World Harmony Concert, Hamburg

Mainland Europe is always an adventure. Its patchwork is familiar to me, but each region forms its own striking contrasting contribution to the richness of the whole, and each holds its own surprises.

This is Hamburg. I like it here. Everything seems so well cared for, which effects a kind of authenticity and integrity. The trees seem more arboreal; the cows, well, more bovine. The buildings are often painted so as to appear edible as fondant, ornate but not ostentatious. From the window box to the bakery window, all is gently pleasing to the eye.

Without exception everyone seems endowed with a natural urge to assist, from bus driver to bystander. The subway station pipes a recording of a string quartet, and even has a manned information desk. A simple query produces a tailored computer printout and verbal explanation in perfect English: one 17-minute ride departing in 4 minutes, followed by an 11-minute walk (cost and direction of platforms then follow).

The limits of hospitality are potentially breached on entering a dingy bistro for a very early lunch. One sizeable bristly man peers over his newspaper and over the dark heavy furniture. I almost turn on my heel, but he instantly turns lively and maternal, bending to neatly arrange the cup, adorn the saucer with a miniature biscuit, and invite a request for more bread ten minutes before it is required so that it can be freshly baked.

After a rejuvenating couple of hours at the hotel, and another chance to sample the efficiency of public transport, Alsterdorfer Sporthalle beckons. I especially relish this aspect of short European trips: arriving at the concert destination. An effervescent anticipation always pervades the atmosphere. In a sea of bright familiar faces, the audience gradually gathers from various cities around the world.

The crowd is full of delightfully unexpected meetings, with all the accompanying smiles of affection and animated exchanges of news. Incense graces the air as Sri Chinmoy’s instruments take their places on stage: a sculptural array of polished wood and keys and strings. The hush gathers momentum.

The set itself is mesmerising. Six huge white silken banners, adorned with enlargements of Sri Chinmoy’s bird drawings, flank a vast video screen. Vibrant lights saturate the white, framing Sri Chinmoy’s Jharna Kala paintings projected as a dancing ocean of colour. The scene is further set in a series of introductions by Sri Chinmoy’s students, including recital of poetry and music.

The maestro arrives, and the hush finds new depths. The opening meditation is a silent overture, creating most seemly and serene environs for new sounds to take flight. The blue ceramic dove is first as always, like a sweet ethereal invitation to another realm, then the esraj with its seamless husky call; one note yearning for the next. A western flute somehow echoes in a bass octave, doubling its mellow melting warmth, yet still mirroring the surrounding silence. A dance of strings: the curled smiling sunny tones of the sitar follow those of smaller things responding brightly to Sri Chinmoy’s touch.

Delight is not just in the sounds themselves, but also in the physical beauty of each instrument, and in the grace with which they are handled to draw forth their truest, sweetest, and most powerful voices. Sri Chinmoy’s image on the screen portrays the depth of meditation holding the source of every note. How haunting the harmonium; the notes hanging as backdrops in the air, and then Sri Chinmoy sings... I feel only heart then; one vast affirmative in that striking yet mellifluous flow of sound and expression.

An interlude follows, and Sri Chinmoy honours a Russian dignitary who has accompanied the whole German tour. A song which he has composed is presented by a sizeable choir in an intricate vocal arrangement. The guest is visibly moved by this gesture, and a touching exchange follows with three-way translations: Russian, German, English. Further symbolic presentations follow, and many verbal displays of sincere mutual respect. I feel honoured to witness it all.

The concert resumes as the guest takes his seat. There is only one instrument yet to play: a large synthesiser with a panoply of different sounds. Every space is filled with music then: swelling, climbing, dancing, building, thundering then glowing, in an immense explosion of spontaneous creativity. The final sound is that of a pipe organ, voicing with such poise and majesty a most poignant song: Kata Gan (“How many songs have I sung? How many more have I still to sing here on earth?...”).

The initial hush has reached its destination, and I am dumbfounded for a long time beyond the newborn silence of the closing meditation. Without any loss of brilliance I carry the feeling in me still as I return home. There could be no more profound a finale to that performance, nor to Sri Chinmoy’s latest World Harmony Concert Tour.

Sumangali Morhall
September 2005