The one that works the least for me, besides latter-day Keanu who can't decide whether he's self-sacrificial Christian lamb or Buddhist master come full circle? The Taj Mahal/Vishwas Mohan Bhatt vehicle - does Shah Jahan's mausoleum really have anything in common with basic three-chord Delta Blues? The latter's structural simplicity is simply worlds removed from Indian music. It relegates N. Ravikiran's chitra vina and Bhatt's slide guitar to mere bystanders of timbres not unbecoming the occasion at all, just not utilized beyond window dressing, struggling hard to restrain their considerable chops to the monotonous repetitiveness of Mahal's bluesy caterwauling. Like Matrix 3, it's all high concept that doesn't hold up despite big promises. Next.
			Guitarist Martin Simpson's duet with Chinese pipa sensation Wu Man works considerably better but is similarly hampered by the intrinsic focus on harmonic progressions on the part of the Western player, and his Asian counterpart's attempts to operate within those alien structures, abandoning the Chinese kimono-equivalent for American business attire. Wu Man is forced to play off Simpson, using ancient call-and-response techniques to mirror certain melodic lines, but the encounter lacks the deeper meaning and satisfaction of a truly bi-directional exchange. Pipa blues, anyone? Some things are the better for not being attempted. Mind you, it's not the sorry disaster of Mumtaz Mahal but, in the final analysis, never ventures much beyond droll curiosity.
Which brings us to violin prodigy L. Subramaniam who, like brother L. Shankar and Lalgudi Jayaraman, is one of the preeminent masters of traditional Karnatic violin, albeit prone to far more hybrid experimentations than Jayaraman who sticks strictly to his Classical Indian roots. For Sarasvati, Subramaniam too focuses exclusively on tradition, exploiting his supranatural technical skills in their service. Prone to truly extreme fireworks and universally acknowledged as a superior virtuoso even by Western standards, what this 1991 session seems to be lacking is tangible emotive depth. For all its skillful brilliance, one remains a bit aloof and detached, respectful at a distance but not seduced to melt and enter the performer's shared heart. Call it a Tibetan-style mind-to-mind transmission instead.
				Hamza El Din's Lily of the Nile then becomes Sarasvati's ecstatic Baul counterpart, disguising technical matters behind the narrative power of a Nubian bard who both chronicles his people's history while doubling as traveling muezzin calling his listeners to Allah. Minimalist yet profound, El Din's poetic powers of musical story teller and musical holy man instantly assert themselves, whether he sings in a voice as rich and robust as black soil or solos on his Arabian fretted lute. Not as elegant and technically advanced as Shaheen nor as lyrical as Brahem, Hamza El Din represents earthiness and groundedness, the be-here-now credo of Sufism. He speaks not to abstract appreciation of the higher mind but to both gut and heart, making his album the runner-up choice of today's crop.
Not a bad batting average at all - one bona fide enthusiastic recommendation, one solid second and a technically immaculate while somewhat dry third, with only one also-run and merely a single dud... that's a plentiful harvest indeed in these days of our perverted high-gloss but nutritionally empty popular music business. With compliments to Nizar of May Audio for this quintet of Water Lily samplers, we'll look at two more Indian releases next: Shujaat Husain Khan's Hawa Hawa collection of folk songs; and Shafqat Ali Khan's Sublime Sufi crossover effort, in the vein of his eponymous US solo debut on Hearts of Space's WorldClass label. Stay tuned.