Orchestral Qawwali Project & Support

Glasgow Royal Concert Hall, 17 January 2025

 Orchestral Qawwali Project & Support, Melvin Tay, conductor, Greg Lawson, violin, Rushil Ranjan, composer and piano, Abi Sampa, vocalist

The Orchestral Qawwali Project is the child of a generation of musicians raised with global access to multiple traditions, in this case the Indian Carnatic tradition and the Western classical/orchestral one. In this cinematic and passionate set of scores, composer Rushil Ranjan (on piano) and vocalist Abi Sampa command the attention of all in the Main Auditorium. Greg Lawson, on violin, was leading with orchestral passion while Melvin Tay was conducting. Audience members as well as the orchestral musicians themselves were so enthralled they could be seen dancing in their seats. Quite an impressive feat for classical musicians trained to keep still!

The seven-piece Qawwali part of the Project was a collection of artists, each a soloist in their own right. Comprised of Sampa, four backing singers, a tabla player, and Ranjan - they were sat on a raised platform to the front and left of the orchestra (bar Ranjan, who was at the piano). At first, they seem to be set apart visually and culturally, but Ranjan’s impressive scores integrate these artists seamlessly as additional instruments. Voices, percussive clapping, tabla, piano, guitar, all are merged with the traditional Western ensemble with voluminous effect such that their addition creates a delicious, integrated overflow of sound.

As part of a generation often referred to as ‘digital natives’, Ranjan’s ability to access and keep alive multiple cultural connections in real time is evident in the distinctly new quality of composition. Unlike “World Music” of a generation past, The Orchestral Qawwali Project is not a patchwork or collaboration between musicians so much as it is an expression of the internalised multiplicity of traditions held within Ranjan and Sampa themselves. As such Ranjan’s compositions are remarkable for creating a contemporary orchestra that might be best described as a Carnactic Orchestra - along with traditional Western instruments expected, the Qawwali part of the Project is written directly into the score as seamlessly as the violins, or flutes, or timpanis.

The concert opened with a haunting cello solo by Alice Allen as stunning stage lighting threw pools of gold reflected on the stage floor and orange bars of light illuminated the orchestra. When vocalist Abi Sampa began, it is as if sound arises for the first time from nothing. Her alto voice carries strength, authority, almost directive in quality. She is a woman with something to say, something to explain plainly to her audience, and she does it with flawless confidence. The first song alone saw the full auditorium hollering and clapping with abandon, and this high intensity performance and response continued for the entire concert.

While Sampa’s commanding presence was visually evocative of the Carnatic Indian classical tradition, just as piercing was the five other artists’ ability to keep extremely precise percussive rhythm with their hands throughout the entirety of the performance. This was a two-fold reminder: one of how much traditional Western culture has forgotten the arts, and how children have been deprived of key human and neurological skills of rhythm keeping. And two, reminding one that South India is indeed home to konnakol (a very sophisticated percussive tradition), so it is little wonder that the Qawwali artists keep simple 4/4 time with ease.

Portions of the concert were clearly spiritual invocations. Yes, there was the obvious sung mantra (‘Bardo Krishnaya’, which was delicate and resounding), but in other times as well Sampa’s upraised arms and rhythmic hand flicks seemed as if she were calling something greater into being.

 The fifth song was, to me, the most striking of a string of striking compositions - written to express and to somehow comprehend the difficulties of the world today it borrowed its lyrics from the work of Sir Muhammad Iqbal. Half-way through this piece (and the concert), watching Sampa in her distinctive red gown, one feels by now that red is itself part of the orchestra. That in fact, this voice could emerge from no other colour. So that one comes to understand - either consciously or not - that the Qawwali Project harnesses symbolism in a multiplicity of ways to communicate. From symbolic sound, to symbolic word, to symbolic gesture, to symbolic colour. The flute is crying in this piece, the harp echoes emptiness. Sampa becomes Red itself and her body speaks of lamentation. It’s a sophisticated and beautiful experience.

 At the end of the concert, Ranjan revealed that the orchestra had only practiced together with the Qawwali Project for the first time that day. A shock to the audience, but the fresh joy of playing together is possibly what made the concert extra special - tapping feet, dancing, and wiggling in their seats the musicians were still full of visceral joy at working together to manifest Ranjan’s cinematic compositions.

Photo credit: Nadir Khan