Remembering surbahar legend Ustad Imrat Khan, who shone bright despite being overshadowed by his celebrated brother Ustad Vilayat Khan
Mention the name Ustad Imrat Khan to any young Indian classical music lover, and chances are the reply will be, “Imrat Khan sahib? Oh yes, Ustad Vilayat Khan’s younger brother, the surbahar player.” But Ustad Imrat Khan was much more than just the younger brother of an iconic musician. He was also one of the finest instrumentalists of his time, an innovator, composer, great teacher, and the inheritor of the surbahar playing tradition of the five-generation-old Imdadkhani gharana.
Largely forgotten by a younger generation of listeners, he is a musician whose impact can be discerned in the instrumentalists of today. For one, the fact that he was as fine a sitar player as surbahar player was deliberately underplayed by his mother, Begum Inayat Khan, who was keen that the legacy of her late husband Ustad Inayat Khan be carried forward equally by both her sons, Vilayat and Imrat. From an early age, Imrat was encouraged to practise only the surbahar, on which he was trained by his uncle Ustad Wahid Khan.
Imrat was only three when his father died, so his gurus were his maternal grandfather, Ustad Bande Hasan Khan, uncle Ustad Wahid Khan, and brother Ustad Vilayat Khan. In the early years, the brothers were encouraged to also present their music as a jugalbandi, with Imrat playing the much heavier, more difficult surbahar with his brother Vilayat Khan on the sitar. Some of their immortal recordings, ‘Night at the Taj’, ‘Mian Malhar’, and a private recording of Yemeni on YouTube, reveal Imrat’s musical prowess. Although Ustad Vilayat Khan was famed for his amazing musicality, creativity and virtuosity, the jugalbandis reveal that Ustad Imrat Khan managed to hold his own with elan.
Looking at the legacy he left behind, foremost is his excellence as a guru. He was thorough, exacting, meticulous and inspirational. His sons and disciples, Nishat, Irshad and Wajahat, are well known worldwide. Ustad Imrat Khan was also a fine composer — Satyajit Ray, who interacted with him closely during the making of Jalsaghar, apparently said that though the name of the music composer was given as Ustad Vilayat Khan, it was Ustad Imrat Khan who dealt with the minute details. He created raags Chandra Kanhra, Madhuranjani, Geetanjali, Amrit Kauns, among others, but these never really became mainstream ragas.
Unusual raags, his forte
Understanding that he had to carve out a musical identity distinct from his more celebrated brother, Ustad Imrat Khan revelled in playing unusual raags; two that he popularised were Kalavati and Abhogi Kanhra. His compositions too reveal an attempt at individuality — son Ustad Nishat Khan speaks of a ‘gat’ in raag Gaoti, which was ‘the smallest gat ever composed, in which the mukhda was in just two matras. Says Nishat, “His compositions had a unique style; he used bolkaari (stroke work) in a distinctive way,” a style that was followed later by other instrumentalists. His son Ustad Irshad Khan remembers how he played compositions other than in teen taal. “This was something his gharana was not known for.”
The training on the surbahar gave him a command on the sitar that was awesome, and the wazan of his right hand, the fluid stroke work, and the extensive use of gamak taans on the sitar were distinctly his own. He preferred to encourage the then relatively lesser-known tabla players, Ustad Lateef Ahmed Khan of the Delhi gharana and Pt. Mahapurush Mishra and Pt. Kumar Bose of the Banaras gharana.
Yet, living in the times of those superb sitariyas, Ustad Vilayat Khan and Pt. Ravi Shankar, Ustad Imrat Khan never got the acclaim that was his rightful due. He moved to the U.K. where he taught at the Dartington College of the Arts, then to Europe in the mid-1970s, where he taught at the Central Academy of the Arts, Berlin, then moved to the U.S. in the 80s, where he taught at Washington University, St Louis. In the process, his concerts in India shrank, and a newer generation of listeners forgot his presence. Recipient of the Sangeet Natak award in 1988, the nation forgot him till his Padma Shri in 2017, which he declined as being too little too late.
The Ustad was a simple, large-hearted and fun-loving man. He loved good food and enjoyed watching Hindi movies. Most of his waking hours were spent in music, whether playing, listening or teaching. He was technically proficient, and and was able to tweak the jawari (the ivory tuning bridge) perfectly. A traditionalist, he turned down all offers for fusion concerts, saying there was enough to explore in Indian music. Today, four decades after his prime, one is able to appreciate the extent of his mastery.
The Delhi-based author writes on Hindustani music and musicians.
source: http://www.thehindu.com / The Hindu / Home> Entertainment> Music / by Shailaja Khanna / November 19th, 2020
In the centenary year of Allarakha’s birth, his son talks about their music school and carrying forward an immense legacy.
