...Of The Two Streams - Part 2

This is the second part of a rather long post featuring recordings of Ghazals by mainstream ghazal-singers and Qawwals, offering a contrasting view of the pre-eminent Urdu poetic and musical form of the last two to three centuries. Here we go!

Poet: Aziz-ul-Hasan Majzoob/Majzoob Dakkani?

Ghazal: Saari Duniya Mujhe Kehti Tera Saudayi Hai

Gayaki Angg: Iftekhar Ahmed Nizami

Qawwali Angg: Agha Rasheed Ahmad Fareedi Qawwal

The first ghazal in this second half is by a truly enigmatic poet. I was initially unaware of the poet of this ghazal. I contacted Subhan Ahmad Nizami, the grandson of Ustad Iftekhar Ahmad Nizami (and one of my favorite Qawwals) and he told me that the poet was one Majzoob Dakkani. I mentioned the name to a few gentlemen who are interested in some of the more obscure poets but they had not heard of such a poet before. The only Majzoob they’d heard of was one Sheikh Aziz-ul-Hasan Majzoob. Again, very little biographical information was available about him but I’ve been able to piece together a few facts. Majzoob passed away sometime in 1944. He had served in the colonial bureaucracy at several important positions in District Saharanpur, UP and had been conferred the title of Khan Bahadur by the Colonial government. In addition to being a government servant and a poet, he was of a mystical bent and used to sing his verses and occasionally break out in dance. A few of his ghazals that I’ve read are very good, but there are precious few available.

The first recording in this post is a bit of a cheat in that it is sung by someone who was primarily a Qawwal. Ustad Iftekhar Ahmed Nizami was, along with his cousins Munshi Raziuddin Ahmed, Bahauddin Khan and Manzoor Ahmed Niazi, part of the original pre-1969 Manzoor Ahmad Niazi Qawwal party (The Barri Party). He possessed a unique, rough-hewn and weather-beaten voice that possessed a virile, earthy beauty. In the Barri Party recordings, his voice is distinct and immediately grabs the listener’s attention. He passed away at a relatively young age, leaving behind precious few recordings. The few solo performances of his that remain were recorded at Mr. Zaheer Alam Kidvai’s wedding ceremony. Here he sings some lovely ghazals and a couple of really sweet dadras. The audio quality is iffy at best, however his unique style shines through splendidly. It really is a lovely ghazal, and sung by Iftekhar Sb, it literally sparkles!

The Qawwali rendition of this ghazal is by Agha Rasheed Ahmad Fareedi. My deep appreciation and admiration of Fareedi Sb is not a secret. I consider him one of the greatest Qawwals of the 20^th century and arguably the finest shagird of Fateh Ali Mubarak Ali. In this recording, the party sings the kalam in a lovely arrangement based on a Raag that sounds really familiar but one I can’t for the life of me seem to recognize (Bhairvi?). The tarz is perfectly suited to Rasheed’s hefty voice, allowing Majeed Ahmad Fareedi to weave his magical taans at will. Even though the tempo picks up as the performance proceeds, the Qawwals are in no hurry whatsoever, lingering on each verse, repeating it for good measure, building takraar upon takraar. There is no girahbandi here, not even an opening preamble. What it lacks in text, it makes up for in the quality of the taans; there’s mellow taans, ghamak taans, and lovely Pahari style taans. It’s a 20-minute express train-ride through the ghazal, with an expert engine driver at the helm.

Poet: Anwar Mirzapuri
Ghazal: Main Nazar Se Pi Raha Hoon
Gayaki Angg: Iqbal Bano
Qawwali Angg: Maulvi Ahmed Hassan Akhter Hassan Bheranwale Qawwal

One enigmatic poet follows another. I have to admit that I know absolutely nothing about Anwar Mirzapuri. The only description I’ve found for him is “A poet very popular in Mushairas in India in the 50s and 60s.” Let’s leave it at that I guess.

Iqbal Bano was one of the queens of Pakistani music, lending her distinctive voice to innumerable ghazals and film songs that have become standards. In addition, she was an excellent light classical singer; her thumris in Tilak Kamod are especially lovely. Like her great contemporary Farida Khanum, her ghazals are marked by immaculate ‘talaffuz’, an understanding of the nuanced meanings of the kalam, and selection of arrangements that did not overshadow the text. This ghazal is no exception. She sings each verse almost lovingly, interspersed with short but excellent taans. One can almost imagine sitting in front of her, listening as she waves her left hand, plucking at invisible notes around her, entrancing the audience. It’s a short piece but a really lovely one.

The Qawwals performing this piece are those wonderful, exquisitely unpolished gems from Faisalabad, Maulvi Ahmed Hassan, his phenomenally talented son Maulvi Akhter Hassan (a voice if ever there was one), accompanied by Muhammad Mohsin and Zahid Hassan Bheranwale, with the voices of Maulvi Haider Hassan and Zameer-ul-Hassan somewhere in the mix. I’ve always had a grudge with whoever recorded this party (the otherwise brilliant Haji Hidayatulah I’m guessing) in that they usually didn’t adequately mic anyone except Maulvi Akhter Hassan. The result is that the rest of the voices lose their power a bit. But all that does is put Maulvi Akhter Hassan’s lovely voice front and center. This performance is one of my very favorite ones. The opening minute-and-a-half of the doha alone is worth the price of admission, as are the lovely short taans where Maulvi Akhter Hassan’s voice cracks so beautifully. You won’t find proper Urdu ‘talaffuz’ here, nor will you find sweet, classically trained voices. Instead, there are voices straight from the earth, striking, rough-hewn, powerful and absolutely beautiful.

Poet: Faiz Ahmad Faiz
Ghazal: Dil Main Ab Yun
Gayaki Angg: Mashooq Ali Khan
Qawwali Angg: Muhammad Ahmad Warsi Rampuri Qawwal

Faiz is arguably the greatest and most popular Urdu poet of the 2nd half of the 20th Century, and one of the great poetic voices of the world. The beauty of his ghazals and the stark magnificence and tenderness of his nazms is known and loved wherever Urdu is spoken and understood. I don’t think I can do justice in one paragraph to the importance of Faiz’s poetry in my life. For as long as I can recall, there has been a copy of “Nuskha-haaye Wafa” at the side table and another in the bookshelf. There have always been half a dozen cassettes of Faiz in the car; his own recitations of his poetry, Abida Parveen’s renditions, Iqbal Bano’s renditions, Farida Khanum’s renditions and so forth. Some of the most important memories (and an extremely embarrassing one) of my life are associated with Faiz’s poetry. This lovely ghazal is an example of Faiz’s utter mastery over the classical aspects of this poetic form and his ability to imbue it with modern sentiment without violating its romantic core. Also, what a mat’la!

