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Arts
Monday, April 22, 2019 — 5A
If
you’re
familiar
with
Nusrat Fateh Ali Khan at all,
you’ve probably heard him sing
alongside Pearl Jam’s Eddie
Vedder in a rendition of Neil
Young’s “The Long Road” in
the 1995 Tim Robbins film of
the same name. Or, like me,
you grew up with parents who
practically
worshipped
the
man. Either way, you’re familiar
with a voice that is stunningly
beautiful and haunting, one
of those voices that makes you
believe in the existence of a
special muse inhabiting a lucky
few because surely such a gift
cannot be human.
Born in Faisalbad, Pakistan,
Khan came from a musically-
inclined family. Several of his
family members were skilled
in the art of Qawwali music, a
form of devotional music linked
to Sufi Islam, a mystical sect of
Islam. The genre was invented
in 12th-century Persia and can
be compared with Gospel music
in the sense that it combines
devotional
and
religious
themes with a complex musical
tradition as well. Qawwali songs
are typically sung in groups of
eight to nine men accompanied
by instruments such as the
harmonium (comparable to a
portable pipe organ) and tabla
(a type of drum). Often long and
sprawling in length and scope, a
Qawwali song aims to induce a
trance-like state in its listeners.
Following a strict structure
dedicated
to
various
topics
of
both
religious
and
secular
concepts,
Qawwali
compositions
nonetheless
feature
several
moments
of
vocal
and
instrumental
improvisation around a central
theme. They are sung in South
Asian languages such as Urdu,
Hindi, Punjabi or Bengali. As
noted before, they can be both
secular and religious in nature,
with the implicit assumption
that even the secular can be
interpreted in the context of
religion and the common themes
of love and devotion. Qawwali
is deeply related to a similar
but separate genre of poetry
and music known as Ghazal,
which usually juxtaposes the
pain and beauty of love in a
form
somewhat
reminiscent
of a sonnet. Khan’s nephew,
Rahat Fateh Ali Khan, as well as
the Indian singer Jagjit Singh,
were
also
instrumental
in
introducing and briding these
traditional forms of music to a
modern audience, influencing
the music heard in movies in
India and Pakistan.
Ali Khan was a sight to behold
in more ways than one. Zareena
Grewal, a professor of religion
at Yale, mentions in an NPR
piece that he was “morbidly
obese, (had) crazy hair, (and
had)
these
intense
facial
expressions as he’s singing,”
as one can see in any of his
performances. The man seemed
to extract every possible ounce
of power and emotion out of his
body during his performances:
He was blessed with an unreal
vocal range. Despite his wild
gesticulations,
he
had
an
impressive control over his
voice down to the tightest
vibrato. It carried an inherent
throatiness
and
roughness
which he somehow utilized
perfectly even with the most
delicate of lyrics.
Khan was not the most
likely of international South
Asian
superstars,
yet
he
cultivated
an
extremely
successful
international
career.
He
performed
in
concert
venues
across
the
world and collaborated with
artists from Peter Gabriel to
the
aforementioned
Vedder.
He received a host of awards,
from a UNESCO Music Prize
to his own country’s Pride of
Performance award. While he
was never entirely comfortable
with the fact that most of his
modern audience could not
understand his lyrics, he also
felt that “whatever spiritual
component that was in the
lyrics, it was also in the way he
sang it,” according to guitarist
Michael Brooks.
Unfortunately, his career was
cut short at the early age of 48
in 1997. Ever since, his influence
on both Qawwali as well as
South Asian music in general
has spread all over the world,
bringing the characteristics of a
relatively niche, spiritual form
of music to an international
audience.
While
not
“easy
listening” by any means, it is
not difficult to listen to that
legendary voice and appreciate
the talent behind it.
The music of Nusrat
Fateh Ali Khan
DAILY WORLD MUSIC COLUMN
SAYAN GHOSH
Daily World Music Columnist
Ali Khan was a
sight to behold in
more ways than
one.
Going home to an empty
house after seeing “High Life,”
I saw the sharp dichotomy of
absence and presence in a new
light. I was acutely aware of the
sensations of being alive and
being alone. As the absences in
“High Life” call attention to the
meaningfulness of presence,
the empty sofas and chairs in
my living room are heavy with
the weight of empty space.
“High Life” calls to mind
“2001: A Space Odyssey” and
perhaps
a
dystopian
“Star
Trek.”
Rich
with
brilliant
colors
and
mind-bending
interstellar graphics, the film
immerses the viewer in space.
Pun unintended, “High Life”
revolves around a black hole —
an absent center representing
absence itself. The film follows
Ship 7, its crew comprised
of
society’s
rejects:
Death-
row inmates sent to be the
conductors and subjects of
experiments beyond the solar
system. Ship 7 has a dual mission,
at once seeking a way to harvest
energy from a black hole while
simultaneously
investigating
human reproduction in deep
space. It is the latter which has
greater consequence and which
drives the film’s temporally
convoluted
plot.
