(In addition to the GRAMMY Awards, The Recording Academy presents Special Merit Awards recognizing contributions of significance to the recording field, including the Lifetime Achievement Award, Trustees Award and Technical GRAMMY Award. In the days leading up to the 55th GRAMMY Awards, GRAMMY.com will present the tributes to the 2013 Special Merit Awards recipients.)

In the mid-'50s, while the academics, pundits and practitioners of "new music" were debating and legislating the future of their art, a young man from India arrived in the West and, unbidden and unannounced, set into motion a revolution in Western musical language that is today, more than 50 years later, still powerfully shaping our landscape.

That young man was, of course, Ravi Shankar.

He was already famous in India as a leading master of the classical music world and foremost sitar player of the day. He soon became a close friend and collaborator of the great French flutist Jean-Pierre Rampal and the formidable violin virtuoso Yehudi Menuhin.

His appearance at the Monterey Pop Festival in 1967 would lead him to all manner of performances at other festivals as well. He had become a living pied piper of music with a huge following among young musicians, composers and theater/dance enthusiasts.

In fact, Raviji (as he was affectionately known to students and friends alike) was well-known and adored not only by the rich and famous but by the young and passionate as well. In that regard, the Beatles qualified in all four categories. Not surprisingly, he had a long and close friendship with George Harrison and, along the way, made formidable waves in the worlds of popular and commercial music.

He was particularly drawn to young people — both musicians and music lovers. He was an indefatigable teacher. Lessons could begin anytime. On several occasions I saw him lay down the sitar and lecture his audience on the immorality of drug taking, smoking and drinking. These kinds of sermons were tolerated kindly enough by the young fans, who were sitting it out, waiting for that magnificent torrent of music to begin again. In those days, and to the end, he was treated as a superstar. Always gracious and kind, though occasionally not exactly on time, except in his music, when he would be impeccable.

He is no longer with us but his legacy is all around us. Simply, today's music world would not be what it is without him. His companions, students and friends are everywhere. His brilliance, enthusiasm and simple love for the life in which he was immersed remain as a wave of energy that continues to animate everything it touches.

I spoke to Raviji just a few days before he died. Sukanya, his wife and longtime companion, arranged the call for me, for which I will always be grateful. It wasn't a long conversation, nor did it need to be. Things were said that had been said before but needed to be said one last time.

Seeing a great man die is like watching a sunset. For me, he was the greatest of the great and the best of the best. At that unbelievable and unknowable event, as with the last tender light of the evening, all the beauty and sadness, joy and terror of life at last come together. Even Death, at that moment, is briefly robbed of its finality.

(Philip Glass has been called one of the most influential composers of the 20th century. He has earned four GRAMMY and three Academy Award nominations. Glass collaborated with Ravi Shankar on the 1990 album Passages.)

While K-pop is Asia’s most dominant musical export today, the continent has a rich rock heritage that has traveled much further than you may imagine. Indeed, while the genre is the result of a cultural interplay between Africa and America (with fruitful trips to the UK), its history encompasses numerous important names whose roots trace to Japan, Korea, the Philippines and beyond. 

Who can forget the impact Yoko Ono had on John Lennon and his post-Beatles career, for example? And then there's the unsung heroes: the Californian restaurant owner who played a vital part in the rise of punk and the little-known '60s singer who single-handedly brought the sounds of the West to Vietnam. 

With the likes of Mitski, Japanese Breakfast and Jay Som now steering a new revolution in rock, what better time to take an in-depth look at the guitar heroes of Asian descent who have made a significant impact on Western soil? 

The Beginnings 

While first- and second-generation Asian artists had previously enjoyed crossover success in the fields of jazz (Toshiko Akiyoshi), doo-wop (the Kim Sisters) and teen pop (Eden Kane) in the first half of the 20th century, the burgeoning rock 'n' roll scene remained out of reach. That is, until a band of Filipino American brothers paid tribute to the post-war era's version of Tony Manero. 

The Rocky Fellers reached No. 16 on the Hot 100 in 1963 with "Killer Joe," named in honor of "King of the Discotheque" Killer Joe Piro, and later worked with Neil Diamond on the song "We Got Love." But their sole album on Scepter Records got lost as attention switched to the first British Invasion, and it would be another seven years before a predominantly Asian rock act graced the U.S. singles charts. 

Formed by sisters Jean and June Millington nearly a decade after their family moved to Sacramento, California from the Philippines, four-piece Fanny also broke barriers. As the first all-female outfit to land a major label deal, they paved the way for the Runaways, the Bangles and the Go-Gos (Fanny  drummer Alice de Buhr would later serve as theGo-Gos' publicist).   