Mashooq Ali Khan sings the ghazal here. He was a Radio Pakistan artist from Karachi who performed from the 50s to the end of the 70s. His specialty seems to be ghazals and light classical pieces, although I have a qawwali recording of his which is rather lovely. His voice is somewhat similar to Nasir Jahan, the famous Na’at-khwan and Soz-khwan, it’s obviously aged and past its prime, but its flexibility and mild tremulousness is very endearing. In this recording the sarangi creates a lovely, wistful atmosphere and the simple Keherva taal by the tabla gives Mashooq Ali Khan’s voice a firm foundation to weave his magic, which he certainly does.

When I began taking a keener interest in Qawwali around ten years ago (Jeez! It’s been ten years!!) I was a tad nonplussed to find that Faiz’s poetry wasn’t represented at all in the Qawwali canon. This, despite the fact that Faiz had written a couple of pieces specifically as Qawwalis. Nusrat Fateh Ali Khan had sung a lovely version of his Punjabi geet “Kidray Na Paindiyan Dassaan” but not as a Qawwali. There is an appreciable difficulty in translating Faiz’s more political and revolutionary verses to Qawwali but that still leaves a large body of work that has been left largely unexplored by Qawwals. The performance I’ve included in this selection was actually part of an active attempt to correct this long-standing oversight.

A few years ago, a rather interesting Qawwali mehfil was held in Delhi. The chief guest was the renowned Urdu scholar, Prof Gopi Chand Narang, with a number of luminaries in attendance. The aim was to recite a number of pieces by famous Farsi and Urdu poets. They couldn’t have chosen a better Qawwal than Ustad Muhammad Ahmad Warsi for such a mehfil. Warsi Sb is an acquired taste. His style is relaxed, languid, a tad dishevelled and loose, which might put off anyone who prefers Qawwals who stick to the taal and laye and don’t wander into digressions. But I love him. His performance of this ghazal is the perfect example of his unique style. He strays behind the beat one moment, catches up and races past it the next. The performance is slow, methodical and measured, and his style of girah-bandi is like no other Qawwal I’ve ever heard. If there can’t be more Faiz kalams in the Qawwali canon, at least the ones that are present are being sung by Ustad Muhammad Ahmad Warsi, and that’s fine by me.

Poet: Qateel Shifai
Ghazal: Garmiye Hasrate Nakaam
Gayaki Angg: Zahida Parveen
Qawwali Angg: Agha Bashir Ahmad Fareedi Qawwal

Qateel Shifai is rightly acclaimed as the greatest lyricist in the history of Pakistani film. However, recognizing him only as a lyricist is a great disservice to his career as one of the pre-eminent Urdu ghazal poets of the 20th century. This was a burden borne by a number of great lyricist poets, including Sahir Ludhianvi and Kaifi Azmi; the burden of their film career overshadowing their serious poetic aspirations. Qateel however was recognized early on as an important modern Urdu poet. His ghazals are modern and were popular amongst the masses despite being molded in the framework of classical Urdu poetry. He started reciting and publishing his poetry before partition and remained an important figure of the Urdu literary landscape until his death in 2001. Two of his ghazals are included here.

If I were to name the single greatest voice I have ever heard, it would have to be Zahida Parveen. She is rightly acclaimed as the Empress of the Kafi. No one has sung the kalam of Hz Khwaja Ghulam Fareed (RA) with deeper understanding and more emotion. She was also a highly accomplished classical singer who had trained first under Ustad Ashiq Ali Khan of Patiala and later under Ustad Chotay Ghulam Ali Khan of the Kasur/Qawwal Bacchon Ka Gharana. Her khayal performances are hair-raisingly good, though very hard to come by. Her ghazals, recorded in the late ‘50s and the ‘60s, are singular, incomparable to any other singer before or since her. There are flights across three octaves, there are taans of exquisite beauty and staggering dexterity, the bol-baant is perfect and there is an uncanny awareness of the taal and the laye. Despite all that, the text of the ghazal is never neglected, never overburdened with vocal calisthenics. Zahida Parveen’s power shines through in everything she ever recorded, be it Kafi, Khayal or the ghazal shared here.

The Qawwal performing this ghazal is the great Agha Bashir Ahmad Qawwal. Agha Bashir was the elder brother of Agha rasheed Ahmad and Abdul Majeed Fareedi and was an excellent Qawwal. After Partition, he was employed at Radio Pakistan Lahore and eventually became Station Director, becoming known in the process as Agha Bahsir Ahmad Lahore-walay. His style is characterized by a powerful, rough voice and his astounding ghamak taans. He performed regularly for more than half a century and recorded a number of excellent performances for Radio Pakistan as well as EMI. This ghazal is also taken from one of his 1960s Radio Pakistan recordings. He is accompanied by a rather lovely and striking voice that I’d love to be able to put a name to. He doesn’t resort to girahbandi or too many takraars, giving the ghazal a run-through from start to finish without too many distractions. His trademark taans arrive after the four-minute mark.

Ghazal: Tumhari Anjuman Se Utth Ke
Gayaki Angg: Fareeda Khanum
Qawwali Angg: Ustad Muhammad Ali Fareedi Qawwal

I’ve been listening to a lot of Fareeda Khanum lately, searching out deep cuts from the early decades of her career and every time I hear something new by her, I am stuck by the immensity of her talent. The sweetness of her voice, the perfection of her talaffuz and her mastery over ghazal singing are universally acknowledged, the result of her own innate talent coupled by years of rigorous training under her sister, the legendary Mukhtar Begum as well as Ustad Ashiq Ali Khan of Patiala. Since her arrival at the musical scene shortly after Partition, she has been at the very top of the Pakistani musical hierarchy, and one doesn’t need to wonder why. As just one example of her many talents, notice her exquisite and effortless sense of rhythm and tempo in this recording. When she sings, she seems almost oblivious of the tabla, but never does she lose the thread of the ‘taal’, landing each note perfectly on the rhythmic cycle. It’s a lovely performance by a superlative artist

Few Qawwals have had a longer or more impactful career than Ustad Muhammad Ali Fareedi. From the early 1930s till the late 1970s, he led a brilliant qawwal party that included his son Abdur Rahim among others. His influence is obvious on the generations of Pakpattan based Qawwals that share his surname, a nod to their devotion to and service at the shrine of Hz Baba Fariduddin Ganjshakar (RA). From his earliest 78 RPM recordings to the mehfil recordings he made near the end of his life, Muhammad Ali Fareedi’s distinct voice and charming talaffuz remained distinct from any other Qawwal. His recording of Qateel Shifai’s ghazal is taken from a 78 RPM disc released in the early 1950s. The voice isn’t as sharp as it used to be two decades ago and there aren’t any taans or takraars, but the Ustads meandering vowels and short tremolos lend the ghazal a lovely color. 