Jumping
between past, long past and
present, we see humanity from
every angle.
Robert
Pattinson
(“Twilight”)
gives
a
monumental
and
career-
defining performance as Monte,
our main protagonist. Monte
is unique among the crew
for his thoughtful interiority
and
genetic
strength.
The
gentleness at his core is most
evident
in
his
relationship
with
his
daughter,
Willow
(Jessie Ross, “The Frankenstein
Chronicles”). Monte remains
grounded by tending to the
ship’s fertile garden. A garden
to remind the crew of Earth
and the viewer of the potency
of life and death. Not unlike the
womb, the garden is a place of
cultivation; Monte is the lone
cultivator among chaos and sick
minds. For the early part of the
mission, Monte and the rest of
the crew are at the mercy of Dr.
Dibs (Juliette Binoché, “The
English Patient”). It is the doctor
who controls the investigation
of reproduction, much to the
dismay of her subjects. Seeking
life in the most inhospitable
of environments, Dr. Dibs is
a twisted personification of
female sexuality. Mia Goth
(“A
Cure
for
Wellness”)
compliments
Binoché’s
performance,
offering
a
juxtaposed
relationship
between a woman and her body.
The cast plays well off of one
another; tension and passion
saturate each scene and bleed
into the theater.
Director Claire Denis (“Beau
travail”) probes the human
experience of solitude through
Monte’s powerful will to live.
Toward the end of the film,
Monte asks Willow, “Cruelty?
What do you know about
cruelty?”
Having
spent
an
eternity sailing through space,
Monte poses the question to
the viewer as well. What is left
of our human nature when the
human is so far removed from
home? Travelling at lightspeed,
time passes more slowly for
the crew than for those on
Earth. If I follow the film’s
math correctly, the roughly 17
years Monte spends on Ship 7 is
equivalent to over 200 years on
Earth. Monte and Willow share
an unfathomable experience
of love bounded by solitude,
stretched to eternity’s end. The
relationship between father and
daughter stands in refreshing
contrast
to
the
lustful,
mechanical presentation of sex
and reproduction throughout
the film. Filial love does more
to sustain Monte than the
ship’s life-support systems — a
poignant statement about love
as a fundamental requisite for
survival.
Without spoiling anything,
I would be remiss not to
mention the film’s finale. The
final scene emerges from a
collaboration between Denis
and artist Olafur Eliasson and
incorporates Eliasson’s 2014
art installation “Contact.” A
site-specific work exhibited at
the Fondation Louis Vuitton
in Paris, “Contact” evokes the
horizon, and is used in “High
Life” as a representation of the
event horizon, a black hole’s
theoretical point of no return.
The film comes together
beautiful in its final moments.
The incorporation of Eliasson’s
work echoes the thematic use
of evocative color throughout
the film, while the diverse
soundtrack
composed
by
Stuart A. Staples fits each scene
perfectly. I really dig the intro
track, “The Garden,” which
reminded me of Schoenberg’s
12-tone work. As the credits
roll, Pattison’s voice fills the
theatre on the original track
“Willow”;
a
mellowed-out
Donovan meets The National
with a Max Richter chill.
Stanley
Kubrick
would
be proud of Denis’s artistry
behind
the
camera.
“High
Life” rightfully joins the ranks
of science fiction classics like
“2001,” thrilling at every turn
and questioning the very nature
of humanity in the face of
eternity.
‘High Life’ brings us to
the brink in a spectacle
ROSS ORGIEFSKY
Daily Arts Writer
A24
FILM REVIEW
High Life
A24
Michigan Theater
COMMUNITY CULTURE NOTEBOOK
Food is womanly power.
Women
should
not
be
sentenced
to
the
kitchen,
but in my family the men are
barely allowed in our sacred
enclave. We are always yelling
at each other, criticizing the
young and laughing loudly.
Every woman in my family
instinctively knows how to
cook. We all know how to roll
grape leaves, work with filo
and make lamb less gamey.
There’s a pride in creating joy
within sustenance.
My mother’s maiden name
is Maniatakis. Greek culture
has been the most dominant
in my life. My grandfather’s
family emigrated from Crete,
and with them they brought
a
massive
appreciation
of
Greek food. All my aunts and
female cousins sit together like
witches, whipping up spells
filled with feta cheese and
loads of garlic.
When I was in second grade,
I went over to a friend’s house
for dinner and we ate Lean
Cuisine. I asked them, “What
happened?” I was genuinely
worried. My friend responded,
“This is what we eat all the
time.” Their parents didn’t
cook. Growing up, my mother
always made dinner. Even if it
wasn’t a feast, we always had
a full, homemade meal. The
same is true for my extended
family. Even if the women in
my family had full-time jobs,
they always concocted home-
cooked dinners.
