Rahul Mukerji – Mridhangit

“Mridhangit” presents a truly mind-melting experience, featuring Rahul Mukerji collapsing genres and styles into each other as some sort of color-dripping prism. The kaleidoscopic array of different textures feels unbelievably massive. Volume is a must because this is a sound that needs to be felt to the absolute fullest. Walls of sound are constructed with precision engineering that draws on elements of post-rock, post-hardcore, world music, Carnatic, psychedelic, and folk traditions, too varied to count. Rhythms twist and turn on a dime, remaining constantly engaging throughout the experience. Expertly laid-down layers help to further give the sound this inescapable feeling. Deep listening is highly recommended, both thanks to the technical prowess of everyone involved and the great production values throughout. Every single element is treated with care, allowing for this jaw-droppingly beautiful series of arrangements. Best of all is when the album is taken as a whole, because it is tailored to be a series of suites, each playing off the last. Track durations help with this relaxing, immersive quality, and the head positively swims through the unbelievable amount of territory covered. Many of the things he emphasizes are things I have rarely, if ever, heard in music, and I listen to an unhealthy amount of it. So kudos to him for proving that music can continue to completely surprise me, even this far into my overextended life.

A fourth-world Feng Shui informs the complex yet intricate ways Rahul Mukerji executes his sound. With a mix of the traditional and the highly modern, it references artists working in similar spaces, such as Ak’chamel and The Givers of Illness’ kick. Much like their work, the way rhythms unspool and feel like transmissions from an alternate timeline is real. Dexterity is essential. Some of the phrasing and riffs that roll through touch upon Sir Richard Bishop’s explorations of psychedelic rock through the lens of Indian, Middle Eastern, and North African idioms. He’s very well-listened, so it is doubly refreshing to hear such an out-there take on a sound that feels ancient while simultaneously highly contemporary. The Desert Blues, a la Mdou Moctar’s world-expanding efforts, serve as yet another reference point for the level of talent and curiosity in the constantly shifting arrangements, which are exquisite. Mukerji does bring elements of the Desert Blues into it, because a handful of his pieces show how massive the sound can be. Even with all these reference points, Mukerji exists within a realm of his own, reflecting upon his past, present, and a yet-undetermined future.

To reach this point, Mukerji has gone through a lot, in both literal and metaphorical ways. In a literal sense, he was born in India before being based in the United States. So many of the influences of his heritage can be found in his varied output. He has also grown the group that helps him out. Before this, a handful of collaborators were referenced, but with each additional release, he’s grown and expanded that set of trusted individuals. Perhaps it reflects a sense of confidence and the knowledge that composing such massive compositions may require the occasional external help. So, seeing his movement from his 2017 debut album, Ma De Re Sha, to his current, 2026 Dushtan requires this level of knowledge. He’s always balanced his current surroundings on the East Coast (specifically the surprisingly fertile hotbed of creativity that Maryland provides) with his Indian roots. Both interests and loves receive equal attention. It is fascinating, too, to hear the evolution of his sound from his 2017 to his current work, almost a decade later.

Ma De Re Sha started the experience. Released in 2017, it was named a Silver Medal Winner at the 2018 Global Music Awards. Even an awards ceremony took about a year to fully process what he was up to and what he was capable of. All instrumental, why would Mukerji even need to say a word when his guitar sings? The way it sings adds to the majesty of the album, which runs the gamut from funk to metal to jazz to tablas. Lots of drumming results in dizzying patterns. He’s mostly alone on this debut, too, with Ruben Rubio’s bass work one of the few other elements. Given the sheer number of rhythms, it also makes sense to have Bruce Ng provide additional programming. Bruce Ng works on the production side, responsible for the crisp sound alongside Mukerji’s efforts. Everything, while highly technical, always maintains eye contact with the need for discernible hooks and melodies. So it is thoughtful music that retains a highly poppy accessibility, no mean feat given the amount of detail that he paints with.