Fazal Qureshi | Sam Panthaky/ AFP
This year marks the 100th birth anniversary of arguably one of the greatest tabla players of all time – Ustad Allarakha. Born on April 29, 1919, in Phagwal, Jammu and Kashmir, Allarakha’s passion for music and talent came to the fore when he was only 12. During his many successful decades on the stage, he accompanied several of India’s most proficient musicians. His jugalbandi with sitar maestro Pandit Ravi Shankar is perhaps what he is most remembered for.
Allarakha was also a singer who composed music – under the family name AR Qureshi – for close to 40 films. He spent several years teaching in America and Mumbai, where he started the Ustad Allarakha Institute of Music in 1985.
His son Fazal Qureshi, an accomplished tabla player in his own right, now runs the institute. Classes are held in a large room in the Gala Building within the Mahatma Gandhi Memorial Swimming Pool complex in Shivaji Park. I remembered the institute from having shot a scene there for a documentary film I was making on Guru Dutt in 1989.
I returned to it last December. After nearly an hour of listening to the exhilarating sounds of several tablas being played together under the guidance of Qureshi, I sat down to speak with him. During a long, freewheeling conversation, he spoke about the institute’s origins, his father’s teaching style, what prompted him to take up the tabla, his memories of his father and what makes classical music a draw for youngsters today.
Fazal Qureshi with students at the institute. Photo credit: Sanket Washikar.
How did the institute come about?
My father knew DM Sukthankar and S Tinaikar, both music lovers and commissioners at the Brihanmumbai Municipal Corporation [then called the Bombay Municipal Corporation]. Tinaikar’s son Mahesh played the guitar and was in a band called Indus Creed. Zubin Balaporia and I played in the band too. Back in those days, Abbaji said, “Mujhe sikhana hai, kuchh karna chhahiye aap logon ko (I would like to teach the tabla, you both must help me)”. So Sukhtankar and Tinaikar managed to allot a room for Abbaji in the building over there.
The deputy municipal commissioner, GR Khairnar, was a strict and upright person – he had, at the time, demolished many illegal structures in Mumbai. He lived in the house just behind the building where we were, and he used to come and listen to my father and his students. Later we moved to this classroom.
Did your father have many students?
Yes, and for many years. Previously they would come to our home in Shimla House. At one point, my father had decided he wanted to dedicate most of his time to teaching. There were many students who wanted to learn from him, and having a classroom was a boon. [Even if he] wasn’t feeling well, he would say, “No, no, I have to go. The students are coming there.” He enjoyed teaching and because of that his students enjoyed learning.
Your father was taught in a one-to-one relationship with his guru. How did he or you find teaching to a group? I teach about seven to 10 students at a time and I manage to concentrate on each one of them. They are at different levels, and so they are divided into sub-groups. That is exactly how my father used to teach.
[Let me tell you about how] I learned from my father. [Back then] he was so busy – he was travelling and [performing at] concerts. When he would come home, he’d just sit and practise. I would sit in front of him and play whatever he was playing. There was no question of being the student – whatever he played, I played.
You were mirroring him? Learning by imitation?
Yes, by imitation. There was no time to write the bols down. I had to learn them by heart. And properly, because the next time Abbaji was home after a tour, or the day after a concert, he would ask me to play whatever he had played. I did not always get the kaidas right, so I would [listen to] a recording of a concert in which he played that particular kaida, and study the variations. That helped me reproduce it. He would be impressed and would say, “Seekh gaya bacha. (You have got it.)”
Fazal Qureshi / Facebook.
And how old were you at the time?
About 15. I started pretty late. There’s a story behind that. There was a documentary made on my father in the 1970s by the Films Division in which you can see me playing the tabla with Taufiq [Fazal Qureshi’s younger brother]. We were just kids. After that I didn’t touch the tabla.
Abbaji used to tour America and also taught there, so some of his students would come to study here. There was a 16-year-old boy called Peter Peringer who came all the way from America to experience Indian culture. He was my father’s student and was very good. He stayed with us in Shimla House, and used to practise the whole day. I would go to school in the morning and when I’d come home, he would still be practising. I would take the tabla, sit in front of him, and play whatever he was playing, just as fast as him. Peter would say, “I practise this thing the whole day, and he just comes, picks up the tabla and plays the same thing, and as fast as me. How is that possible?” He recounted this incident to his friends in America who later told me about it.
But how did you do it?
I don’t know. The Peter incident was before my father had started teaching me. For me, it was something [that came] naturally. I was a little boy. I recently saw a video of a three-year-old playing the drums in an orchestra. A three-year old – now what does he know? But he plays as if he does.
