Kalam-e-Arifana - Munshi Raziuddin, Iftekhar Nizami, Naseerudin Sami, Farid Ayaz

Postscript (15 Feb 2021):  After posting this set of recordings, I came across a cassette of selections of recordings of the Baṛi Party, from the same period, which contained complete recordings of two tracks from this session: 1) Kalaam of Ahmed-e Jam, “Manzil-e-Ishq Azmakaan-e-Digarast / Kushtagan-e-Khanjar-e-Tasleem ra” and 2) Lay Gayo Pi Piya Paro Humaro Mun. Accordingly, these tracks have replaced the ones posted originally.

___________

This set of recordings would not have seen the light of day had it not been for one Event and one Person. 

The Event was the Covid lockdown, which threatened a miserable time through a dreary, cold, dark winter. To fend off the effects of isolation, sheer boredom and consequent ascent to cloud-cuckoo land, I decided to improve my cooking skills and complete a project to refurbish a pair of old loudspeakers, the latter being something that had been in the planning for the better part of twenty years.

Renovated these Tannoy speakers, manufactured in 1980, which were given new cabinets, three times the size of the originals, as well as new electronics. The result was the loveliest sounding speakers I have owned and the music they reproduce has helped tide over these days. I am, thoughtfully, providing a picture of the results of my efforts with the speakers J. 

Inspired by the music wafting through the apartment, a rare stroke of genius hit me. Looking at a cupboard full of vinyl records and four drawers loaded with tape cassettes, all of which had been untouched for longer than I remember, I decided to pull out all the stuff, clean and sort the LPs and the cassettes and digitize the best of the music accumulated by my father and myself over the past sixty or seventy years. Musical immersion seemed the best antidote to COVID quarantine and all else that poisoned the world in the winter of 2020.
 
As for the cooking, I don’t know whether it improved. You would have to ask my victims.

The Person is my nephew Hasnain, the architect and custodian of this blog who choses to go by the appellation Bohotkhoob. In 2015 I had mentioned, to Hasnain, that I had found a Manzoor Qawwal tape from Abba’s drawer of cassettes about 15 years previously, and that it did not seem to be of much consequence. You can see from the sorry state of the cassettes's label in the photo above why I came to this conclusion. Believe me, neither Abba nor I usually treated our music this way, and I have no idea who labelled this cassette thus, although it was kept in its proper place in the order of things. 

Once Hasnain knew of the existence of the recording, with the patience and tenacity of a saint — inherited, undoubtedly, from his mother (my cousin) — he kept reminding me to run it and see what we could make of it as a possible post on this blog. Preoccupations with one thing or another and sheer laziness caused me to avoid this. For five years. 

 

Once my music digitization project got underway I sent Hasnain copies of music from several old vinyl LPs. The man seemed unimpressed and, after receiving a few of these gifts, came back with the retort, “How about the digitization of the tape, which you have been postponing over the last five years, mate?” a thought expressed, of course, in a far more gentle and polite manner. The shame of it all galvanized me to action.

 

Therein begins the story.

With due remorse I recovered the tape and played it back a bit at a time, lest its age cause it to fall apart altogether. Fortunately, it withstood the rigours of being played through in entirety. As I worked my way in ironing out the few wrinkles in the recording, it dawned upon me that I had discovered a musical gem. 

 

The voices I heard were of Munshi Raziuddin (and not Ustaad Manzur), at the very peak of his vocal prowess, and his (then) youthful son-in-law and his son, Naseeruddin Saami and Fareed Ayyaz, both vibrant accompanists to Razi Mian. There was a fourth voice that entered intermittently and it sounded distinctly like that of Ustaad Iftikhar Nizami, a member of the original Baṛi Party ( بڑی پاڑٹی ) (the Senior Party) of Manzur Qawwal, that powerhouse of classical Pakistani Qawwali, who we have published as one of the very earliest of the postings on this blog. 

