...with performance of 'Agnostic'
By Andrew Druckenbrod, Pittsburgh Post-Gazette

Mass, Te Deum, Ave Maria ... Agnostic?

Sacred music has been at the forefront of Western music for centuries. Liturgical music such as masses dominated composers' duties in the medieval and Renaissance eras, when the Catholic Church was the primary employer. Even as courts and then the free market took over, religious works remained a staple.

It's no surprise, then, that classical music questioning God's existence hasn't happened often. Rarely has a composer even ventured to take a skeptical look at religion. Leonard Bernstein's "Mass" may be the most famous, and other composers such as Beethoven couched the discussion in more general, humanistic terms. But composer David Chesky's oratorio "The Agnostic" of 1997 tackles the subject with no hesitation.

"When I first heard the piece, I remarked that I have never had heard anything like it before," says Thomas W. Douglas, artistic director of the Bach Choir of Pittsburgh, which will perform the oratorio with alto, baritone and boy soloists this week. "It challenges the traditional thought that has been passed on and accepted instead."

"You can't prove the existence of God, it is faith," says Chesky, 52. "The oratorio is a humanistic work [of] existentialism." In his notes to the piece, he lays out his own beliefs, that "God did not create man, but man needed to create God for psychological solace." But he concludes that "man does have the inner strength to go forth and live his dreams" and that "The Agnostic" is a "courageous testament to what it means to be alone in a Godless universe."

Chesky wrote the libretto, inspired by the likes of Saul Bellow, Johann Wolfgang von Goethe, Friedrich Nietzsche, Jean-Paul Sartre and John Steinbeck. It doesn't have a plot, but rather poses several tragic cases that might lead to questioning whether God exists. One is a young boy who asks why God allowed him to suffer and then die at the age of 5: "How can a God of consciousness/Inflict so much pain on me/ Does this God really exist?"

The New York native says he wrote "The Agnostic" in "a morose and contemplative mood in which he strove to reflect inner beauty in his music." But that doesn't mean the work has a negative ending. "It is unsettling, but it means that we can re-create ourselves," he says. "It can apply to what is going on in the financial market or a nation after war, or [making] yourself a better person."

"It seems like what he is really saying is that if God doesn't really exist, then what are we to do as contemporary man?" says Douglas. "We have to take responsibility for our own lives and how we interact with our own lives. That is something I think is very important."

"Inside us all there lies strength," the choir sings at one point, and the final movement, "Resurrection" challenges humans to free themselves from poverty, tyranny and sickness. A few years after writing the oratorio, Chesky did that himself, surviving open-heart surgery that caused him to reinvent his own compositional aesthetic. (He now writes in a more active style he calls "urban.")

But lines in the work such as "God is what divides us from the Divine" had some of Douglas' choir on edge about the piece.

"I have a couple members of the chorus who elected not to sing the piece, and a local pastor was livid," says Douglas, who admits that he "was drawn to it not only by the beautiful music, but its controversial nature." Douglas is no stranger to controversy nor to members balking. His choice of Bernstein's "Mass" did the trick in 2007. But he is still committed "to stir[ing] the pot with Pittsburgh and pushing the envelope.

"We have to present material we think is quality material and let people decide. One time we sang the opening chorus from Verdi's "Macbeth" -- you don't have to be a witch to sing it! You are a storyteller. We still perform in churches, but aren't we going to broaden the horizon?"

An agnostic is, after all, one who questions belief and holds that ultimate truths are unknowable. It's not atheism. "Sometimes the question is the answer," says Douglas, who says he talked with his largely volunteer choir about its controversial nature. "It can bring you to a place that helps you know what you think." Lyrically, Chesky's piece ends not unlike the pantheistic call to brotherhood of the "Ode to Joy" of Beethoven's Ninth, with an exultant cry to "Go forth man, have the strength to be our dreams."

Whether "The Agnostic" will make believers out of audiences is yet to be seen. But for Thomas it is "a piece that deserves to be heard."

Bach Choir of Pittsburgh "The Agnostic"
When and where: Wednesday, April 1 at Carnegie Music Hall, Oakland, and Saturday, April 4 at 8 p.m. S at Shady Side Academy, Fox Chapel. With the CMU Wind Ensemble and string orchestra.

Classical music critic Andrew Druckenbrod can be reached at adruckenbrod@post-gazette.com. He blogs at Classical Musings at post-gazette.com.

By Tom Crenshaw for RockOm.net

In music, it is said that the master first learns the fundamentals, then learns to play with music, and finally surrenders to let music play through him. This adage was very much evident during Ustad Zakir Hussain and Pandit Shivkumar Sharma’s performance at the Lucas Theater on Wednesday, March 31 in Savannah, Georgia as part of the world renowned Savannah Music Festival. For more than two hours these two revered masters of their instruments- Hussain, the tabla and Sharma, the Santoor- held the audience mesmerized and in one spirit as they played their way through both Indian classical and folk songs.

