The Michigan Daily — michigandaily.com
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