Reprise Records reportedly signed Fanny without hearing any of their music — presuming the novelty of four women playing their own instruments was enough of a selling point. The original quartet proved they were far from a mere gimmick, though, with four albums of anthemic rock which inspired David Bowie to hail them as one of the genre's true unsung heroes. Incidentally, the Thin White Duke was the subject of Fanny's biggest hit, "Butter Boy," while Jean was briefly wed to his regular guitarist Earl Slick.  

Bowie was just as enamored with Vodka Collins — a Japanese rock supergroup fronted by native New Yorker (and future Arrows frontman Alan Merrill). The cult favorites are rumored to have inspired one of his many alter-egos, Ziggy Stardust. Sadly, a major financial dispute led to their disbanding shortly after the release of their 1973 debut, Tokyo – New York.  

That album's producer, Masatoshi Hashiba, however, would also steer a more enduring group to the fringes of the mainstream. Fronted by married couple Kazuhiko Katō and Mika Fuku, Sadistic Mika Band supported Roxy Music on their mid-1970s Siren Tour, while drummer Yukihiro Takahashi later co-founded the pioneering Kraftwerk-esque Yellow Magic Orchestra.  

Sadistic Mika Band's name was actually intended to parody the Plastic Ono Band's, the conceptual project co-founded by arguably rock's most prominent Asian crossover artist. Ono helped to push the boundaries of rock music while simultaneously paying homage to her East Asian heritage, drawing upon everything from hetai, a vocal technique hailing from the kabuki form of Japanese theater, to the ancient classical style of Gagaku.  

Released on the same day (and with a similar title) as husband John Lennon's solo debut in 1970, Ono’s debut solo album charted 176 places lower on the Billboard 200. Yet it unarguably had the bigger impact: Its uncompromising avant-garde sound credited with ushering in the birth of punk, alternative rock and no-wave (Sonic Youth, tUnE-yArDs and the Flaming Lips are just a few of the artists who have since acknowledged Ono's influence through collaboration). Ono has occasionally flirted with the mainstream — see 1981 Top 40 single "Walking on Thin Ice" — but it's her fearless experimentalism that positioned her as an icon.  

Continuing the Beatles-adjacent theme, Indian sitarist Ravi Shankar informed much of George Harrison's work, both as a member of the Fab Four and as a solo artist. The pair worked together on several albums and essentially paved the way for Live Aid with 1971's legendary The Concert for Bangladesh, a star-studded benefit show boasting performances from Eric Clapton and Bob Dylan. 

Of course, some of Asia's most culturally significant artists had to wait decades before receiving their dues. Phuong Tâm, for example, was pivotal in bringing the sounds of the West to the East in the early 1960s Saigon. During her late teenage years, she spent up to eight hours an evening performing Vietnamese compositions heavily inspired by the growing presence of American GIs. 

Tâm's music career was cut short when her army doctor husband landed a job hundreds of miles away. Remarkably, she kept this past life a secret from her own children until a film producer requested the use of her recordings, much of which had been misattributed. Two years later, a compilation assembled by daughter Hà, Magical Nights: Saigon Surf, Twist & Soul 1964-1966, finally showcased Tâm's youthful grasp of the genre to a wider audience.  

Formed by brothers David and Romeo Bustamante in San Francisco's  Mission District, the largely Filipino collective Dakila prided themselves on bringing a pan-continental flavor to the early '70s rock scene. They were the first U.S. major label signing to perform material in Tagalog and made a conscious effort to align themselves with various Asian-American causes. 

Perhaps unsurprisingly, Epic didn't exactly handle such an outlier with the utmost sensitivity. Not only did they instruct producers to meddle with Dakila's self-titled debut behind the group's backs, they also released first single "El Dùbi" with a patronizing spoken word instructional on how to pronounce their song titles. Luckily, the double whammy of a more faithful 50th anniversary reissue and forthcoming documentary Searchin' for My Soul is set to give the first true Asian American rock album some long overdue props.  

The Venues 

The artwork for Dakila's eponymous LP also featured a wicker chair originating from what would become an unlikely hub of the punk scene. At the time, the Mabuhay Gardens was a Filipino restaurant but within  a few years, owner Ness Aquino had joined forces with promoter and punk magazine publisher Jerry Paulsen to reinvent the struggling business as a thriving venue.

The Mab, as it would become known as, attracted some of the West Coast's rowdiest bands including Black Flag, the Nuns and the Dead Kennedys while also welcoming further afield acts such as the Damned and Sex Pistols, hosting one of the latter's final ever shows. Thanks to another sideline in stand-up comedy, the once-flailing business stayed open until 1987.  

