MON., SEPTEMBER 25, 2006
Kirtan: The Newest New Age Mantra
by Robert Phoenix
During the second of two full moons in February, 1999, I was soaking in the cool, blue radiance of the sacred grounds of Harbin Hot Springs just outside the town of Calistoga, in Napa County, California. Sitting on the floor of the living room of a small cabin high on a hill overlooking Harbin, I swayed to the timeless chanting of Bhagavan Das, who was leading a small kirtan circle.
Kirtan is an ancient musical ritual with songs — called bhajans — that glorify Krishna that can last for hours on end. The mood is joyous as a singer leads the others in a call-and-response chanting of rounds with mantras like "jay-jay-ram, shri-jay-ram." The lines are easy to follow and soon there is no distinction between any of the voices, just the sound of many singing as one. The songs seemed to go on and on throughout the night, yet no one appeared tired or bored of the ancient sounds led by the hulking Das' husky tenor.
It was my first experience of kirtan, and little did I know that this timeless vocal style would rapidly become new age's latest musical mantra. Since that night on the hill, the culture and sound of kirtan have risen to transcendent heights in the alternative marketplace, for kirtan is the undeniable soundtrack of the yoga explosion.
One of kirtan's leading figures in the west, Jai Uttal, is the son of Larry Uttal, who was the owner of Private Stock Records, which gave us such memorable hits as "Don't Give up on Me, Baby" by erstwhile Starsky and Hutch co-star David Soul and "A Fifth of Beethoven" by Walter Murphy, as well as Blondie's first album. Jai was a serious musician who sang in Motown-styled bands but had fallen in love with India and its sound. After visiting and spending time there, he moved to Northern California to study with the legendary sarod player Ali Akbhar Kahn at his school of music. Uttal became proficient on the both the dotar (an Indian lute) and the harmonium, where he channeled the energy of a semi-cocky rocker into the timeless Hindi sagas of love and devotion known as bhajans.
While he was immersing himself in the tradition of devotional arts, Uttal also began to experiment with likeminded collaborators seduced by the possibility of a truly unique fusion of sounds. During the late '80s, he became a key member of the Hieroglyphics Ensemble, led by a Berkeley High prodigy drummer by the name of Peter Apfelbaum. Other players who have contributed to the sound of Hieroglyphics over time include Trey Anastasio (Phish), Will Bernard (T.J. Kirk), Cyro Baptista and Steven Bernstein, among many others. The spiritual and musical inspiration for Heiroglyphics was the immensely talented and peripatetic pocket-trumpet player, Don Cherry. The wraithlike Cherry would often spring up and out of the shadows during a Hiero set and not so much play as dance like a cross between a Vodun priest and Cab Calloway. From time to time, Cherry would emit short bursts of color and cacophony on his pocket trumpet amidst the wild, incomprehensible incantations. Watching Cherry with Hiero was like witnessing a Southern Baptist faith healer on mescaline.
Uttal had found a kindred spirit in Cherry and collaborated with him and Lakshmi Shankar on Footprints, his first solo release on Triloka Records. It's a wonderful excursion that shows Uttal setting his musical compass towards a narrow channel that would cut through classicism and improvisation. He followed Footprints with Monkey, which became the blueprint for Uttal's later works with the Pagan Love Orchestra, featuring Apfelbaum on drums, Kit Walker on keyboards, Will Bernard on guitar and Geoffery Gordon on percussion. A PLO concert was nothing short of ecstatic, as Uttal's impassioned singing, driven by the outrageously talented group surrounding him, shook audiences up out of its chairs and onto the dance floor. Like others in the kirtan circuit, Uttal now performs solo, sitting cross-legged, belting out Bhajans around the globe to hearts and tongues longing to lose themselves in the oneness of song.
Kirtan is not only popular, but lucrative as well. Uttal and other singers such as Bhaghavan Das, Krishna Das, and Deva Premal can command upwards of five figures for a night of chanting, and without the encumbrance and expense of traveling with and paying a band, the overhead — and drama — are decidedly low.
But why as a culture are we paying premium prices to bend our bodies and sing songs that are thousands of years old, for hours on end? Rumor has it that a startling development is playing out in India, where teachers of the true white tantric tradition are no longer handing down the teachings. It seems to be an effort on their part to hasten the end of the Kali Yuga (our current cycle of darkness); they are hoping that their actions will help bring the cycle of the Iron Age (one of four developmental Yuga stages, according to Hindu scripture) to a close and allow some other world in the universe to take on the suffering of creation. While the great teachers shut the door of knowledge to the world, thousands more, without knowing, could be taking the lead, singing in timeless rounds until the cosmic light of a new dawn draws the end of eternal night to a final and fitting close. So please, don't disparage Granola Guy down the hall in his hemp-cloth drawstring pants, or the pixie at work who flits off to a quick yoga class at lunch. They just might be saving the world.
