[See Part I of this interview, "Every Instrument Has a Spirit," here.]
Trevor: As we at RockOm have been exploring the bond between music and spirituality and deeper meanings, percussion keeps coming up. Do you think there's some sort of essence about drumming or rhythm that's different?
Zakir: I guess rhythm is part of us from the time we're in our mother's womb. The heart is pumping, there is a pulse, so we respond to that. If you notice, most of the songs that are a hit are songs that you can tap your feet to or you can sing while you're walking. The tempos of the songs that have become hits are the tempos that either you walk in, you breathe in, or you make love in. So the rhythm is a central part of music which leaves an imprint on your mind. It's a very important part simply because you as a human being naturally respond to rhythm more quickly than you do to melody. Composers over the past many years have simplified and watered-down the melodies enough so that you can just as quickly relate to melody as well [sings “Na Na, Hey Hey, Kiss Them Goodbye” and the end of “Hey Jude”]. The composers have brought the melodies to the point where they almost are rhythmic. That's why rap is a big hit.
Shiva is shown with the damaru. He is the destroyer, but also the creator. His son, Lord Ganesha is shown with the pakhawaj, he's the protector. So the two very important gods in India are shown with drums. It is said that when Lord Shiva was called upon by the gods to go down to the earth and kill all the asuras (demons) he came down and he did what they call the “dance of destruction,” tandava. Now, Lord Shiva probably smoked a lot of weed. Because when he got into doing something, he just kept on doing it. (laughs) The point was that he started to destroy the demons and then there were not too many demons left, so he kept on destroying whatever was out there. And the gods got very worried and went, “Ok, pretty soon there's going to be no planet earth. So what to do?” So they sent out Parvati and her other name is Lasya, which means lust, romance, whatever you want to call it. She did the dance of lasya to calm down Shiva and established a balance, an order to all the chaos. Now it is believed that since the first word of the dance of destruction, tandava, is ta – and the first word of lasia, the dance of love and peace and order, is la - that's where the word “tala” comes from, which is rhythm.
So it is really written into the whole source of creation and because of that, I guess human beings are born with that connection, that connection of rhythm. The earth, when it rotates, creates a tone and that tone is Bb. When I hit this [hits table], there's no note, but if it's played a million times fast, it becomes a tone - “mmmm” - and that's Bb.
In the old days they used to bang the temple bells and the old drums to call people to prayers. When the king wanted a new law passed people went around the town, beating the drums and having people come and then explain to them what's going to happen next, who was going to get killed. Messages were sent on the law drums and there are talking drums in Africa to talk to. I guess it's all part of our process of living. And rhythm, pulse, heartbeat, and drums are an essential part of it – not just an important part of it. It is necessary to have that.
Tom: Would you say there could be an analogy in “ta-la” and, from the Bible, “in the Beginning was the Word”?
Zakir: Or in the word Om? We all draw upon something that we've heard and appeals to us. For instance, the growing up process of a musician in India is, OK now you want to become a professional artist. So you're to do the Chilla where you go away into the forest by yourself into that little hut where all the old gurus have gone before you. You live off the land, it doesn't matter how old you are - 15, 18, 20, whatever – and for forty days, you play your music. Where did the number 40 come from? And of course when you're living off the land, you're alone, you're with just your music, you're playing your music 16, 18, 20 hours a day. The vibration of it, the sound of it, the tone of it hypnotizes you. You see things; revelations come. You discover many things – what's inside of you. If there's ugliness inside of you, it will emerge, it will manifest and it may frighten you and tear your mind apart. It's like having an LSD experience of the most negative kind. Or if there's honesty and purity inside of you, that will emerge and enlighten you. So, the forty day period – the 40 days of Moses – the 40 days of flood or rain – that's what I wanted to say, that yes, there is this connection where 40 becomes a very important thing.
Why do we all have the same 12 notes whether we are in deep Africa or on the river in China or anywhere? Why do we have do-re-mi-fa-so-la-ti-do and the flats and the sharps? It's the same in India and here and everywhere. And we say our music has been around for over 2,000 years, but we tuned our sitars and tablas to the machine 440, what the pianos are tuned to now. Why is that? Who knows? 4/4 is the same, 6/8 is the same all over the world. It has not changed or mutated into something else. Some people have gone further with the rhythmic signs, but in the west they've mainly still remained with 4/4 and 6/8. Dave Brubeck came in with “Take 5” and then that became known, while we have about 360 different ones in India which we play. The dance of destruction from Lord Shiva was supposed to be 14 beats; Lasya is supposed to be 8 beats.