Poet: Qamar Jalalabadi
Ghazal: Kabhi Kaha Na Kisi Se
Gayaki Angg: Mehdi Hassan
Qawwali Angg: The Sabri Brothers Ensemble

A contemporary and friend of Qateel Shifai, Qamar Jalalabadi was also predominantly known as a lyricist. He started his career around five years earlier than Qateel, and scored an early hit with the wonderful songs of 1942’s big hit Khandaan. (One of my favorite film soundtracks btw). He was one of the leading lyricists of the 1940s and early fifties, but was later overshadowed by the next generation of lyricists including Sahir, Majrooh, Bedi, Rajinder Krishen etc. He was a regular presence at Urdu mushairas in India and abroad till the start of the 21st century. Unlie Qateel though, he is primarily known as a lyricist, with his poetical career overshadowed by his popular songs.

It is fitting that the final ghazal in this post should be by the King of Ghazals Mehdi Hassan. I needn’t go into any detailed analyses of Mehdi Hassan’s voice, his style or his career. Suffice to say that he does full justice to this ghazal, just like he did full justice to whatever he sang. The recording is from the early 80s when his voice had started mellowing and descending into the lower registers. The composition perfectly suits the sombre and resigned mood of the ghazal, and Khansaheb sings it wonderfully.

The commercially released Qawwali records of the late 60s and 70s are an odd proposition. On one hand, some of the greatest qawwals of the last century were being recorded using state of the art recording equipment in a studio setting, allowing them to record the ‘type’ specimens of their repertoire for posterity. On the other hand, these recordings were made using arrangements that were a tad too “filmi” and more often than not, overshadowed the kalam being recorded. This was the case with a number of recordings made in the 1970s by Bahauddin Khan as well as the Manzoor Niazi party. No one did this type of recording better (if that’s what you can call it) than the Sabri Brothers, who were the pre-eminent Pakistani Qawwals in the 1970s. Just take a listen to the opening ninety seconds of this recording. Once the opening salvo is over though, Les Freres Sabri jump into the kalam like nobody’s business. The opening doha is brilliant, the girahs are brilliant, the takraars are brilliant. The brothers sing the ghazal straight through until they get to the ‘hasil-e-ghazal- verse, which is then embellished with three or four really interesting girahs. It’s a perfect example of a Qawwali that is populist as well as respectful to the kalam being performed. In short, the perfect bookend to this post about the ghazal, an art-form that has strived for centuries to achieve the perfect balance between artistic excellence and popular appeal.

...Of The Two Streams - Part 1

I spent the last month atop a 9000-foot mountain in the middle of nowhere, for all practical purposes cut off from the rest of the world. Finding themselves in such a situation, I’m sure each person would react differently. Some would take to meditation; others, encouraged by the bracing mountain air (though too thin for an asthmatic like me) give in to the evils of physical fitness and exercise. Still others would be possessed by the creative impulse and begin painting, composing poetry or writing the Great Pakistani Novel (which in my opinion has already been written and is called Udaas Naslain). I, of course, did none of the above. There were no attempts at self-improvement, spiritual or physical, and there was no intrusion of the creative spirit. My pursuits were altogether more prosaic. The demands of an ongoing clinical residency meant that I should use this opportunity to study, which, surprisingly, I did. The rest of my time was devoted solely to listening to, organizing, editing and generally tinkering with my music.

When I said that there were no intrusions of the creative spirit, I may have been selling the old c.s a tad short. It did nudge me towards attempting to find threads and patterns in the music I was listening to. As any music geek knows, the first step towards making sense of a heap of music is making playlists, which was my first step too. From these playlists emerged what I hope will be a series of rather interesting posts on a number of topics relating to what is apparently the raison d’etre of this blog, Qawwali. Here goes the first one:

For the last three hundred years, the dominant poetic form in the Urdu-Persian idiom has been the ghazal. The constant innovation and endeavor of generations of poets has made it a unique, exceptionally polished art-form within the wider purview of Urdu-Farsi poetry. So much so that it has gradually accumulated its own sets of idioms, similes, allusions, allegories and a syntax that has ensured its continued popularity while other, older poetic forms such as the masnavi and the ruba’I have faded from the popular imagination. Even in this era, when the perennial laments over the decline of Urdu poetry can actually be considered something of an understatement, the ghazal (along with Verse Libre) remains the main form of expression for poets in Urdu and Farsi as well as Punjabi and, in the diaspora, English.

I shall assume that my readers, or a sizeable majority at least, are aware of what comprises a ghazal. But for the minority who requires an explanation, I shall yield the floor to the “internationally tall” Stephen Fry. Quoting from his excellent book “The Ode Less Travelled: Unlocking the Poet Within”:

GHAZAL:

The lines in GHAZAL always need to run, IN PAIRS

 They come, like mother-daughter, father-son, IN PAIRS

 I’ll change the subject, as this ancient form requires

It offers hours of simple, harmless fun, IN PAIRS

 Apparently a Persian form, from far-off days

It needs composing just as I have done, IN PAIRS

And when I think the poem’s finished and complete

I STEPHEN FRY, pronounce my work is un-IMPAIRED

My version is rather a bastardly abortion I fear, but the key principles are mostly adhered to. The lines of a GHAZAL (pronounced a bit like guzzle, but the ‘g’ should hiccup slightly, Arab-style) come in metrical couplets. The rhymes are unusual in that the last phrase of the opening two lines (and second lines of each subsequent couplet) is a refrain (rhadif). It is the word before the refrain (qafiya) that is rhymed, in the manner shown above. I have cheated with the last rhyme-refrain pairing as you can see. Each couplet should be a discrete (but not necessarily discreet) entity unto itself, no enjambment being permitted or overall theme being necessary. It is usual, but not obligatory, for the poet to ‘sign his name’ in the last line as I have done.”

I couldn’t have put it better myself.

