John McLaughlin: The Shakti Sage (Part Two of Two)

U. Srinivas, John McLaughlin, and V. Selvaganesh performing with Remember Shakti in Munich, 2001. Photo by Sven.petersen courtesy of Wikimedia Commons.

Continued from Part One…

The following is an edited and expanded version of a feature that was originally published in The Tonearm.

And this developed to the ultimate point when a few years ago [2020] I made an album with Shankar Mahadevan and Zakir called Is That So? For years I’d been wanting to do this experiment; that was part of my goal playing. I would ask Shankar Mahadevan to sing me an improvisation or ghazal, some devotional traditional tune. I started with one minute and 30 seconds with the tambura on a separate track so I knew what his tonality would be. I heard it, then I threw it away. And then I began harmonizing, orchestrating what he was singing.

And of course, he heard it and he freaked and said, “John, we have to absolutely do this.” It was over a year’s work putting all together, but this is a milestone in my life because it’s exactly what you were talking about. And I think if you listen to that – even if you just listen to the first tune, “Kabir,” [which is about] a beautiful human being – you’ll get it; you’ll know exactly what I’m speaking about.

It’s clear how fulfilling the Shakti project has been for you. From the beginning, did you sense that you were doing something groundbreaking, something larger than just being fulfilling for yourself?

No, no. The other thing that we haven’t spoken about is that in Indian music, yes, there’s tragedy, but there’s [also] this profound joy in their music. They’re emotional, but refined in a way. Yes, you find that in jazz music, of course, but – how should I say? – there’s a greater palette of these refined emotions, I find, in Indian music. And this fascinated me because I was taken by the mastery of their improvisations, the mastery of the articulation expression of these refined, very profound emotions.

I think one of the fundamental characteristics of Shakti from the beginning was just the pure joy of playing together. When it started, I’d met L. Shankar, the violinist at Wesleyan, as I said. And I’d known Zakir since ‘69. We played together, just the two of us, in 1972, which was a phenomenal experience for both of us. I knew that [Shakti] was something I had to do. And I did, to the great displeasure of my record company, my manager, my agent, when I finally got to do it.

But in ‘73, I think, when we started doing the first really simple concerts in schools and churches, I had to go to my veena guru and ask him, “Can I borrow your mridangram [player]?” Mridangram is the second South Indian percussion. And by the end of 1975, the other percussion player, an elderly gentleman, had no interest in touring, which is why I went to India for the first time to find a South Indian musician who could play with Zakir. And that’s where I found T.H. Vinayakram, the ghatam player. And his son, V. Selvaganesh, subsequently followed.

Mind Explosion is in part a celebration of Zakir Hussain. In what way do you think that this new live album celebrates his life and artistry?

I think because he loved to play. Zakir would do classical concerts. Just like Shankar Mahadevan, who joined the band in 2000 and only about six, seven years later became absolutely famous; I think he’s done over 200 million sales in India. For both of them, Shakti occupied a very special place in their hearts. They were building bridges to me, as I hoped I would build bridges to them.

And through the music, I became much more aware of this fabulous culture that is India; the musical culture in particular. But also I became quite involved in the metaphysical side of India, which they’ve been addressing for at least 4,000 years. Because in the 1960s, you know, we were all looking for answers to these great existential questions. And we ended up, most of us, looking east in general and to India in particular, because they’ve got the answers. It’s as simple as that.

How has your involvement in Shakti informed your approach to your other work outside that group?

Oh, indisputably. It’s impossible for me to separate my influences. Sometimes I’ll play something, some r&b, which I love. I still love to play rhythm and blues, but somewhere I know India is in there.

My mother had tried to teach me violin, which I hated. I hated my sound, so she let me study piano, which I did from 6 to 11. I was very fortunate in having elder brothers who took my musical education upon themselves, having seen the passion that I had for the guitar at 11 years old. From that point the guitar came in the house and they took over.

And they, in their infinite wisdom, introduced me immediately to the Mississippi blues. And that went between Muddy Waters, Lead Belly, Bill Broonzy, Son House. [When I was] 14, they decided they were going to introduce me to flamenco music, which marked me forever. And it’s because of that I found a brother musician in the flamenco world, Paco [de Lucia].

And all of these influence [me]. And don’t forget, I’m a Western musician; I started playing Mozart and Bach. These influences are behind the fact that I ended up doing two pieces for guitar and orchestra and other orchestral things that I’ve not even recorded. But that’s part of my musical life and I love it. I’m a real mixture. Fusion is my middle name, without wanting it to be so.

I think I’m just extremely fortunate – privileged, even – to have had these marvelous experiences in music with people like Zakir Hussain, Shankar Mahadevan and Selvaganesh. In fact, there will be in December another memorial for Zakir where we will all be with lots of Indian musicians. It would be the anniversary of Zakir’s passing. We’ll be on stage and there’ll be a light where Zakir sits, and his tabla. We’ll have Selvaganesh, the mridangam and kanjira. And we’ll have for every tune, a second percussion player sitting next to Selvaganesh, because we play with two percussionists, North and South.