A late-1990s reincarnation of the band that first blew listeners away 25 years ago, Remember Shakti was back at the Barbican for the first night of an eagerly awaited, brief UK tour. John McLaughlin and Zakir Hussain were founders of the original Shakti, but ghatam player "Vikku" Vinayakram has been replaced by his son V Selvaganesh and, instead of the original violinist L Shankar, the young prodigy U Shrinivas completes the line-up on electric mandolin.
Their music is unusual, brilliant, and not for everyone, though the audience numbered as many of the newer "Shakti generation" as it did older converts. They opened with a Wild Western feel, McLaughlin on electric guitar - following the demise of his modified model - breaking in a series of intervals that gave way to little clusters of notes and a flamenco castanet-break before gurgling down.
For 5 in the Morning, 6 in the Afternoon, McLaughlin and Shrinivas set up a call-and-echo, deep reverberations supplemented by delicate picking. Hussain then led us into his Ma No Pa tune, using a silver hammer and his palms on tabla to cook up a continuum of sound.
There was a watchfulness; the containment of racehorses about to burst from their boxes. McLaughlin took a swig of water. Then they were off, with a quiet glinty vamp so intoxicating that when Shakti paused at odd moments, the audience filled in the gaps with fingers on knees, as when a pop star holds out a mike from the stage.
Shrinivas is a real find, his quavery, liquid sound summoning occasional echoes of TV's Bergerac but arguably as comfortable in, say, an Eric Clapton line-up. In one evocative ballad, the two string players transfixed the audience with a tender, rising melody. Selvaganesh and Hussain returned for the set's last number, which ended with each man flying off the beat like an ice skater released from the pull of gravity.
During the second set, the quartet performed like men possessed. Shrinivas and McLaughlin began in quickfire unison but they were soon calmed as the percussion slowed to a gentle amble. By the third number, the strings were sidelined and Hussain was concentrating on his own palette of sound, the snap and fray of texture contributing to a zingy mood piece that included snatches of William Tell and the Pink Panther.
Selvaganesh took over then, and sustained an impressive rhythm, both galloping and frolicking, on a tambourine not much bigger than a saucer. The set finished with the strings zigzagging down in parallel, each player enjoying his own space and ability.