 

Ustaad Iftikhar Nizami was considered the living library of the enormous poetic repertory of the Baṛi Party and he was responsible for poetic continuity/prompter as well as one of the principles in the choral ensemble. According to my information, he passed away in 1972. If my reckoning is correct, the presence of Ustaad Iftikhar dates this recording to between 1969 and early 1972.

The very fact that the tape was labelled as “Manzoor Qawwal” offered another hint as to its origins. Undoubtedly, it was Mr. Assad Ali (host of the 1978 mehfil posted here) who recorded the cassette and gifted it to Abba. In the Assad Ali household, despite their sustained patronage, Munshi Raziuddin and his group are referred to by the original Baṛi Party name of Manzoor Qawwal, following the adage, “A Rose by Any Other Name…”

 

A third clue was the nature of the performance itself. Mr. Assad Ali was a connoisseur of Sufi Poetry, particularly that of Hazrat Ameer Khusro. Hence (in deference to the taste of the audience) the entire Kalaam is recited, rather than chosen couplets, lending an authenticity to each of the pieces presented here. The Qawwals of today tend to flit from one poet or couplet to another, creating a medley of poetry, which is very clever, but leaves something to be desired in terms of fully enjoying the expression and depth of the original text. The current trend is particularly sad in this case as Munshi Raziuddin possessed a treasure trove of Ameer Khusro’s poetry as well as that of innumerable Sufi poets and sages. He could recite the Persian poetry of Khusro and Rumi by the yard, if inspired. It is sad to see that this discipline is not followed by his successors, despite their undoubted brilliance and talent.

 

The four pieces presented on this posting may well have been extracted as a selection of favourites from a longer mehfil.  

 

So, in summary, this recording is from the collection of Mr. Assad Ali. It dates to between 1970 and 1972, it presents four beautiful recitations and was given by Mr. Assad Ali to my father.

 

The individual pieces are full of character, not just for the poetry recited but for the distinct emotionality in the recitation of each piece. Every great singer, no matter from where, has the quality of voice, the control over expression and the musical imagination to create a distinct emotional resonance. In those days, Munshi Raziuddin was a master of creating and conveying musical emotion, and hopefully the listener would be able to appreciate the unique mood of each piece. 

 

The first piece, a Manqabat devoted to Hazrat Khwaja Ghareeb Nawaz (the Sufi Saint Hazrat Khwaja Mu’eenuddin Chishti), is a supreme example of traditional Khanqahi Qawwali (Qawwali recited at the saint’s mausoleum) conveying the plea of a mendicant beseeching the great saint for his blessing, while celebrating his spiritual lineage from The Prophet. 

 

The second, starts from a tentative digression into Raaga Puriya but settles into a recitation of the wistful phrase Lay Gayo Piya Pyaro Hamaro Mun (loosely translated My beloved you have taken the love possessed by my soul) which presents a beautiful exposition of Raaga Bhairavi.

The third is a personal favourite, a familiar Persian composition of Hazrat Ameer Khusro, Har Shab Manam Futada. The intensity of the poetry and majesty of Raaga Darbari serve to transport this listener to another world.

Har shab manam futada, Ba girde sarai e tou
Har roz ah o nala kunam az barai e tou

Every night have I fallen, around the circle of Thy tavern 
every day, do I wail and cry, in yearning of Thee 

Jana ba iin shakista dil-bewafa ma shou
Umre guzasht ta shuda am aashina e tou

O Love, turn not thy gaze from this broken hearted one 
for a lifetime has been spent, in getting to know Thee 

Rozay ke zarra zarra shavad, ustakhan-e-man
Ba shad hanoz dar dil-e-veesham hava e tou

When my bones are nothing but shattered bits 
may my heart carry on its quest of Thee 

Bar hal-e-zar-e-man nazar-e-kun ze raahay lutf
Tu Badshah-e-husni o Khusrau gada e tou

Let thy Grace fall on my blighted self 
Thou art the Lord of Grace, and Khosro but a beggar of Thee 

~ Amir Khusrau

(Farsi to English translation by Farrokh Namazi. Text and translation taken from the blog of my dear friend, Arif Ali Khan.)