This San Francisco joint's pivot into the world of mohawks and safety pins appeared to inspire other Asian proprietors in Southern California. In 1978, promoter Paul Greenstein and owners George and Esther Wong helped to transform Madame Wong's into a haven for West Coast punk. The Chinatown venue had  a strict policy on vandalism: Rumor has it Esther once confronted two of the Ramones about their bathroom wall graffiti while they were still performing on stage.  

Frustrated with such defacing, the Wongs decided to focus on a slightly more "civilized" genre when they opened up a second venue. Madame Wong's West helped put new wave on the Santa Monica map, giving early gigs to the likes of the Police, the Motels and the Knack. But the original remained their bread and butter, which is why a major rivalry — problematically dubbed the Wonton Wars by the local press — started when another nearby struggling eatery muscled in on their territory.  

Barry Seidel, who'd rented out the upstairs banquet hall of Cantonese immigrant Bill Hong's family restaurant Hong Kong Cafe, was much less discerning when it came to wanton destruction. When Madame Wong's prevented anyone under 21 from entering the premises, for example, Seidel made his punk nights all ages.  To placate Hong, Seidel agreed that performers would pay for any damage caused, a much-needed stipulation as  punks with a disregard for crowd capacity regularly broke  in via the roof and air conditioning ducts. 

But by the dawn of the following decade, the punk boom had given way to hardcore, a style too aggressive even for Hong Kong Cafe who called time on its musical endeavors in 1981. Madame Wong's closed its doors for good following a fire six years later, but its West branch stayed open until 1991 having added the likes of Red Hot Chili Peppers and R.E.M. to its impressive resume. Esther's standing in the community was confirmed in the wake of her 2005 death when the Los Angeles Times dubbed her the "Godmother of Punk."  

The GRAMMY Winners 

Although Larry Ramos of the New Christy Minstrels and the Association, singer/songwriter Yvonne Elliman and cellist Yo-Yo Ma had been nominated at Music's Biggest Night, it wasn't until  1992 that an act of Asian descent won a GRAMMY in a rock category.  

Born to an Indonesian mother, guitar hero Eddie Van Halen and his drummer brother Alex picked up Best Hard Rock Performance with Vocal for their eponymous group's ninth LP, For Unlawful Carnal Knowledge. Their victory which appeared to open the floodgates. 

Just three years later, Indian American lead guitarist Kim Thayil and Japanese American bassist Hiro Yamamoto helped Soundgarden land Best Metal Performance and Best Hard Rock Performance for their album Superunknown. It was the latter category that Smashing Pumpkins, featuring Japanese American guitarist James Iha, also triumphed in at the 1997 ceremony thanks to "Bullet with Butterfly Wings." In 2002, the same award went to Linkin Park for "Crawling," a track boasting the turntablism skills of Korean American Joe Hahn. And let's not forget Tony Kanal, a child of Indian immigrants, whose basslines steered No Doubt to Best Pop Vocal Album for Rock Steady that same year. 

Remarkably, the most famous rock star of Asian descent never got the chance to make an acceptance speech. Freddie Mercury, whose parents hailed from western India, received four nominations as frontman of Queen. The band was honored with a Lifetime Achievement in 2018, 27 years after his untimely passing.  

It also took decades for another rock giant to hear their name read out. Co-founded in 1985 by Korean American bassist John Myung, prog favorites Dream Theater won Best Metal Performance for "The Alien" in 2022. Also nominated that same year for Best Alternative Music Album and Best New Artist were Japanese Breakfast, the indie-rock outfit fronted by Korean American Michelle Zauner, and one of several artists spearheading a new wave of Asian American indie rock.  

The Indie Scene 

The first wave of Asian American alternative guitar acts signed to independent labels began to blossom in 1995. It was here when the palindromic Emily's Sassy Lime released their one and only album, Desperate, Scared But Social, through Kill Rock Stars while still at school. One of the few Asian American acts to align themselves with the riot grrrl movement, the all-female trio had to write, record and perform on the odd occasion their parents allowed them a break from their studies. And although they split shortly after graduation, Yao sisters Wendy and Amy remained regulars of the DIY art scene. 

That same  year, Satomi Matsuzaki joined noise-pop experimentalists Deerhoof, another Kill Rock Stars act, in the same week she emigrated from Japan to America. Obviously not averse to throwing herself in the deep end, the bassist/singer headed out on tour with the band just a few days later, too. Having since tackled everything from tropicalia and conceptual prog rock to sheet music experiments and classical ensembles, few contemporary bands have been so brazenly audacious.  

