Just as most people can recall only a handful of Nobel laureates’ names, the same is true for Indian classical musicians: Ravi Shankar, M.S. Subbulakshmi, L. Subramaniam, and perhaps a few more, depending on your musical preferences. Yet, for many, their music remains a niche treasure, its depth and richness not fully appreciated by the broader world. But one name transcended this barrier—Ustad Zakir Hussain. A supremely gifted, charismatic, and articulate percussionist, he redefined the tabla, elevating it from an accompanying role in classical concerts to a powerful solo instrument. More than that, he made the tabla the very heart of a concert, driving its rhythm and shaping its aesthetic with unmatched mastery.
At 73, after nearly six decades of an extraordinary love affair with the tabla and the world, Zakir Hussain has left us. We use phrases like “an era ends” and words like “trailblazer” loosely, but in Zakir’s case, these words mean something profound. His unparalleled mastery of the tabla, his ability to transcend musical boundaries, as seen in his collaborations with jazz legends like John McLaughlin and global fusion ensembles like Shakti, and his role in bringing Indian classical music to global prominence make these descriptors truly fitting. In his passing, we have lost a certain magical—perhaps irredeemable—quality of music brought to life by his nimble fingers, which danced with astounding speed, rhythm, harmony, and grace over the tabla’s surface. We have lost a man full of vitality and effervescent genius (he performed a series of Shakti concerts non-stop for two months earlier this year). His kindness of heart embraced all, and his vision of music transcended categories while retaining the purity of the classical tradition that tied him to the soil of India. That was, and is, Ustad Zakir Hussain’s life and legacy.
In 2021, nearly a year into the pandemic, Spotify released an album with an intriguing title: The Bear’s Sonic Journals: That Which Colors the Mind. It is a beautiful and fitting title for a musical album deeply rooted in the Indian classical tradition. In the Natya Shastra, the foundational Indian text for the arts, a Raga is defined in Sanskrit as: ‘Rangati iti raga,’ meaning ‘that which colors the mind.’ Hence the album’s evocative title. This album features Ustad Ali Akbar Khan, Indranil Bhattacharya, and Zakir Hussain. The cover notes revealed that this was a live recording from May 29, 1970. The venue was intriguing, too: the concert was performed at The Family Dog, a legendary hub for countercultural gatherings and groundbreaking performances in San Francisco, an eclectic and transformative setting for Indian classical music to resonate with a diverse audience. The album had two tracks: Raga Zila Kafi and Raga Sindhu Bhairavi. Around that time, my musical interests had turned classical, and on the same night the album showed up on Spotify, I listened to the tracks on my Sonos speakers. It was breathtaking. It was recorded to perfection by Owsley Stanley, known to friends as ‘The Bear,’ who took it upon himself to capture in high fidelity some of the most iconic performers of that period. The significance of “That Which Colors the Mind” is that it is one of the earliest live recordings of Zakir Hussain, a peek into the art of an artist whose work would transform how music is experienced.
Zakir was born on March 9, 1951, and he must have been around nineteen years old during that performance. Zakir had landed in the US just a few months before this iconic concert. In an interview with NPR in 2021, Zakir confessed that at that time ( in 1970), he was still unsure of his bearings in America. He had difficulties adjusting to the musical lexicon prevalent in the hippie culture of the late sixties. Terms like “groovy” and “far-out” were meaningless to him. Understandable. Zakir had been trained by his legendary father, Ustad Alla Rakha, in the demanding tradition of Indian music, and he had watched and played along with his father for knowledgeable audiences who would applaud and react to the rhythms and transitions of the tabla. He would soon learn that Western audiences were different. This Family dog concert with Ustad Ali Akbar marked Zakir’s first full-fledged Indian classical performance in the West. It would be his first taste of how Western audiences would respond to his music.