The last piece, Manzil-e Ishq az Makan-e Deegar-ast (Kushtagaan-e Khangar-e Tasleem Ra), is a poem by Ahmed-e Jam, a Persian mystic:

منزلِ عشق از مکانے دیگرست 

مرد معنی را نشانے دیگرست

...

کشتگانِ خنجرِ تسلیم را 

ہر زماں از غیب جانے دیگرست 

...

As recorded in Regula Burckhardt Qureshi’s “Sufi Music”:

The following famous couplet by the Persian mystic Ahmad Jam inspired the saint to ecstasy:

Khushtagan-e-khanjar-e-taslim ra

Har zaman az ghaib jan-e-digar ast

For the martyrs of the dagger of submission

The Unseen brings a new life every moment

As the Qawwals repeated every first line, the saint fell down dead, but on every second line, he rose to life again. This alternation continued for many hours to several days, but the singing could not stop, until finally the Sufis present had the performers end on the first line to allow the saint to rest in final union with his Beloved.

— Regula Burckhardt Qureshi. Sufi Music of India and Pakistan: Sound, Context and Meaning in Qawwali. United Kingdom, Cambridge University Press, 1986.

 

The anecdote refers to the departure, from his temporal abode, of the Sufi Saint, Hazrat Qutubuddin Bakhtiyar Kaki (1173-1235), who was from the Chishtia Silsila, the successor to Khawaja Moinuddin Chishti, and who was succeeded by Hazrat Fareedudin Ganj i Shakar. The mystic’s elevation to the state of haal or wajd (state of ecstasy) dissolves the boundaries between temporal and spiritual existence and allow the Saint to move between the two planes, until the end of the recitation enable the passage of his soul to eternity and unity with his beloved, the Creator.

This anecdote represents essential Sufi ethos, the attainment of seamless transition between the perceivable, tangible world and the world of the soul and spirit—the movement between the Hazir (outer, evident, perceivable) and Batin (inner, deeper, concealed) states of being. 

Munshi Raziuddin would, at times, tell me anecdotes of his own mystical experiences. Most of them defied credibility and my queries as to the truth of the story would be met with a characteristic half smile and an affectionate twinkle of the eye. There was no attempt to convince me, just a recollection of the event.

 

One such anecdote comes to mind, from Munshi Raziuddin’s youth in Hyderabad Deccan. From a very early age his thirst for knowledge drew him to the public library of the Nizam of Hyderabad, one of the largest and most beautiful libraries in India. This library had an extensive reference section where readers could reserve a manuscript and peruse it in the reading rooms. Naturally, these could not be taken from the reference library premises. Once, Razi Mian saw a venerable old gentleman reading a weighty manuscript in an indecipherable script. He was wonderstruck as he saw this person week after week, absorbed in the strange book. One day, out of a combination of mischievousness and curiosity, he managed to reserve the manuscript for the following week. 

On the allocated day, he took delivery of the manuscript, settled in at the reading room and proceeded to leaf through it and try to make sense of the script.  The mischievousness melted as the old gentleman eventually came around and found this youth pouring over what was HIS book of interest. 

“Kuchch samajh main aa raha hai kay kya parh rahay ho? (Are you able to understand what you are reading?)”, he asked with a rather irritated and formidable imperiousness. 

Razi Mian, at a loss for words, ceded the manuscript to the gentleman, with the confession that he did not understand a thing. 

“Tau phir apna or maira waqt kyun zaya kar rahay ho? (Then why are you wasting your time and mine?)”  

However, neither the admonition nor the personality could dull Razi Mian’s curiosity, and he kept eyeing the gentleman absorbed in his reading. Eventually (perhaps out of pity) the gentleman took Razi Mian aside and told him that the manuscript was the Torah, a source of jurisprudence for the Abrahamic faiths, and that the script was classical Hebrew.  

