… Another taxi, an airport, suitcases and instruments, waiting, hours in an aeroplane, sweet-sour dreams, waking up mid-sky, fortunate and unfortunate meetings, changes in climate and food, customs and languages, such is a travellers destiny, « Musafir ki kismat » (a title of one of the songs), he’s always far away from someone, far from something, he leaves bits of himself, sown here and there, he gives and takes, he is both generous and a thief, he loses himself as often as he finds himself, he simultaneously opens and closes the box of desires and regrets, the horizon is a promise, an escape, a river, … A red sky spreads above his head : “Laal Aasman”, this is the title of the Indian record…
I met a friend of mine, Dr Asghar, son of Mir Moazam Hussein of Hyderabad (click here), on the outbound, Roissy/ Mumbai flight. He had a tattered copy of Mirza Ghalib’s ghazals in Urdu ( see here Ghalib, incarnated by Nasiruddin Shah for Indian television) in his pocket (it goes everywhere with him), he had made notes all over it, as I tend to do with my bedside books. His ancestors knew the great poet and he has a ring that had belonged to Ghalib. We spent part of the flight discussing poetry, we were both touched by the coincidence that had brought us together above Central Asia. He comes to mind, suddenly as I fly back the other way…
… Since yesterday, I no longer sleep with a fan turning above my head, like a wind star, soothing the damp torpor of the shores of the Indian Ocean, but curled up surrounded by greenery, I constantly add wood chips to the fire, to warm my stiff body. The trees have taken on autumn’s colours. The sky is uncertain, although a short time ago, it was trustworthy and regular, it stubbornly kept its promises.
Here in the West, we are entering an unpredictable autumn, it promises nothing and will reveal itself day after day. It’s not only men and women who have different habits, the heavens do too….
… Just before I left the studio, some of the Blue Frog team had come to listen to bits of the mix. While they were listening, I thought that given what they are doing here in Mumbai, some of the team, would probably prefer the original, more Western, versions to the new interpretations, marked by Hindustani instrumental sounds. In fact, one of the directors of the label told me he found it difficult to listen to the shennai, an instrument traditionally associated with weddings in India, (and certainly in his memory). The sound of Renaud Pion’s saxophone, interpreting the original theme, is closer to his desire. Our desires correspond, in places, here and there.
Now we have to work on the visuals and the content of the booklet. I would like the title to be printed on the cover in three of the numerous Indian alphabets, Hindi, Urdu and Latin. With Khuda’s* help, the Indian record will be released there at the beginning of 2011.
My journey along these shores will continue, between Istanbul and Agadir. I already know – even though I don’t really have a perspective on it, given the intensity of this creative period – how much my music has been transformed by the Indian artists’ interpretation, while leaving its specific, essential nature intact. It has emphasized both what is common and different in the aesthetics of playing music. I am impatient to compare this approach with that of the Turkish and Moroccan musicians. I’ll tell you about it soon.
“ God, they have not understood me/ and they will not understand my words,/ give them another heart,/you who have not given me another tongue.”(ghazal by Mirza Ghalib at a « Mushaira », competitive poetry session, where the novelty of his style was criticized.)
“J’avais oublié ma nuit / puis je me suis souvenu / de ce grain de sable au fond des draps.” Suraj Nath
























(A very young and amazing musician)








