Music As a Spiritual Practice
Preetha Narayanan on the sacred relationship between musician & instrument
Hi everyone! I’m so happy to be getting back to our Spiritual Practice series today; as I mentioned in my previous post, life threw a curveball at the end of April and I’ve been off of my intended schedule. Thankfully, my partner Chris is recovering from emergency surgery and I was able to get a little coffeeshop time in this morning before work, making writing this possible :) I’ve missed this space and I’m grateful to y’all for hanging in with me! Special thanks to those of you who renewed paid subscriptions recently; your financial support & faith in me mean so much.
Today, I bring you the words of someone I’ve known since childhood; Preetha Narayanan and I grew up inside the same community of Indian immigrants in Memphis, Tennessee, though I’m sorry to say that I never got to know her as well as I now wish I had. Unlike many around us who pursued the more stereotypical law/medical school path, we both took artistic tracks on which we still continue. I have followed Preetha’s career with admiration from afar and I encourage you to do the same! I am grateful to her for sharing about the role music plays in her spiritual life. xoxo Nishta
Tuning In
As I wake up to a new morning with new rays of hope, the sunrise brings a bright vision my way, the sruti of mother earth becomes the sruti of my soul.
As I put hours towards the tuning of my instrument and the understanding of an art, I must first allow the drone of the tambura to resonate from within. Every pitch I play is a reflection of every pitch in my heart.
As I hear the beats of the song, I must first allow the rhythm of my heart, mind, and lungs to dance together. Every beat of the kriti is a reflection of the tala of my body and mind.
When this happens, my inner and outer pursuits come into unison. I can then inhale the air from mother earth and lead my life as her servant.
~ Preetha Narayanan October 4, 2006
I still remember the feeling of writing the poem above. A young, naïve, and impressionable 22-year-old, fresh out of university and ready for the adventures of the world. Still held safely in a beautiful opportunity to study music in India on a research grant, but also let loose to expand, learn, and challenge what I knew, both musically and personally. Having trained in an intense Western Classical environment for the previous four years of university (and throughout my upbringing), it was completely new to be immersed in Indian classical music in India, the place of my roots and heritage, learning a style of music transmitted aurally from teacher to student and also strongly linked to religion and spirituality through the sonic effect, resonances, and the lyrics.
Playing the violin pretty much since I could walk, even before I could speak, music became my way of connecting to others and making sense of the world around me. My mother started my brother and me in the Suzuki method at an early age; although it wasn’t the musical language she was familiar with from her own childhood experience in India, she valued the role music could play in our lives and the benefit of music-making, whatever the context may be. My earliest memories of playing are therefore in big Suzuki groups locally and in summer camps and also playing pieces at home for family and friends whenever they visited.
We always listened to several different styles of music at home and attended concerts of all kinds, from the orchestra and master soloists to the local Memphis blues, from bluegrass and folk of the region to the sounds of visiting Indian musicians. I had both violin and piano lessons from a very young age, and my music teachers were both role models and second parents to me. My mother insisted I take Indian Classical singing lessons at the time, but this was a clear source of tension between us because I felt less connected to the music without a fellow youth community to identify with. In pushing away the inheritances of my heritage as a teenager, I instead channelled my energy into weekly chamber music and youth orchestra rehearsals where I looked up to my peers and had wonderful mentors who inspired my interest, motivation, and discipline.
I carried on violin and piano performance at university, with exceptional mentoring and a well-rounded individual and ensemble experience in the Western Classical tradition. Although I thrived in the intimate setting of the college and grew in musicianship, I still craved the creativity and inherent flexibility that the Western Classical tradition at this moment failed to fulfil. I wanted to explore, and I wanted to play in less formal contexts and to celebrate and connect with people outside of the concert hall. I wanted to improvise.
As a rising professional artist at a ripe moment, the opportunity to study Indian classical music in India—to take the skills I had deeply embodied from my Western training and use them to listen afresh and to ‘tune in,’— was invaluable. Ragas, the special scales of Indian music that hold a distinct emotive essence through the way they move, flow, and glide, have a very powerful effect on the listener and player. As a performer, one takes musical phrases that define the raga and like building blocks, sculpts them anew in every performance, improvising and creating in the moment, of course, not without form, structure, and parameters to guide the narrative.
Fast forward, nearly two decades later, and the journey of embodying and discovering ragas remains a large part of my musical practice. As an eternal student, I continue to spend solitary hours working on my craft: technique, warm-ups, and repetition of exercises to strengthen the bodily knowing of the instrument, my muscle memory, and the internalisation of these rich melodic scales. With physical and technical ease on the instrument, I can then experience the emotional effect of the raga. This is my spiritual practice. My own ritual. A constant and disciplined showing up to do the work, to engage, and to tune in. To make the effort to be present so that it does not become an automatic, mechanical practice. To be there for the process fully without expectation, trusting the journey more than seeking the destination and furthermore, allowing the work to have its gradual effect, which may be that day or the next month, or may even only show itself years later when I can see my own development from a distance. The intention to be present in the practice, in the journey.
The violin, my longest relationship and constant friend, is a reflection of my mental, emotional, and physical state. When I play, it reveals how at ease or not that I am in my mind and body and subtly reveals what I may be experiencing emotionally. Once there is the possibility to find my flow with the instrument, it can also allow me to transcend the sense of myself and my own existence and subsequently enter my ‘spiritual’ home. This won’t happen every day, every time, or every performance, but when things fall in place, there is the vast possibility of this arrival.
A newer part of my musical ritual is a regular singing practice. I sang growing up, in school choirs and in devotional settings at home with my mother and in the Indian community; however, at the time it often felt like a chore and obligation. Coming back to it now, I love to sit down along with my harmonium, creating some rich chords, and singing freely on top—holding long notes and letting my voice settle into long notes, chanting ‘OM’ on a pitch, and even chanting longer mantras. The effect of singing and chanting is like none other. No physical object (instrument) to grapple with other than oneself. The output of my own voice or breath can slowly transform my sense of self and take me into a place that I wasn’t in before.
Though the above practices are influenced by my exposure to Indian music & culture and have been a source of spiritual growth and exploration for me, the wide and diverse array of experiences I have had professionally- traveling the globe, performing with different bands, collaborating with musicians from different backgrounds and styles of music, i.e. Middle Eastern, Contemporary Classical, Folk, have shown me how music regardless of style is a spiritual undertaking. The very act of playing and discovering another person and other individuals, exploring the shared communicative dynamic, negotiating egos, forging support and trust between performers is part and parcel of the spiritual journey. And one that has no end.
Originally from Memphis, TN, Preetha Narayanan is a violinist, composer and educator with a unique musical story that crosses countries, cultures, and genres. Merging Western and Indian Classical training with a wide range of influences from her collaborations and research, she is sought after for her unique and distinctive sound. Preetha is co-founder of genre-defying string duo Balladeste.
Alongside her thriving artistic life, she has completed a Masters and doctorate in Creative Learning at Guildhall School of Music & Drama. With a passion for health and well-being, Preetha also practices yoga and received a teacher’s certification from Krishnamacharya Yoga Mandiram, a renowned centre in Chennai, India that specialises in yoga therapy. Connect with Preetha via her website and/or on Instagram.
Previously in this series:
Research As a Spiritual Practice by Rebecca Clarren
End-of-Life Care As a Spiritual Practice by Laura Stephens
Acts of Service As a Spiritual Practice by Katie Vhay
Sewing As a Spiritual Practice by Burke Butler
Dreaming As a Spiritual Practice by Amber Ambrose
Riding Horses As a Spiritual Practice by Shelly Taylor