How Charanjit Singh reimagined Indian classical music for the electronic age

Em 1982, o compositor indiano Charanjit Singh, com “Synthesizing: Ten Ragas to a Disco Beat”, tornou-se um dos primeiros álbuns a explorar o potencial do Roland TB‑303, o sintetizador de baixo que mais tarde se tornaria sinônimo de acid house.

Ignorado no lançamento, o disco permaneceu adormecido por décadas antes de uma descoberta fortuita desencadear um renascimento improvável, transformando Singh em uma figura cult e levando-o a clubes e festivais ao redor do mundo durante os últimos anos de sua vida.

Após uma reedição recente pela Light In The Attic, Tara Joshi explora a fascinante história e a surpreendente segunda vida desta obra pioneira da música eletrônica indiana.

É uma das poucas perguntas que podem surgir ao considerar a vida e o trabalho de Charanjit Singh, o falecido compositor que, no início dos anos 1980, desviou-se de seu trabalho diário em Bollywood para explorar as novas fronteiras da tecnologia de música eletrônica.

Reimaginando ragas clássicos indianos com tambores technoid, linhas de baixo estridentes e arpejos cósmicos, a história do disco é surreal – uma jornada de décadas que nos leva desde a era dourada das trilhas sonoras de filmes Hindi até a viralidade da era da Internet, atribuições questionáveis e discurso nas redes sociais, tudo por meio da música clássica do Norte da Índia.

Após uma recente reedição pela Light in the Attic, que viu o LP de 10 faixas remasterizado com novas notas de capa, parece um empreendimento valioso explorar a improvável evolução desta obra cult e retratar os passos do pioneiro da música eletrônica acidental por trás dela.

Nascido em 1940, em uma família de fabricantes de instrumentos com uma loja em Mumbai, o futuro de Charanjit Singh na música era, em muitos aspectos, predestinado.

Desde o início dos anos 60, ele trabalhou de forma prolífica como músico de sessão em Bollywood e líder de banda de casamentos.

Seus experimentos eletrônicos começaram na verdade uma década antes do lançamento de “Ten Ragas”. Através de seu trabalho com os diretores de música que definiram a era R.

D. e S. D. Burman, ele se tornou um dos primeiros a adotar o Farfisa Transicord, adicionando suas texturas distintas a composições icônicas como “Dum Maro Dum” e “Mehbooba Mehbooba”.

Ele também foi, como já se observou, um dos primeiros a tocar a guitarra baixo elétrica no Bollywood.

A indústria cinematográfica indiana ofereceu uma tela ampla para Singh e seus colegas não apenas experimentarem esses instrumentos, mas popularizá‑los, com a participação de Kersi Lord, que simultaneamente incorporou o sintetizador Moog em filmes assistidos por grandes parcelas da população.

Ele capturou a imaginação de centenas de milhões de pessoas por meio de uma rede de cinemas físicos em um país enorme.

These innovations continued to evolve and expand throughout the ‘70s and into the ‘80s, with electronic instruments becoming increasingly embedded in Hindi cinema.

In 1981, Singh released his first synth-based album, performing renditions of songs from the romantic musical drama, Silsila. “For the next ten years in India, you had an entire audience subjected to the most whacked-out analogue synth sounds,” says Ghose.

At the same time, while disco was in the process of being “demolished” in the United States by 1979, amongst South Asians the sound was flourishing. In the diaspora, 1982 saw the release of Rupa’s ‘Disco Jazz’ and Mohinder Kaur Bhamra’s ‘Punjabi Disco’.

The year before, Indian-British producer Biddu – known for Carl Douglas’ ‘Kung-Fu Fighting’ – found success with ‘Disco Deewane’, a collaboration with Pakistani singer Nazia Hassan and her brother Zoheb.

Meanwhile, back in India, Bappi Lahiri was creating bombastically orchestral filmi-disco soundtracks such as ‘Disco Dancer’, which Singh is believed to have had an uncredited session role in.

Tudo isso preparou o cenário para “Ten Ragas”. Singh contou ao The Guardian em 2011: “Havia muita música disco nos filmes em 1982, então pensei: por que não fazer algo diferente usando apenas música disco.” Ainda assim, embora o disco fosse, sem dúvida, um reflexo de sua época, o produto final soava como nada mais.