The evening began with a standing ovation from the audience as both musicians took the stage. Both then sat slowly with reverence to their undertaking, crossing their legs in traditional fashion. Pandit Sharma, born in Jammu, India is the undisputed master on santoor (Sharma began his career on tabla so naturally knows how to react to what a tabla player is doing, making this is a perfect pairing with Hussain) and is one of India’s most honored film composers. Sharma then began the process of delicately tuning his instrument. The santoor is akin to a hammer dulcimer as we know it in the western world and consists of as few as 24 to more than 100 strings. Sharma’s tuning of his instrument took a few minutes. As he tapped the many strings with two thin, intricately carved wooden mallets and adjusted the pitch, the audience was silent with wonder and anticipation. Hussain sat patiently by Sharma’s side, eyes closed, occasionally stretching his fingers as he prepared his hands and mind for the performance.

The first song of the evening was a northern Indian or Hindustani classical raag. Raag is defined in the Sanskrit dictionary as "the act of coloring or dyeing". In music, this description applies to the impressions of melodic sounds on both the artists and listeners. A raag consists of both mandatory and discretionary rules governing the melodic movements of notes within a performance such as certain specific notes, order of ascending and descending, octave emphasis, pacing between notes, and even the time of day and/or season when the raag may be performed. This is all done to invoke the emotions of the raag for highest impact on the mental and emotional state of the performer and listener. Sharma’s santoor delicately sang with alternating plucks and strokes, slowly setting the mood and foundation of the raag so that later the music would have wings to fly. Once Sharma had set the tone for the raag and improvised sufficiently to establish roots he began preparing for Hussain to join him on the tabla by adjusting and increasing the rhythm.

Ustad Hussain enters the song establishing the taal. Just as the ‘note’ is the basis of the melodic component of music, the taal is established early on by setting a matching pace to the melodic performer, thus providing the rhythmic foundation for the melodic improvisation. Born in Mumbai, Hussain began playing at 12. He is a two time Grammy award winner (2009 is his most recent Grammy) and has composed for, and recorded with, some of the top names in all genres of Western music, including members of The Grateful Dead, George Harrison, Yo Yo Ma, Bela Fleck, Edgar Meyer and John McLaughlin. He has composed for films (his is the music you hear in the soundtrack to the movie Apocalypse Now) and for the 1996 Olympic Games. His father was Ustad Alla Rakha, the tabla player who worked with sitar master Ravi Shankar for more than 20 years, including the groundbreaking performances at the Monterey Pop Festival and the Concert for Bangladesh.

What unfolded over the course of the next two hours is beyond words; I can only try and describe the wave of emotions pouring through me as the music played out onstage and into the audience. My finest written words would forever fail to do justice. Yes, hearing is the best manner of enjoying the unfolding of improvisational musical mastery but one can gain an entire new insight into the mystical and spiritual side of the music by watching the faces and hands of the performers as they play. The level of communication taking place between Hussain and Sharma through their eye contact, their smiles to each other and their hand gestures is similar to trying to describe the magic of the music. The messages and conveyances shared between the two with glances, grins, nods, and gestures while they were performing told a story of love, admiration, surprise, and illumination that one must witness to believe. The manner in which Sharma would play a pattern and then warmly smile at Hussain as he answered in rhythmic return was endearing - one that only a loving, life-long friend would offer. The comportment with which Hussain blasted his eyes wide open from a halcyon daze or mouth the rhythms his hands were pounding out at lightning fast speeds and then whip his head in accenting emphasis revealed an enthrallment beyond the confines of the stage and audience.

Maestro violinist Daniel Hope and the Savannah Music Festival’s associate artistic director joined Hussain and Sharma for two, short improvisational pieces. Never before have I heard the violin paired with santoor and tabla. The result was extraordinary. It isn’t often one hears something so astonishingly original. The experience surely was as refreshing to the musicians as it was to the audience by the smiles on their faces as they concluded the evening’s performance and bowed respectfully to one another.

To witness such an incredible concert makes for a once in a lifetime event. Never again will I be able to hear or relate to this great music and masters in the same manner as before. I have heard and seen with my own ears and eyes and have been part of an experience with others that united us, at least momentarily in a wordless understanding. Music severs all barriers of division and lifts all spirits collectively to joyous heights. From this vantage point and with such lightness to our being old notions and ways of being fall away - all things become new.

Be sure to read RockOm’s two-part interview with Ustad Zakir Hussain as well as listen to the entire podcast from the interview (located mid-way down on the page) conducted in Zakir Hussain’s office at Moment Records in San Anselmo, California in 2008.

Tom Crenshaw is Vice-President at RockOm and can be reached at tom@rockom.net.