Kirtan is an ancient musical ritual with songs — called bhajans — that glorify Krishna that can last for hours on end. The mood is joyous as a singer leads the others in a call-and-response chanting of rounds with mantras like "jay-jay-ram, shri-jay-ram." The lines are easy to follow and soon there is no distinction between any of the voices, just the sound of many singing as one. The songs seemed to go on and on throughout the night, yet no one appeared tired or bored of the ancient sounds led by the hulking Das' husky tenor.
It was my first experience of kirtan, and little did I know that this timeless vocal style would rapidly become new age's latest musical mantra. Since that night on the hill, the culture and sound of kirtan have risen to transcendent heights in the alternative marketplace, for kirtan is the undeniable soundtrack of the yoga explosion.
One of kirtan's leading figures in the west, Jai Uttal, is the son of Larry Uttal, who was the owner of Private Stock Records, which gave us such memorable hits as "Don't Give up on Me, Baby" by erstwhile Starsky and Hutch co-star David Soul and "A Fifth of Beethoven" by Walter Murphy, as well as Blondie's first album. Jai was a serious musician who sang in Motown-styled bands but had fallen in love with India and its sound. After visiting and spending time there, he moved to Northern California to study with the legendary sarod player Ali Akbhar Kahn at his school of music. Uttal became proficient on the both the dotar (an Indian lute) and the harmonium, where he channeled the energy of a semi-cocky rocker into the timeless Hindi sagas of love and devotion known as bhajans.
While he was immersing himself in the tradition of devotional arts, Uttal also began to experiment with likeminded collaborators seduced by the possibility of a truly unique fusion of sounds. During the late '80s, he became a key member of the Hieroglyphics Ensemble, led by a Berkeley High prodigy drummer by the name of Peter Apfelbaum. Other players who have contributed to the sound of Hieroglyphics over time include Trey Anastasio (Phish), Will Bernard (T.J. Kirk), Cyro Baptista and Steven Bernstein, among many others. The spiritual and musical inspiration for Heiroglyphics was the immensely talented and peripatetic pocket-trumpet player, Don Cherry. The wraithlike Cherry would often spring up and out of the shadows during a Hiero set and not so much play as dance like a cross between a Vodun priest and Cab Calloway. From time to time, Cherry would emit short bursts of color and cacophony on his pocket trumpet amidst the wild, incomprehensible incantations. Watching Cherry with Hiero was like witnessing a Southern Baptist faith healer on mescaline.
Uttal had found a kindred spirit in Cherry and collaborated with him and Lakshmi Shankar on Footprints, his first solo release on Triloka Records. It's a wonderful excursion that shows Uttal setting his musical compass towards a narrow channel that would cut through classicism and improvisation. He followed Footprints with Monkey, which became the blueprint for Uttal's later works with the Pagan Love Orchestra, featuring Apfelbaum on drums, Kit Walker on keyboards, Will Bernard on guitar and Geoffery Gordon on percussion. A PLO concert was nothing short of ecstatic, as Uttal's impassioned singing, driven by the outrageously talented group surrounding him, shook audiences up out of its chairs and onto the dance floor. Like others in the kirtan circuit, Uttal now performs solo, sitting cross-legged, belting out Bhajans around the globe to hearts and tongues longing to lose themselves in the oneness of song.
Kirtan is not only popular, but lucrative as well. Uttal and other singers such as Bhaghavan Das, Krishna Das, and Deva Premal can command upwards of five figures for a night of chanting, and without the encumbrance and expense of traveling with and paying a band, the overhead — and drama — are decidedly low.
But why as a culture are we paying premium prices to bend our bodies and sing songs that are thousands of years old, for hours on end? Rumor has it that a startling development is playing out in India, where teachers of the true white tantric tradition are no longer handing down the teachings. It seems to be an effort on their part to hasten the end of the Kali Yuga (our current cycle of darkness); they are hoping that their actions will help bring the cycle of the Iron Age (one of four developmental Yuga stages, according to Hindu scripture) to a close and allow some other world in the universe to take on the suffering of creation. While the great teachers shut the door of knowledge to the world, thousands more, without knowing, could be taking the lead, singing in timeless rounds until the cosmic light of a new dawn draws the end of eternal night to a final and fitting close. So please, don't disparage Granola Guy down the hall in his hemp-cloth drawstring pants, or the pixie at work who flits off to a quick yoga class at lunch. They just might be saving the world.
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