Today, hearing Indian classical music reimagined or mixed with electronic instruments is hardly novel. From Talvin Singh’s tabla-drenched D&B and trip-hop, to contemporary releases from Four Tet, Arushi Jain, Baalti, ENAYET and many others, the sounds of the so-called “South Asian Underground” have taken many forms over the past three decades.

Em 1982, no entanto, o uso de Charanjit Singh da mais recente tecnologia eletrônica da Roland – o TB-303, uma máquina de bateria TR-808 e o teclado Jupiter-8 – para criar versões “disco” de ragas, foi totalmente sem precedentes.

Singh had always been a gear head. Touring internationally provided access to shops selling the latest tech, and it was on a trip to Singapore that he found the newly-released TB-303.

Self-taught through user manuals, Singh was among the first musicians to fully grasp the possibilities of the synth’s programming.

Recorded over a few days at HMV Studios in Mumbai, Singh clearly found joy in experimenting with the various functions of his instruments in real time. ‘Megh Malhar’, a monsoon raga, gains caustic thunderstorm textures; cheeping bird-like sounds open up ‘Todi’, a pensive morning raga, before the beat begins to oscillate.

Como William Rauscher apontou em 2010: “A palavra ‘disco’ no título é um completo equívoco – simplesmente não existia um gênero chamado techno ou house que pudesse ser invocado”.

Writing earlier this year for Pitchfork, Vrinda Jagota noted: “‘Ten Ragas’ is the sound of an artist inventing a world for himself, a process that will be compelling to anyone who has wondered how far they can stretch the elements of their reality and still find their way home.”.

Singh himself put it a little more simply. “I got an idea to play all the Indian ragas and give the beat a disco beat – and turn off the tabla,” he told The Guardian.

Essa humildade direta era algo como um cartão de visita para Singh. Johanz Westerman, que re-masterizou “Ten Ragas” para uma reedição de 2010 e fez turnê com Singh nos anos seguintes, lembra dele como uma presença descontraída, embora alguém que sabia como se soltar.

Despite all of this, ‘Ten Ragas’ was a commercial flop on release. In a 2010 interview with Ghose, Singh recalled how the label had failed to promote the record and, proving too hard to place, its sole radio airplay was as interval music between programming.

While the coming years would see other Bollywood producers like Lahiri regularly incorporating the 303 into their work, Singh himself was, by this point, growing increasingly jaded with the film industry.

Eventualmente, ele e sua esposa passaram a se apresentar em turnê, e ‘Ten Ragas’ praticamente desapareceu.

That was until 2002, when the Dutch record collector, DJ and researcher Edo Bouman came across ‘Ten Ragas’ while cratedigging in Delhi. Curious, he bought the record and was immediately “blown away”.

He immediately attempted to track down Singh, eventually meeting him in Mumbai. Eight years later, in 2010, Bouman’s Bombay Connection label reissued it and, slowly but surely, ‘Ten Ragas’ reached the audience it had long deserved, wowing listeners around the world, stunned by how this obscure 30-plus year-old record could sound so ahead of its time.

Com a atenção renovada, contudo, veio o risco de caracterização equivocada. Enquanto alguns assumiam que “Ten Ragas” era uma espécie de golpe fictício de um produtor de música eletrônica contemporâneo, outros começaram a rotular Singh como o de fato “pai do acid house”, o gênero criado em meados da década de 1980 em Chicago por artistas negros como Sleezy D e DJ Pierre.

Ghose understands how this notion might seem “sexy” to those being introduced to Singh’s music for the first time, but is dubious of how such attributions risk “more erasure of Black music and histories and cultures”.

It’s proved a buzzy talking point, appearing again and again across social media, where revisionist attempts to conflate these two distinct musical pillars have only served to steer conversations off course, distorting the singular innovations behind both acid house and ‘Ten Ragas’.

While Bombay Connection was initially quite happy to run with the idea of Singh accidentally “inventing” acid house, Westerman admits that the claim was never intended to be taken all that seriously.

He points to other contemporaneous artists who were utilising the TR-303 around that time, like Alexander Robotnick in Italy, as indicative of simultaneous global experimentation, with people in totally separate places all somehow working towards similar ends with similar technology.

