Max Derrickson

Drew Zaremba

Nightfall Rhapsody (fka as Rhapsody in Raag Jog) (for bansuri flute, tenor saxophone, tabla, (electric) guitar, bass, Kathak dancer, and orchestral strings)

For virtuoso saxophonist Anjan Shah, Indian classical music was part of his heritage, but as a first generation Indian-American trying to fit in with his Detroit friends, he instead focused his attentions on Western music, and mainly on Jazz.  His father, Girish Shah, however, had been born and raised in India, knew its arts culture, and had aspired to be a classical Indian (Kathak) dancer when he was growing up.  Girish had hoped to instill the riches of his Indian musical culture in his son, Anjan, but it was his passing in 2020, and his funeral ceremony in 2022, that prompted Anjan’s journey back into his Indian musical inheritance.  As Anjan said in an April 2023 article in International Musician, Anjan Shah: Fusing Indian Culture with Western Sounds:

“In these [Indian funeral] ceremonies, typically involving a singer, tabla, or harmonium, transcendental music becomes the focus. I listened for 45 minutes—and I had something of an out-of-body experience. I felt the presence of my father. He had tried so hard to get me to develop an appreciation for this music, but I had resisted and pushed away from it. His ceremony became the impetus to start exploring it.”

Not long after, Anjan began exploring that ancient heritage by learning to play the Indian bansuri flute.  Soon after, he wanted to create a large-scale piece of music to celebrate the amazing beauties of the two worlds of music that he was exploring – a piece that would bridge Western Jazz and Indian classical music.  He contacted the eclectically talented composer, Drew Zaremba, to collaborate with.  American composer Zaremba was the perfect musician for this musical collaboration – an award-winning composer and professor at the University of Northern Colorado, Zaremba has an impressive background in Jazz writing, as well as having seriously studied Eastern instruments abroad.  The enchanting result, Rhapsody in Raag Jog, weaves the musical elements of the East and the West into a 22-minute journey through their ideas and similarities which

…brings together four major ideas: improvisation; a fusion of Western classical and Jazz with Eastern Hindustani music; diversity and inclusion; and [Anjan] Shah’s personal journey toward reconciling his own musical cultures through giving expression to his Indian ancestry.”

Rhapsody in Raag Jog begins with a title and form that tips its cap in gratitude to one of the great fusion works in Western music – Rhapsody in Blue by George Gershwin.  Written in 1924, Gershwin’s seminal piece fused, really for the first time, the elements of Jazz into a framework of a Classical piano concerto.  Likewise, Rhapsody in Raag Jog is rhapsodic in form, focuses on a soloist in a concerto manner, and fuses elements of Eastern with Western music in a wonderfully inventive way.  The fusion begins by Zaremba’s casting of his 2023 Rhapsody in the tonal world of the raag Jog, rather than a typical Western key.

One of the most ancient and important fundamentals in classical Indian music is the raag (also called the raga) – which is simultaneously several things.  First, it is comprised of a series of pitches arranged in specific sequence of intervals, in roughly the equivalent of what Western music calls a key.  The raag, however, is often directed by ancient texts to be played for very particular reasons and at specific times of day.  There are over 500 raags in Indian-Hindustani classical music, and their existence is said to be like a spiritual entity in musical form.  The raag therefore is meant for communal experience – not only are the performers of the raag delivering the notes, but those notes exist to be performed to “color” the minds and hearts of the listener.  Rhapsody is cast in the raag called Jog, which translates as “State of Union” or “State of Enchantment,” and is comprised of a set of pitches that to Western ears feel wonderfully bluesy, and that are traditionally played late in the evening, or even after midnight.   

Each raag itself also comes with a tradition of dozens of specific melodic and rhythmical sequences – the equivalent of what Western Jazz would call “licks” or “riffs.”  Thus, with each particular raag’s arsenal of available riffs at a performer’s fingertips, a piece of music can unfold in the most beautiful, semi-improvised way.  It becomes in part a spiritual utterance, in part an artistic display of improvised virtuosity, and in part an edification to the listener. 

And as much as Rhapsody blends the bluesy raag Jog in with the “blue” notes of Jazz, it also fuses sounds by showcasing instruments from both cultures.  Rhapsody is scored for five solo instruments: two traditional Indian instruments – the bansuri flute and the tabla drums – combined with three traditionally Western Jazz instruments: the tenor saxophone, electric guitar, and String bass – played over a sound bed of a typical Western ensemble of orchestral strings (violins, violas, cellos, and basses).

In further celebration of Anjan Shah’s father’s memory, Rhapsody not only fuses musical influences, but incorporates into the performance the beautiful tradition of classical Indian (Kathak) dance.  Kathak dance is an ancient form and was disseminated through the East with travelling dancers who wandered their world telling the great epic stories of Krishna and other gods through their dance and music.  Hand movements, foot movements, and facial expressions, all tell Krishna’s tales, and fill the music with more meaning.  When a dancer joins the other musicians in Rhapsody, they become an integral ensemble, interpreting the sounds through movement, as well making their own rhythms come alive with footwork and ghunghru (ankle bells).  As Shah describes the synergy:

“I have been so fortunate to benefit from so many rich and diverse musical experiences.. This fusion of Indian sounds and melodies with Jazz, now complemented by Kathak dance, is designed to inspire reflection on the influences shaping our appreciation for music and motivate exploration of new expressions. This endeavor, at its core, is a heartfelt homage to my father, Girish Shah, and a celebration of the cherished traditions and potential for cultural fusion that music and dance represent.”