 

The gentleman and Razi Mian struck up an acquaintance, and in response to Razi Mian’s repeated requests, he agreed to instruct Razi Mian on the Hebraic script as well as the mysteries of the manuscript. He told Razi Mian to meet him in the city, at an appointed location, day and time. To Razi Mian’s wonder, the gentleman came to their instructional session with the very same copy of the Torah which, as I earlier mentioned, was not supposed to be removed from the library’s reference section. He was too awestruck by the elder’s presence to inquire as to how he managed to smuggle the book from the library. As things evolved, these instructional sessions became weekly events, at the appointed place, day and time. The reference manuscript and a Hebrew/Arabic alphabet primer were the two books used. 

 

And so it came to pass that Razi Mian gained a working knowledge of the Hebrew alphabet and of the contents of the Torah. Eventually after a few months of this instruction it seems that the old sage did not arrive for his appointment and there was no sign of him. After a couple of such broken appointments and out of concern for the gentleman’s welfare, Razi Mian went to the library with the hope of tracking him down. He described the person and the entire proceeding to the head librarian.

 

He was informed that the personality he described was a well-known mystic, and that the gentleman had frequented the library for years. However, the sage had passed away a decade ago. Furthermore, Razi Mian was assured that the manuscript had not left its locked cabinet ever since he had booked it several months previously…

 

Now you can come up with several reasonable questions/speculation etc. as to the credibility of this story and several others. My point in relating this is not to convince anyone about anything. It is to draw attention to the intertwining of the mystical dimension that lends so much flavour to the life and personality of the person of whom we speak. To me it was the telling of the story, the vividness of the imagery and the magic associated with it, that created an aura that makes his art more than the sensory musical experience.

 

In any case, myths, legends, speculation on the supernatural create a sense of another level of being going beyond austere logic. Much as myths legends and beliefs have been the cause for conflict and bloodshed, they have also embellished life. As, Joseph Campbell, one of the greatest students of Myths observed:

 

“Mythology is not a lie, mythology is poetry, it is metaphorical. It has been well said that mythology is the penultimate truth — penultimate because the ultimate cannot be put into words. It is beyond words. Beyond images, beyond that bounding rim of the Buddhist Wheel of Becoming. Mythology pitches the mind beyond that rim, to what can be known but not told.”  

 

Whatever your thoughts on the matter, Dear Reader, I do hope that you enjoy this musical discovery with or without its mythical colouration. —Asif Mamu

Playlist:

1.  Manqabat Hazrat Khwaja Ghareeb Nawaz - Ya Waqif-e-Raaz Khafi-o-Jali (یا واقف راز خفی و جلی ، سلطان الہند غریب نوازؒ) — Kalam Dagh Dehlvi (kalam)
2.  Mai Ree (Raag Puriya)

3   Le Gayo Piya Pyaro Hamaro Mun (Raag Bhairavi) - لے گیو پیا پیارو ہمارو من
4.  Har Shab Manam Futada (ہر شب منم فتادہ بہ گرد سرای تو) — Kalam-e-Khusrau
5.  Kushtagaan-e-Khanjar-e-Tasleem Ra ( کشتگانِ خنجرِ تسلیم را ) — Kalam Ahmed-e Jam

Munshi Raziuddin, Naseeruddin Saami, Fareed Ayaz & Party - 1978

This month marks ten years since this Blog was launched.  This time a decade ago we felt that, at best, a couple of hundred people might be interested in the Blog and its music.  It is somewhat overwhelming to see that the Blog has enjoyed several thousand hits since it was launched, with visitors from about everywhere in the world!  Thank you all for stopping by and sharing our pleasure in the music that has been posted.

It seems apt to commemorate the decennial with a concert recorded in 1978, forty years ago.  This session was held at the Karachi home of Mr. Assad Ali, scion of the Wazir Ali family of Lahore.  The late Mr. Assad Ali was prominent among the circle of patrons of the Manzoor Qawwal party and later of Munshi Raziuddin.

