According to Islamic tradition, the father of a newborn must recite theadhanor call to prayer, in the child's right ear, so that the first sounds the child hears upon coming into the world are praises to the greatness of God which will lead him to a path of wisdom and virtue. It should not be surprising, then, if the first sounds that Zakir Hussain heard as soon as he was born, in March many years ago in Bombay, were not words of faith, but tabla rhythms whispered by his father Ustad Alla Rakha, also a master of the instrument . A virtuoso was born.
Hussain, who passed away on December 15 at the age of 73, was a giant of the tabla, the drums most used in many South Asian musics, from Qawwali to the typical music of Hindustan up to Gurbani Kirtan. Precocious talent was nurtured by his father from an early age. «What else can you do when you grow up immersed in music 24 hours a day?». Hussain had his first concert when he was just 7 years old and started touring at 12. In 1970, at the age of 18, he made his American debut, at the Fillmore East, together with Ravi Shankar. A few months later he participated in some Grateful Dead jam sessions in San Francisco, starting a historic collaboration with their drummer Mickey Hart. In 1975 together they formed the Diga Rhythm Band, whose debut album contains a simple and lively song entitled Happiness Is Drumming which would later become the Dead classic Fire on the Mountain.
Hussain's collaborations with Western music legends go beyond West Coast and Dead psychedelia. In 1972 George Harrison called him to play in Living in the Material Worldthe highly anticipated sequel to All Things Must Pass. He originally planned to play the drums, but was dissuaded by Harrison who insisted that he take up the tabla. Hussain fondly remembered that exchange: «It was the day I abandoned the idea of being a rock drummer and concentrated on making my instrument speak all the rhythmic languages of the world. I can never thank George enough for clarifying my ideas.”
The list of artists with whom Hussain has collaborated over the years is as varied and rich as his talent as a percussionist: Earth, Wind & Fire, Van Morrison, Pharaoh Sanders, Yo-Yo Ma, Nusrat Fateh Ali Khan, Pat Martino, Charles Lloyd and Eric Harland have all benefited from his touch and his ear. In 1979 Hussain even collaborated with Francis Ford Coppola, lending him a hand on the soundtrack of Apocalypse Now.
Despite his prestigious status as an Indian musician in what was, and continues to be, a predominantly white-owned industry, Hussain spoke out against the standardization of black musicians that was often witnessed in the second half of the 20th century. century, when artists such as the Beatles and John Coltrane helped popularize South Asian music in England and the United States. “I don't feel like a standard-bearer of Indian music,” he said. «It's the media that says it, just as Pandit Ravi Shankar was once considered the poster boy of Indian music. And it didn't matter that there were equally good sitar players in India at the time.”
Towards the end of October I had the privilege of seeing Hussain live in a small theater in Connecticut, in what would be one of his last shows. The 500-person venue was packed, the audience made up almost entirely of people of South Asian origin. There was a sense of reverence and Hussain took the stage to endless applause, which only stopped when he silenced everyone by delicately raising a hand. For the next hour and a half, together with Indian classical musician Rahul Sharma, he proved himself to be a true shaman of music. He played in a composed and at the same time frenetic way, spontaneous but mysterious. No pretense of making a scene, no boasting: just the dull sound of the palms hitting the goatskin. His rhythms started slowly, like a freight train creaking into motion, and within seconds reached hypnotic peaks of elegant virtuosity. He was a true master of his art, a man who, from his first seconds on this planet, was destined to pursue a higher purpose. And he answered the call.
In the early 2000s, Hussain was asked whether the ever-increasing commercialization of music was compromising it as an art form. “In every activity, musical or otherwise, there are positive and negative aspects,” he responded in an Internet chat with fans. “It also applies in this case.” What is clear, in the aftermath of his premature and painful death, is that these words are also valid for that great undertaking that is life. We should consider ourselves very lucky, therefore, if in this world, so often marked by conflicts and problems, we were lucky enough to have Zakir Hussain and the magic of his music. They have generated nothing but good and we will miss them greatly.
From Rolling Stone US.