By Amy Champ, dharmatigers@gmail.com

“I don’t think we’ll ever really be ‘free,’ but for me the more choices you have, the freer you are—freedom is a choice.”

Steve Coleman, American contemporary jazz musician, saxophonist, composer

Improvisatory music, by its very nature, requires an extreme amount of flexibility, and openness to new ideas. By not having ensembles set in stone one can feel free to work within the parameters of different formations of the group. These ideas can also be re-worked into different arrangements of the group. In his book Improvisation: Its Nature and Practice in Music, Derek Bailey makes a distinction between the “theory of practice” and the “practice of practice.” For improvisation to truly work, one has to do it, regularly, on a daily and nightly basis. Musicians should feel free to move amongst groups of creative people. If a person gets stuck in one group, it becomes like a clique. That’s why I like the idea of the Naked City orchestra, AMM, and groups like these that are free to change shape and sound based on the current composition of the membership. The music does not dictate the moves of the group. The people move the music.

French composer Marc-Antoine Charpentier describes the historical beginnings of Western notation as a mnemonic device used by accomplished performers. People had traditionally been trained in an oral, traditional form, in all aspects of music, most certainly from an early age. The notation was used to mark sections and transitions, and to serve a musician’s memory. The development of the music staff served to codify note-by-note and mark time signature.

For me, this is as important of an invention as the motor. Consider for a moment, the difference between a man who uses oxen to plow his field, and the one who uses a machine. While both are dependent upon laborers outside one’s own body, the one who uses the oxen must still take into account factors dependent on the natural world, organisms and the like. The musician who learns from memory, practice and improvisation is dependent upon himself to produce the sounds in relationship to the world around him. The one who plays written music is a slave, a mimicker, and a robot. While a certain level of instrumental mastery is required and musical complexity is elicited, the ability to improvise in addition to reading music improves a player’s ability to sense the music. Sensing is, above all other aspects, our most important tool in the arts. Charpentier contrasts this to the “analytical” of modernity, and I think this shift in the Middle Ages through to the Age of Reason had its impact not only in music but in arts and sciences as a whole.

Consider for an example how modern-day performers have compromised the improvisational integrity of Baroque music. Improvisation becomes a problem in the attempted replication of Baroque music today precisely because it held such an important place in the original music. Baroque musicians of the present concern themselves with a compositional variety of Baroque music that holds little to no resemblance to the actualities of Baroque music in performance at the time. Derek Bailey refers to the maintenance of a “stylistic consistency” that was the over-arching guideline for the performance, which was supplemented with a “numberless amount” of improvisational ornamentation and embellishment. In the past there was an emphasis on many different improvisational techniques through harmonic accompaniment, whereas today, the arpeggio seems to have taken over. For example, in contemporary organ playing, the right hand plays arpeggios and the left hand is stuck with chords. This was frowned upon in the past. However, it must also be noted that the controversy between harmonic improvisation and note-based music has been at the heart of Baroque music since its inception.

As a bit of a digression, Stephen Duncombe, in his recent book Dream: Re-Imagining Progressive Politics in an Age of Fantasy, writes about how liberals have adopted the rationalist (analytical) perspective in politics. The premise is that if we bombard the masses with enough ‘real data,’ they will surely understand the dire consequences and come over to our side. He discusses the importance of the spectacle, ritual and myth for people’s lives. I think this ties in really well with the actualization of improvisation, especially related to a group like the Art Ensemble of Chicago who adopted elements of ritual into their performances.

This transition from experienced music to notated music can be drawn as a parallel to the experience of humans themselves, as they live lives over time. The lived experience of a contemporary post-capitalist, Information Age ties into the theoretical idea espoused by French philosopher Jean Baudrillard in Simulacre et Simulation. The idea of things, or symbols of them as communicated through cultural representation and especially mass media, are revered in modern times over the actual experience of them, a reality that is reflected in the decline of learning folk music and folk tales, and an increase in reliance on written versions of both.

Our contemporary reliance on technique—due perhaps to the pervasiveness of recording technologies--can be a problem. (For more on this, see Walter Benjamin’s 1935 article “The Work of Art in the Age of Mechanical Reproduction.”) Technique can deaden creativity. Even a classically trained musician who has found “a new way to compose” runs the risk of being repetitive. Repetition of what you do well is something you do in order to live out your days until an actual idea arrives, or an actual moment of awareness that recognizes truly creative moments when they arrive. Indian musicians learn raga after raga, and play them exactly as they are heard played by their teacher, until that moment of understanding arrives in which their actually music begins to live within the creation of an entirely new raga.

