with: He would have his auditioning student “keep a piece of wood in his mouth till his jaws were properly stretched.” The final test to gain entry to Ziryab’s elite music school? “...if the novice could shout Ah at the top of his voice, and keep the sound sustained, he took him as a pupil”.

As The Professor mentioned, Ziryab’s exact level of influence on fashion, food, hygiene, and so forth really depends on which version of the story you read. One reason in particular it’s interesting to read the older versions of the story, which tend to depict Ziryab as imperfect and human, is that they dish on him a bit more. I mean, Ziryab was a huge celeb, so that means I want the goods, the goss, the tea, all of it. The later, more laudatory versions of the story tend to omit little disputes and jokes made at Ziryab’s expense. Ibn Hayyān’s version, which in itself is quoting another source, tells of a poem that made Ziryab the butt of a joke:

The Qādī Abū l-Walīd recited [the following] from the malicious poet Mu’min ibn Sa‘īd’s verses lampooning Ziryab—and few escaped his lampoons:

I complained to her of my passion when they departed,

The complaint of a grieving one, saddened by separation.

And she replied—the heat of separation causing her tears to flow,

And the fire of love burning between her ribs—

‘Endure the separation or weep as

Weeps the silk under the armpits of ‘Alī ibn Nāfi‘!’