Blonde Redhead, the similarly creative outfit co-founded by Japanese art students Maki Takahashi and Kazu Makino, also released their self-titled debut in 1995. Produced by Sonic Youth drummer Steve Shelley and released through his indie label Smells Like Records, one of the no-wave scene's defining records was followed by equally atmospheric excursions into shoegaze and dreampop, while a guest appearance from Ryuichi Sakamoto on her 2019 first solo effort Adult Baby cemented Makino's status as an icon of the avant-garde. 

A year later, Korean American Mike Park founded Asian Man Records, a predominantly ska/punk label run from his California garage. Park and his label helped kickstart the careers of Stateside cult heroes such as Less Than Jake and Alkaline Trio,  while also giving a platform for acts of Asian heritage including India's Nicotine and Japan's Yoko Utsumi.  

Asian and Asian American indie artists have remained in the public eye through the mid 2010s, crafting devoted followings across the globe. With eight GRAMMY nominations to her name, South Korean-born Karen O has kept the flag flying over the following two decades as the frontwoman of garage punks Yeah Yeah Yeahs. Osaka's Shonen Knife, the one-time Lollapalooza regulars championed by Kurt Cobain, did as much alongside Tokyo's Buffalo Daughter — the Shibuya-kei pioneers who signed to the Beastie Boys' Grand Royal label. Meanwhile, the music of Cornelius, a.k.a. the  "Japanese" Beck" has graced everything from NFL ads to Scott Pilgrim vs the World.  And then there’s David Pajo, the Filipino American guitarist whose journeyman career has incorporated everyone from Slint and Tortoise to Zwan and Gang of Four.  

The Asian American rock scene has further coalesced in the last few years with women leading the way. Whether it’s the dreamy indie of Leslie Bear's alter ego Long Beard, intimate bedroom pop of Filipino American singer-songwriter Jay Som or, perhaps most notably, the sonic adventurism of Japanese American Mitski.  

Indeed, Mitski's  2018 LP Be the Cowboy was named Album of the Year by both Pitchfork and Vulture, and she received an Oscar nod for her contribution to the soundtrack of Everything Everywhere All at Once alongside New York post-rockers Son Lux, two-thirds of whom are also of Asian descent In another landmark in Asian American representation Mitski had also previously invited Som and Japanese Breakfast to provide support on her North American tour.

And with indie chameleons such as Korean Canadian Luna Li, American Korean Deb Never and Chinese American Sofya Wang all emerging in the 2020s, the future seems bright, too. Indeed, despite concerns the convergence of artists with Asian heritage would be dismissed as a passing fad,  it’s clear that rock grounded in this community is thriving stronger than ever before. 

Celebrate AAPI Month 2023 With A Genre-Spanning Playlist Featuring BLACKPINK, Yaeji, Olivia Rodrigo & More

Ann and Nancy Wilson of Heart are verging on the half-century mark of their groundbreaking group. Through five decades of changing musical eras, their impact has not waned. From the ’70s, when Ann set the blueprint for rock frontwomen and Nancy established her oft-imitated and never-quite-duplicated guitar playing style, through the ’80s when the band dominated MTV, to 2019 when the sisters spearheaded the all-female Love Alive tour, the Wilsons broke barriers as musicians, singers and songwriters.

The two started early in music. Nancy showed marked virtuosity on the acoustic guitar at 9 years old. Ann, four years her senior, was already singing in the style of blues greats — albeit filtered through rock and roll.

Their 1976 debut album, Dreamboat Annie, spawned the hits "Magic Man" and "Crazy on You,"which remain staples on classic rock radio. "Barracuda" from 1977’s Little Queen followed suit. Drawing from folk, hard rock and the daring to not be pigeonholed by their gender, the Wilsons were among the few women granted authority on a rock stage dominated by men.

By the time the sisters glammed up and became MTV staples and chart-toppers in the mid-‘80s, they were proven songwriters and already a multiplatinum-selling band. It was the GRAMMY-nominated Billboard No.1 album Heart that catapulted Ann and Nancy into the musical stratosphere. The album’s hits were ubiquitous, all cracking the Top 10. Its flagship song, "These Dreams"— sung by Nancy — hit No.1 on the Billboard Hot 100. A year later, the band snagged that position again with "Alone" from their album Bad Animals, and with it, two more GRAMMY nominations. They continued their GRAMMY nomination streak with 1990’s Brigade.

Over the course of 16 studio albums, the pair have sold 35 million records and had seven Top 10 albums. Ann and Nancy also charted on the New York Times bestsellers list with their 2013 memoir, Kicking & Dreaming: A Story of Heart, Soul and Rock & Roll.