A multi-instrumentalist like Fred Frith represents a respectable way of stretching the boundaries of technique. Early on, when he met his fellow “dada blues” Henry Cow band mates at Cambridge University, they would deliberately write pieces of music that they couldn’t play. Eventually, they were opening for bands on tour like Pink Floyd, and felt that they had “become a rock band, playing the same music night after night.” Later, Frith expanded the bounds and began to build his own “prepared guitars,” playing in the Naked City orchestra and collaborating with innovative artists in New York through the group “French Frith Kaiser and Thompson.” Frith’s music is plenty technically proficient, but remains progressive insofar as the materials he uses—e.g. 6 and 8-string double neck guitars and non-traditional plectrums to generate new and visceral sounds. For true innovators, musical exploration becomes a way of life, almost an addiction of continually trying to beat one’s own creative prisons.

The question is: how do we take what we know as a given and completely forget about it, so that we can make something that sounds really, truly incredible?

For me, following jazz has been a way of learning to live and create in an improvisational way. Wynton Marsalis has famously emphasized the importance of rigorous classical training. The tradition that he comes out of was based on innovation, and yet as jazz evolved, each of its strains tended to get more and more codified. We still have to go back to the late 60s to find really interesting (eg: blue note) performances. Derek Bailey seems to echo this frustration when he writes: “For years the health of jazz has been a source of seemingly endless debate. While enthusiasts chant their support from the sidelines, the music itself now seems capable of only looking backwards.” (49)

It seems that the contemporary emphasis on training almost trains the music out of performers. Chops are great—don’t get me wrong—but without innovation, they are lifeless. The question is: How do we take what we know as a given and completely forget about it, so that we can make something that sounds really, truly incredible?

For those who have trained hard and well, it is much more interesting to hear what happens when they start creating and composing themselves. Someone like Anthony Braxton epitomizes the dilemma posed between George Lewis on the one hand and Marsalis on the other. Braxton was never accepted by the so-called “jazz establishment,” but made over 100 albums. As a composer and player of multiple wind/reed instruments and piano, he placed innovation high on his radar. He could play standards in New York, but why do so—when he could be in Europe playing with Derek Bailey and Evan Parker?

How each of us approaches improvisation, and music more generally, depends a great deal on our philosophical approach to life itself. Jazz bassist Eddie Gomez once said, “Freedom is a nebulous term and it’s especially inappropriate when applied to Free Jazz. Freedom doesn’t exist.” I completely disagree with Gomez’s denigration of freedom. An artist who does not believe in freedom, or the fundamental search for freedom has no business making art.

Creativity is an exercise in experience primarily, and oftentimes, it is by default that we are creators at all. After all, how many times have you set out to create a piece of work, and something completely different emerges? It is not the work itself that stands alone, especially given the momentary quality of live performance. Created work is always accompanied by a journey, and the seeking of freedom is intrinsic to the value that we place upon the creative process.

There will always be those who say that a performer like John Zorn is not a true musician--that the way he and AMM shuffled cards to determine the cycle of their pieces, was complete garbage. And to that, I say, “Fine. Go back to playing other people’s music.” There is something inherently remarkable about being “free” within a structure. The freedom in the case of the card deck comes from not knowing prior to the performance what it will sound like. The fate of the show is in the hand the cards dealt to you.

Zorn’s techniques exhibited a kind of freedom characterized by discipline and obedience to pure chance. Some may say that this is no freedom at all. But consider the rules that he broke, in order to get to a place of creative freedom. Giving up the determinacy of composed pieces afforded him the ability to be truly creative. Rather than play klezmer music “straight,” he chopped it up, deconstructed it, and came up with something completely new and interesting. To me, this is not restriction, but rather a clever use of resources. Zorn could have interpreted the klezmer in any way he wanted, but it was the specific choices he made that made the work original and interesting.

Therefore, there is a certain freedom in creativity related to musical performance that can be overtly conscious of the choices it makes. The evolution of a devised performance piece that seeks to break the bonds of the dominant social, political and artistic parameters is of equal importance as the so-called finished product.

Performance, as a live moment, can never be fully apprehended or finished. It occurs between breath and thought, and is an experience clouded and obscured by memory. The process of devising performance art is an attempt to predict future memories. To say that freedom does not exist in performance is to say that the musician is dead. Rules should be learned, and promptly broken.

by AMY CHAMP, MA, RYT

University of California, Davis

Founder, Director - Yogi Activist Resource Network (YARN)

Registered Sivananda Yoga Teacher
Doctoral Student, Performance Studies, UC Davis
Designated Emphasis: Feminist Theory and Research
Teaching Assistant, Religious Studies, UC Davis

Government Lecturer, Calif. State University, Sacramento
U.S. History & World Economics Lecturer, University of Phoenix

M.A. Political Science & International Relations
B.A. Anthropology & Literary Studies

http://tinyurl.com/amychamp
http://dharmatigers.blogspot.com

Introduction by Tom Crenshaw, tom@rockom.net

For most westerners, the names Ravi and Anoushka Shankar, Ali Akbar Khan, Zakir Hussain and even George Harrison come to mind when popular or classical Indian music is mentioned. Each of these artists are pioneers in introducing and popularizing Indian music in the west.  And for each of these artists I've mentioned there are scores more who are just as popular, just as influential in bringing Hindustani music to the world and who are entirely worthy of note. Vocalist Pandit Jasraj is one such artist.