After partition, ghazal-singing was promoted to the top of the Pakistani cultural hierarchy along with Qawwali and folk-music, with North-Indian Classical music relegated to the lower ranks. The reasons for this shuffle were many. The abolition of the Princely States and their attendant system of patronage meant that music needed to be somewhat populist to survive. In addition, there was an active attempt by the powers-that-be to distance the new nation from the Sanskrit-infused strains of Classical music and move towards the musical forms that felt culturally more “Islamic”, more in tune with the centuries old Farsi/Urdu idiom and the rich traditions of the local languages of the new land as well as the philosophy of Sufism, all of which were considered the building blocks for the new Pakistani culture. (I must learn to write shorter sentences) A discussion of the pros and cons of this policy is something better left for people with inordinate amounts of time on their hands.

The result was that the musical forms of ghazal, qawwali and folk music flowered and flourished in Pakistan throughout the second half of the 20^th century. The sheer number of truly superlative ghazal singers, qawwals and folk-singers that shone on the Pakistani stage is beyond belief. The advantage was that despite being somewhat populist as compared to Classical music, these musical forms served to improve and elevate the audience’s musical tastes, inculcating a newfound love and appreciation for Urdu poetry that ensured that even the lay-listener couldn’t help but be well versed with at least a few nuances and niceties of the ghazal.

The verse form of the ghazal is the largest and possibly most important part of the Qawwali canon. Ghazals in Farsi and Urdu remain the mainstay of most Qawwals’ repertoires. The main difference between the Qawwals and ghazal-singers is that (for the most part) Qawwals tend to sing ghazals whose literal or figurative meanings, allusions and idiom can be considered in the spiritual context. The open-ended nature of the ghazal ensures that a large number of popular Urdu ghazals have satisfied these criteria and have made their way into the Qawwali repertoire. These include pieces by the legendary Urdu poets of the 18^th and 19^th century (the Asateza) as well as the modern 20^th century greats. Comparing renditions of the same ghazal by ghazal-singers and qawwals opens up new avenues into the meanings and context of the poetry and offers a unique glimpse into the evolution of these two art forms, the predominant art forms of Pakistani music.

In keeping with the previous posts, I have restricted myself to only one performance per artist. I have however, relaxed my self-imposed rules to allow for a poet to be represented more than once. I’ve excluded the ghazals of the recognized Sufi poets, e.g. Bedam Shah Warsi, Hz Shah Niaz, Zaheen Shah Taji etc. as they’ve been sung by a number of Sufi performers such as Abida Parveen etc. I’ve arranged the ghazals chronologically in terms of the poets’ lifetimes, starting from the 18^th century, counting down to the 20^th.  Here goes:

Poet: Siraj Aurangabadi

Ghazal: Khabar-e-Tahayyur-e-Ishq

Gayaki Angg: Shaukat Ali

Qawwali Angg: Farid Ayaz, Abu Muhammad Qawwal and Brothers

The ghazal I’ve chosen to start off this post is a rather strange one, by a rather strange poet, and I’m not saying that pejoratively. Siraj Aurangabadi was a Deccani poet of the 18^th century, a contemporary of Mir Taqi Mir. That in itself isn’t very strange. What marked him as different from his contemporaries as well as successors was the fact that he was a ‘Sahib-e-Tariqat Pir’, an ordained Sufi who accepted disciples and imparted Spiritual knowledge. I can think of Khwaja Mir Dard as the only other example amongst Urdu poets of standing. His spiritual bent is prominent in his poetry, including this enchanting ghazal. For me, this ghazal always evokes a strangely magical atmosphere, one with fairies, enchantments and evil breezes from strange lands. The theme is of Wahdat-ul-Wujood, of Fanaa and the subservience of logic before Love. There is a lovely ‘ghinaiyyat’ or internal rhythm to the ghazal which makes it ideally suited to be sung.

The first performance is by Shaukat Ali. Shaukat Ali burst onto the Pakistani musical scene in the early 1960s as a wonder-kid while still a student at Government College Lahore. His powerful, almost operatic voice made him perfect for the folk epics that he has continued to sing in his inimitable style. But “Shauki”, as my grandmother affectionately calls him, achieved his early renown as a very gifted ghazal singer. Over the last half century, he has sung a number of remarkable ghazals, all the while maturing from the erstwhile “Prince of Folk” to a senior statesman and an institution of Pakistani music. I love the arrangement of this ghazal and the fact that the power and heft of Shaukat Ali’s voice lends itself to the meaning of the ghazal rather than distracting from it.

The Qawwali performance of this ghazal is by Farid Ayaz, Abu Muhammad Qawwal and Brothers from their triumphant performance at the Kabir Festival in Bangalore, 2009. Farid and Abu Muhammad have the wonderful ability to capture the mood of an audience and use it to add to the performance. Farid’s charming spoken preamble and the spoken interludes within the performance itself (interspersed with an effortless smattering of Hindi words) serves to introduce the audience to the central themes of the ghazal, while the lovely girahs guide them further into its deeper layers. It’s a ghazal the brothers frequently sing, and considering this masterful rendition, one hardly wonders why.

Poet: Mirza Asadullah Khan Ghalib

Ghazal: Jahan Tera Naqshe Qadam Dekhte Hain

Gayaki Angg: Ejaz Hussain Huzravi

Qawwali Angg: Fateh Ali-Mubarak Ali Qawwal

One of the books I brought with me to my mountain sojourn was Maulana Hali’s landmark “Yadgar-e-Ghalib”. Apart from being an invaluable biographical resource on the great poet, the book’s detailed analyses of Ghalib’s literary achievements allowed me to deepen my researches into Ghalib’s poetry. A detailed exposition of said poetry isn’t warranted here, especially as I have devoted a previous blog-post to it at some length. This ghazal is one of Ghalib’s most famous, featuring subtle yet lovely word-play, nuanced meanings and an evocation of the Beloved’s beauty. It has been sung by many, with some of the greatest singers of the subcontinent attempting to interpret this charming ghazal, with varying degrees of success.

Hailing from the small town of Huzro near Attock, at the border of Pakistan’s Punjab and Khyber-Pakhtunkhwa provinces, Ejaz Hussain Huzravi was an enigmatic and deeply underrated ghazal singer. I had considered him (terribly unjustly) amongst the lesser Ghazal singers of Pakistan until my friend Nate posted a compilation of his ghazals on his blog. To say that the selection opened my eyes would be an understatement. I was awestruck by the sweet dolorousness of Huzravi’s voice, his excellent selection of Kalam and the understated style of singing. Here he evokes the resigned, tragic nuances of the ghazal, in a performance imbued with longing and a remembrance of Love’s beauty.