Peter inspired me. I thought, look at this guy: he’s come all the way from America. And he’s just 16. He used to recite the bols so well. Zakir bhai [Zakir Hussain, Fazal Qureshi’s older brother] used to teach him too. He would take Peter to all his concerts and ask him to recite. Everyone was fascinated by his recitation: here’s this American who could recite almost like my father. He was so good. Sadly, Peter is no more.
Do you think there are more students today than when your father was teaching?
Of course. It’s [cyclical] – you come, you learn for a few years, and then you go because you’re already at a certain level and you want to perform on stage. Some of Abbaji’s students are now performing, including Yogesh Shamshir, Aditya Kalyanpur and Anuradha Pal. Then comes the next batch and the next. Many of Abbaji’s students are in America, and many of my students have established themselves as teachers and performers.
Students at the institute. Photo credit: Sanket Washikar.
How many classes do you have in a week?
We have about 40-50 students in circulation. I don’t call all the students at the same time – we give them specific days. We have classes from Tuesday to Saturday. If I miss a lesson because I am on tour, then I take the class on a Sunday. I want every student to come at least twice a week. Our fee is Rs 700 a month. It’s nominal because we want people to learn the tabla [irrespective of whether they are] rich or poor. I have a blind student who comes from beyond Thane. His grandfather brings him here. I teach him by reciting the bols. He’s got very good hearing, and could play even before we met, [though] he wasn’t taught.
Can we say your teaching belongs to a certain gharana?
For the newcomers, it’s basic training like how to use the right and left hand. I have watched and learned that from Abbaji. There are a lot of students who already have some facility in hand movements.
I am not strict about sticking to one gharana – when I teach a certain bol, [in] the way my father taught me, I want them to play in that style/gharana. But some students come to me [after] having been taught in a different gharana, so I don’t really change their hand. I cannot, because that would be starting from scratch. Over a period of time the students realise there’s a certain way they need to play, so they change by themselves. I don’t have to tell them. Nowadays they can watch videos on YouTube, and observe the way bols are played by Abbaji, Zakir bhai or Fazal bhai.
How long do you think it takes for a student to perform on stage? I can’t say, [but] I can give you my example. I started learning when I was around 14 or 15 and by the time I was 18, I was performing on stage. That’s not very much in terms of years, but remember, I was brought up in a musical atmosphere.
If I were to generalise, I’d say you need to learn for at least five or six years. You’ve got to get into the groove. A music school doesn’t teach you how to perform. You have to get out there. It’s like studying for an MBA – but then how do you apply what you’ve learned? You have to work in an office [and] learn the ropes, as they say.
A person must know how to apply their knowledge. Many of my students send me videos of their performances. I watch them and say, “Okay, here there was no need for you to play this or you played a little too long. It was not required.”
When you’re performing on stage, it’s [all about] teamwork. There is the instrumentalist and the tabla player, and together they [put up a] good performance. It’s not two performances happening at the same time – it’s one performance. You have to be in sync with each other. This is the attitude I want to instil in my students.
What is the most difficult thing about teaching the tabla?
I’m finding my way. Abbaji had his own thought process or philosophy behind the creation of a new composition, and that applied to when he was performing a kaida or rela. I am following his system because I used to ask myself how he created those variations. Analysis is important, and because of that I am able to add my variations to his compositions – I follow the same patterns.
It’s a way of thinking that’s passed on, and I’m trying to pass that philosophy to my students: I’m teaching you a variation, see how it’s created, see how you can develop it. From one variation another emerges. It’s like a chain. You need to understand how the chain is built and only then will you understand the composition. Create your own stuff later.
Does it surprise you that young people are still drawn to learning classical music in today’s fast-paced life? No – in fact, I see more students now than earlier. If you go to a Zakir Hussain concert, you’ll see many young people in the audience.
It’s [about] that one personality who brings in the audience. In the ’70s, it was Ravi Shankar. Everyone wanted to learn the sitar because of Raviji – that he had played with The Beatles [was a big draw]. Then there was Ustad Ali Akbar Khan saab, who was a big name in sarod. Everyone wanted to learn the sarod. The santoor and the flute became popular thanks to Pandit Shivkumar Sharma and Pandit Hariprasad Chaurasia. They made a good team with Zakir bhai. When they were on the stage, people went gaga over them. The tabla was already popular and with Zakir bhai, it has become even more popular.
The musician makes an instrument popular. That’s why the Rudra veena or the Saraswati veena are not very popular. It is because we don’t have a personality associated with these instruments. Why is the mandolin popular? It’s thanks to U Srinivas who was a great mandolin player. The mandolin is not even an Indian instrument, it’s a western instrument. The violin is not an Indian instrument either but it’s popular because of the personalities of the musicians who play the violin in the South as well as the North.
Pandit Ravi Shankar and Ustad Allarakha/YouTube.