Pakistani art in the turbulent decade

I suppose the 1970s were about the most turbulent and pivotal decade in Pakistan’s history.  In a space of ten years, the country experienced: its first ever democratic election; a conflict that broke it in half; a dramatic transition from military rule to its first democratically elected government; popular disaffection with that government; political chaos and the re-establishment of military rule; the execution of Pakistan’s first democratically elected prime minister; the beginnings of a Soviet incursion into Afghanistan and its impact on Pakistan; and the inauguration and imposition of a military dictator’s vision of Islam—a grim, and punitive affair which served little else but provide a cover for his cynical duplicity and the ruthless assertion of a vice like grip over the society and politics of the country.  And this unrelenting onslaught of tumultuous events occurred after a decade of the 60’s, with its apparent social stability and economic progress that seemed to be taken for granted at the time. 

It is a tribute to the spirit and resilience of Pakistanis that the turbulent ’70s were, paradoxically, the most fertile of times for the arts and cultural development.  The fine arts saw a crop of young artists break grounds hitherto unknown in the Pakistan fine arts scene.  The coming into stride of Pakistan Television (PTV) offered a platform for some brilliant television drama and satire, with several talented theater/TV actors, directors and writers assuming national prominence.  State patronage of folk arts allowed for the popularization of some wonderful folk artists and folk music.  And the poetry…aaaah the poetry!  Some of the finest political poetry was written at the time, inflaming the imagination.   Associated with the poetry was the coming of age of Pakistani ghazal performances.  The great ghazal singers of the post-independence era, as well as several brilliant new talents, found a public platform in television and the live performance of ghazals were now a matter of course as these talents became household presences.  In short, the cultural trajectory of current day Pakistan can trace its beginnings to this decade. 

The strife, chaos and pain of the 70’s seemed to inspire great art, I suppose, as an outlet for collective angst.  When thinking of the time, I am reminded of Graham Greene’s immortal lines, brilliantly delivered by Orson Wells in “The Third Man”:

You know what the fellow said—in Italy, for thirty years under the Borgias, they had warfare, terror, murder and bloodshed, but they produced Michelangelo, Leonardo da Vinci and the Renaissance.  In Switzerland, they had brotherly love, they had five hundred years of democracy and peace – and what did that produce? The cuckoo clock.

[With all due apologies to my Swiss friends…]

Qawwali on the world stage

Qawwali was no exception to the creative effervescence of the time.  Qawwali emerged from the khankah, dargah, and the drawing room to the public platform, in the form of televised performances and then, consequently, in live stage events.  Perhaps the spearheads of this evolution were the Sabri Brothers—Ghulam Fareed and Maqbool Ahmad Sabri—who gave a powerful rhythmic flair and drama to their performances that captivated the popular mind in Pakistan.  Not only that, but they established new international horizons for Qawwali by holding packed performances in Carnegie Hall in 1975 and later in 1978.  I am told that these performances inspired the audiences into head-twirling ecstasy.  Whether or not their audiences were in a collective state of vajd (mystical ecstasy), their charismatic performances served to place Qawwali on the international musical scene.  Such was their unprecedented financial success that they once hired a school friend of mine, a UK-trained Chartered Accountant, to handle their business affairs and investments, putting their financial house in order!

The success of the Sabris paved the way for a phenomenon named Nusrat Fateh Ali Khan.  Through the ’70s, Nusrat gained fame on the Pakistani Qawwali scene as the inheritor of the mantle of leader of the Fateh Ali-Mubarak Ali group that hailed from the Punjab.  He burst upon the World Music Scene (some regard him as being one of those that were instrumental in creating the genre) with his performance at the WOMAD festival in 1985.  In the 12 years between the WOMAD festival and his untimely death in 1997, Nusrat dominated the Qawwali scene in Pakistan and internationally, becoming an icon of World Music and a folk hero in Pakistan.

