Rahul Mukerji: Mridhangit

Mridhangit is a portmanteau of the instrument mridangam, employed extensively on the new record by Rahul Mukerji, and the Hindi word for song or music (git/geet). First ignited on the artist's 2017 release Ma De Re Sha (Self Produced, 2017), the project has solidified into a recognisable signature: guitar-led instrumentals anchored in Indian percussive rhythms, shaped through tablas (both programmed and live) and the mridangam, with occasional accents of clarinet and duduk.

The compositions are concise, introducing their melodic core with little delay before unfolding into densely layered arrangements. Yet Mridhangit is most persuasive when it is given room to breathe. This is especially evident in the more relaxed, atmospheric pieces ("Twelve Ganeshas," "Enjoymaddi") and the funk-inflected grooves of "Kalli Penn" and "Funky Pakora"; to an extent, even tracks driven by more angular guitar heroics, such as "Rahu Ketu," benefit from this spaciousness. A sense of unrestrained velocity and exuberance courses through the album, with relentless soloing woven around the mridangam and tabla patterns.

The album's fusion vocabulary evokes less the jazz-rock spiritualism of John McLaughlin's Mahavishnu Orchestra or Ralph Towner's Oregon, and more often recalls Steve Hackett's multifaceted engagements with Middle Eastern and Far Eastern melodic traditions. "Funky Pakora," guided by clarinet lines and buoyed by clear, driving melodies, establishes an expansive atmosphere, while elsewhere the music acquires an elastic buoyancy through its guttural bass work—almost as though it were situated across the street from Jonas Hellborg's mansion of funky ragas. At any moment, this fluidity can erupt into distorted, quasi-orchestral guitar detonations, as in "Dushtan." Most tracks function as dialogues or trios, yet it is in the latter format that the music truly catches fire, at times approaching the combustible interplay of the Bozzio-Levin-Stevens (Terry Bozzio-Tony Levin-Steve Stevens) records.

Fortunately, Mridhangit is balanced rather than relentless, closing with two contemplative statements. "Four Seas" allows space and emotional resonance to take precedence; its understated beauty leaves the listener lingering over its brevity. "Mutabor," meanwhile, eases the album toward its conclusion through yearning duduk melodies and shimmering tabla rhythms underpinning a circular guitar motif. Even at 50 minutes, the record retains a sense of momentum, deftly guiding the listener through a broad emotional spectrum—from a tandavam dawn to an abhoga dusk. One can only hope that Mukerji will eventually devote an entire record to the more subdued incarnations of his otherwise intensely kinetic music.

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