This year marks your father’s 100th birth anniversary. How would you like him to be remembered?
My father was way ahead of his time. And a lot of people would agree with me. While everyone performed straightforward taals, he was creating new compositions in different rhythm cycles – he played six and a half, seven and a half, things the others were not doing. He was very innovative.
Abbaji was one of the first tabla players to accompany South Indian musicians, international drummers and classical violinists from the West. He was the first tabla player to compose film music. In later years, other classical musicians starting composing for the movies, including Ravi Shankar, Ustad Ali Akbar Khan and Ustad Vilayat Khan. Abbaji was a very open-minded musician. Despite being a traditionalist at heart, he was doing all this other stuff which was not connected to the tabla. In the 1940s, he was even employed as a vocalist with the All India Radio.
I’d like people to remember him as an all-round musician. He was a tremendous film composer. That’s one of the reasons why we created The Journey Continues, a musical tribute for my father with actor-storyteller Danish Hussain. It showcased Abbaji’s many talents.
What do you remember of him as a father?
He was a very calm and relaxed person who did not lose his temper. Taufiq and I were closer to each other in age. Zakir bhai was older. Abbaji never scolded us, [even though] we kids were up to all kinds of mischief, running amok around the house. He never scolded us. My mother would go crazy, but he would sit calmly – and let us do whatever we wanted. He had a lot of aspirations for Zakir bhai because he was the first son born in the family. It was not just Abbaji – most people around him shared his feelings. “Bhai, Ustad Allarakha ka ladka hai, pehla ladka hai, yeh to bajayega hi. (After all, he’s Ustad Allarakha’s eldest son, he is bound to play the tabla).”
Was your father an affectionate man?
He was very affectionate. And unbiased. If I was sitting among his students and practicing, he would not pay me more attention just because I was his son. He was very impartial. For him, talent was important – if you’re good, no matter who you are, rich or poor, I’ll teach you more.
Fazal Qureshi / Facebook.
What if a student is no good? What do you do?
I have to tell them – look, this is not happening, try something else. I don’t want them to waste their time or mine. If I want to be a professional musician and I am not good enough, I should realise it myself. Just because your father is in that profession, you don’t have to follow him.
When it comes to my relationship with the students, I’d like them to treat me as a friend, they should feel free to talk to me. They can ask me questions. I prefer a relaxed atmosphere – hierarchy shouldn’t exist.
How did your father deal with his students?
The older generation were very direct in telling people if they were going wrong. He used to sit in the audience and if his student was making a mistake, he would say out loud: “Arre, kya kar rahe ho? (What do you think you’re doing?)
Abbaji was outspoken. He used to think if you have something to say about someone, say it to their face, don’t talk behind their back. That’s how many great musicians were in those days.
source: http://www.scroll.in / Scroll.in / Home> Magazine> Interview / by Nasreen Munni Kabir / January 12th, 2019
Namita Devidayal’s book on Ustad Vilayat Khan is an interesting account of his life and musical journey
Writing the life sketch of a legendary musician such as Ustad Vilayat Khan is no easy task. Going by his lineage, stature, proficiency and lasting influence, summing up his music and personality in 252 pages is like exploring a raga in five minutes. Yet, such an attempt is important to enable young musicians to imbibe from his distinctive style and virtuosity.
The book, The Sixth String of Vilayat Khan, has been authored by Namita Devidayal, who had earlier penned the bestseller, The Music Room: A Memoir. Namita says she has tried to create an impressionistic fluid portrait — of a magnificent artiste and a fragmented human being. “I have tried to imagine him and tell a story anchored in fact but narrated with poetic license, like improvising on a jazz standard. It would be a mistake to regard this strictly as a biography.”
The book is an outcome of Namita’s long discussions with people who were close to the Ustad and his family and through interviews, archival records and photographs.
Vilayat Khan was 10 when his illustrious father Enayat Khan passed away, but not before inducting his son into the legacy of the greatest sitar gharana (his grandfather was Imdad Khan, who undertook the tough 40-day chilla ritual, when the musician does not step out of the house and only practises).
As a young lad, living in Calcutta, in a house named ‘Riyaz,’ Vilayat had only the sitar for a friend. He was eight when he performed at the All-India Bengal Music conference and earned immense praise. The Megaphone Recording Company even came up with a 78 rpm featuring the father on one side and the prodigious son, on the other. But his father’s untimely death left Vilayat shattered, both monetarily and musically.
The book gives a detailed account of how Vilayat fought hardships to become one of India’s foremost musicians. One night, he left home with his sitar, swearing to return only as an accomplished musician. He boarded a train to Delhi and reached his destination thanks to kind-hearted ticket collectors.