Born in Hissar, India in 1930 Pandit Jasraj inherited his father’s musical abilities and was initiated into music by his father before he was four years old. Jasraj was celebrated early in his career for his tabla abilities, but it is his vocal mastery which distinguishes him from his peers and for which he is most celebrated. Pandit Jasraj is gifted with a three and a half octave range and his unique style of vocalization called Jugalbandhi (entwined twins), which is a essentially a duet style of vocalization and singing between either another voice or a musical instrument and is styled on the ancient system of moorchanas (between a male and a female vocalist, each singing in their respective scales and different ragas at the same time). Moorchana is derived from the word moorch, referring to a fainted condition, but here relates to harmonies that lie in an unconscious or sleeping state in the subconscious until “awakened and sung, when they begin to radiate spiritual bliss.”

Pandit Jasraj has performed and collaborated with a wide array of noted musicians worldwide, received numerous awards and recognitions and has recorded many critically acclaimed albums in his illustrious career. He has even founded an institution of higher learning, the Pandit Jasraj Institute for Music Research, Artistry and Appreciation with classes in New York, New Jersey and Pennsylvania.

RockOm is pleased to offer our readers a very recent and inspiring interview with Pandit Jasraj conducted by Swati Sharma from The New Indian Express and reposted here at RockOm with express permission for your enjoyment.

“Whenever one sings a note correctly, you automatically feel the spiritual equivalent of a samãdhi. And after several such notes, you are indeed in a Samãdhi, a state of deep meditation.” Pandit Jasraj

Spirituality Is Music

by Swati Sharma, Expressbuzz.com source

It was raining gently outside as I sat sipping a hot cup of tea, when I heard his familiar voice, drawing closer from a distance. Aap ki seva mein haazir hoon (lyrics from "Thanda Thanda Paani," [Ice, Ice, Baby by Vanilla Ice] as recorded by the iconic Indian rapper Baba Sehgal) a smiling Pandit Jasraj, dressed in an understated cream silk dhoti kurta (traditional Indian style of dress), extended his greetings. "Thank you for coming," he said warmly as he settled comfortably in a plastic chair. Even as the smile dissolved in his serene face, the doyen (senior master) of the Mewati Gharana, closed his eyes for a brief while before opening up: “When I close my eyes, I connect with God with or without music.’’ In a voice so soft, almost like a hymn, Pandit Jasraj continued, “there has never been a moment of doubt (in God) in my life. HE plays the most important role in our lives.’’ Withdrawing into himself, he appeared to be speaking to himself: “I always invite HIM to be with me and accept my dedication. It’s not a performance, music is a form of worship. It’s all about surrendering oneself to HIM.’’ Mai swaron se ishwar ko saadhne ki chesta karta hoon (I try to reach God through my music.)

It was obvious I was sitting next to a deeply spiritual man, who believes not only in the transformational power of sound but also in its origins in the all pervading consciousness. “We do not write, do not read and do not plan music,’’ he stressed after a long pause, “we establish a relation to God through it.’’ Going down the memory lane, he correlates his experiences and realizations.

“Some power, some force has guided my whole life and actions. I know HE has blessed me with my art. If God wants to shower HIS blessings upon a person, HE makes him appreciate music. But if God is further happier with a person, HE makes him a musician,’’ he remarked deeply conscious of his own good fortune.

Talking about his inspiration, he pointed out, “there are so many things that can inspire’’ and narrated one: “Some 40 years ago, I was about to perform in Sholapur, at a small godown that passed off as a venue. Among the rather nondescript motley crowd that seemed least interested in my singing, I spotted an old man shabbily dressed coming inside most irreverently. His behaviour annoyed me and I closed my eyes and carried on. As I faltered at one point missing a matra (beat), I immediately gathered myself and made up for it, coming back to the same with such aplomb that I could not help heaving a secret sigh of relief. Just as I did so, I heard a lone voice in the audience praising my feat with a loud 'wah!' As I looked around for that solitary listener who had echoed my thoughts and communed with me so perfectly, I found it was this same old man. Thereafter, he went off leaving me distraught, for my eyes were constantly searching him. Towards the end, however, he reappeared and from then on, it seemed to me I was singing for him alone. As my concert ended, he came to me, placed his hands on my head and said, 'Aaj tumne tumhare pitaji ki yaad dilaa di (your song carries me back in my memory.)'"