Tom: Let's talk about some of your work with other instruments. You've worked with some unusual pairings before, pairing the tabla with the banjo, the bass, cello...
Zakir: It's not so unusual to me and I'll tell you why. Growing up as a young kid, our apprenticeship was in the Bollywood orchestras in India, film orchestras. Bollywood orchestras were all in one large room. At one end of the room was the string section: violins, violas, cellos, basses. Next to them on this side was the piano. Opposite the piano on this side of the room was a big riser which set the sitar player, the sarangi player, flute player, sarod player and there were two mics in there in between them. At this end, on the side of the indian musicians were the indian drums, tablas and all that. Opposite side on the piano line were the (western) drums. So, that's where we were and that's where we played. Under the baton of the conductor or composer, we all played together. That's what I grew up doing, playing with western musicians. Some days there would be a horn section there while we were doing the background score for a film. In those days the composer did not arrive with a complete, composed chart. He would look at the film and would see what the timing was and write the music there. So all of us had to be present because then he knew what he had at his command and what he could write for, what he needed at that time. At that time while he was doing that, we were jamming. The sitar player was sitting with the guitar playing and saying, “What do you got there?” – or the flute player is hanging out with the oboe player (coming up with ideas). So this was a common happening, day in and day out. For me, there wasn't anything unusual about these pairings.
100 years back, or even 60 years back, before that period, it was not so common for Indian musicians to play with musicians of other origins. But my generation, yes. My father was traveling with Ravi Shankar all over the world and would come home with records, LPs, of all varieties. That's where I first heard the Grateful Dead, Jefferson Starship, Yusuf Latif, Duke Ellington, The Doors, Bitches Brew or all these milestone albums. Having arrived here (in America) it was like walking right into the recording room with all those (Bollywood studio) musicians – the only thing was that the faces were different, the language was different and the approaches to the instruments were different.
When you pair with people, that's all one aspect of it – the other one is whether you get along. You can be with the greatest of musicians and sitting on the stage together and nothing happens. You just don't see eye to eye. Nothing's wrong with that, it just happens. So the pairings happen only because there's a connection, you see the same lighted path and you walk that path together so that connection is made and never broken.
Trevor: What do you have ahead of you, do you have new pairings you're working at, or what other adventures lie ahead?
Zakir: I'm still trying to strengthen the old pairings. Say, Mickey Hart for instance; I've known him since 1972 – that's when we did our first record called Rolling Thunder and I'm still working with him. The thing is after 10 or 12 years of working with someone, the valleys, the little corners and nooks and all, start to reveal themselves. I was a punk Indian musician wanting to impress the daylights out of everybody; I was gonna get on that drum and play as strong and as fast as possible. And I did that, but by the time I reached John McLaughlin and those guys, I understood that I needed to get to know them as people; I needed to go live where they lived, eat what they ate, go for walks with them, you know? Just be there, day in and day out. I went to the Shaman villages in South America with Airto (Moreira) to hang out there to just learn and to learn what Airto was all about, what Babatunde (Olantunji) was all about. That whole tradition – you can't just learn by listening to a record and saying hello to a person. That's just the surface; you've got to get to know them, then once you get to know them, that's when you can start finding the connection. Unless your hearts meet, your minds connect, and your eyes see the same lighted path, it's not possible to be paired together and make music together. I've been paired with a hundred different musicians over the years but there have been 2 or 3 that I am still working with because that walk has been taken. Sadly, some of those I have not been able to revist and maybe find that road and so the pairings didn't continue. But hopefully there are some more – like working with Bela Fleck and Edgar Meyer. This is something that just began two years ago and has the makings of a very special brotherhood, so let's see what happens.
Discuss this article
Photography by Susana Millman
Thanks to Regina Grande

T: I'd say the biggest influence is Bob Marley, not just from a musical standpoint but from the way he lived his life. I've read countless books and biographies and everytime I hear his voice and think about him, he's really a strong presence, even now. His body is gone but I think he's still hanging around. It's really inspiring because every time you hear a Bob Marley song, it's joy, it's happiness. It's so positive, no matter who you are. And he was doing the same thing, he wasn't saying "my way is the only way." He's a big influence and Matisyahu is a big influence, but musically I listen to a wide range of music.
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