He went straight to All India Radio; the station director recognised him as Enayat Khan’s son and gave him refuge in the station’s garage. He used to have food from the canteen and clean instruments in the studio. He was delighted to see eminent artistes walking AIR’s corridors and listen to the recordings of musical greats.
Packed with interesting anecdotes and providing insights into the artistic ambience of the time, the author takes the readers through Vilayat’s training under his maternal grandfather (Bande Hasan Khan) and uncle (Zinda Hasan Khan), who were vocalists and would come to Delhi to teach him. Sometimes, Vilayat visited their house in Saharanpur. Bande Hasan Khan was also a wrestler and took his grandson to the akhada to build his stamina.
Vilayat’s mother Basheeran Begum was happy that her family had undertaken the responsibility of his training, but her son’s growing fondness for singing worried her. She warned him about breaking the family tradition. A distraught Vilayat approached his uncle, who advised him to make his sitar sing instead. So he began to consciously nurture the gayaki ang in his instrument. The Ustad, who was also an accomplished surbahar player, once said, “When I sit down on stage to play, everything comes to me in the form of a vocal performance. It just happens.”
An entire chapter is devoted to the 1944 Vikramaditya Music Conference in Bombay, where a sitar maestro called Vilayat Khan was born. Soon he became a regular at prestigious festivals and private concerts. At the same time, another sitar exponent, Ravi Shankar was making a mark too. Though stories of their rivalry were spoken about in music circles, both had tremendous respect for each other.
Vilayat’s tryst with fame, money and the film industry (among his close friends were Naushad and Madan Mohan) began when he moved to Bombay. It was also where he met his disciple Arvind Parikh, who came from a Gujarati business family. A devoted shagird, Arvindbhai also became his close confidante. By 1950, Vilayat Khan began touring the world.
His preparation for concerts included planning his attire. The book talks about how he would often have a dress rehearsal in which the entire family would be forced to participate. Even his silver and carefully-designed paan box had to be set the night before a performance. He loved the good life, traditional when it came to his art, while preferring to be up-to-date in his appearance. From Bombay, he moved to Shimla, to enjoy the quietude of the hills, and then to the U.S.
While drawing the portrait of an older Vilayat Khan, Namita touches upon his uneasy relationship with his son Shujaat Khan, a well-known sitar player and his younger son Hidayat Khan’s struggle to live up to his father’s expectations.
In 2004, after traversing the highs and lows of life like the notes of his strings, the Ustad died of lung cancer. In his hands, the sitar gained a beautiful voice.
source: http://www.thehindu.com / The Hindu / Home> Entertainment> Music / by Chitra Swaminathan / November 08th, 2018
Famous sufi singer and daughter of legendary Sitar Maestro (late) Ustad Vilayat Ali Khan, Begum Yaman K. Khan has passed away after multiple organ failure.
Khan was admitted to the Christian Medical College and Hospital, Ludhiana for the treatment of liver failure and breathed her last at 3 a.m.
Her mother Begum Mohnisha Khan has confirmed her sad demise.
The singer’s body will be brought to Delhi and the last rituals will be performed.
Begum Yaman was the granddaughter of Ustad Inayat Khan and daughter of Ustad Vilayat Khan of the Imdadkhani (named after her great-grandfather Imdad Khan) or Etawah Gharana.
Born in Mumbai, Begum Yaman K. Khan had a musical pedigree that goes back seven generations: her grandfather, Ustad Enayat Khan; her great-grandfather, Ustad Imdad Khan; and her great-great-grandfather, Ustad Sahebdad Khan – all leading artists and torchbearers of the Imdadkhani gharana with its roots in Mymensingh (present day Bangladesh).
She has one brother, sitarist Hidayat Khan and one sister, Zila Khan who is a sufi singer.
Begum Yaman used to sing all forms of Indian semi-classical music and was probably the only female singer in India of Sufi style of music in its purest form. She was the recipient of ‘Hasrat Amir Khusrao Award’ by Urdu Press Club International and an award for her excellence and contribution to semi-classical and Sufiana kalam by Balkan-Ji-Bari International.
She had devoted her life to practice, teach music and perform all over India as well as internationally.
source: http://www.newindianexpress.com / The New Indian Express / Home> Nation / b y ANI / April 21st, 2017
tad Amir Khan in performance. | Photo Credit: 14dfrmeena1
As the late Ustad Amir Khan’s magic continues to awe listeners, various musicians claim that he was from their gharana.
Ustad Amir Khan (born on August 15) was an introvert and a man of few words, yet Khan saheb had validated during an exhaustive interview for a documentary film on him by the Films Division, “Mai Indore (gharane) ke naam se gaa raha hoon.” (I am singing under the identity of Indore gharana.)
Obviously, his unique style took a tangible, modern form very gradually; turned his listeners around as gradually and became a rage, specially in Bengal. Generations of most eminent musicians came under his majestic charm.
