It’s been two years since Trilok Gurtu last visited Mumbai, his childhood home. It was just the beginning of the pandemic then, and he didn’t take any work at the time. “I was on holiday. It (Mumbai) is all the same; some things are good, some not so much,” says the master percussionist over a phone call. “I try to get out of the city and come back as much as I can.”
Gurtu, now 71, has been on the move for much of his decades-long career, and this process of leaving and returning has been key to his life and music.
The son of the famous Hindustani classical vocalist Shobha Gurtu (a Thumri exponent), Trilok Gurtu began practising the tabla at an early age, and developed an affinity for the drums in his adolescent years. By the early 1980s, he had moved to Europe, where he played in a band with jazz trumpeter Don Cherry. Through the 1980s and '90s, Gurtu formed bands of his own, played the drums and the tabla in trios and quartets, and was an important part of supergroups, such as John McLaughlin’s The Mahavishnu Orchestra.
By the turn of the century, Gurtu’s experiments with fusion—where his training in Indian classical forms (also Carnatic music) met jazz, electronic, dance tunes from Africa—were finding a growing audience, mostly abroad. But that essence of combining a deep understanding of Indian forms with others from the world also influenced the Asian underground movement—artists like Nitin Sawhney, Talvin Singh, Karsh Kale have all played with him.
Furiously active all these years, Gurtu has released 19 albums and been nominated the best percussionist by the prestigious DownBeat Critics poll multiple times. Curiosity has kept Gurtu’s passion for instruments alive. It’s what has birthed the elaborate, unusual “floor kit” that he now travels with—featuring a drum set and the tabla, but also a bucket of water, cowbells, strings of ghungroos, gongs, cymbals and more.
This floor kit is what he’s performing with on his current tour in India, in collaboration with the Castle in Time orchestra, an ensemble from Israel. Combined with the orchestra’s modular group of extraordinary instrumentalists – from woodwinds, brass, strings, bass guitar, percussions, synthesizers and singers working with analog effects – and a conductor, it’s an enchanting production. “People have always loved it, wherever we’ve played,” says Gurtu. Excerpts from an interview:
Tell us about harmonies in time—what is it about?
It’s the initiative of a young bandleader, composer and conductor, Matan Daskal. I performed with the Castle In Time orchestra in Israel many years ago. That’s where this collaboration began. There are a lot of young musicians from Israel, there is a bit of my music, a bit of Matan’s music; a mixture of modern sounds. Over the years, we’ve played many shows. New sounds have been brought in by the band. We’ve tried new experiments. It’s quite good. We improvise a lot, so there might be something new for audiences in India.
You also have a new solo album, One Thought Away, on the way.
It’s out just now in Europe. I don’t think I will bring it out in India. There’s no point. It’s just a hassle, everybody wants a freebie, the record company doesn’t do anything. I have no issues with the audience. It’s the music business, and the cliques. There’s a lack of awareness here. Even the musicians think that with the knowledge that they have and the circle they’ve created, that’s everything.
Is One Thought Away a product of the pandemic?
I produced it after the pandemic, mostly at home, and I always go to my friend’s studio near Bologna. It’s where I’ve made other records, like God Is A Drummer and Spellbound. I always stay there for 4-5 days, we have very good food and it’s always fun.
It’s a solo recording, very experimental, with all kinds of music. There’s an aarthi dedicated to my sadguru Ranjit Maharaj. It’s got a lot of our suite music, channelling my experience as a foreign suite musician. There’s natya sangeet; old compositions from my childhood. It’s not very affluent or complicated music, it’s very down to earth.
On this album, I’ve played most of the instruments myself. I had composed some of it, and added other sounds and cues which were somehow refused by big record companies. But I didn’t want to listen to anyone, I just did what I felt like doing. And it looks like everybody loves it.
What new directions have you been exploring with your music since God Is A Drummer?
To be myself. To project that music which is very spiritual. My spiritual guru Ranjith Maharaj asked me: “Why are you doing this? What is this going to do to you?” He said that if music’s going to take you to yourself, do it. All this running after fame and money, I don’t know—maybe that’s good for some people. I just have to do what I enjoy the most. What I can do, especially to influence young people. I don’t have to prove a point.
What do you know about music making now that you wish you’d known when you were starting out?
I didn’t know anything, and that’s good. It’s all fantastic, everything that’s happened, that’s brought me to now. I wouldn’t change a thing.
What is one piece of everlasting advice that you have received and passed along as well?
When I played with musicians from other countries, I treated them equally. They learnt from me, I learnt from them. I tell you, there’s nothing else that I learnt here that was any different from what they were saying. It’s the same. What I learnt as a kid here, with my mother, the pandits and the ustads—everybody was saying the same thing. The point is, I realised that our country is great. Everyone is following us, and we are so stupid for following them.
Who are you listening to now?
I just listen to myself (laughs). I listen to old stuff. When my band recommends new musicians, from Africa or anywhere in the world, I listen to that. I listen to a lot of dance music, especially from Africa, a lot of Maharashtrian folk, some natya sangeet. I do listen to Bach, Beethoven—I learn from that. I don’t listen to Bollywood, and I listen to very little jazz.
I’m not a jazz musician. I used to listen to Thelonious Monk, I used to play with Don Cherry; but I never sat down and listened to it like a hardcore fan.
What about musicians from the South Asian diaspora—Arooj Aftab, Sarathy Korwar, Anoushka Shankar, Vijay Iyer?
I don’t follow any of that. I know Anoushka Shankar, I’ve met her. She came with Bickram Ghosh to my workshop at Womad when I was doing a lot of Womad festivals. And now she’s very famous, fair enough. I’ve known Vijay Iyer for a long time, from New York when he started playing the piano. But there’s nothing Indian about his work. Often I’ve found that a lot of NRI musicians play music that sounds a lot more American. And I don’t know why we are second-class citizens. He’s got a great job, he’s got a band and he’s a big person there. But I would wish that artists’ had their own sound.
You were around when “world music” originated, and you are here when the term is no longer in vogue. What is world music today, according to you?
The term, like any other name, is gone. It comes in fashion, the record companies decide— ‘death metal’ and this metal, then world music, and then it goes. But the best part is that the music remains.
What’s next for you?
They’re trying to do Harmonies In Time in Germany in a large space. When I go back [to Italy], I’ll do orchestral music. I am playing a duet with the Italian composer Stefano Bollani and some Cuban musicians. I have the Arke Swing Quartet, my band, and solo work. I am a special guest with the [Norwegian saxophonist] Jan Garbarek’s group. That’s enough for me.
Harmonies in Time will be live at 1AQ, Delhi on February 11.
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