Earlier this month, in the wee small hours of the morning, a 1983 YouTube clip of Nusrat Fateh Ali Khan entranced me.
The late Pakistani singer, along with his “party,” a backing group of singers, percussionists and harmonium players, performed “Yeh Jo Halka Halka Saroor Hai” during the course of the 68-minute video. The song is Qawwali, a devotional music for Sufism, a branch of Islam.
I was struck by Khan’s voice and the impressive ability of the party to swirl such bewitching rhythms out of harmonium, light percussion and hand claps that kept me fixated.
Processing the viewing the next day, I thought of a conversation a few years ago with Tim, a friend who leads religious-based youth groups. A fan of Christian rap who talked about Lecrae long before he found a mainstream audience, Tim told me he encouraged the children in the group to rid themselves of any music that didn't do right by God.
As a passionate music appreciator of a variety of genres, limiting oneself in this way didn't sit well with me. Part of the joy of music is hearing the spectrum of expression and variety of sounds.
But Tim's words stuck with me. They made me think about the musical food on which I dine, especially if I aim to be a more peaceful, compassionate person.
For example, I wonder how consuming hours of death metal has shaped me. According to a recent study published by Frontiers in Human Neuroscience, "the findings indicate that extreme music did not make angry participants angrier; rather, it appeared to match their physiological arousal and result in an increase in positive emotions. Listening to extreme music may represent a healthy way of processing anger for these listeners."
So metal may be good for us. At the least, it suggests that listening to everything from the pop stylings of Taylor Swift to the tortured death metal screech of Burzum to Khan's music can be therapeutic. It also helps explain how I became transfixed by a video in a language I don't understand.
Khan is considered the most well-known Qawwali in more than 700 years of tradition, mostly for his powerful voice, which allowed him to reach outside of Pakistan and find audiences in the Western world.
Sung in Urdu, according to the translation I found, “Yeh Jo Halka” plays on the metaphor of intoxication, with wine standing in for an unqualified affection for a higher power. I don’t understand Khan’s words literally, but there’s something romantic about the notion that he’s so filled with spirit or so powered by his devotion that it coaxes that voice out of him. Musicians get into their craft for a lot of reasons, but only some of them see their purpose as a higher calling.
I think music comes from a spiritual place in all of us, which is why I’ve made this sort of zig-zag connection between the religious music of Khan and wondering about how music affects our spirits.
I think balance is key, but so is purpose. It's about what we get out of music and why we put it in us. So if I listen to Khan in order to expose myself to new sounds, new cultures and new experiences, that can’t be a bad starting point.
That puts me on the path toward increased understanding and compassion.
And that's not a bad thing for any of us.