On a more formal ground, his disciples like Pandit Amarnath, Pandit A. Kanan, Pandit Tejpal Singh and several others also had established themselves not only as performers but also as revered gurus.
Under the circumstances, the “three-generation” stipulation too was met during Amir Khan saheb’s lifetime that was crudely cut short by a horrible car accident when he was barely 62 and at the peak of his career.
Since his magic refuses to spare sensitive souls even now, several gharanedar musicians are screaming foul and claim Ustad Amir Khan as one of them.
Ironically no other gharana faces such sharp controversy; rife with appalling stories!
But a large number of musicians, in their pursuit to serve the cause of good music, do not care to indulge in such tactical claims to attest their blue blood. Moreover, the modern era is open to different ideas, irrespective of their origin or lineage. For example, I noticed a marked change in Pandit Ulhas Kashalkar’s singing around 1998. The pristine style of this top ranking khayal exponent, equally adept at handling three major styles, was suddenly steeped in soulful depths of a slower than usual Gwalior, Jaipur or Agra pace that usually floats around medium tempo.
Asked why, Kashalkar’s answer was simple, “Everybody is singing that way here (in Bengal) and it facilitates space for more emotions.” But this was actually a slow process initiated by Ustad Vilayat Khan.
For his 75th birthday celebration his ardent fan, Jayant Chatterjee had roped in Kashalkar to sing the legendary sitar maestro’s khayal and thumri compositions.
Hailed as “Amir Khan on the sitar”, the Ustad was very close to Khan saheb who was his elder sister’s husband but things soured later.
In “Komal Gandhar” (his autobiography, compiled by Shankarlal Bhattacharya; translated by me from Bengali to Hindi; published by Kanishka, Delhi), Ustad Vilayat Khan admitted to have “spent hours of riyaz together” with Khan saheb. A photograph adorning the living room of Maharaj Banerjee, a renowned but retired harmonium player, bears testimony to this fact.
Amir Khan (born 1912) and Vilayat Khan (born 1928) doing ‘riyaz together’ leaves a lot left unspoken. So does Ustad Vilayat Khan’s indelible impression on Kashalkar’s psyche. And what a wonderful result it has yielded ever since! Furthermore, Pandit Vijay Kichlu, the erudite founder-director of ITC Sangeet Research Academy, who actually was behind the phenomenal rise of the Academy’s young students, including Rashid Khan, gave a memorable introduction while presenting him during a Sangeet Ashram event on August 10th 2007. The date signifies that it was close to Khan saheb’s birthday and the introduction, abounding with audio-clips, significantly highlighted his deep imprint on Ustad Rashid Khan’s musical thoughts.
Pandit Buddhadev Dasgupta, veteran sarod maestro and an erudite analyst, also says that this extremely popular khayal singer with a golden voice is deeply influenced by Amir Khan’s music. So is young Arshad Ali Khan of Kirana gharana. They are not isolated cases. The list of Ustad Amir Khan’s followers or admirers is pretty impressive. Some greats, like Vidushi Kishori Amonkar and Ustad Shujaat Khan have openly admitted Khan saheb’s influence on their music.
Even four decades after his untimely demise, there are many such eminent musicians who avoid confessing his impact but their music reveals Khan saheb’s indelible stamp loud and clear. This style’s unmatched popularity had transcended all barriers during the short life-span of its creator. Moreover his disciples are carrying forward the legacy steeped in ‘abstract’ modernism. Eminent musicologist-author Vamanrao Deshpande saw this coming. He, therefore, acknowledged Indore as an independent Gharana in his book “Gharandaj Gayaki” (Marathi, published in 1961); and rightly so.
source: http://www.thehindu.com / The Hindu / Home> Friday Review / by Meena Banerjee / August 13th, 2015
The sitar, tabla and flute played on. And the youngsters in the crowd heard the classical ensemble in awe. Sitar maestro Shujaat Khan says it’s surprising and heartening to witness the swelling number of youths — contrary to popular perception — at classical concerts.
“If you go to classical concerts across India, you will be surprised to see the number of people under 25 who are going and listening to them. It’s unbelievable.
“Around 40 per cent people (at concerts) are under 25, and it’s a wonderful thing that they are realising that there’s something more to life than just a three to four minute song, which is also okay to listen to,” Khan told IANS here.
The celebrated musician is the son and disciple of sitarist Ustad Vilayat Khan, and he belongs to the Imdad Khan gharana of the stringed instrument.
He was here to perform at the MTV India Music Summit, where a group of school and college students sat with rapt attention and appreciated the expertise, finesse and dedication of the artistes. Khan also sang.
“I’d like to reiterate what Prasoon Joshi says. Music can’t always be heard from the feet — it can’t always be for dance. It’s a good thing that they realise that you can even sit and listen to music, and enjoy it,” said Khan.
