In memory of Zakir Hussain

'If I am going to sit and play only a particular kind of music, I am limiting myself as a creative artist.'

Zakir Hussain with his tablas. Source: Publicity photo

This morning I was devastated to read of the death of Zakir Hussain. A wise person once told me ‘Best, is a stupid word in music’. I have found this largely to be true. But, as with music, all rules have exceptions, and Hindustani tabla virtuoso Zakir Hussain is one of them. Nevertheless, Hussain did not believe he was the best tabla player of his generation.

I am not the best tabla player. It's a fact written in stone.

Few agreed. It was clear to anyone who encountered Hussain’s playing that he was a rare person who reached rare heights. My encounters with Indian classical musicians of North Indian Hindustani and South Indian Carnatic traditions, revealed that both considered him the greatest Indian percussionist of their time.

I had the privilege of witnessing Hussain play three times. In Bristol, London, and Chennai. Before each concert, I questioned if I had exaggerated his talent in my mind, and each time, I realised, if anything, I had underestimated it. When watching him play, I knew I was in the presence of an artistic genius of the order of Shakespeare or J.S. Bach. Despite this, Hussain carried his profound talent with grace, humour, and humility.

The concert at Chennai’s Music Academy in January 2020, was the final performance I attended. He played with the sitarist Niladri Kumar. The duo played two ragas that stretched over two blissful hours. To see his music received by an enraptured audience in India was a musical high point in my life.

Kumar and Hussain played call and response. Kumar’s sitar melodies were repeated note for note by Hussain’s tabla as he curved the pitch of his notes with his impeccable gamaka technique. Even at nearly 70, Hussian’s hands blurred like fluttering insect wings as they vibrated across his drums. The speed was astonishing but always in service of the music.

Beyond the sheer innate gift of his talent, some clues point to the source of Hussain’s musical genius. The first was his father, Alla Rakha, one of the great tabla players of his generation. Hussain recounted a story about his father’s first encounter with him as a newborn baby and how he spoke to him in the language of music from the beginning.

I was brought home and handed over to my dad in his arms. The tradition was that the father is supposed to recite a prayer in the baby's ear, welcoming the baby and putting some good words. So he takes me in his arms, puts his lips to my ear and recites the tabla rhythms into my ears. My mother was livid. She said, what are you doing? You're supposed to say, you know, prayers, not rhythms.

The second clue lies in his cultural openness. Hussain left India for the United States early in life and set about embracing and transcending all the genres and traditions he encountered. His extensive list of collaborators included Ravi Shankar, Ali Akbar Khan, V. Selva Ganesh, Bela Flek, Shivkumar Sharma, U. Shrinivas, John McLaughlin, Dave Holland, and George Harrison. His fusion band Shakati, which combined Indian classical music and jazz, embodied his love for jazz.

Hussain’s spirit of openness was demonstrated with his 2015 Celtic Connections tour, where he collaborated with Celtic fiddle, bodhran, flute, and pipe players. In the promotion of the concert series, Hussain laid out his philosophy of collaboration clearly, which acts as a neat summary of this great percussionist's life in music.

'When we go out on stage, we speak to each other the language of music... From the musician's point of view, music is music. If I am going to sit and play only a particular kind of music, I am limiting myself as a creative artist. I must have the full gamut to play with.'

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Recommendation - The Zen of Space

A lesser-known, untypical composition by Hussian, this was my first encounter with his music as a teenager. I had never heard anything like it before, and I have heard nothing like it since.