The wonderful duality of meaning in Ghalib’s kalam is evident from the Qawwali performance of this ghazal. Like the Farid Ayaz, Abu Muhammad performance above, this one too is taken from a triumphant concert in India. Ustad Fateh Ali Mubarak Ali Qawwal gave several concert performances in India post-partition, including a magnificent concert at Bombay in 1958, from which this performance is taken. I’ve included this performance in my previous posts on Ghalib as well as the raag Kedara, but its so good that it bears sharing a third time. It’s a joyful, lively, ‘khilti hui’ rendition prefaced by Salamat Ali’s lovely harmonium. In stark contrast with Ejaz Hussain Huzravi’s performance, the Ustads turn the ghazal into a playful account of the adventures in the Beloved’s pursuit, cheerfully facing the travails of love. The Ustads’ trademark takraars, taans and vociferous style are in full display here.

Ghazal: Mazze Jahan Ke

Gayaki Angg: Ustad Amanat Ali Khan

Qawwali Angg: Bakhshi Salamat Qawwal

I stated at the beginning of this post that after partition, Ghazal quickly supplanted Classical as the officially patronized musical form in Pakistan. The perfect example of this change is the career of Ustad Amanat Ali Khan. The crown prince of the young and vigorous Patiala Gharana of North-Indian classical music, Amanat Ali along with his brother Fateh Ali Khan were seen as the rightful claimants to the throne vacated three decades earlier by Ali Bakhsh-Fateh Khan, the stalwarts of the Patiala Gharana. Possessing a deeply emotive voice that perfectly complimented his brother Fateh Ali’s gravelly and powerful baritone, Amanat Ali was the pre-eminent Pakistani classical singer. But he was aware of the changing trends and in the early 1960s, began his foray into ghazal singing. His classical excellence, coupled with the sensual emotiveness of his voice quickly made him one of the pre-eminent ghazal singers of Pakistan. Before his untimely death in the early 1970s, Amanat Ali Khan recorded a number of excellent ghazals, including this version of Ghalib’s wonderful kalam. He sings it in a light, melodious arrangement in which the simple beauty of his voice shines through despite the rather heavy instrumentation.

The Qawwali interpretation of this kalam is by Bakhshi Salamat Qawwal. It’s one of my most favorite pieces of music ever and that’s all the description I am going to write.

Poet: Ameer Minai

Ghazal: Tu Ne But-e-Harjayi

Gayaki Angg: Nayyara Noor

Qawwali Angg: Haji Mahboob Ali Qawwal

Ameer Minai was one of the younger contemporaries of Ghalib and an important poet of the 2^nd half of the 19^th Century in addition to being a lexicographer, jurist and Islamic scholar. The first half of his life was spent in relative ease in Awadh, but after the War of 1857, his condition become strained until he was accepted into employment as the poetry teacher or “Ustad” to the Nawab of Rampur – a position in which he succeeded his friend Ghalib. The last years of his life were spent compiling and securing financial backing for a comprehensive Urdu dictionary. He was able to complete the volumes pertaining to the first three letters of the Urdu alphabet before he passed away. His fame rests on his lovely Na’ats and ghazals. His “Zahir main hum fareefta husn-e-butaan ke hain” sung by Fareeda Khanum is one of my eternal favorites. The ghazal chosen here is a light piece in which the poet laments his choice of the object of his affections, and the various travails he has encountered on Love’s path. As with most of Minai’s ghazals, and most of the selections in this post, the decision whether the Beloved is temporal or spiritual is left entirely to the audience’s imagination.

Nayyara Noor is unique among Pakistani ghazal-singers. The startling quality of her voice has been acclaimed by none other than the late Anil Biswas, who wrote her a letter of appreciation which she considers her most prized possession. In the early ‘70s she was able to put a modern, youthful spin on the art of ghazal singing without compromising on its aesthetics or the quality of the performance or the choice of kalam. In addition to her forays into modernity and in collaboration with Producer/Writer Shoaib Hashmi and Composer Arshad Mehmood, Nayyara carried out a series of bold, experimental recordings. These involved rendering ghazals in a style that had flourished in the 1920s-1940s and had then gone extinct: the Parsi Theater style of ghazal singing exemplified by stalwarts like Mukhtar Begum. Her rendition of this ghazal is also in that style, and it suits the kalam very well, heightening its melodic surprises and giving it a long-ago-and-far-away feel.

The Qawwali performance of this ghazal is by Haji Mahboob Sb. There are just four performers. Haji Sb leads and plays Sitar. Haji Mushtaq accompanies and plays the harmonium. A third accompanist handles clapping duties while the fourth is on the tabla. Each of the four performers fulfils their duties to absolute perfection. The recording is from the early ‘70s, when Haji Sb used to perform choice ghazals in front of Hz Babuji (RA) without excessive girah-bandi or tazmeen. The lack of excess in this recording is part of its beauty. The talaffuz is perfect, the brief takraars are perfect, Haji Mushtaq’s mini aakaars are perfect, the two-man rhythm section is perfect. It is a perfect example of Khanqahi Qawwali.

Poet: Allama Muhammad Iqbal

Ghazal: Har Lehza Hai Momin

Gayaki Angg: Noor Jehan

Qawwali Angg: Manzoor Niazi Qawwal aur Hamnavaa

At the start of the 20^th century, Iqbal was one of the brightest and most promising ‘shagirds’ of the recently deceased Mirza Daagh Dehelvi, the undisputed master of the light-hearted, playfully romantic ghazal. Over the next four decades, Iqbal’s poetry assumed the more imposing spiritual, political and philosophical mantle that made him the Poet-Philosopher of the East. But his poetry still retained the wonderful rhythms and internal rhymes he had learnt from Daagh at the start of his career. As a result, a large number of Iqbal’s ghazals, both political as well as romantic, have been put to music, to excellent effect. After partition, “Iqbaliyat” or the singing of Iqbal’s kalam was actively introduced as a sub-genre of Pakistani music, with a large number of artists singing his kalam on Radio and subsequently Television. This ghazal is one of Iqbal’s overtly political ones, defining what Iqbal believes are the essential qualities of a perfect Muslim. Despite its rather heavy political and revolutionary message, it’s not top-heavy. There is a lovely flow and lilt to it which is superbly exploited by the two artists performing it.

