Nusrat Fateh Ali Khan - En Concert a Paris (Ocora)

As much as I tend to be absorbed in contemporary improvised music (taomud), I try to consistently remind myself that, objectively, it’s just one of many approaches and, indeed, a particularly Western one (allowing Japan into the “Western” purview for this purpose). When I actually drift into a record store, my bent (if I don’t head up to the classical section to replenish my endless supply of Feldmans, Xenakisae, etc.) is to visit the “world music” area, to be overwhelmed by the enormity of things I haven’t heard, but should. By the way, it’s been commented on forever, but what a hateful term that is. As though everything outside of US and Britain can be lumped into a single, general category. Anyway, I usually choose a geographic division and begin browsing, often quickly losing myself in the depths of my ignorance. I’d been meaning to listen to more Indian music for some time but how to choose? Even if I go for a “safe” choice, say, Ravi Shankar, I’m clueless as to which disc to opt for, guided only by the relative repulsiveness of the packaging on a given recording (but even then, who knows?). A losing battle in that sense: there will never be enough time to hear all these things. I can only take a semi-educated stab and see. If nothing else, I’ll go by record labels, knowing that Ocora, the Nonesuch Explorer series, King’s World Music Library, etc. are time-tested for quality.

So there I am the other day, browsing the Indian section, when I look up and see (Pakistan being close enough for the purposes of Tower, I guess), this 5-disc set of Nusrat Fateh Ali Khan’s. I didn’t own anything by Khan though, of course, I’d heard him on radio any number of times over the years and had always greatly enjoyed his work. I may have been a little put off 15-20 years ago when the likes of Peter Gabriel championed his music a bit (several things on Earthworks, right?) figuring there must be some nagging problem if that crew was pushing him. But I brushed those prejudices aside and, happening to have the cash on hand, went ahead and bought the set.

Excellent decision. As I’m writing this I’ve only listened through twice but damn, what wonderful music. Two lengthy concert recordings from 1985 and 1988, not very different from what I’d expected, but endlessly fascinating to experience. I gather Khan had done some projects within more dubious, pop-like surroundings, but this, as near as I can ascertain, consists of straight ahead Islamic religious song. That’s another thing. I’m as irreligious, indeed anti-religious, as anyone you’re likely to meet. Had Khan been singing in English about the glories of Jesus, I’m not at all sure I could have blocked out the meaning level of the music; it likely would have irritated me enough to mar the overall enjoyment. Happily, delivered in Urdu (?), I can blithely ignore its fundamental meaning. Right, blithely. Is this an honest thing to do? Probably not, but you have to draw a line somewhere. I’ve always figured that the enjoyment I derived from the vast majority of, say, Afro-Pop I’ve listened to would have been greatly reduced were I able to understand the lyrics, which I assume to be pretty much as vapid and cretinous as Western pop lyrics. But in the same way as you (or, at least, I) can admire a Velazquez crucifixion regardless of the creepy theology behind it, you can put aside the Islamic trappings of Khan’s song and simply revel in the glorious sound.

The image of this rather portly personage, sitting mound-like on a bed of pillows, arms flailing in abandon as alien glossolalia emerge from his mouth is a strangely captivating one. When he erupts suddenly from a languid alap section into one of these torrents it’s like a flash flood cascading over a rocky parapet. Couched with two harmoniums and a tabla as well as backing singers, the shuddering ecstasy encountered in many of the pieces is as satisfyingly orgasmic as any proper religious experience should be. I have no basis whatsoever to comment on the performances critically—I’m guessing they’re deemed pretty hot stuff within the genre though who am I to judge? —but I will say that to the neophyte in Pakistani music as well as to anyone with ears even slightly ajar, this is some spectacular stuff. The discs are apparently available individually but that would rob one of the cumulative effect of each evening. I may well be preaching to the choir and perhaps most of you have long since sampled the late Mr. Kahn’s wares but, if you’re like me and had simply never gotten around to it, do yourself a favor and wallow away. It wouldn’t surprise me if Khan hadn’t the foggiest notion who John Cage was (let alone AMM or Bill Dixon), but who cares?