Tag: Ustad Zakir Hussain

The tabla fell silent as Ustad Zakir Hussain (1951-2024), one of the greatest global ambassadors of Indian classical music, passed away on Monday (December 16, 2024) after a brief illness in San Francisco, California. A maestro who transformed the modest instrument into a robust voice for universal peace and humanity, Hussain’s incredible speed, dexterity, and creativity mesmerised audiences across cultures.
Having grown up singing odes to Mother Saraswati, verses of the holy Quran, and hymns of the Bible as a daily ritual, India’s syncretic soul echoed through Hussain’s rhythmic art. With a flair for carving stories out of percussive sound, his conversational music buzzed with a spark of spontaneity. Natural flow defined his music and personality. The Padma Vibhushan would impress the purists, enthrall the seekers of fusion, and handhold the fans of Bollywood music into his creative space with equal felicity. At the peak of his creativity genius, he bagged three Grammys in one night this February.
Like his carefully designed free-flowing style, the versatile artist would execute complex rhythms, intricate patterns, and nuanced dynamics and then move on to items like the sound of traffic signal and deer’s walk, without putting music into brackets. In tune with technology, over the years, he experimented with frequencies to highlight the subtle shades of the instrument to establish that tabla is not just a rhythmic instrument but also a melodic one. He emerged on the scene alongside eminent tabla artists like Anindo Chatterjee, Shafaat Ahmed Khan, Kumar Bose, and Swapan Chaudhuri, but Hussain’s role in popularising tabla and providing it a global platform remains unparalleled.
Born to Ustad Alla Rakha, the eminent accompanist of Pandit Ravi Shankar, credited with taking tabla to foreign shores, tabla chose Hussain. He grew up in Mumbai in an environment where his father believed that every instrument has its spirit. Hussain befriended the tabla at the age of three and by the time he hit teenage, the instrument had become his muse for life and perhaps an extension of his personality. After watching him play, one couldn’t see playing tabla as a chore in classical music.
His other two brothers, Taufiq and Fazal, are also noted percussionists but Hussain took his father’s legacy to the next level by adding a touch of showmanship and expanding the riches he inherited from the Punjab gharana. A keen learner and listener, Hussain was like a responsive satellite in orbit as an accompanist, shone like a star in his solos, and reserved the adventurous streak of a meteor for creating fusion music.
A child prodigy who gave his first professional performance at 12, Hussain was not regimented by his teacher-father. Rooted in Indian tradition, he was allowed to develop wings and explore new shores. His day would start with devotional music that would invoke Hindu deities followed by polishing Koranic verses in the neighbourhood madarsa before he would join the morning prayers at the Convent school. By 19, Hussain taught at the University of Washington before joining Ustad Ali Akbar Khan’s music college in San Francisco where he met his soulmate Antonia Minnecola.
Another fortuitous meeting in New York led to a lifelong bond with the iconic English guitarist John McLaughlin. Their friendship led to the formation of the groundbreaking Shakti band in 1973 which included violinist L. Shankar and percussionist T. H. Vinayakram who blended Hindustani and Carnatic classical music with Western jazz influences. This year, the band where Hussain joined hands with a new set of distinguished musicians won the Grammy for Best Global Music.
Hussain’s desire to experiment led to rewarding collaborations with Irish singer Van Morrison, American percussionist Mickey Hart, Latin Jazz percussionist Giovanni Hidalgo, and Jerry Garcia, the lead vocalist and guitarist of the Grateful Dread. He joined the Asian Underground music’s electronic surge as well in the 1990s but retained the natural acoustic quality of tabla. He shared a special bond with Santoor maestro Pandit Shiv Kumar Sharma, flautist Hari Prasad Chaurasia, and sarangi stalwart Ustad Sultan Khan. Their jugalbandis would start as melodic banter and then turn meditative. In sync with the next generation, last year, he composed the Triple Concerto for Tabla, Sitar and Flute, with Niladri Kumar and Rakesh Chaurasia, and his collaboration with Carnatic musicians extended to violinist Kala Ramnath and veena exponent Jayanthi Kumaresh.
Fusion was never a novelty for Hussain as he had grown up listening to stories of how Amir Khusrau blended the Indian traditions of Dhrupad and Haveli sangeet with Sufi Qaul to create Khayal. As a young musician, he saw his father and colleagues contributing to Hindi film music that liberally drew from diverse musical streams. Hussain had his brush with cinema when he played tabla for Laxmikant Pyarelal’s maiden venture Parasmani. Later he composed music for Ismail Merchant’s films like Muhafiz, Aparna Sen’s Mr And Mrs Iyer, and Rahul Dholakia’s Parzania. The meaningful sound of his tabla lent layers to storytelling in international productions like Francis Ford Coppola’s Apocalypse Now and recently Dev Patel’s Monkey Man.
Hussain also had a flair for acting from a young age. It is said Dilip Kumar recommended his name to K Asif for the role of young Salim in Mughal-e-Azam but Ustad Alla Rakha vetoed it. Later, he performed in Ismail Merchant’s Heat & Dust and Sai Paranjpye’s Saaz. However, he became a household figure when he brought classical music to the mainstream by promoting a tea brand in a commercial where he played tabla at the iconic Taj Mahal. As an article in The Hindu described, “The combination of “Wah Taj!” with the dashing young Hussain’s curly locks flying about his face as his fingers flew across the surface of his tabla — not to mention that charming smile accompanied by the resonance of his playing — ensured brand immortality.
Fame didn’t diminish his humility and age didn’t wilt his curiosity. Music was an endless journey for Hussain. Every time someone would toss the word perfection, he would say, “I haven’t played good enough to quit.”
Source: The Hindu