Lord Krishna once said to Panditji in a dream: "Jasraj, you must sing. Sing for me. Your prayers reach me faster on the wings of your music!" Krishna can be addressed as a companion, as God, friend or even lover. Maybe that is why He is the muse of artists. He is always present in my mind.’’ A devout Krishna bhakt (devotee), Jasraj revealed that he imagines the form of Krishna while singing. “He symbolizes romanticism as well as bhakti. His name itself inspires peace. Do I need to say more? ’’

"When I was six-years-old, every night I used to get dreams frequently in which I die and my atma (self) climbs up and sits on a zarokha (big wooden frame). In my dream my family cries, but I laugh. I also see my elder brother and my guru, Pandit Maniram crying. I come down and try to tell my elder brother, 'see Bhaiyya, I’m alive.'’’ The maestro talked of his brother and guru with deep love and reverence. "Even in my dreams I can’t hurt my elder brother,’’ he said. Moving from the personal to the professional part of his life, he noted the spiritual underpinnings of Indian Music. “Bharatiya sangeet mein bhagwan ka darshan hota hai. Sangeet (doubt or suspect) and bhakti cannot be separated - one cannot exist without the other.’’ As much is evident in his music. Is he worried that classical music is fast losing support in the country? A pretty common question but one that elicited an amazing answer from Pandit Jasraj. “We are not bothered about numbers. Even one connoisseur is enough!” he shot back.

But pointed out, that youngsters are increasingly taking to classical music.“The young are getting back to the old tradition, listening to real music; be it classical, ghazal (ancient poetic form), and so on. Once they start enjoying the fragrance of music they will get involved. The effect of music is such.’’ he explained with evident optimism. He rejected the perception that the younger generation was not keen on classical music and said a good part of his audience is comprised of young boys and girls.

So, is there hope yet? "Yes," he said emphatically. "Despite the decline of the gharana system (school or house of music) and the pressure to look for better careers, there are a few brilliant young musicians who have proved themselves worthy of inheriting the mantle of the greats, even if many of them do not come from illustrious dynasties," he explained. Star progeny like Mukul Shivputra (Kumar Gandharva’s son), Ashish Khan (Ustad Ali Akbar Khan’s son), Anoushka Shankar, Aman and Ayaan Ali have met more than their match in vocalists like Veena SahasrabuddheSahasrabuddhe and Shruti Shadolikar.  Sitar players Shahid Parvez and Purvayan Chatterjee and sarod player Parthosarathi inspire hope that Hindustani classical music can get back its past glory.

Finally, his take on Hyderabad (capital city of th Indian state of Andhra Pradesh). “This city is my teerth sthaan (holy place) and here I come every year to perform,’’ he said.

The individual is always more important than the medium, and the music of a genius like Panditji will always be new and fresh. So, listen to him while he is here.

Jai Ho! (his way of wishing)

Discuss this article

This past weekend, a classical music concert was held in Castel Gandolfo for Pope Benedict XVI, where "Winter Journey" by Franz Schubert was performed, one of his favorite pieces. Following the performance, the Pope thanked the performers and shared the following profound words of wisdom regarding how music (in this case by Schubert) "transmits the profound experiences of the soul":

"'When Schubert brings a poetic text into his universe of sound, he performs it through a melodic link that penetrates the soul with sweetness, bringing the listener to feel his same nostalgic consummation, the same call of that truth of the heart that goes beyond all rationality. In this way a picture is born that speaks of genuine everyday life, of nostalgia, of introspection and of the future,' the Holy Father continued... The spontaneous and exuberant young Schubert was successful in communicating - to us here tonight as well - what he lived and experienced." (CNA, see whole article here)

YOUR TURN: Is there a particular song or piece that, for you, is like an open window into the artist's heart, feelings or story? A song that successfully communicates the yearning, sadness or joy that the artist was experiencing, thereby transmitting those feelings to the listener in a profound and empathetic way?

Guitar maestro Pandit Debashish Bhattacharya is one of the world's phenomena, creator of a unique "Trinity of Slide Guitars." Born to musician parents, Pandit Debashish Bhattacharya, a child prodigy, was initiated into Indian classical singing, but was drawn to the guitar because of the ability to emulate the human voice by using the slide. The highly innovative mind of Debashish has given the Hindustani slide guitar a new dimension.

Debashish studied under Maestro Ustad Ali Akbar Khan (sarod), Pandit Ajoy Chalraborty (khayal, vocal) and the legendary Pandit Brij Bhushan Kabra, the godfather of Indian classical guitar, and has performed world wide with a "who's who" of master musicians, including John McLaughlin, Zakir Hussain, and Selva Ganesh in the Remember Shakti Concert.

His work has earned him the President of India Award in 1984, the Asiatic Society Gold Medal in 2005, and BBC Planet Award for World Music in 2007.