Singh mesmo ficou desconcertado com a comparação. Quando o jornalista Stuart Aitken tocou para ele o pioneiro ‘Acid Trax’ da Phuture durante a entrevista de 2011 no Guardian, ele não percebeu nenhuma semelhança entre essa faixa e sua própria obra.

It was Ghose who helped steer Singh’s route back into live performance around this time. He first heard of him through a friend, the writer, DJ and producer Samrat B who, in 2010, was in the process of publishing Hub, an anthology tracing the history of electronic music in India.

Ghose, then an Economics and Anthropology PhD student flirting with filmmaking, was in Delhi doing field research when B played him ‘Ten Ragas’.

A couple weeks later, Ghose and B were in Mumbai for a music conference and, having acquired Singh’s phone number and wanting to get him a copy of Hub, arranged a meeting the following day.

O encontro formaria o material para a entrevista de Ghose em 2010. “Comecei a gravar a câmera quando eu e Samrat entramos no autorickshaw,” lembra Ghose, “Eu não parei de verdade, apenas continuei a câmera durante todo o processo, e foi a primeira vez que o encontrei.”.

On the 16-hour train journey back to Delhi, he cut the film, and found himself increasingly engrossed in Singh’s story. “Okay, wait a second, this is crazy, this is fascinating, this is some fairytale.

Ghose befriended Singh, and began envisaging filming him performing the record live to audiences for the first time. To make this happen, someone would need to book shows.

Aprendendo enquanto avançava, Ghose tornou-se o gerente de turnê de Singh, trabalhando com Bouman para garantir seus primeiros shows na Europa em torno da reedição de “Ten Ragas”.

Eles entraram em contato com Westerman, que forneceu um 808, 303 e Jupiter‑8, produziu o show ao vivo e se apresentou no palco ao lado de Singh.

The three of them – Ghose, Westerman and Singh – drove around in Westerman’s Volvo, accompanied by Singh’s wife, Suparna. She would sit at the side of the stage during each performance, always in Singh’s line of sight, watching with curiosity as audiences whooped and cheered for her husband’s improvisatory electronic ragas, played at clubs and festivals across Europe, the UK and US.

From Berghain in Berlin, La Cheetah in Glasgow and Shacklewell Arms in London to Nuits Sonores in Lyon and Lowlands festival in The Netherlands, the reaction was always the same – pure rapture.

Westerman agrees. “He loved it! It was his big renaissance,” he recalls. “He finally got recognition for his most personal album, and he loved to play for people.

Às vezes ele esquecia de jogar e apenas conversava com a plateia à frente, gritando coisas para eles.

In December 2013, they played a legendary closing set at Magnetic Fields, one of India’s largest electronic music festivals. Though he would have been too humble to admit it, watching the crowds there, as at every venue he had played, must have felt vindicating for Singh.

Although it had taken several decades to find its audience, it was clear he had been onto something special with his once forgotten ‘Ten Ragas’.

Infelizmente, pouco depois desses shows, Suparna adoeceu, falecendo no início de 2015. Singh deteriorou-se rapidamente depois, morrendo em casa, em Mumbai, em 4 de julho de 2015, seguro no conhecimento de que ‘Ten Ragas’ havia tocado e inspirado, embora tardios, tantas pessoas.

With Light In The Attic’s new reissue, that impact is sure to endure, with the newly remastered music and extensive liner notes helping to archive Singh’s legacy as a vital part of music history, and of South Asia’s historic contributions to electronic music more broadly.

For all that ‘Ten Ragas’ is a phenomenal, impossible-seeming album, it’s Charanjit Singh’s energy that remains with the people who worked with him. “His attitude at 70 years old was just that you had to go on,” says Westerman, who recalls how he remained curious about new developments in music tech right up until his death.

Tenho 59 anos agora e isso permanece comigo, a atitude dele de que você deve continuar fazendo as coisas que ama. Ele sempre esteve focado em sua música, realmente vivendo-a e tocando-a todos os dias.

For Ghose, Singh’s prescience encourages him to trust his gut. “It wasn’t arrogance; it was nothing near to that,” he says. “It was this really calm deployment of something that he knew was correct.

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