EDDI'S PERSONAL MUSICAL HISTORY (and the SITAR connection)
Some of my earliest memories include, as a very small child, looking with amazement
at a photo of a sitar held by Ravi Shankar on one of his early album covers. I spent
a lot of time pondering what kind of instrument it must be. It seemed like something
almost from another planet.
My practical musical life began, of course, with the deep love and study of the guitar.
Although one particular thing confounded me right from the beginning, and for more
than a decade thereafter, was the fact that I could never seem to actually tune the
guitar perfectly. I had always attributed this situation to some personal shortcoming
until I began studying the sitar, at which time I learned about the "equal tempered
tuning system", and that it is not in fact possible to tune a guitar perfectly (in
standard tuning).
From the beginning, the sound of the sitar always intrigued me, and George Harrison's
"within you without you" branded into my brain this sound's inseparability with India.
Later, I was further impressed with how profoundly and beautifully the music of India could influence western music when my first jazz guitar teacher introduced me
to Mahavishnu John Mclaughlin. Still today I feel that "Shakti" is probably the most
impressive "India meets West" fusion attempt.
At the age of 20 my life and mentality were still steeped in the world of rock music.
Although I had a growing dissatisfaction with this world, and a deepening sense that
there must be very much more to music, and to life - still it took a serious personal health crisis to shock me out of my 'rock n roll comfort zone'. Difficult as it
was for my young and powerful ego, I renounced my dreams of becoming a "Rock God",
and resigned myself to search for a more healthy, wholesome, and grounded way of
life and musical direction. At the time, other than altering my diet and lifestyle profoundly,
I really had no idea where this change in direction would lead me musically. I began
an intense study of jazz guitar, thinking that this would solve my problem since
the jazz world seemed to be on a much higher plane. As fate would have it, my patience
with intense jazz study did not hold out too long, and the temptation for a regular
pay cheque (and the need to simply get out and play) lead me back into the bars with
my stratocaster...this time as a 'one man band' playing and singing anything from Jimi
Hendrix to Willy Nelson.
Further health crises resulted but this time around it was not so easy to drop 'the
rock life', as the pay from these gigs was quite good and I had begun feeling financially
dependent on the whole scene. Not to say that wonderful experiences and satisfying musical moments didn't happen in those years of musical prostitution, but simply
knowing that I was on the 'wrong path' made the situation much more painful.
I remember very well going to my first sitar concert in Varanasi (at the "International
Music Ashram"). The young sitarist, Batuk Nath Mishra, made a big impression on me
and I knew instantly that I wanted him to be my teacher. He was a strikingly handsome man who presented himself with tremendous dignity. To me he gave the image of a
"prince of sitar". I imagined him to be an incredibly busy, upcoming 'sitar hero'...but
as it turned out, it was very easy to make contact with him and we began daily lessons immediately.
Several months later, back in Canada, and back into the bars, and electric guitar,
I soon realized that something had, once again, profoundly changed in myself. I had
left India with two sitars, lots of Vilayat Khan and Nikhil Banerjee cassettes, and
books and lesson notes on 'ragas', but the thought of 'dropping' the guitar and devoting
myself entirely to the sitar had not yet appeared as anything more than a vague fantasy.
The two events which were to bring upon that decision were soon to happen. First,
it was my father who encouraged me strongly to keep up what I had started with the
sitar, and to perhaps consider going back to India to study some more. I must say
that I enjoyed tremendously tuning, and playing the instrument, it gave me an incredible
feeling of balance and peace. It was the second event which clinched my decision and
resolve to go back to India, continue seriously with sitar, and to make it my profession
one day. What happened was quite simple, and each day it would repeat itself. First, I would be practicing electric blues guitar and singing, and trying to compose original
material to record. After a couple of hours of this I would always end up with a
headache and depressed, at which time I would see the sitar standing in the corner
beckoning me to come and play. Of course, I did, and my discomfort was always replaced
with this feeling of calm and wholeness. One day the decision was just too obvious.
Did I want to play electric guitar and suffer headaches for the rest of my life,
or did I want the peace and happiness which comes from playing sitar? At the age of 25 it
was not easy to drop the instrument and the music that I had spent years mastering,
and to become a musical infant again, attempting to master one of the world's most
difficult instruments.
So, for the next seven years I was to spend six months in India studying, and six
months in Canada earning money to go back to India by playing rock'n'roll in the
bars. The obvious irony of this situation was the fact that the situation I was trying
to be freed from was essential in financially supporting this new education which would
one day free me from it. Needless to say, this predicament produced in me a rapidly
growing schizophrenia until 1995 when I was finally confident enough to permanently
leave the bar scene.