Ann and Nancy individually extended their musical reach to the silver screen. Ann through her iconic voice on the unforgettable songs "Almost Paradise," "Best Man in the World" and "Surrender to Me" on stellar soundtracks from the timeless films Footloose, The Golden Child and Tequila Sunrise, respectively. Nancy through her essential, award-winning scores for the box office smashes Say Anything, Almost Famous and Vanilla Sky.

Their abilities have continuously attracted accomplished musicians of all genders who speak with reverence about their skills and consider performing alongside as a distinct privilege. Their songs have been sampled by the likes of Eminem, Lil Wayne, G-Eazy, and Nas.

No matter how much they accomplish, the need to create is ever present with the Wilson sisters. In the last couple of years, they have both released solo albums. Nancy with her first album of original material in 2021 with You and Me, and Ann in 2022 with her third solo album, Fierce Bliss.

Honors and accolades abound for Ann and Nancy: the ASCAP Pop Music Awards Founders Award, a star on the Hollywood Walk of Fame, induction into the Rock & Roll Hall of Fame. But they remain active. As Nancy said in her Rock Hall acceptance speech: "We’re not finished rocking just yet."

2023 GRAMMY Nominations: See The Complete Winners & Nominees List

Kurt Cobain, Dave Grohl and Krist Novoselic of Nirvana didn’t invent grunge, but they mainstreamed it in the early ’90s, arguably accidentally and maybe even regretfully. In the process, they almost overnight changed the tenor of rock from exuberant hair metal to a heavier, socially disaffected sound. They became the defining rock band of their era, but also the face of the many troubled musicians who emerged from the Northwest underground scene.

As a punk-rooted, pop-obsessed indie rock band that worshipped at the altar of metal progenitors Black Sabbath, Nirvana created a unique sound accessible to multiple audiences while setting up an untenable paradox with which the band would ultimately have to wrestle. Their pop melodies played against guitar noise and boldly dynamic verse/chorus constructions led to unlikely chart and sales success. But that success fed their own backlash against the trappings of pop stardom, influenced in no small part by lead singer and songwriter Kurt Cobain’s drug addictions and mental illness. After Cobain’s suicide in 1994, Nirvana’s story would become tabloid fodder, but their legacy would prove out as instrumental in turning alternative rock into a ’90s phenomenon.

Cobain and bassist Krist Novoselic met while attending high school in the Seattle area. They kicked around for a few years under various band names and with a number of drummers. In 1989, their debut album Bleach hinted at how the noise, menace, melodies, and songcraft would distill into their fully formed sound just two years later. Drummer Dave Grohl would join permanently in 1990, and the band would sign with major label DGC for Nevermind, the breakthrough album that would set them on the course to unlikely superstardom. "Smells Like Teen Spirit" would become an MTV staple, ultimately affirmed in the pop-culture zeitgeist by a Weird Al Yankovic parody.

Their response to sudden fame was 1993’s follow-up In Utero, sometimes referred to as Cobain’s "suicide note," a deliberately difficult and dour record whose attitude might have been best summed up by "Radio Friendly Unit Shifter," on which Cobain sings “Use just once and destroy/ Invasion of our privacy." Still, it was a stunning work of willful personal dissonance.

In April of 1994, Cobain was found dead from a self-inflicted gunshot wound. "MTV Unplugged" In New York would be released posthumously, winning a GRAMMY for Best Alternative Music Performance and clearly showing a band that was, like all great bands, growing and redefining its sound.

Cobain’s suicide followed the overdose death of Mother Love Bone’s Andrew Wood and would be followed years later by fellow Seattle-scene rockers Layne Staley of Alice In Chains and Soundgarden’s Chris Cornell, sadly, seemingly preordained finales for musicians who sang authentically about such real-world trauma as social alienation, abuse, isolation, and addiction. Seldom has a genre of music so deeply reflected the raw emotions and turmoil of the artists.

In 2005, the Library of Congress added Nevermind to its National Recording Registry of culturally important recordings. Pitchfork called Nirvana "the greatest and most legendary band of the 1990s." The band were first-ballot inductees into the Rock & Roll Hall of Fame in 2014.

If the mark of greatness is that your art changes the medium, then Nirvana’s greatness is unassailable.

2023 GRAMMY Nominations: See The Complete Winners & Nominees List

Upon hearing glowing press blurbs about her, Anoushka Shankar audibly winces.

"It goes without saying that Anoushka Shankar is a virtuoso sitar player," The Guardian gushed, front and center in her press release. Ditto for Harper's Bazaar, who proclaimed she's "making her own unique mark on the world." Her live show is "Expect to be thoroughly intoxicated," wrote an awestruck Time Out New York.