The delineations between classical Indian music and Jazz seem to melt away in Rhapsody, so much so that it almost sounds like a new genre.  But ultimately, Rhapsody is even more than an homage, or a fusion piece – it’s a work of alchemy that somehow, magically, uses the riches of several cultures to create a work that speaks beyond ethos, but to our sense of the innate beauty of music itself.

Rhapsody begins quietly and respectfully, with the strings softly playing open chords, much like the musical drone in the background that a tanpura (an Indian sitar-like stringed instrument that creates a drone-like accompaniment) produces.  Composer Zaremba also instructs the strings to move the position of their bows, slowly, closer to the bridge of the strings, and then back – creating a wafting of different tone colors, from deep resonance to the rather nasally ring (near the bridge) of a tanpura.  The music feels as though it’s emerging during the small hours of the dark morning – still quiet and vast.  Overtop of this ethereal sound bed, the bansuri begins the Alap (the improvisatory starting point of any raag) by vamping (improvising).  The bansuri is a side-blown, bamboo flute held horizontally that relates so far back in Indian history, it’s almost impossible to give it a date of origin.  As such, it has become an instrument of great importance to Indian culture.  The bansuri accompanied the Hindu god Krishna in his adventures, and figured prominently in his devotion to Radha, the goddess of  love, compassion, and tenderness.  Krishna also played his bansuri for a legendary dance (Rasa lila dance), and the bansuri today remains integral to much of the classical dance tradition in India.  Its sound is unique in depth and richness, and allows for the bending of pitches, and this Alap section evokes the lovely illusion as though we are drifting in time.  As the bansuri plays, Zaremba also instructs the strings to slide between occasional pitches, evoking the feeling of an ethereal transcendence from the troubles of the world.

Next comes the Peshkar, which is the part of a performance that introduces the Indian tabla drums, and which grows to showcase an elaborate theme-and-variations set.  The tuneful sounds of the tabla date back almost as far as the bansuri in Indian culture.  They are a pair of small drums of different sizes with calf heads stretched tightly atop wooden or metal bowls.  In the center of each head is a flat circle of a rubber-like paste, which enhances the high ringing tones of the drums.  The tabla drum’s pitches can be altered when pressed downward into the drum.  The extraordinary resulting sounds from a master tabla player can be an almost entire universe of pitches and portamentos and rhythmic storms.  As the tabla play some solo virtuosity overtop of the droning strings in this peshkar, the guitar and String bass quietly join in.  Bit by bit, the Rhapsody begins to feature solo improvisation on the Western Jazz instruments – the bass and guitar – and lastly by including riffs on the bansuri.

The music grows in excitement with the entire ensemble playing increasingly complex rhythms together and with mounting volume.  At this point, the mood has been prepared for the next section, Panjabi, where the Rhapsody begins to wholly embrace the mood of Jazz.  Panjabi is a stylistic term that refers to a syncopated treatment of the taal, or rhythmic structure – here, the rhythm in the tabla is to mirror the rhythm of the String bass, which now plays a syncopated bass line inspired by the dance beats of the American jazz-dance form, the Charleston.  Eventually, the bansuri is traded for the tenor saxophone as the solo instrument, and the music begins to swing and shine in a comfortable way, tapping into a kind of happy familiarity.  A particularly lovely moment occurs about two minutes later, when the sax and tabla share an extended, jazzy duet.  Soon, like any great standard Jazz piece, the instruments then trade solos and grooves between each other.  Along the way, the bansuri/sax soloist will switch between the two instruments, ad libitum, showcasing virtuosity in the assimilation of these cultures.  Soon, the tabla, too, will be given a chance to solo, played with its typical jaw-droppingly fleet hands and fingers, which are then joined in a delightfully perfect blending of Jazz strings and Indian drumming.  This section begins to rev up in energy, with wildly changing meters between measures, until the music comes to sudden halt.

The next section, Sawal Jawab, is introduced by a loud tremolo (a quickly-bowed shimmering effect) in the strings.  Sawal Jawab is a traditional section of a raag in which the solo instruments engage in call-and-response – a musical device which is also very alive in Jazz.  Here, the solo sax riffs and throws motifs around with the tabla and orchestral strings.  A beautifully fascinating addition to the instrumental solos is the inclusion of the dancer, who deftly engages in this call-and-response with rhythmic jangling of their ghunghru (ankle bells) in patterns of fast footwork and swift turns.  This section, too, grows in energetic excitement, as the score instructs the performers to play “wild, crazy!”  Taking this splendidly reckless advice, at about two minutes into this Sawal Jawab, the strings begin a massive glissando, creating a magical sense of levitating out of their seats.  The Sawal Jawab forges ahead, sounding almost like a collective improvisation, directly into the concluding section of the piece.

Rhapsody’s last section, Final Tihai, is a grand finale.  A tihai in Indian music translates as “three times,” which musically means that the instruments, either solo or together, will repeat a melodic pattern three times in a row, such that the final note ends on the strongest beat – the equivalent to the first beat in most Western music.  Whereas the very beginning of this section features a jubilant, descending theme in the strings, the tihai will be heard just 10 seconds later in the solo tabla.  It’s a lovely Indian musical device that feels almost like a hiccup in the midst of all the melodic energy and flow.  The same effect is often used in jazz, by repeating a particular syncopation such that it feels as though it’s suspending the beat of the music.  The next time the tihai occurs, the sax soloist will join the tabla with the same rhythm – and each time the tihai returns, more instruments will join in.  Tihais and the string theme will trade back and forth, with increasing verve, until the Rhapsody blazes into its final and exuberant bar.