If the musical history of Pakistan is to be distilled into a single performer, it would most probably be Noor Jehan. From precocious film-star in the ‘30s to THE female voice of Pakistani cinema for four decades, Noor Jehan was a prevalent cultural presence in the subcontinent for more than 60 years. One of the reasons for her longevity was a remarkable career reinvention in the late ‘70s when she decided to fully exploit the opportunities provided by the medium of television. In a series of landmark programs titled “Tarannum”, she re-recorded her famous film hits and commissioned new compositions of ghazals by the best Urdu poets, both old and new. Then, she had these recordings ‘picturized’ on herself, employing all the charming techniques from her career as a cinematic leading lady. In doing so, she introduced herself to generations of new listeners, won legions of new fans and added a number of remarkable ghazals to the Pakistani musical canon. Her rendition of this ghazal is among her more famous recordings from that era, rendered in a sober yet powerful style, with perfect ‘ehteraam’ to both the words and the meanings of the kalam.

The Qawwali recording of this ghazal is taken from a Radio Pakistan performance recorded for broadcast on Iqbal Day, the birthday of Allama Iqbal that was a major annual cultural event each year on the 9^th of November. Radio and TV used to devote the day to Iqbaliyat and a large number of recordings were commissioned each year. Sadly, most of them have only been heard once or twice and remain stored away in the Radio Pakistan vaults. The rendition is by the original Manzoor Niazi Qawwal aur Hamnavaa, sans Bahauddin Sb, which dates this recording to the early 1970s. The party is led by Munshi Raziuddin Ahmed, accompanied by Manzoor Ahmad Niazi and Naseeruddin Saami. Raziuddin Sb’s ‘kharri’ enunciation and Manzoor Niazi Sb’s sweet, clear taans are the highlight of this lovely piece that is devoid of any girah-bandi except for a wonderful Arabic prayer near the end and the short preamble at the beginning. The recording fades out as Raziuddin Sb leads the party into the stratosphere.

Poet: Jigar Muradabadi

Ghazal: Iss Ishq Ke Haathon Se

Gayaki Angg : Begum Akhtar

Qawwali Angg: Aziz Ahmad Khan Warsi Qawwal

Ali Sikandar “Jigar” Muradabadi is a giant of Urdu literature and one of the great poets of the 20^th Century. He is recognized as one of the very few “Ustads” in modern Urdu poetry, a vital link between the romantic sensibilities of the 19^th Century and the modernist, progressive attitudes of the 20^th. His poetry has remained popular amongst all strata of society, from the Urdu-speaking elite of North and Central India to the Sufis and devotees of shrines dotted across the subcontinent. There is a striking spiritual element to his poetry, that makes his ghazals a mainstay of the Qawwali repertoire. In addition, his ghazals have been sung by almost all the great ghazal singers of the subcontinent. He was fond of reciting his ghazals in a unique ‘tarannum’ style which relied on the innate musicality of his kalam. He is a personal favorite of mine.

The year is 1952. The setting is the Bombay residence of famous businessman and patron of the arts Mr. Khatau Vallabhdas. An evening of music has been arranged for a small gathering of carefully chosen aficionados. The singer is 38-year-old Akhtari Bai Faizabadi, still some years away from completing her transformation into Begum Akhtar. The mehfil starts at 7 in the evening. What follows is utter and absolute magic. One astonishing ghazal follows the last, followed by a selection of choice Thumris, Dadras, Chaitis and Horis. Akhtari Bai sings magically, she applauds her accompanying musicians and occasionally bursts into a girlish giggle. Amongst her many renditions that night is this ghazal of Jigar’s, in a performance that defies description. Also, the tabla player is a genius.

Aziz Ahmad Khan Warsi is unique among the Qawwals of the 20^th century. He was a major Qawwal of the Qawwal Bacchon Ka Gharana who made Hyderabad his home, rather than Delhi. The majority of his repertoire comprised of Urdu ghazals rather than the more overtly spiritual repertoire of his contemporaries. His performance style was like no other, with a staccato harmonium and a similarly staccato style of singing that frequently teetered on the edge of the taal before returning to the ‘samm’ in a startling flourish. He has sung ghazals by the greatest Urdu poets and is a landmark figure in the Deccani culture of the second half of the 20^th century. This ghazal is amongst my most favorite of his performances.

Ghazal: Shab-e-Gham Ki Daraazi

Gayaki Angg: Pandit Vitthal Rao

Qawwali Angg: Nazeer Naseer Warsi Qawwal

If I’m lucky, once every two or three years, I stumble upon a new Musical Discovery. An artist that I instantly fall in love with and begin obsessing over. My musical discovery of 2017 has been Pandit Vitthal Rao. In a way, discovering him has been the inspiration for this post. The ghazal posted below had been among my favorites, having been sung by a number of Qawwali artists. One day, while flicking through YouTube videos, Istumbled upon Pandit Vithal Rao’s rendition of it and I was hooked. I may be a tad biased considering he’s now one of my favorite artists but I consider him one of the better ghazal singers from across the border, a list that I can count on the fingers of one hand. His ‘talaffuz’ and phrasing is excellent, his voice is beautifully fragile and tremulous, and he sings the ghazal beautifully. Like Aziz Ahmed Warsi above, he was a fixture of the post-partition Deccani culture and was, until his death recently, one of the pre-eminent (though highly underrated) ghazal singers of India.

The tail end of this post has taken on something of a Deccani hue, as the last performers in this post are also from Hyderabad. They are the grandsons of Aziz Ahmad Khan Warsi and are amongst the most sought after Qawwals currently performing in India. Their style has tinges of their late grandfather and they share his penchant for selecting excellent kalam to perform. Their repertoire includes a number of Jigar Muradabadi ghazals, including this mehfil rendition from 2002. Like their grandfather, they eschew excessive girah-bandi, focusing instead on the rendition of the kalam. Similarly, there isn’t an excess of vocal gymnastics. It’s an excellent rendition of an excellent ghazal, just the way I like it.

When I started writing this post, I didn’t realize that it would turn out to be such a large undertaking. If I’d known from the start, I would’ve balked and let laziness take its course. But now as I glance at the word count and realize that it’s crossed 4000 words, I guess I might as well pull up my socks and complete the darned endeavor. Writing another 4000 words is one thing, inflicting an 8000-word opus on the unsuspecting reader is entirely another. So, I’ve decided to leave the second half of the post (yes, you’ve only reached half) for the second installment, to be published two weeks from now. Till then, happy listening.

...Of The Reluctant Sufi - Asadullah Khan Ghalib

Previous entries in this series :

1. Khwaja Ghulam Fareed (RA)

2. Allama Muhammad Iqbal (RA)

3. Bedam Shah Warsi (RA)

4. Maulana Abdur Rehman Jami (RA)

یہ مسائلِ تصوف ، یہ تیرا بیان غالبؔ

تجھے ہم ولی سمجھتے جو نہ بادہ خوار ہوتا

“Ghalib, you write so well upon these mystic themes of Love Divine,

We would have counted you a saint, were it not for your love of wine.”