To which Shankar emits a sheepish reaction through her teeth: "Whoa boy."

"I have that real mix of pride and self-loathing when it comes to this stuff," Shankar tells GRAMMY.com from New Delhi; her London accent rings clear. "On one level, I feel like I'll never be good enough at it, but on another level, I'm feeling great about it."

The nine-time GRAMMY nominee isn't projecting false humility. Through the lenses of her recent music — including a new song, "In Her Name" — it's clear that Shankar is galvanized by more important things than self-gratification. One of them is a magical sense of interplay with her collaborators. The other is an inner drive to address issues that affect women and girls — chief among them, the scourge of sexual violence.

Speaking to GRAMMY.com, Shankar praises colleagues like vocalist and composer Arooj Aftab, composer and conductor Jules Buckley, percussionist Manu Delago, Dutch orchestra Metropole Orkest, and poet Nikita Gill.

With the former, Shankar is nominated for a GRAMMY for Best Global Music Performance, for "Udhero Na"; with the middle three, she's up for a golden gramophone for Best Global Music Album for Between Us…, their co-created live album.

But it's "In Her Name," featuring Gill, that's at the forefront of Shankar's mind. She initially released the song about a decade ago as "In Jyoti's Name," in tribute to its namesake: a physiotherapy intern named Jyoti Singh Pandey, who died from injuries as a result of a gang rape in 2012.

Pandey's attack and death sparked protests throughout India; the news affected Shankar deeply. With the 10-year anniversary looming, Shankar decided to revitalize the tune with words from Gill. Hence, "In Her Name," which grapples with this particular horror and so many of its kind through electrifying, evocative language.

"Time cannot devour/ What we will not allow to be forgotten," Shankar recites, channeling Gill's words. "Let the wind take these embers, these ashes/ And build a goddess of wildfire in her name."

Today, Shankar grapples with her innate optimism when considering this subject, as eradicating sexual violence seems to be a two-steps-forward, one-step-back proposition. But musical monuments like "In Her Name" do crucial work nonetheless. Because at the very least, they shatter silence — and offer a thread of beauty amid human suffering.

Read on for an in-depth interview with Shankar about this crucial issue, other musical offerings in the immediate rearview, and more. And for a hub of global organizations working to counteract sexual violence, visit here.

This interview has been edited for clarity.

I became aware of your work 20 years ago, when Concert for George came out. What are your memories of that time?

It's a funny one, that one, because obviously, it was celebrating a loved one. So, on one hand, it was a truly iconic concert to take part in, musically. But on the other hand, the main experience was an emotional one — of connecting with people and sharing our love for someone. So, it was a very unique concert experience for me.

What was it like to be in the room with George?

A bit like being with family, but at the same time, with someone who had a larger-than-life presence as a musician and human.

You're nominated for a GRAMMY for Best Global Music Performance for "Udhero Na," your collaborative track with Arooj Aftab. Tell me about how you and Arooj connect artistically and personally.

It's mutual admiration and friendship and love, but it started off a little differently, because she was in college at Berklee College of Music in Boston. When I would tour in that region, she would be at my shows. I guess she was maybe a fan first, but she also knew some people that I knew, so we became acquaintances and then friends.

At the time, there weren't that many people like us out there touring. So, I think it meant something to her to be able to come see me out there doing what I did.

Then, that kind of shifted as she got older. We became more peers, and it's been really beautiful to see what's happened for her in these last couple of years, with people discovering how amazing she is. So, that's been really lovely.

Can you tell me about the writing and/or recording process behind "Udhero Na"?

It's a song that preexists our working together on it. It's a beautiful piece of music that she wrote long before, and then wanted to release as a bonus track when she was releasing her album, Vulture Prince.

She sent it to me, and I just utterly loved it. I recorded it in my bedroom while I was alone in my house, because I had COVID and my kids were staying with a friend. So, it was a remote and kind of bizarrely chilled-out, relaxing recording process over a cold, dark London winter.

Between Us… is nominated for a GRAMMY for Best Global Music Album. I find its marriage of East and West so beautiful. How did that live recording come about?

It's interesting that you use that phrase, "the marriage of East and West." I think the reason it works is that we're so many generations past that first marriage. The pieces on this album are more like little diaspora babies that belong to the world in a really authentic and integral way. They're not the parts that make up their whole.

This live record, Between Us…, came about because I wanted to explore my music in an orchestral space. I worked with Jules Buckley to choose pieces of music that we thought could live in that space in a really beautiful way.