My second and third trips to India, Varanasi, and Batuk Nath Mishra signified my
further development in understanding of the art of sitar, Indian classical music,
Indian culture, and Hindi language. Varanasi is not a relaxing zone, as anyone who
has been there will testify, but it is the center of Hindu culture and religion, and practically
everyone seeking to learn something about North Indian culture has put in some time
there.
I was accepted into Batuk's family (a very large joint family of prominent musicians)
and was taught almost daily. I will never forget one day after a lesson when I asked
Batuk directly, and half jokingly, "Who is the best sitarist?"...and he responded
without hesitation, "Budhaditya Mukherjee".
"Buda...who?", I replied. I had never heard of the name but apparently he was a young
sitarist who had played several concerts in Varanasi and had made an indelible impression
on my current teacher. I wrote the name down and endeavored to scour the circuit of Benares cassette shops with unfortunately absolutely no success. Not one Budhaditya
Mukherjee recording to be found in Varanasi in 1990. After a time my curiosity subsided
and I resigned myself to the fact that I will hear him when the time will be right.
Several months later, after hearing a late night concert at the "Hanumanji Mandir"
in Benares, I ran into a fellow sitar student/acquaintance, a very friendly Japanese
fellow named 'Hiro'. It was very late but he suggested strongly that I come over
to his place and listen to some music he thought I ought to hear. I agreed and off we went.
After a few cups of tea he handed me a cassette cover and asked if I had ever heard
of this man. It was a photo of a young man with a somewhat fierce expression on his
face, playing a sitar, with the name Budhaditya Mukherjee written below. I immediately
exclaimed how I had heard of him and had been searching for recordings by him. "Well,
have a listen to this!", said Hiro as he put on a recording he himself had made of
a concert Budhaditya had given in Varanasi the previous year.
The performance was a 35 minute solo sitar 'alap-jor-jhala' in the raag Jog Kauns,
and I must admit that from the very first note until the last, I was absolutely spellbound.
It was exactly how I imagined sitar 'should' sound, but how I never had heard it before. Put simply, I fell deeply in love with his sound, playing, and style immediately,
and from then my obsession with Budhaditya Mukherjee began.
I copied that cassette from Hiro and listened to it almost continuously... ...I
dreamed about studying with Mukherjee, and although it seemed an unlikely dream,
still I was aware that many top Indian musicians are open to teaching westerners.
Slowly I managed to acquire a small collection of his recordings by searching in cassette shops,
and by asking every musician and/or music lover I met, if they had recordings of
him.
This went on for several months when one afternoon, in a local tea shop, I ran into
an Italian tabla playing friend named Lorenze. I asked him if he had ever heard of
Budhaditya Mukherjee, and to my astonishment and delight, he answered, "Yes, we had
pizza together last time he was in Venice!". Noticing my amazement Lorenzo went on to
explain that every august Budhaditya would give a two week workshop which is open
to the public. Needless to say, four months later I was on my way to Italy to meet
who I hoped would become my sitar teacher.
The experience of that workshop on San Servolo Island in Venice, in the summer of
1991, was truly one of the happiest times in my life. Budhaditya and I developed
a good feeling between us immediately, which quickly grew into the beginnings of
a close friendship. It was truly a joyous experience for me, and my hopes of being accepted
by him as a private student began to escalate, only to be, for the moment, let down,
when on his last day in Italy I asked him. He refused, saying that he does not teach
privately, but that I was welcome to come to his house for a visit next time I was in
India.
Several months later I was in India again, this time as a guest at the Mukherjee
house, and after a time had managed to get myself accepted as Budhaditya's first
private student. The experience was to be certainly much more than I had ever dreamed
of. Luckily for me, the small modern Indian industrial town in which the Mukherjee family
lives offers little in terms of distractions, therefore Budhaditya, when not off
giving concerts, seemed to have ample free time, and would give me long, leisurely,
and joyful lessons almost daily. Additional discussions and teaching from Budhaditya's musically
illustrious father, Bimalendu Mukherjee, enhanced the experience still further. In
addition, the love and acceptance with which I was received by the entire family
is something I will never forget.
My first journey to India was not specifically intended as a musical pilgrimage.
Rather, it was meant more as an adventure, an escape from the boredom and the
purposelessness I was feeling. But, of course, "wherever I go - there I
am" and in going to India I was not able to escape my personality traits
which had created my problems to begin with, and my first years in India were
in fact very difficult for me. India is very much a land of extremes and she
will bring out the very worst in you and show you to yourself mercilessly.