Professors Ralph Russell and Khurshid ul Islam narrate from Altaf Hussain Hali’s Yadgar-e-Ghalib (Memoir of Ghalib) that when King Bahadur Shah Zafar heard Ghalib recite the above verse, he commented, “No,my friend, even so we should never have counted you a Saint.” Ghalib retorted, “Your Majesty counts me one even now, and only speaks like this lest my Sainthood should go to my head."

The only surviving photograph of Mirza Asadullah Khan Ghalib

Just as there is no doubting the stature that Mirza Asadullah Khan Ghalib (27 December 1797-15 February 1869) holds in the annals of Urdu and Farsi poetry, there is also no doubting the fact that amongst all the major Urdu poets of the Classical period (barring possibly Khwaja Meer Dard), Ghalib's poetry is arguably the richest wellspring of mystical thought and metaphysical idiom.While this thought is more perfectly elaborated in his Farsi poetry, Ghalib's Urdu verse also displays flashes of preternatural insight and understanding of the mystical aspect of Love. Ghalib's kalaam contains numerous examples of disdain towards organized religion and the trappings of religiosity and self-righteousness, while at the same time utilizing uncanny simile and metaphor to offer glimpses of his deeply held "Wahdat-ul-Wujoodi" beliefs. As an example, one of my favorite Farsi poems of Ghalib's, which would not look out of place in the Divans of Khusrau, Saadi, Hafez or any of the other overtly mystical Farsi poets...

چون عکسِ پُل بہ سیل، بذوقِ بلا برقص

جارا نگاہ داروہم از خود جدا برقص

نبُوَد وفائ عہد، دمی خوش غنیمت است

از شاہداں بنازشِ عہدِ وفا برقص

ذوقی است جستجو چہ زنی دم زِ قطعِ راہ

رفتار گم کن و بَصدائے درا برقص

سر سبز بودہ و بہ چمنہا چمیدہ ایم

اے شعلہ، درگدازِ خس و خاکِ ما برقص

ہم بر نوائے چغد طریقِ سماع گیر

ہم در ہوائے جنبشِ بالِ ہما برقص

در عشق انساط بپایان نمی رسد

چوں گردباد خاک شو و در ہوا برقص

فرسودہ رسمہائے عزیزان فرو گذار

در سور نوحہ خوان و بہ بزمِ عزا برقص

چون خشمِ صالحان و ولاے منافقان

در نفسِ خود مباش ولے برملا برقص

از سوختن الم، زِ شگفتن طرب مَجو

بے ہودہ درکنار سموم و صبا، برقص

غالبؔ بدیں نشاط کہ وابسطہ ای، کہ ای

بر خویشتن ببال و بہ بندِ بلا برقص

The selections of recordings for this post took a long time to assemble, for the simple reason that Ghalib isn't a part of many Qawwals' repertoires. But the few recordings that I have heard, especially by the senior Qawwals of the 20th century, manage to do justice to his kalaam and ensure that whatever this selection lacks in quantity, it more than makes up for in quality.

1. Dil Hi To Hai, Na Sang-o-Khisht - Aziz Ahmed Warsi Qawwal

Aziz Ahmed Khan Warsi traced his lineage to one Muhammad Siddique Khan, a nephew of Tanras Khan and a singer in the court of the last Mughal. He is therefore perfectly suited to singing this lament, considering Ghalib himself was a poet attached to the court of Bahadur Shah Zafar, the last Mughal. Warsi Sb's staccato harmonium and his perfect talaffuz have always enchanted me, especially in his performances of ghazals by the "Asaateza". He sings this ghazal with an effortless ease, opting not to intrude on its simplicity with unnecessary girahs and takraars and letting the verses speak for themselves.

2. Har Ek Baat Pe Kehte Ho Tum Ke Tu Kya Hai - Muhammad Ahmed Warsi Qawwal

Muhammad Ahmed Warsi belongs to Rampur and is probably my favorite Qawwal from India currently performing. He imbues his performances with a subtle languor and restraint, preferring to linger on bol's and notes and letting the kalaam flow at a meandering, mellifluous pace. An almost old-world "Purbi" charm pervades this recording, as Warsi Sb prefaces the ghazal with choice romantic couplets. He shares his semi-namesake Aziz Ahmed Warsi's unique harmonium playing technique, punctuating key phrases in the kalam with short, sharp jabs at the keys, propelling both the melody and the rhythm forward. In a simple, unassuming performance, even the flubs in the girahbandi become endearing, while the short taankari suits the mood of the kalaam perfectly.

3. Dil Se Teri Nigah Jigar Tak Utar Gyi - Rahat Fateh Ali Khan

This recording is taken from a selection of Ghalib's kalam that Rahat Fateh Ali Khan performed on Pakistan Television. The performances were later released commercially and form an interesting album to say the least. I am ambivalent about the performances which, although a commendable effort in terms of presenting Ghalib's kalaam in a newer context, didn't quite provide the kalaam with musical arrangements that suited the mood of the verses. This performance however stands out in my opinion. The melody is beautiful, Rahat employs excellent girah-bandi and his bol-baant is  wonderful. The ghazal is a wonderful amalgam of Ghalib's romantic idiom and his penchant for describing the passage of time and the ravages of age in deceptively simple terms. Rahat is allowed ample opportunity for takraars and his by now trademark frenetic sargams, occasionally providing echoes of his late Uncle. This is a refreshing, lively performance that reminds listeners that underneath Rahat's pop-heavy Bollywood performances hides an excellent Qawwal capable of crafting superb performances.

4. Mazze Jahan Ke Apni Nazar Main Khaak Nahi - Bakhshi Salamat Qawwal & Party

I shall not endeavor to describe this recording, suffice to say that it is one of the most perfect Qawwali performances I have ever heard or ever expect to hear and holds a very very special place in my heart.