Manu Delago had been a dear collaborator of mine for several years at that point. He was central to a few of the songs that I kept wanting to see translated into the orchestra, so we invited him in to almost be a second soloist on the show.

We did this little run of shows in 2018, and then had some conversations about: Let's book some more. In the middle of all that stuff, the pandemic happened. As we started coming out of it, I just found myself going back to that album on my Dropbox now and then; I had the recording from one of the shows we had done.

In isolation, it blew me away to hear so many human beings together, on a stage, playing music together. It was hard for me to even remember what that felt like, and I kept listening to it, saying, "Oh my god, I was! I was on stage with 40 people playing music!"

I found myself getting a lot from the energy of hearing people together playing music. So, as we came out of it, I just wanted to put it out there. We didn't record it thinking I was going to put it out one day, but it's been a joy to share it.

I feel like the most pristine, lossless WAV file in the world couldn't do justice to how it felt with all that music swirling around you.

That's a great way to put it. Especially with music that has lived in different avatars: to hear it expand and grow to that scale feels really magical.

But at the same time, I think that's something that's so beautiful about music — some of the songs here, I can play them with just Manu and have the most amazing experience of connection and chemistry in music. But then, it can also grow to include all these other people, and it's beautiful.

Tell me more about the deeper workings of this music — the submerged majority of the iceberg as opposed to the exposed tip.

Working with Jules Buckley in particular, we were able to orchestrate around the sitar in a way that felt modern and energizing as opposed to conventional or overly sentimental.

Because I think it could be really easy to do that, especially with the emotional quality of the sitar. Not that any of this is wrong, but it could be really easy to go into Bollywood strings or kind of faux-Western-classical territory. I think his sensitivity with the way he worked around my music, the ragas… he was just brilliant.

And the orchestra is mind-blowing as well, because I have so much experience working with a truly diverse array of unbelievable musicians — the ones the world says are the best in the world. [But] working across traditions is really, really hard.

People can take the best orchestra in the world, and they might really struggle to play an asymmetric beat cycle with precision, for example, which would maybe be simple for us. We just speak different languages.

So, what I think is happening on that record is, even when it sounds simple, the level of skill the orchestra, Manu and Jules are exhibiting allows all the elements to come together, and the way they do is really amazing.

I get that it's inelegant to say "the marriage of East and West," as that's been happening forever. It's something I've always thought about the Beatles' "Within You, Without You"; it kicked open the door to that idea for me. But it's just one part of the chain.

Yeah, it's part of the chain! I think that's the evolution. We had some first meetings of East and West that started with my father, an iconic legend. Then, generation after generation of different meetings. This just feels like it's an existing rather than a meeting, and that only can come forward from it happening before, and pushing forward from there.

Can you talk about "In Her Name" and its decade-long gestation? What was the germ of the song — the intention — back then?

The intention at the time was more of an emotional response to what happened to Jyoti Singh Pandey 10 years ago — her gang rape that eventually led to her death.

Like so many humans in the world, I was affected very deeply by that news, and it led to me telling my own story. It really impacted me deeply, and it came out in a piece called "In Jyoti's Name."

The reason I named it that was because up until that time in India — and usually still — victims' names are protected to shield them from what some may perceive as the shame of what happened to them.

And her family, at the time, actually gave permission to release her name. I thought that was really powerful, because it spoke to how it wasn't her shame. I felt significance in it, so I released the song in her honor, but with her name in it.

As these years have gone on, there have been so many others like her. I'm almost reluctant to continue naming them, because there are so many that I'll miss one. But I found myself noticing the anniversary was coming up this year, and thinking: God, 10 years is a time in which a lot can change.

Yet, I remember at the time saying: This has got to change, and enough is enough. It feels like that's not what has happened. That's why I felt it important to come back to it. Not just to mark the anniversary, even though that is, of course, significant, especially to people who actually knew and loved her.

But to just question where we are. Around the world, in all the ways that women's bodies are impacted. It just felt like an onslaught, and I think this piece of music comes from there.

Can you talk about Nikita Gill? What she brought to the song, and what you appreciate about her?

Ah, she's magic. She has a very powerful way of speaking simply, that is not simple. It takes a great deal of skill to make something seem as accessible as that, but speak a truth that reaches in that kind of way that she makes it.

So, when I realized I wanted words on this version, she was my first and only phone call. She said yes before I even finished asking; for all the same reasons I wanted to make the song, she wanted to be a part of it.

I don't know what to say about her poetry, other than it speaks all my feelings in a way that I would never be able to express, and it's an honor to get to speak them.