The cultural scene in San Francisco during the late 1960s and 1970s was dynamic and transformative, marked by its deep involvement in the countercultural movement, groundbreaking artistic endeavors, and significant political activism. Substances like LSD were prevalent, and music often served as a means of exploring altered states of consciousness and escaping the mundane realities of life. Bands like the Grateful Dead, Jefferson Airplane, and Janis Joplin performed in iconic venues such as the Fillmore Auditorium. There was a kind of adrenaline-filled madness about that time. Psychedelic rock and art openly flourished, and mind-altering substances like LSD were common with everyone, including intellectual and religious gurus. It was in this atmosphere that Zakir had to make his mark.
Before the Indian musical trio got up on stage at The Family Dog, the Grateful Dead had just performed. The atmosphere was electric and reverberated with the heat and energy of their rock music. It was late evening when Ustad Ali Akbar Khan started playing the Alaap of Kafi, an evening raga. As the alaap drew to a close, young Zakir chimed in. From there on, the joint magic unfolds. Even today, when listening to the recorded version, you are sure to be transported to another place by the sheer purity of the notes from the strings of Ali Akbar Khan and the rhythm-perfect accompaniment of young Zakir, adding color and dynamism to the blossoming raga. This performance was the first among thousands that Zakir Hussain would deliver over the next five decades, collaborating with artists from all walks of life.
Zakir Hussain would find himself as the torchbearer of a musical revolution that would sweep the world: fusion music – the harmonious blending of jazz, rock, pop, and classical. Those who collaborated with Zakir once never left him. His artistry and flamboyance were contagious. After that performance at The Family Dog, Zakir realized that Indian classical music could thrive in the West in its purest form. Pandit Ravi Shankar and Ali Akbar Khan had already set the precedent. What mattered was how Zakir wished to present his musical legacy to the world. His collaboration with several renowned Western musicians demonstrated his intent. To him, music was universal, and authentic partnerships in music occur when musicians view it as a shared universal language, each bringing their unique cultural nuances to enrich the conversation. There was no distinction between Western or Eastern music— it was just music, a balm to the soul, a healing and elevating amalgam of sounds and rhythms transcending all boundaries. His tremendous respect for Indian classical music fused and blended with Western forms without ever having to sacrifice the rigor of tradition or the austerity of technique.
“Wah Taj!”, “Wah Ustad” – that iconic Brook Bond Tea advertisement will remain an indelible cultural artifact in our lives. I read somewhere that Zakir was not the first choice for the Advertisement. Brooke Bond was considering Zeenat Aman as their brand ambassador. When Hindustan Thompson Associates (HTA) was roped in to spearhead the advertising campaigns for a global market, KS Chakravarthy, then a copywriter at HTA, suggested Zakir’s name because he loved the tabla. The dedication of Zakir Hussain resonated well with the Brook Bond brand, which prided itself on rigorously testing numerous varieties of tea leaves to find the perfect blend and aroma to suit an international audience. When the deal was signed, Zakir was so excited that he flew down to Agra at his own cost to make the ad. For Indians who had access to television in the nineties, that energetic face of Zakir, with his wavy hair dancing to the tune of his fingers, pausing after having drummed out a complex musical phrase to sip a cup of tea with satisfaction and to say “Wah Taj Boliye!” is simply unforgettable. When I close my eyes, I can see his face in my mind’s eye, lifting the teacup to his lips.
The world of music has lost one of its finest practitioners. A rare human being who combined a deep love for the world and an even deeper love for music. Though America was his home for more than five decades, Until the very end, Zakir remained quintessentially Indian. In his hands, the tabla sang its song, often more melodious and elevating than the music it accompanied. It isn’t easy to imagine anyone else to take his place. I remember when Ghazal singer Hariharan’s album “Hazir” with Zakir Hussain came out in 1992; I found it difficult to focus on the smooth voice of Hariharan; my attention was involuntarily pulled towards the cadence of the tabla. Where any other musician would have been happy to unobtrusively support the vibrant vocals of Hariharan gently, Zakir played and toyed with the song and filled the interludes with mesmerizing rhythms that often outclassed the outstanding richness of Hariharan’s voice. Such was Zakir’s genius.
We will miss him.