When the East-West Encounter was planned, it was known that the musicians participating in it would be familiar with each other’s culture. Dr. Narayana Menon, in his inaugural comments, remarked that cultural exchanges were almost an age-old phenomenon and cited the instance of Indian musicians who were working in Japan several centuries ago. 

In more recent times, oriental music has had a strong impact on European musicians; for instance, during the World Exhibition held in Paris in 1889 to mark the centenary of the French Revolution. In the ensuing decade, Claude Debussy introduced some oriental concepts in his music. He was followed by musicians like Messiaen, Cage, Stockhausen, Schnebel. Others, like Boulez, had “allowed their minds” to be influenced by Indian music.

All the Indian musicians participating in the encounter had visited the West and frequently performed there. In the same way, musicians from the West were fairly well-acquainted with Indian concepts, both philosophical and musical, and, during the discussions, they freely employed the terminology of our Sangeeta Shastra. Even so, in the final analysis, exchanges in music are not so much a question of receptivity to each other’s ideas as to the music itself. What is more important is the ability to embody influences in the very act of composition and performance.

Thus, what matters finally is how you make your music. The music speaks for itself. It often speaks a language that transcends the verbal. Consequently, in the recent East-West Music Encounter, the concerts, both live and recorded, assumed, for me, greater importance than the discussions that laboriously tried to illustrate views and the extra-musical philosophy of sound of the participating musicians. The philosophy of music is, of course, important and the clarity and precision of concepts reflected in the discussions might enhance one’s response to a particular piece of performance. But then, not everyone is gifted with verbal lucidity; besides, there is always the problem of a common medium of discussion, a lingua franca of music. One would not, for instance, expect Fahimuddin Dagar to verbalise his views in English or Bhimsen Joshi to discuss aesthetic considerations in a language other than his own, namely, music itself. Thus, the Encounter provided a real good look at the common areas and the twilight zones of music only through the performances.

The first performance, a taped one, was presented on the very first day of the Encounter. The composers were present at the playing of the recording and introduced their music. Walter Zimmermann, from the Federal Republic of Germany, presented Lokale Musik, a collection of compositions he had put together after long years of study of the folk music of Frankonia, in southern Germany. It was strongly rhythmic music, with a pulse that many Indians could identify with. Folk music, in any part of the world, has a quality that appeals almost immediately to the rhythmic sense. The pulse is usually very clear and emphatic, and more evident in music used for dancing. Folk music, in most European countries, avoids cross-rhythm and, unlike African music, has a simpler rhythmic structure. Zimmermann’s piece, too, reflected this feature. He had, however, made his own contribution to the compositions by taking apart several strands of this music and then putting the complete fabric together by enhancing the colour aspect in the instrumentation. The most notable feature of the sound of his music was instrumentation of the existing melodies in a new and creative way. Ländler is a folk dance that gave rise to the waltz when the dance itself was urbanised. The folk dance was the basis for Zimmermann’s music and he used old Ländler melodies, which are played in constant flow. The other important aspect was the reflection of the geographical features—the landscape. In his attempt to come to terms with the surroundings, man has always shaped his expression in relation to nature. His understanding of his position in the universe is encoded in his artistic expression. This is evident in many cultures, especially those that have stood the test of time. Intonation, shape of instruments, the ritualistic nature of the performance and many other seemingly different aspects of folk music have, in several countries, a common basis. It is a reiteration of our position in the universe. Curiously, this basic strand in the music helps us to quickly grasp the core. The small island cultures can then become universal. Zimmermann’s own contribution to the folk music of Frankonia was a gossamer veil and original music did shine through it. We were also told that Zimmermann was severely criticised by young musicians at an earlier conference for giving this local music a nationalistic colour. It was quite surprising to learn that pride in one’s own national heritage is not a virtue in Europe while, in India, we constantly uphold our “rich” cultural heritage as an exclusive inheritance. 

Joachim Krebs was the other composer of the evening and his music was very clearly of an intellectual kind. He played an untitled composition for a small orchestra that he had composed in 1981. And also, a string quartet. Krebs himself was not dramatic in any way though his music was. One came across dimly lit bass themes that were suddenly juxtaposed against brilliantly shining short passages on strings. Echoes and mirror reflections of phrases appeared along with spiralling and twisting notes. There was no effort to synthesise oriental and Western cultures. His music also seemed to have broken away from European atonal or serial styles; he did not use any electronic devices as such in his composition. Krebs, in a way, represented the young spirit of middle Europe—emphatic, dramatic and relying largely on his intellect with a guiltless rejection of the musical styles of the immediate past, especially those of the post-war period.