But why do most people often undermine the ability of youngsters to understand and appreciate the complexity of classical music?
“Because that’s what the job of the majority is. In the world, the majority will always go to something that’s easy, easily accessible and easily doable.
“If you go and play music on the stage for two hours, and vis-a-vis that, you do a three-minute performance, there will be a difference, right?
“So, whatever is easy for you as a listener, you’re accepting that. It’s upto you.”
He is all for more such platforms where artistes can congregrate and celebrate India’s glorious wealth of classical music.
“The more, the merrier. People are thinking about it. Gradually, literary festivals have started happening in different parts of the country.
“Music fests will also happen slowly and steadily as people will understand the need to get together and promote the cause of music,” Khan said, agreeing that the market has opened up in a big way for interanational artistes to come and perform.
Khan’s musical career began at the age of three when he began practicing on a specially-made small sitar. By the age of six, he was recognised and began giving public performances.
His album “Rain” was also nominated for the Grammy Awards.
Back in 2010, Khan had even composed for a Hindi movie titled “Mr. Singh/ Mrs. Mehta”. But now he is in no mood for film collaborations.
“I have no interest. I enjoy the more serious, longer format. I prefer that. Also, when someone offers you a film, with that, comes another offer — this is what we want you to do. So, I am not interested.”
(The writer’s trip was at the invitation of the event organisers. Radhika Bhirani can be contacted at radhika.b@ians.in)
–IANS
rb/in/vm
(This story has not been edited by Business Standard staff and is auto-generated from a syndicated feed.)
source: http://www.business-standard.com / Business Standard / Home> News-IANS / Jaipur – October 30th, 2017
Shujaat Husain Khan. Photo: Shaju John / The Hindu
Chennai:
The sitar exponent gave lessons on music and life at a students’ workshop recently.
It is a long winding road from Chennai to Cheyyur. Suddenly in the middle of wilderness you spot a well-designed concrete patch — the Swarnabhoomi Academy of Music. As you drive past the main gate to reach the campus, shaped like a grand piano, bright morning rays light up the clear, vast skyline.
Walking past two huge murals at the entrance, you enter a darkened hall with the spotlight on Shujaat Khan, his fingers gliding over the gleaming sitar strings. Gentle notes, rich with classicism, cut through the silence. The young audience sits enthralled. After a brief sketch of a raag, the Grammy-nominated sitarist talks endearingly, in flawless English, about his experience, experiments and the trials and triumphs of being a musician.
The session, part of a two-day camp on Indian music is no sombre class. Shujaat, son of maestro Ustad Vilayat Khan, is at his wittiest best interacting with the youngsters. He encourages them to ask questions, express their opinion and even invites two of them to join him on stage.
“I was born into a family of musicians. If I didn’t do this there wouldn’t have been any option because I was bad at everything else. I loved driving but I thought I couldn’t make a living out of it. The only thing I was slightly good at was music,” he says sipping coffee. “But it’s not easy to make a career in music since there are few people who can judge between ordinary and outstanding.”
Like most celebrity children, who struggle to forge an identity of their own, it was an emotional quest for Shujaat to reach out to his famous father and try to live up to the Imdadkhani gharana legacy. “Even today it is difficult to step out of the shadow of greatness. Being the son of a legend is more pain than pleasure. The pleasure part is only music. People are not ready to forget whose son you are. The comparisons are heart-breaking. I did not come into music because I was Ustad Vilayat Khan’s son. It was because I enjoyed it. Today I have nothing to complain about though. The world has given me everything, more than what I deserve,” he says recalling the rocky road to acceptance.
Does he emulate the way his father traversed the depths of a raag, a student is keen to know. “I have no illusions of being a genius like him. But the purpose of pursuing music is the same — to feel the intensity. You should allow the different emotions to come through the swars. Every journey is difficult. I am not the kind of person who likes to focus only on the unhappy moments. It wasn’t easy to get a nod of approval from my father yet I mustered the courage to go my way.”
“Your father was a purist but at the same time rebellious. Do you see those traits in yourself,” is the next query. “The apple doesn’t fall far,” laughs Shujaat. “In fact most of you are rebels. Your parents might have wished that you become engineers, doctors or chartered accountants. But you have decided to follow your heart. If that is being a rebel, so be it. I have always let my son and daughter make their decision and take responsibility for it. If I had become a clone of Vilayat Khan nobody would have respected me. I have the genes, but I also have my own musicality.”
