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Tamil Blues
Text by Sona Bahadur
Published: Volume 16, Issue 3, March, 2008
She’s been around the world in four albums. Transporting South Indian ragas from their classical setting by reworking them with blues, rock, reggae and pop, Susheela Raman is among the most audacious musicians around. Sona Bahadur catches up with the gypsy woman at Mumbai’s picturesque Khotachi Wadi

The blues hold a million happy possibilities. The thought strikes me as I’m chatting with Susheela Raman. The musician is describing her current interest in ancient Tamil bhakti poetry and folk music. “I like to go deeper into the origins of music. It’s more of a personal search. I’ve been singing a lot of Carnatic, and now I’m into bhakti. It’s this very earthy and folksy genre. I think of it as Tamil blues.” The search is sure to result in more of the wonderful fusion of South Indian and global music she is known for. Definitely a happy prospect.

We’re sitting in close friend, designer James Ferrera’s Goan-style home in Mumbai’s quaint heritage pocket of Khotachi Wadi. The London-based singer is visiting India with her partner, guitarist Sam Mills. It’s her annual three-monthly trip to the homeland to spend time with her parents in Chennai and escape the English winter. She’s been there, done that. Gigs in Tamil Nadu — including a concert with Kamal Haasan’s daughter Shruti Haasan — followed by performances at the Jaipur Literary Festival, Live-Alive in Delhi and The Blue Frog in Mumbai.
She’s also releasing her most recent offering 33/3 in India. Recorded in 2006, the album has Susheela revisiting rock artists like Lou Reed, Bob Dylan, John Lennon, Jimi Hendrix and Joy Division and making them entirely her own by infusing them with distinct Indian and African flavours. When I ask her how she thought of such an unusual marriage of traditions, she simply says, “It’s just me celebrating artistes I love and listen to.”

Susheela’s music is at once mystical and sexy, working powerfully at an emotional level. A hedonist for new sounds, she’s constantly pushing the frontiers of fusion. When you hear Carnatic with a bluesy treatment or a Lou Reed classic sounding like it originated from Chennai or the Mississippi Delta, you’re in Susheela Country. Rendering a Tamil Tevaram and a Captain Beefheart song with equal élan, the maverick sings in Tamil, English and occasionally French. She’s also a consummate song writer.
This immensely talented 35-year-old London-born, Australian-raised Tamilian knows a thing or two about living between cultures and taps into her diversity to create her unique blend of music. Trained in South Indian classical, she began exploring blues-based music as a teenager and felt a strong desire to bring the two traditions together. Her collaboration with Sam Mills enabled her to discover new, exciting ways to adapt Carnatic songs, especially the works of 18th century masters Tyagaraja and Dikshitar. Salt Rain, her debut album, brought together a formidable cast of musical talent from all over the world — Guineau Bissau, Cameroon, India, Romania, France, Greece, Egypt, Kenya, America and Spain. It won a Mercury Prize nomination and was followed by the sensuous Love Trap and Music for Crocodiles.

Though she finds the Indian fusion music scenario interesting and abundant in talent, Susheela feels musicians here could do with an external point of view. “I don’t think it’s of international standard yet. There are a lot of really great people about. But we need better production and more insight into the origins of European music. Recently, I met this rock band from Bangalore. After talking to them, I found their references quite superficial. The philosophy of rock goes much deeper than popular music.
Love, search for identity and spirituality are recurring themes in Susheela’s music. Many of her songs revolve around women. Salt Rain, inspired by Annie Lennox’s Why, tells the story of a young village woman tormented by a scandal; Kamakshi, a south Indian song, rendered in a West African blues sound, is an ode to the divine enchantress; and Woman invokes the Goddess Kali. Wary of being labelled a feminist — “It’s a strange word,” Susheela prefers to describe herself as pro-women. “I think we women deny ourselves self-expression. Ancient philosophy is all about connecting with the feminine aspect of Shakti. We need to tap into that resource more often. In doing so, we can be freer and more liberated as women. Music has enabled me to do that.”

The multiculturalism of her music spills into her life. She religiously practices the Chinese martial art Baghuazhang and loves to travel. An avid art and film buff, her music has been featured on the soundtracks of Mira Nair’s The Namesake and Lord of the Rings. She’s now keen to make her acting debut with a film that’s provocative. Dancer in the Dark, starring Bjork that won the Icelandic singer a Best Actress at Cannes impressed Susheela greatly. She tells me she’s doing a forthcoming film by the same producer. “I’ll act in it and also do the music. Like Bjork, I want to really put myself into the role. The music will give it another level of depth.”

Clad in a form-hugging black Lycra top and trousers, her rich chocolate skin tone gleaming against abundant Afro curls, Susheela looks every bit the uber cool world musician she is. Alternative music goes with alternative personal style. The singer swears by Delhi-based designer Anjana Das Bhaskar’s label Sharira. “Anjana does all my stage gear. She used to work with designer Jean-Francois Lesage in Chennai and does exquisite embroidery. She knows I’m into martial arts and does these amazing black coats with Samurai symbols that I wear on stage.”

I catch a glimpse of the singer’s famous high-energy performances at the Verve photo-session that follows this interview. We decide to shoot outside on a tiny winding Khotachi Wadi lane that recalls Seville or Cordoba. Spoiled for backdrop choice amid the myriad brightly painted Portuguese bungalows, we finally settle for a red and white villa at the end of the street. Sensing she’s not one for pretty poses, the photographer urges Susheela to “just do her own thing”. Before long, the singer transforms into a chanting mystic, lost in a state of emotional ecstasy. She jumps and whirls in shaman steps, swirling her red Naga tribal shawl wildly. Locals mill around and stare. It’s not every day that they see a woman in a trance.
Walking back to James’ villa, I ask Susheela whether a tireless experimenter like herself aspires to a musical ultimate. “It’s an ongoing journey. But you need to take the plunge. That’s what’s interesting in modern art and contemporary music — it’s a reconciliation of your self with your different realities.”

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