In 1993, a winter performance at the Gateway Theater in
Chicago
displayed all the ingredients of a typical rock concert:
an endless,
almost hypnotizing beat; hundreds of mesmerized individuals
slavishly
clap to the beat while dozens more dance in the aisles.
But unlike a
U2 or Pearl Jam show, this was a concert with a higher
purpose --
rejoicing in the grace of Allah.
Nusrat Fateh Ali Khan, a name which is neither well-known
or
well-pronounced by most Americans, is a pinnacle of success
in
southern Asia and many other parts of the world. Hailed
by many
as the Pavarotti of Pakistan, Khan is the world's most
celebrated
qawwal. A qawwal is a specially-trained male vocalist
who performs
qawwali, a musical expression of devotional poetry
practiced by
the Sufis. The Sufis, an ancient mystical sect of Islam,
achieve
spiritual enlightenment through music, much like a Whirling
Dervish achieves a higher state of consciousness through
dancing.
In performing qawwali, the main vocalist sits with three
other
vocalists, two of which are playing harmonium pump organs.
Behind them sit five other men: four who clap and sing
as a
chorus, and one who plays the tabla, the traditional
drum of
the Subcontinent. As the harmonium players begin to solo
in
the chosen key, the chorus and tabla player keep a steady
beat.
The qawwal and his other singers then sustain a passionate
cry, calling the audience to order. Once the qawwal is
ready,
he begins the lyrics -- often a praising of Muhammad
or a tale
of love.
Qawwali is performed in a simple verse-and-chorus format.
The
qawwal will continue each verse, trading off lines with
the other
singers. As each verse builds to a climax, they passionately
return
to the chorus, over and over again, for up to twenty
minutes.
Words are repeated until they lose meaning, leaving only
the
music and the spirit behind.
While traditional Qawwal is performed at Sufi shrines
and weddings,
Khan has brought the style to the West with wild abandon.
Though other vocalists may have a stronger voice or greater
range, it can be easily argued than Khan has the most
passionate
voice in the modern musical world.
To be in the presence of Nusrat Fateh Ali Khan is a mystical
experience in itself. A short, heavy man, Khan sits on
the stage
with his party, made up of his younger brother Farukh,
his nephew
Rahat and half a dozen cousins. Waiting for the right
moment to
sing, he stares intently at the floor. His eyes close
as he slowly
gestures his hand in front of him, as if to say "The
song is about
to begin. Please join me and listen." As the spirit of
the music
grows, his excitement grows -- ever so slightly. Khan,
now swaying
his large, majestic torso back and forth, winces while
his left hand
flails in front of him. The hypnotized audience rests
on each
syllable of his words. Adoring fans dance to the stage
and throw
handfuls of dollars over him -- over forty times last
Friday
alone -- and he does not even acknowledge him. The music
is
too important to be distracted by several hundred dollars
showering from above.
It is no surprise that Khan decided to become a qawwal,
for
his family has performed traditional Sufi music for over
twenty
generations. As he explained to me through a translator,
"My
family has been raising qawwals for over 600 years. I
have been
trained with it since I was very young. My father, who
was also
a qawwal, actually would have wanted wanted me to become
an engineer or a doctor. Instead, I chose to follow the
tradition
under the apprenticeship of my father and uncle."
By choosing to follow the Qawwal tradition, Khan commits
himself
to more than the music -- he commits himself to Sufism
itself. His
fans praise him like a gift, calling him The Master.
He is known
throughout the world as Shahen-Shah, the Shining
Star. To
compare his stature to even the greatest performers in
the
West would still be an understatement. Yet, he remains
a humble
servant to God, never allowing his fame to defeat his
purpose.
When I went backstage to interview him during the intermission,
he was sitting in a chair, surrounded by fans as they
knelt on the
floor. Not knowing how to act or how to address him,
I also knelt
before him in awe, looking up at the great Shahen-Shah.
Before he
addressed me, I turned to one of my translators and asked,
"What
should I call him?" fearing that there must be a proper
term in his
native Urdu. A young moustached man smiled and says,
"Mr. Khan
will do. He is, alas, only a man like you or I."
Suddenly relaxed by this poetic, if not rehearsed response,
I introduced
myself. Khan, with an overwhelming smile planted on his
baby face,
shook my hand vigorously and offered me tea. As we conversed
through three tag-teaming translators, Khan listened
intently to
my every word. He tried his best to understand my English
--
having recently moved to America as Artist-In-Residence
of the
University of Washington, Khan used our meeting as a
chance
to analyze his language skills. While he patiently worked
his way
through every word, I noticed a small case of lazy eye.
As we
finished, I am once again offered tea and a small somosa.
I had
feared an uncomfortable conversation with a saint. I
enjoyed a
conversation with an old friend instead.
"I cannot allow the fame to go to my head," explains Khan.
"Many
have said I have compromised my faith by coming to the
West. But
this is not so. To travel the world and open the hearts
of those whose
were previously closed is a joy worth the other sacrifices."
To live the life of Nusrat Fateh Ali Khan is by no means
simple. In
addition to his teaching duties at the University of
Washington,
Khan performs as often as possible. The Chicago concert,
in fact,
was literally a last minute affair, planned from start
to finish in two
weeks alone. The concerts themselves add to the toll;
unlike most
western concerts, qawwali performance continue until
spiritual
elevation is achieved. His recent appearance, which started
around
nine p.m., continued past one in the morning. "The touring
is
intense, but enlightening," he admits. But the humble
Khan refuses
to complain: "Qawwal can never be seen as a chore."
Though popular in Europe since the early seventies, Nusrat
Fateh
Ali Khan has only recently reached the ears of Americans.
Much
of this new-found success is due to his friendship with
Peter
Gabriel, who produced his last album, appropriately entitled
Shahen-Shah, on Gabriel's Real World label.
"I was first introduced to Peter Gabriel several years
ago,"
remembers Khan. "He had recently heard my voice and asked
if we could meet. In 1987, he used my voice on his album
Passion
and the movie The Last Temptation of Christ in
the scene where
the Christ was raised unto the cross. Working with Peter
is
a great joy."
Wrapped within a lifestyle of fanatical fans, never-ending
tours and teaching the tradition, Nusrat Fateh Ali Khan
lives
in a spiritual fast lane, not that unlike an American
rock
sensation. But for Khan, this is the only way he would
have
ever wanted. The Sufi credo teaches an ascetic lifestyle,
achieving
Allah through music and experience. From this life a
paradise is
born.
"To be a qawwal is more than being a performer, more than
being an artist," he notes with a stern, but wise smile.
"One
must be willing to release one's mind and soul from one's
body
to achieve ecstasy through music. Qawwali is enlightenment
itself."
Enlightenment, indeed, for all those who listen
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