On 16th January, there were two performances by Indian musicians now living in the West. Naresh Sohal, as composer, presented his works recorded in London, while two of his compositions were performed by the young Calcutta born cellist Anup Kumar Biswas, who now lives in Britain. Kumar’s approach, technique and sensibilities were totally Western; there was no trace of lndianness in the sound of the two compositions Shades III and Monody. On the other hand, Sohal’s compositions, initially at least, seemed to have explored the realm of quarter-tones and shrutis (a typical Indian concept). But then Sohal, had he asked himself what was Indian about his music, would have certainly found more than these quarter-tones to express his lndianness.

The best of the evening and perhaps one of the most moving performances, despite not being a live one, was Sohal’s ‘The Wanderer’. Commissioned by the BBC for their Proms, its world premiere took place recently [in 1982]. Sohal used a bass-baritone soloist along with a chorus of 200 voices with the BBC Symphony Orchestra to bring to us an archaic Anglo-Saxon poem from the seventh or eighth century. With an extraordinary control of orchestration, Sohal invested in the work a rare evocative power. The desolate, windswept frozen landscape was virtually recreated with astonishing power through music. The harmonies, with sharp sevenths, flattened seconds and augmented fourths, that are found in abundance in Sohal’s work, create the eeriness of forlorn isolation, while the chorus, with enormous acoustic energy, creates vast space which is rarely heard in contemporary music.

Sohal seems to have travelled from intellectual infatuation with the concept of shruti and Indian poetry in Sanskrit, Hindi and English, through serialism, to an individual style where the search for identity assumes tremendous importance. His journey through these areas made him write a short personal epilogue to ‘The Wanderer’. The final movement of the composition makes a deeply moving impression on the listeners. Sohal’s composition received a standing ovation that night.

On the third evening, we had an extraordinary combination of vocalist performer, communicator, composer and mystic in Michael Vetter, who is from West Germany, and has lived in Japan for the last 12 years. He has obviously travelled widely in Asia and spent years studying varied cultures, customs and philosophies. He seemed endowed with a special passion for communication. Research and the spirit of contemplation have given his style an oriental touch, but his performance could not have been classified as anything other than universal.

Vetter began with Tambura Preludes. Although the tambura is an Indian instrument, the free composition which Vetter preferred was based on acoustic material that is universal. His variations came from touching the tambura strings at different points. The flat bridge of this great and yet deceptively simple instrument—a gift of Indian ingenuity to the world of music—is capable of such myriad tonal colours that listeners can have a glimpse of the acoustic cosmos through just four strings. Unlike some other modern musicians, Vetter used a simple, traditional, four-stringed instrument and created many combinations by bringing together what he called the ‘Male-Female’ strings in a sort of dialogue.

His second presentation was called Om—the overtone meditation. Mongolians and Tibetans—and perhaps many other ancient cultures—practised a special kind of voice culture and vocal meditation. Vestiges of this practice survive in some cultures even today. Vetter sought to turn this individual pursuit into a public presentation. Through an hour-long meditative vocalisation of Om, he brought out an interesting array of overtones. About six to ten minutes of intense kaleidoscopic images held the audience breathless. However, it must be conceded that a large part of the presentation alienated even the musicians amongst the listeners. Vetter was searching and looking for something and no one in the audience could imagine what it was. In fact, later, during a discussion, Vetter admitted that even he did not know what he was looking for. He said that a search of this kind could not begin by knowing what to look for, neither could it start with the knowledge of where to look for it. It had to be an effort that chances upon something. Only then could it be a real discovery, a real search leading to something new every time. Unfortunately for him, many in the audience did not join him on this perilous voyage.

Nevertheless, one must be fair to Vetter. His intentions were credible, his efforts sincere and he had the patience to support his intentions with the right effort. He was able to create magic moments through cascading overtones that poured forth from a high-pitched fundamental. One had the extraordinary experience of listening to a small, very accomplished, woodwind orchestra that in physical reality was only one man with his vocal chords deep in meditative trance. Vetter’s was a live performance and one wondered whether it would be possible for him to record his performance. Whatever he presented was truly transient, defying all forms of presentation. It was of the essence of the present moment and ceased to exist as soon as it was created. It was also impossible to predict or foresee what his performance would be like. This quality brought it close to a metaphysical experience. 

This article first appeared in the June & September 1983 issue of the NCPA Quarterly Journal (Volume XII, Issues 2 and 3).