Regarding this global horror that you're deeply invested in and making music about, what progress have we made in the last decade, from your perspective? And where do we go from here in order to negate this suffering and death?

It feels like for every step forward, there's a kind of step back. And it feels like as it can happen with progress overall, there's so often resistance.

It can feel really baffling at times that this topic can suddenly become center-stage, and we can be talking about it and listening and learning. Then, suddenly, some politician comes along, or something happens where there's some shaming tweet about someone, and it just feels like we get pushed down again.

So, I don't know if I can say to you whether we've made progress overall, because for every bit we have made, it feels like we're going backwards. I feel like, historically, I've always landed on the side of optimism, and I'm [Uneasy laugh] a little undecided about that right now.

“In Her Name” single artwork. Credit: Shilo Shiv Suleman

I'm pretty young, but I do remember a time when the model of manhood was aggression and derring-do and imposing your will on others. Consent was addressed in the media in crazy ways that wouldn't fly today.

Yes, thank you for bringing it there, because things have definitely moved, and it is amazing to look back and realize how nuanced change is. 

I can go back and watch a TV show I feel nostalgic about, and I can feel shocked about what's actually in there in a way I didn't necessarily remember at the time. Which shows how things have changed. As a child, as a teenager, as a young woman at that time, that would have been presented to me as fine, so I processed it as fine. I can look back and go: Wow.

That can be a very strange feeling, because it brings a bizarre kind of grief for myself, or others like me, in the past. As a child, I was raised in what people were telling me was a post-feminist society. We were told everything was fine now.

But like you're saying, we go back and look at the way it was, and it was so far from fine. It's a weird thing to look back and realize I've had to continue learning that, as a woman, I deserve better than that. Or that people I'm next to, or raising, deserve better than that.

I guess what gives me hope is that I'm raising boys. That was something that gave me a heart attack at first, when I was pregnant and realized I was having a boy. I had to work through what that was about. It was like: Oh my god! I'm raising future men! What does that mean?

And then I turned it around and I was like, What an incredible opportunity. And I watch my older kid and his friends, and they're just amazing. Their language, their understanding, their nuance, their care, their awareness. It really, really blows me away.

My older son doesn't want to watch things that don't pass the Bechdel test. You know? Or he gets really frustrated by old cartoons, where it's all about romance; he'll immediately catch when something sexist happens. His group of friends is really, truly mixed and safe and open.

I didn't have a fraction of that when I was his age. That was not what was [prevalent].

I'm sure that extended to your beginnings in the music business, which was and is male-dominated in many regards.

It really was, but I'm more aware of that looking back than I was at the time.

I remember reading a statistic for which the numbers escape me now — I'm making this up — but say, it took 30 percent of women in a boardroom to speak 20 percent of the time for men to feel like they were speaking more than half the time. Because their presence felt so novel. It felt so loud.

That's kind of what it was like. Now, I can look back and say, "Yes, it was very male-dominated." But at the time, I probably would have seen myself and one other woman there and said, "Wow! This is great!". [Laughs.]

The 2023 GRAMMYs are coming up, and you're in the midst of a press cycle. But what are you planning on when this hectic period wraps up? What will you be working on when there's a clearing?

I just did a mini-tour of India, but I haven't come back and done a proper tour of America since the pandemic. So, that's going to be happening in the autumn, which I'm really excited about. I'm in this very last-minute panic of what that tour's going to be. [Laughs.] I'm leaving it to the wire.

I'm starting to write a new album at the beginning of the year, and I'm very excited about that as well. If things go according to plan, it's a new album and the beginning of a big tour.

Can you drop any hints about that album?

[Hesitantly.] A producer I'm very… excited about? [Laughs.] No, I guess not. Not yet!

Before we get out of here: you've been steeped in the sitar for your entire life. All these years later — even with your advanced facility with the instrument — do you ever feel like you've just scratched the surface with what you can express with it?

I feel like I'm at the beginning section of the whole available journey. There is something about getting good at my instrument that brings true joy. When I play now, there's an intimacy with my instrument that's such a beautiful feeling. I could have had a similar amount of skill 10 or 15 years ago, but I don't feel like I had this feeling when I play.

I know that comes from growth, so I can tell I'm growing through an evolution on my instrument. I can feel that, and that feels really, really beautiful.

One of the frequent stories I tell when people ask what I learned from my dad is that I learned more from example. He was at the top of the mountain with the instrument, but I sat next to him every single day, watching him still journeying and seeking and looking at how much more he had to do.

So, I can't even answer the question in correlation to that, because I know where he was compared to me. Therefore, what he still saw ahead of him. That puts it all into perspective, I guess.

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