5. Jahan Tera Naqshe Qadam Dekhte Hain - Ustad Fateh Ali - Mubarak Ali Qawwal

Segueing from Rahat to his grandfather and grand-uncles, and from Bakhshi Salamat Qawwal to their Ustads, the next selection is from Ustad Fateh Ali Khan - Mubarak Ali Khan Qawwal's triumphant 1958 public performance in Bombay (Mumbai). The entire performance is phenomenal, but this short performance of Ghalib's wonderful ghazal is wonderful in itself. Fateh Ali Khan's voice is imbued with a unique electricity and elasticity and he declaims the kalaam rather than singing it. Salamat Ali Khan's harmonium takes centre stage, Mubarak Ali Khan's taans are short but crisp and the takraars are lively and energetic. The recording is slightly high-pitched, probably owing to an incorrect transfer from tape-reels, and this recording error lends a wonderful punch to the performance. The last minute-and-a-half is especially brilliant as the Ustads build a takraar on the final verse of the ghazal and then embellish the takraar as only they could.

6. Dehr Main Naqshe Vafaa, Waj'he Tasalli Na Hua - Manzoor Ahmed Niazi Qawwal Aur Hamnavaa

Zaheer Alam Kidvai Sb has been quietly unveiling an absolute audiovisual treasure over the last three years. Comprising of recordings from his personal archive, these releases - under his Ragni Recordings label - are phenomenal to say the least, comprising poetry and prose, ghazal, folk, classical and Qawwali of the highest order. In this recording that Kidvai Sb has kindly allowed me to post, the original "Barri" Manzoor Ahmed Niazi Qawwal party - Munshi Raziuddin Ahmed, Manzoor Ahmed Niazi, Bahauddin Khan and Iftekhar Ahmed Nizami - sing one of Ghalib's lesser known Urdu ghazals. As is obvious from the start, only Delhi-walas can properly do justice to Ghalib's Dehlavi Urdu. Each member of this amazing Qawwal party lends his own unique richness to the performance. Munshi Raziuddin's wonderful delivery - complete with his emotive "hae- hae" compliments the kalaam's innate sense of plaintive sorrow, with Manzoor Ahmed Niazi's unique voice perfectly conveying the poet's resignation and surrender. The taankaari is provided by Iftekhar Ahmed Nizami and Bahauddin Khan, with a couple of young voices - probably belonging to the current leaders of the Qawwal Bacchay troupes - in the chorus. This is a ghazal with a unique rhyme scheme, with the 'radeef' rhyming in the written text but alternating between the sounds of the " ی " and the " یٰ " when sung. The Qawwals take this rhythmic incongruity in stride, effortlessly disguising the changes in the radeef. As with the Fateh Ali- Mubarak Ali piece, the delivery of the last verse - the 'maqta' - of this ghazal is wonderful, with Munshi Raziuddin turning the first words of the verse into an almost strangled last gasp. Beautiful !

...Of Sunlit Perfection

Stephen Fry once wrote about the works of PG Wodehouse, "You don't analyze such sunlit perfection, you bask in it". Well I'm going to break one of Fry's rules here. The reason is simple; when you've found something absolutely perfect and you want to share it, you can't just simply thrust it on the unsuspecting public without a bit of an introduction. Also, it's been months since I've written anything and I need an excuse to write.

Ever since Mehdi Hassan Sb passed away a couple of months ago, I've renewed my interest in his music. Sadly, this is not the first time someone's death has brought about a rediscovery of their work ; the same happened after the deaths of Johnny Cash, Ustad Vilayat Khan, Ustad Bismillah Khan and many others. What I was especially interested in this time around were some of the earlier recordings of Khan Sahib's; from the '50s onto the end of the '70s, when his voice hadn't mellowed down and he was capable of startlingly beautiful feats of vocal dexterity that were gradually replaced with astounding vocal control and wonderful emotiveness as the years wore on.  The recording that had sparked my interest in Khan Sb's recordings from the earlier part of his career was Nasir Kazmi's "Woh Dilnawaz Hain Lekin Nazar Shanaas Nahi", which was released by EMI sometime in the late '70s. I would've loved to share a link etc but the wonderful YouTube ban prevents me. Suffice to say it was wonderful, and the effect of Khan Sb's crisp voice accompanied by a wonderful orchestra comprising of Eastern and Western instruments was oddly hypnotic.

After Khan Sb's death, I began looking for these recordings in earnest; another reason being my woefully deficient collection of Khan Sb's recordings, which numbered in barely a dozen albums of varying quality. Thankfully I knew where to look , and soon I had a healthy number of recordings, which I began listening to non-stop; the result being thatI signicantly increased the numberof my favorite Mehdi Hassan ghazals. One recording however, instantly stuck out, and deserves a mention in my Instant Infatuations post . This one recording is probably the most perfect example of Khan Sb's brilliant '70s voice, and comes as close to perfection as I can imagine. - Note that I'm again using hyperbole here, a rather stubborn habit.

Sounding almost like Talat Mehmood, surrounded by an orchestra of singing trombones, a simple cascading sitar and a recurrent tap on the triangle, Khan Sb sings Jigar Muradabadi's famous ghazal "Kaam Aakhir Jazba-e- Be Ikhtiyar Aa Hi Gaya" imbueing each syllable with tons of feeling, wonderfully modulating his voice through the rather complicated melody. There are dozens of small flourishes that immediately catch your ear, tiny brushstrokes that a lesser singer might not have contemplated, let alone attempted.

Highlights for me are the beautiful - and unusual for Khan Sb - high note on the fourth syllable 'be-ikh-ti-yaar", that wonderfully elucidates the poet's -and the singer's - state of "be ikhtiyari". The breath control and the timing of each breath is matchless, providing both mellifluousness as well as demonstrating his wonderful mastery over 'bol-baant'. He devotes an entire breath to the word "tarrpa" in the first verse, using a slight vibrato that seems pregnant with 'tarap' . Then there's the wonderful cascade of descending notes at the end of each verse. Khan Sb's attention to 'talaffuz' and adayegi is demonstrated by his insistence on clearly enunciating the hard 'q' sound at the end of the high note on the phrase "me'raaj-e-shauq". There's dozens of other similar touches in this short but wonderful performance that highlight Khan Sb's stature as the preeminent ghazal singer of the last century.


Mehdi Hassan - Kaam AKhir Jazba-e-Be Ikhtiyar Aa Hi Gaya - Jigar Muradabadi

And in case anyone thinks Khan Sb's latter years were anything short of wonderful, here's another example of that same sunlit perfection in a selection from the amazing 1990 concert at the Royal Academy of Music, at which Khan Sb shared the stage with Ustad Sultan Khan on Sarangi and Ustad Shaukat Hussain Khan on Tabla. Khan Sb presents a ghazal of Sufi Tabassum's to the traditional 'tarz' of Heer Waris Shah, to delightful results.

Mehdi Hassan - Ghazal Ba-Tarze-Heer, Raag Bhairvi