Everyone seems to have a favourite recollection of Nusrat’s music and performances.  Mine goes back to the late ’80s.  Nusrat was invited for the inaugural concert for an international music festival in Vienna.  At the time Vienna was a bit of a backwater for international music due to its conservative musical audiences.  Not having heard Nusrat, I went to the concert, from sheer curiosity.  I was amazed to find that the concert hall was packed—there was not even standing room left.  Of all the performances in the one-week festival, only one had an additional unscheduled performance laid out due to huge demand, and that was Nusrat’s!  Such was his fame and following by the end of his stellar career that on his passage, I was told by a friend, a New York FM radio station paid him homage by playing his music nonstop for 24 hours… 

All these musical evolutions had bypassed Munshi Raziuddin.  Not willing to compromise with popular trend (dare I say modernity?), he spent the ’70s and ’80s in the shadows with a large family to support but with a meager income provided by a waning body of traditional patrons and the traditional recitals at dargahs.  On seeing his penurious state, one of his patrons, a corporate type, provided a contract for having him and Ustaad Manzoor Niazi sing an advertising jingle, composed as a Qawwali, for a TV commercial.  Needless to say, the result was awful and (mercifully) that avenue closed with that one effort!

Despite poverty knocking at his doorstep in those economically chaotic times, there was a grace and dignity in Razi Mian’s receiving the visitor, and it was evident that his spirit was not dampened, nor was he deterred in his pursuit and spreading of knowledge.  This composure, in addition to the learning and love he showered on me, could only be reciprocated by my love and admiration for him.

The music in this session

Back to the session presented here.  As earlier mentioned it was held at the Karachi home of an old patron.  It is rather unique, since it is one of the few recordings available where Munshi Raziuddin leads and his nephew and son-in-law Naseeruddin Sami, and his elder son Fareed Ayyaz, accompany him.  Their relative youth and freshness of the accompanists’ voices are combined with a virtuosity that Munshi Raziuddin’s tutelage imparted upon them.  Naseer would have been in his early 30s at the time, and Ayyaz in his mid 20s.

My father had retired from Government service a few years prior to the concert and the turbulence associated with a change in lifestyle was inevitable.  With the result that it had been a few years since he had participated in a Qawwali mehfil.  When Razi Mian saw my father enter the room there was a glow and smile of loving welcome.  He whispered something to his accompanists.  We later found out that he instructed them to change the start from the usual Qaul/Manqabat that initiates mehfils.  So they started with this lovely rendition of Alhaiya Bilawal and the bandish Aay Dayya, Kahan Gaey Veh Log? Abba had not heard the bandish for quite some time, and on seeing that it was obviously directed at him, he was reduced to tears at the wonderful sentiment conveyed … neither singers nor audience were left dry eyed, as the performance proceeded, I am told.  This raga and this bandish has become a regular feature of our sessions with Fareed Ayyaz, a refrain commemorating our meetings, which are few and far between these days.  On each occasion the plaintive emotion is accentuated as one tries to hold on to the memory of loved departed ones… Of all the numerous renditions, I love this rendition best.  It has a classical simplicity and sobriety to it, accentuating the mood.

Both the raga Alhaiya Bilawal and this bandish inspire a powerful nostalgic lump-in-the-throat feeling as conventionally recited in the Qawwali and Khyaal form.  The raga, however, is not forever condemned to be a tear jerker… listen to this early recording by Ustaad Vilayat Khansahib.  Here, a minor elevation of scale, an increase in tempo and the genius of Vilayat Khan transform the raga into a sweet lilting melody, a light-hearted contrast to what is done by convention!

Track 2 Namee Danam is particularly beautiful—a languid, deliberate expose of Hazrat Ameer’s classic composition.  This kalaam lends itself to dramatization, given its powerful imagery.  Here, instead, the kalaam is recited without histrionics being brought into it, and the result is hypnotic!