RockOm's Tom Crenshaw had the privilege to interview Debashish in early 2008 and to witness a phenomenal concert in Savannah, Georgia, at the Savannah Music Festival, where Debashish debuted his "Song of Life" composition as performed by master guitarists Derek Trucks, Jerry Douglas, Bob Brozman, and Debashish himself. Tom remarks, "For close to ten minutes these giants of slide guitar held the audience in the palm of their hands trading licks back and forth, and singing dynamically through strings and fingers something entirely unheard-of up until that moment. I've never before witnessed or heard anything like these four masters speaking through their music in such a passionate and moving manner. There was a time when all four guitarists and the tabla percussionist were playing simultaneously and every single note, every beat made perfect sense! When the composition was over the audience erupted in a resounding, almost deafening applause. It was quite a moment- one I'll never forget!"

RockOm: I sometimes say that music is spiritual in nature- in that what flows through us musically seems to come from a higher realm. Do you agree?

Debashish Bhattacharya: No, not at all. Music is man's hard work with extreme passion. When it pleases us, it transports us to a level of the mind where we feel disconnected with all material things momentarily. If you call this spirituality, so be it. Spirituality lies in the philosophy shaping up any music and or true practice of humanity; it is not a package or brand to sell a product.

RockOm: Do you feel that your spirituality is communicated through your music and if so, how?

Debashish Bhattacharya: As I said, spirituality lies in the philosophy shaping up any music. Spirituality is also related to non-fake humanity. Of course, my music is deep-rooted in philosophy, which is why Indian classical or raga music has survived thousands of years. That so many people are learning, practicing, and listening to it all over the world is a percolation of its spirituality. My music is liked by millions around the world, so the aesthetics rooted in philosophy transcribes spiritual feelings in their minds; it is the music itself. In true presentation it shows what it is. This is a natural process of communication, but only possible in the hands of a dedicated and true artist.

RockOm: What do you think it is about music that breaks down barriers and divisions between people?

Debashish Bhattacharya: I call it emotional attachment. Subconscious self-identification with one and all. Only music evokes the realization that we are all human beings, "Brothers and Sisters," as the great Swami Vivekananda addressed audiences at the Chicago World's Religions meeting decades [ago.]

RockOm: Besides your own music, is there any one artist or album that you continually return to (more than others) for inspiration, depth, or spiritual revelation and why?

Debashish Bhattacharya: I always fall back upon Ustad Ali Akbar Khan, Pandit Ravi Shankar, and Ray Charles. Why? I think they shape my thinking, intellect, heart, hands, eyes, and all organs like vitamins.

RockOm: Is there a difference between hearing music and feeling music? How do you explain this?

Debashish Bhattacharya: I think that is a radical issue, which needs to be addressed rather seriously. Do you relate to your feelings phone ringtones, horns, jingles, lounge, titillating promos, and squeaks and squirms? All that comes without philosophy of life is "passing sound."

RockOm: Just as you've invented new musical instruments to express what you hear and feel inside, what do you think future master musicians will come up with?

Debashish Bhattacharya: I have invented sounds deep rooted in Indian tradition and use them to trans-create music that is eternal. I have been able to do something though I did not have any role model in front of me. I can't say for others.

RockOm: How are we limited here in the West with regard to writing and performing music of a spiritual nature?

Debashish Bhattacharya: Try to find an answer to why you think you are limited, if you believe so. I think only then you can get your answer of the question.

RockOm: How important is it for you to "get out of your own way," so to speak, when performing? Do you lose yourself while performing or must you remain fixated and aware of what you are doing at all times?

Debashish Bhattacharya: I do not believe in talking while performing. That's not done. I am deeply absorbed while performing, as I believe that I must deliver my best to my audience.

RockOm: Is playing music similar to praying or meditating?

Debashish Bhattacharya: Yes. If one concentrates while praying will he not do so while playing music?

RockOm: Does music have the power to heal and can you give any example of healing you have witnessed?

Debashish Bhattacharya: Healing varies from person to person. Yes, many of my fans listen to a certain piece of mine, at a certain time, to feel good. That's surely healing. But a general remedy is difficult to formulate in such abstract fine arts.

RockOm: Is everyone inherently musical to some degree?

Debashish Bhattacharya: Well, not really. I know of many who are least musical but make tons of money by selling music!

RockOm: What is the most important thing we should know about you and your music, Pandit?

Debashish Bhattacharya: The most important thing about me to know is my name Debashish Bhattacharya and my music - classical raga, music of India.

http://www.debashishbhattacharya.com/

[Edited by Andrew Hoogheem]

I hesitate to pick up a memoir or an autobiography. I really don’t know what to expect. Will it be a series of incidents plainly stated in chronological order? Will it be like sitting with that person and having an informal chat and sharing his or her life over a cup of coffee? Since I don’t know what to expect, I stay away from this genre. But, I picked up Pt Shiv Kumar Sharma’s memoir for two reasons [Journey With a Hundred Strings: My Life in Music (Pt Shiv Kumar Sharma with Ina Puri)] . One, it was small, so even if I didn’t like it, I wouldn’t waste a lot of time on that. Second, and the stronger reason, was the connection it has with Indian classical music. I told myself that I will learn a thing or two about Hindustani music and santoor.

