Chant Dhrupad by Nasir Zahiruddin Dagar & Nasir Fayazuddin Dagar – A Soulful Dive into Tradition
Alright, let me just say this upfront: Chant Dhrupad isn’t your typical album you throw on while doing chores or chilling with friends. It’s more like a deep meditation disguised as music. Released way back in 1984 in France under the Auvidis label, it’s one of those records that feels ancient and timeless all at once. The brothers Nasir Zahiruddin Dagar and Nasir Fayazuddin Dagar—yeah, quite the mouthful—are basically legends when it comes to Dhrupad singing. And trust me, their voices? They don’t just sing; they transport you.
The vibe here is super stripped-down. No flashy beats, no auto-tune nonsense. Just raw vocals backed by the steady drone of the tambura (courtesy of Musarrat Dagar) and some light tambourine touches from Laxmi Narain Pawar. This simplicity hits different, especially if you're used to modern production. You can almost picture them sitting cross-legged somewhere, pouring their souls out.
Now, I gotta talk about two tracks because they stuck with me for reasons I didn’t expect. First up, “Raga Bhatiyar - Alap - Dhrut.” Man, this track starts slow, real slow. Like, you think nothing’s happening, but then BAM—the voices come in, and it’s like being wrapped in a warm blanket made of sound. The alap section is pure magic. It’s not trying to impress you; it’s just there, unfolding naturally. By the time they hit the dhrut part, where things pick up a bit, you’re already lost in it. Honestly, I played this track during a rainy afternoon, and suddenly my room felt bigger, quieter, older even. Weird, right?
Then there’s “Raga Bageshri - Alap.” If the first track was a warm hug, this one’s more like staring at the stars. The alap stretches out forever, and I mean that in the best way possible. It’s hypnotic. At some point, I forgot I was listening to music—it felt more like eavesdropping on a conversation between the universe and itself. There’s something so human yet otherworldly about how these guys weave notes together. It’s hard to explain without sounding cheesy, but yeah, it got to me.
What makes this album stand out is its authenticity. These aren’t performers trying to entertain; they’re sharing something sacred. Listening to it feels like stepping into another world—a world where time doesn’t rush, and every note has meaning. Plus, knowing it came out in 1984 in France adds this cool layer of cultural exchange. Like, who would’ve thought French audiences would vibe with such traditional Indian sounds?
Anyway, wrapping this up—I wasn’t planning to write so much, but here we are. This album reminded me why music matters. It’s not always about catchy hooks or dance moves. Sometimes, it’s about feeling small in the grand scheme of things, in a good way. Oh, and fun fact? After listening to this, I started noticing birds chirping outside my window differently. Like, maybe they’ve been jamming to Dhrupad all along, and I just never noticed. Wild, huh?