Track 4 Sajda Kar Ke Qadam-e-Yaar Pe Qurban Hona is a kalaam attributed variously to Wamiq Jaunpuri or to Syed Ayaz Waris Shah Warsi, the former being a 20th century laic poet, the latter a 20th century Sufi.  Whatever the authorship, the kalaam is fairly popular, being recited at various mehfil-i-samaa.  I find most performances to be rather weak.  Not so here, the chemistry of this performance elevates it to a majesty that I have not encountered since.

Similarly, Khwaja Piya Piya usually reduces itself to Dhamaal with heavy emphasis on rhythm and overpowering noise.  This rendition, recited as Track 5, is unique.  In the words of my nephew and collaborator, Hasnain, “… have to say this is a very special rendition...no hollering, pure rus and kalam, smooth, and some of the verses are rarely used underscoring its freshness ... ”

The penultimate track, Aaja Moray Nainon Mein Saajna, is a wonderful plaintive composition continuing the tone of yearning expressed in the opening piece.

من بادامانِ معین الدین حسن دستِ زدم

ہادیِ من ، خضرِ من ، مھدیِ من ، مولائے من

 اے شہنشاہِ ولایت خواجہ ہند الولی

یک نگاہ گاہے گاہے از طفیلِ پنجتن

I grasp the robe of Moinuddin Chishti,

My Hadi, My Khizr, My Mahdi, My Mola —

O King of Saints! Khwaja Hindal Wali

Grant me an occasional glance for the sake of the Panjatan

(Track 9 - Khwaja Aan Pari Darbaar)

The overall tenor of this Mehfil is of old style classicism, the kalaam is arifana (Sufiyana / Devotional). The tempo of each piece is moderate, measured and constant, allowing the poetry and the recitation to be the focus of attention. The raga of each piece is maintained throughout and the only embellishments are the alaaps/taans of the singers, which while powerful, do not detract from the main flow of the kalaam and recitation, instead they deviate as a rivulet does from the mainstream, only to rejoin it after following its course.

Interestingly, when I first heard this recording, some 40 years ago, I felt it to be austere, if not dull.  The years of revisiting this have enhanced the appreciation of its beauty.  It has grown on me due precisely to its moderation, the discipline exercised in the recitation and the softness of its overall effect.

The uniqueness of the performance is due, in no small measure, to the thought that Munshi Raziuddin injected into his expose and the care and discipline exercised over his disciples/accompanists.  It is a testimony of the wealth of knowledge that he conveyed, as well as their hard efforts, that the two accompanists of this session have been treated kindly by the passage of time.  Ustaad Naseeruddin Sami is today one of Pakistan’s most respected Khyaaal singers, and Ustaad Fareed Ayaz, together with his brother Abu Mohammad, lead Pakistan’s leading living Qawwali group.

May Razi Mian’s blessings protect them and may they long flourish in the pursuit of the beauty of their art. —Asif Mamu

Playlist:

1. Ay Daiya Kahan Gaey Veh Log (اے دایَہ کہاں گائے وے لوگ)
2. Lagi Ri Mein Tau Charan Teharay (لاگی ری میں تو چرن تہارے)
3. Nami Danam Che Manzil Bood ( نمی دانم چہ منزل بود)
4. Ta Soorat-e-Paiwand Jahan Bood Ali Bood (تا صورت پیوند جهان بود علی بود)
5. Sajda Kar Ke Qadam-e-Yaar Pe Qurban Hona (سجده کرکے قدمِ یار پہ قرباں)
6. Khwaja Piya Piya / Chundri botay daar (خواجہ پیا پیا — چندری بوٹے دار)
7. Baro Ghee Ke Diyena (بارو گہی کے دیے نا)
8. Aaja Moray Nainon Mein Saajna (آج مورے نینوں میں ساجن)
9. Khwaja Aan Pari Darbaar (خواجہ آن پڑی دربار)