Two of Hindustani music's greatest performers sat facing each other
tonight in Flint Center:  sitarist Vilayat Khan, 78, (with Shujaat Husain
and Hidayat, his two sitar-playing sons) on the stage, sarodist Ali Akbar
Khan, 80, (and Alam, 20, one of his sarod-playing sons) in the first row of
the audience.  Sarodist Khan received kind words and the dedication of the
program from sitarist Khan, and a standing ovation from the large audience,
just for showing up.

The two Khans, both originally from Bengal (now Bangladesh), are unrelated,
except by their places in Indian music.  They both come from generations of
musicians, in the case of Vilayat reaching back to the 16th century, to the
legendary Tansen.

Also on stage:  Zakir Hussain, today's tabla star, the way his father,
Alla Rakha, was yesterday's.  It was a rare, wondrous gathering, not likely
to be duplicated any time soon.  (Missing although not particularly missed:
Ravi Shankar, 82, Ali Akbar Khan's ex-brother-in-law, and not part of the
love fest apparent among those present.)

The concert took place on the De Anza College campus, but the sponsoring
organization was another school, UC-Santa Cruz, which has strong interest
in South Asian studies and ethnomusicology.  The concert was made possible
by Silicon Valley entrepreneur Kamil Hasan, an important contributor to Ali
Akbar Khan's school in Marin and to UCSC programs in the Subcontinent's
music, dance and drama.

Vilayat Khan's program began with a huge work, a 90-minute version
of "Behag" ("Evening Song"), including an extended slow portion, which
kept Hussain's tabla out of action for an unusual 40-minute stretch.
This turned out to fortunate from a public-safety point of view:  among
the flower petals and candles scattered in rich patterns in front of the
players, a small fire started.  Hussain calmly removed the fiery flowers,
while the concert continued without a hitch.

The fast (tala) part of "Behag" was unusually brilliant, with Vilayat,
Shujaat and Hussain exchanging individual virtuoso riffs and playing
together with such speed and verve that the audience went back and forth
between holding its collective breath and erupting in applause and shouts.
At one point, when it seemed that nothing can top the climax of the music,
Vilayat started singing - something almost as unusual in this genre as
spoken word in Western ballet - and the effect was electrifying.

Shujaat is a robust, showy virtuoso, but perhaps without Vilayat's unique
artistry, which came more to the fore in the early, raga, portion.  North
Indian classical-music performances always open with extended preparation,
finding the tonic beyond Western-style tuning, and the transition from this
to the actual performance is often imperceptible.

In Vilayat's hand, "tuning" became a major, powerful part of the
performance, the music struggling to emerge from what at first sounded
like "noodling." As the sitar started singing, the image was still that
of Michelangelo's unfinished Pieta, the raw stone and the sculpture
inseparably intertwined.

Also, his sitar brings forth sounds you're not likely to hear anywhere
else, except, perhaps, in the messa di voce of a great singer. . .  with
a twist:  Vilayat's crescendo-decrescendo has an indescribable third
element, the music thins out, goes "sideways," disappears and yet remains
present.  Doesn't make sense? No, but if you llisten, you'll know.  The
man is a musical giant.  The title conferred on him by the president of
India, "Aftaab-e-Sitar," radiant star of the sitar, is exactly right.

Janos Gereben/SF
[log in to unmask]