I never thought of this as a
sign of weakness of the women
in my family. Regardless of
gender,
our
lives
revolved
around the kitchen. It has to
do with the power that comes
with
feeding
each
other.
Women keep the family strong,
both physically and mentally.
When we have a big family
dinner, you eat everything on
your plate — you eat until you
literally cannot eat anymore.
It’s rude not to gorge yourself.
My father — who wasn’t
initially
accepted
into
the
family with open arms because
he’s not Greek — once took
all his coworkers to my great
grandmother’s house for a
meal. After this gesture of
respect, he became a golden
icon in the family. Food is love.
It takes time to make, and it
gives us a reason to be together.
Now, my friends ask me if I
would teach them what I know.
“Can you teach me to make
baklava?” I don’t know how to
respond.
The
memories
of
sunny
afternoons with the women I
look up to are getting farther
away. I don’t remember those
recipes anymore. Food is the
last aspect of a culture to
assimilate. To think I am the
end of the line is horrifying.
Although
their
baklava
is
delicious,
I
couldn’t
just
refer my friend to the nearest
Ahmo’s Gyros and Deli.
I requested the recipe for
baklava in our Facebook group.
Yes, my big fat Greek family
is so large and sprawling, my
cousin created a Facebook
group for us. I received over a
dozen detailed responses along
with little suggestions that go
along with making the best
batch.
Perhaps
the
greatest
privilege I’ve been given is
to be raised by impossibly
strong, supportive women. I
want to share the joy they’ve
bestowed upon me with those
I love. I want to inject pride
and passion into everything I
create. Food is where it starts.
Goddesses eat baklava
NATALIE KASTNER
For the Daily
Perched onstage at The Ark
this past Sunday, Darlingside
member
Harris
Paseltiner
mused on the band’s journey
across borders (domestic and
international) to arrive at the
rain-soaked streets of Ann
Arbor. The weather, however
dreary, did nothing to dampen
the
warmth
and
vibrant
energy shared by musicians
and patrons alike. Paseltiner
related
their
long-awaited
arrival to a homecoming; their
performance felt every bit as
comforting,
exuberant
and
intimate
as
a
homecoming
should. Darlingside is at their
best when performing live
— everyone else should take
notes.
To start, The Ark’s intimate
concert space was a perfect
compliment to the multilayered
harmonies and soulful lyrics
of
the
band.
The
band’s
signature folk-gospel hybrid
— rootsy banjo combined with
the chorus style singing of
hymns — came to life Sunday
night. Their music, which can
sometimes feel heavy, thick
and buried, was instead crystal
clear and feather-light. In an
age where streaming reigns
supreme,
Darlingside
is
at
their best when performing
live. Of course, that’s not
to say that their recorded
albums are bad — rather,
Darlingside capitalizes on the
unique
performer-audience
dynamic that exists only in the
electric enchantment of live
performance.
The
band’s
energy
and
personality shined brilliantly
as
they
offered
one-sided
banter to the audience. From
Auyon
Mukharji’s
friendly
and
somewhat
surreal
introductions, which included
priceless tidbits like the band’s
flirtation with red bananas (the
fruit) or Paseltiner’s admirable
(but futile) struggle to give up a
caffeine addiction, Darlingside
felt more like a group of old
friends than a larger than
life band gracing the humble
streets of Ann Arbor.
Spectacle is a big and beloved
aspect of performance — from
show-stopping dance numbers
to infamous red carpet outfits.
But it’s the air of simplicity
Darlingside offers that can be
so endearing. There’s a touch
of humility in their demeanors,
and a sense of vulnerability in
their singing. They’re just a
group of friends making good
music, having good times and
enjoying as much of life as they
can.
There’s so much that makes
Darlingside good — charm,
talent, a cool name — what
more could a group need?
Ah, yes, they also play banjo
and cello, even the mandolin
(which, let’s be honest, is
pretty awesome). They also
somehow make the lyrics “I
liked it and I’d do it again / To
be a turtle and a mayonnaise
magnet” oddly beautiful. But
throw away the fancy music
terms
and
unnecessarily
lengthy descriptions, and at
their core, Darlingside is just
fun. And everyone could use
a little more fun in their lives,
whether they’re a stressed
student or the happiest person
on the planet. So, do yourself
a big favor, and go listen to
Darlingside. Pro-tip: Start with
“In the Morning,” because
everyone should aspire to be
a “mayonnaise magnet,” then
buy tickets to their next live
show — you can thank me later.
Let the good times roll at
the Ark with Darlingside
MADELEINE GANNON
Daily Arts Writer
NELSONVILLE MUSIC FESTIVAL
CONCERT REVIEW