The book limits itself to Panditji’s life in music and incidents connected to it. The author was clear when he started with this book. Everything about music and nothing else. This decision is clearly visible when the author just fleetingly mentions his first son Rohit (who is not into music) whereas discusses his other son, Rahul (a renowned santoor player himself) at length.

The book starts with Shivji’s birth and childhood but does not really list the incidents chronologically. The language is simple and the attitude unassuming. There is no hint of pretension, no stating of incident just for the sake of stating. Panditji’s struggle in establishing the santoor as an independent and complete musical instrument in the Hindustani music world is commendable. While reading those pages, one feels the author’s pain and symapthizes with him.

Some critics were very harsh, saying the santoor would never be accepted as a classical instrument. Others, mostly senior musicians who knew my father, were sympathetic, and framed their comments in a different way: ‘Beta, you have chosen the wrong instrument. There is still time: give up this instrument, take up the sitar or sarod and you will be very successful’.

This book made me realize Panditji’s contribution to Hindi film music. I knew he was the Shiv in Shiv-Hari, who have composed music for films like Silsila and Chandni. What I did not know was that Shivji played the tabla for the song Piya tose naina lage re from the movie Guide on Panchamda’s request. Neither did I know that Shivji was in close association with artists like S D Burman, R D Burman, Amitabh Bachchan, Kishore Kumar and Lata Mangeshkar. It is surprising to see that an artist who was so strongly present in the Hindi film music circle managed to stay away from the media glare.

There is a lot to learn from this great man. His simplicity, dedication, virtues are qualities that are rarely seen these days. His respect for other musicians is clearly visible. In this world of hollow musicians who play for money, fame and awards, gems like Pandit Shiv Kumar Sharma are hardly noticed.

The author discusses various things like India-Pakistan partition, the present disturbance in J&K, the technicalities of santoor, his interactions with other artists, his concerts etc. In the whole book, what touched me the most is Panditji’s take on music.

To me the most important process in music is to go inward. Playing the santoor is not just entertainment for me; it takes me inward. This is the spiritual quality of music.

There is an entire chapter dedicated to this, aptly titled ‘Music and spirituality’, and according to me, it is the best part of the book.

After reading this book, I feel I have known Panditji closely from years. I feel I have lived his life, along with him, as a passive audience. Is this what a memoir should do to the reader? I still don’t know what to expect from an autobiography, but this has to be the best I have read and will ever read.

[By Anaamica Z., a software engineer by profession, who regularly blogs at mybookshelf.wordpress.com]

Somewhat unusually for me, I've been listening to a lot of "sacred" classical music lately. I'm not sure why. It started with remembering that the CD we had of Allegri's Miserere, which is a piece of music I do not wish to live without, was scratched up beyond all playability; so I looked on iTunes for a good recording. I ended up with the Tallis Scholars' 2007 recording, which also includes Palestrina's Missa Papae Marcelli. Our old recording of the Miserere also had some Palestrina on it, but at the time we bought it, which was several years ago, it didn't do much for me: it was pretty enough, but it didn't really hold my attention.

This time, however, the Palestrina just--opened up. I'm not quite sure how else to put it: like a flower, or like a good Scotch. It was suddenly deep and complex and beautiful, something to be savored and enjoyed and marveled at. You could use the word "spiritual."

It got me to thinking about how with few, if any, exceptions, the music I love most, my "desert island music," has been music that I've had to grow into, to listen to multiple times, sometimes over the course of years, to really enjoy. From being a high schooler listening to my father's tape of Kate Bush's Hounds of Love to picking up The Essential Leonard Cohen out of a "free" bin at a yard sale to deciding to take the Cocteau Twins' Four Calendar Café out of a pile of CDs I was planning to sell even though I hadn't listened to it since buying it, the pattern seems to be the same, and I can identify four basic stages: First I was attracted to the music, allured by it. Then after a listen or two I was repelled by it, headed off by some "difficulty" or lack of accessibility in the music. Then the music lay dormant--or seemed to; it might be more accurate to say that it was taking root in me all along. Then, finally, through some happenstance or synchronicity, I rediscovered the music and it opened up to me.

Of course the music didn't change; the notes, the lyrics, the recordings were all the same.

Some music, I suppose, waits up ahead for us, until we catch up; and well it should.

[Andrew Hoogheem is a freelance writer and editor and an at-home dad based in Davenport, Iowa. He blogs sporadically at backstreetpetshop.blogspot.com.]