Glasgow's Friday night pubbers and clubbers probably had little clue that, inside an old church on Bath Street, they were missing the first UK concert by the latest, and unlikeliest, European club sensation. Implausible though it may seem, the musical duo that has topped various European charts and represents the ultimate chill-out music for thousands of frazzled dancers at raves across France, are an exiled Bhutanese Buddhist monk, Lama Gyurme, and a blind, French classical pianist, Jean-Philippe Rykiel.
In Glasgow as part of Billy Kelly's fifth far-reaching Big Big World festival, Lama Gyurme (officially a Tibetan master of music in Bhutan) sits in the lotus position, resplendent in saffron robes, near the altar of the spartan church that now forms part of a multi-purpose venue/cafe/ guesthouse. Eyes closed, he expels unfeasibly extended notes of Tibetan prayer song, with Rykiel adding the ambient synth wash and keyboard chimes that have propelled European post-ravers into a relaxed Nirvana and the duo's album, Rain of Blessings: Vajra Chants, into the charts.
Gyurme's voice produces a kind of sonic hypnosis: his low-level growl, akin to the amazing Tuvan throatsingers, ricochets off the church walls in a continuous undulating wave. Only an off-microphone cough between 10-minute incantations indicates that Gyurme has had to breathe at all. Rykiel, who met Gyurme in his French monastery-in-exile after composing and arranging for Youssou N'Dour and Papa Wemba, injects sometimes superfluous aural garlands of birdsong and bell samples along with pattering keyboard trills. The overall sound veers dangerously close to Enya's elevator-ambient territory, until Rykiel unexpectedly breaks into sprightly semi-jazz breaks reminiscent of Herbie Hancock in electronic mode.
But this was a quintessential Big Big World event, introducing genuinely inspirational artists to a surprisingly packed Glaswegian venue. Gyurme's low, resonant song chants were a wonder of control, waves of earthy yet spiritual sound, and one of the last songs, or mantras, sounded curiously like an ancient Scottish lament coming from somewhere we have never encountered yet recognisable as a universal music from the soul. Like the motionless Gyurme himself, as majestic and calming as a still loch.