He says he is unaffected when people misunderstand his idiosyncrasies and outspokenness. “For instance, I am not ready to treat artists as gods. I do not want the next generation to think of me as more than human. I am not. I want them to know they too can achieve what I have. If you take away the sitar from me, I am nobody,” he smiles and then looking at the photographer clicking away, says, “Listen bhaisaab, I am not Madhuri Dixit…” Continuing the conversation, he says, “You know some musicians keep complaining about the reign of Bollywood music. Classical music is not for the mass. It is chamber music. You cannot expect every youngster to listen to it. Let us encourage those who show interest. There is nothing to be pessimistic about the future of classical arts. It will continue to thrive the way it has for centuries.”
A participant then asks him, how should one collaborate without diluting musical values? “Diluting is not the right word,” he points out. “What you need to do is to step out of your comfort zone and find a meeting point.”
Introducing the students to raag Khem, the honeyed tone of Shujaat’s sitar brings out the inherent flavours of Hamsadhwani and Yaman in it. “Never rush through a performance. Very often you hear musicians trying to create excitement right at the beginning by indulging in something dramatic. Build up the tempo slowly,” he advises.
When he is not performing, Shujaat takes off to the mountains. He loves to observe the changing hues of Nature. “My tryst with taal and raag is at a very personal level. Beyond that nothing else matters. Not even awards or titles. Love of the audience is enough. ‘Jo tammanna bur na aaye umra bhar, umra bhar uski tammanna kijiye’ (you spend the life chasing that one desire that is not fulfilled).”
source: http://www.thehindu.com / The Hindu / Home> Features> Friday Review > Music / by Chitra Swaminathan / July 14th, 2016
A musical evening on February 27 marks the birth centenary of one the world’s most renowned tabla players – Ustad Shaik Dawood Khan.
This event, at the Palace Grounds, is organised by the Tabla Nawaz Ustad Shaik Dawood Trust.
Shaik Dawood Khan (1916-1992) is regarded as one of the greatest tabla maestros of his time, and was the torch bearer of the Farrukhabad, Ajrada, Lucknow, Punjab and Delhi styles.
As part of the centenary celebrations, the trust has organised concerts across the country. In December 2015, a two-day festival took place in Hyderabad. A second season began in Hyderabad on January 7 and 8, 2016.
The Bengaluru event is the third in the series.
Varied Journey
Ustad Shaik Dawood Khan is known as the ‘Thirakwa of Hyderabad’. Between 1926 and 1990, he accompanied hundreds of vocalists and instrumentalists, with equal respect and admiration, irrespective of their age or rank.
Shaik Dawood Khan was born on December 16, 1916. He was attracted to music from a very tender age, and his father Shaik Hashim took him to his neighbour Ameer Qawwal (a performing artist) from whom Shaik Dawood gained knowledge in singing and playing the tabla.
When he was nine, he became a formal disciple of Ustad Khasim Saheb of Sholapur, who had attained fame in the region as a tabla accompanist. During eight years under him, Shaik Dawood Khan emerged as a musician in his own right. Subsequently, he learnt from Ustad Alladia Khan, a Hyderabadi tabla nawaz, as also from Ustad Mohmmed Khan, Ustad Chote Khan and Ustad Jahangir Khan.
At the age of 46, when the whole music world was at his feet, Shaik Dawood Khan had the humility to become a disciple of Ustad Mahboob Khan Mirajkar.
Shaik Dawood Khan had accompanied almost all the greats of his time – Ustad Abdul Kareem Khan, Ustad Fayyaz Khan, Ustad Bade Ghulam Ali Khan, Ustad Vilayat Khan, Ustad Abdul Haleem Jaffer Khan, Ustad Ali Akbar Khan, Pandit Ravi Shankar and illustrious women vocalists such as Roshan Ara Begum, Girija Devi, Begum Akhtar, and Gangubai Hangal. In fact, Shaik Dawood had the unique distinction of having accompanied four generations of artistes.
Decorations
Shaik Dawood Khan was honoured with the Hindu-Muslim Unity Front Award in 1975. In February 1992, he was presented the Sangeet Natak Akademy Award. He was a star attraction on Deccan Radio run by the Nizam, which subsequently became All India Radio, Hyderabad.
At Palace Grounds
The musical evening on Saturday begins with a tabla homage by Sarfaraz Ahmed, grandson of Ustad Shaik Dawood, followed by a tabla ensemble featuring Ustad Shabbir Nisar (son of the ustad) and Abhman Kaushal (USA), Uday Kumar, Mihir Kallianpur and Roopak Kallurkar.
This will be followed by vocal music by Vidushi Arati Ankalikar-Tikekar. The grand finale is a sitar session with Ustad Shahid Parvez accompanied on the tabla by Pandit Anindo Chatterjee.
5.30 pm, Palace Grounds, Gate 4. Entry free.
source: http://www.newindianexpress.com / The New Indian Express / Home> Cities> Bengaluru / by Express News Service / February 27th, 2016