“Exit 13” has Mukerji’s guitar phrases work alongside a heavily funky bass line that holds the thing down. Occasionally, he pulls back ever so slightly to show off the tablas underneath the interplay. The song works on this contemplative quality, making it feel good for the heart and the mind. Quieter moments allow the rest of the track to breathe, to expand out into the infinite. Highly lyrical despite no words being sung, it is a great introduction to what awaits the listener.

Dreamier passages settle on the peaceful “Sita.” Mukerji has a softer side, moving the guitar back a bit, giving it a gauzy, almost shoegaze-like cadence. Building the sound up feels doubly refreshing, and the entire piece is sun-drenched. Tempos are kept mellow, laid-back, and blissed-out. Bass works less on the groove side and focuses on the emotional core of the piece. Holding until the latter half to unleash his shredding capabilities, Mukerji delves into a serene slipstream of sound, inspirational as well as downright tender in all the right places. It possesses an unspoken narrative that is a key element of the dialogue, making sure it all works in a perfectly shining fashion.

Much more intimate and immediate “Fingerprints” further refines the sound down further, until it becomes summery. A passion guides the song along. Rhythms have a light, almost jazz-like, spry quality. He moves away from the more electric aspects of his sound to a degree, giving more attention to the guitar’s full acoustic strum. Catchy hooks are used effectively. Elements of the jazz guitar repertoire are rearranged to incorporate motifs from his childhood, making the song a boundless sea of endless curiosity.

Field recordings of a rainstorm set the tone immediately with “Children of I-2.” I appreciate the good use of field recordings in any album, as they are a great way to set the mood and give the rest of the band time to work off the general mood that captured reality presents, because what else could a field recording be considered besides an aural photo of a moment in space? A triumphant gait lets out, unspooling into the heavens, letting their rain seep onto the ground. Pure optimism reigns supreme, and the rest of the sound works perfectly in unison with the guitar. Bass seems to shadow his guitar’s spirit neatly, adding the right amount of weight behind the guitar strings, singing so sweetly. With a greater emphasis on the high end, the track works a distinctive wonder, looking back while seeing hope in the future.

Post-rock ambiance takes hold as “A Path Less Traveled” lets the solid, clean guitar tones ring out. Mukerji touches upon the soaring, skyward tones of Explosions in the Sky. As someone who has seen Explosions in the Sky way too many times, the piece’s emotional component is undeniable. Even without that post-rock crescendo aspect, it still has a thought-provoking quality. Forgoing drums, the song exists to reveal a softer element within his sonic palette. The work is muted, and the way the song embodies a quiet, cloudy day and the contemplative spirit that rests within it is doubly refreshing. Keeping things sparse for the short duration helps the work serve as a palette cleanser before he dives headfirst back into the thick of things.

“Zidd” embodies the dive. Wild, animalistic guitar riffs echo out in a vast space. There is a pleading quality behind the gestures. Upon the rest of the instruments entering into the fray, the song settles into a deceptively simple groove for a little moment. This being Mukerji’s sonic universe, nothing stays constant, and he switches up the style into more athletic guitar work that feels beautiful. With the rest of the work, the ebb and flow between the tender side and the jagged edges lends the track a true flair for the dramatic.

By far the highlight comes through with the title track of “Ma De Re Sha.” The whole group works into a frenzy. When he goes hard and shows some great shredding, he retains his innate curiosity. Drums help to give the track a purely rock framework. He lets the whole thing fade out for a moment before the tablas come on in. Such an elegant instrument, he lets them retain their classical Hindustani ceremonial origins. A vibe shift occurs at the very heart of the piece, slowing it down and highlighting the inherent beauty that underpins Mukerji’s technical precision on the guitar.

“Train Ride From Siliguri” goes for a spaghetti western twang reframed within a distinctive Eastern context. Respectful of both traditions, he blends the worlds. A nice cinematic flair underpins the journey, allowing his guitar work to wax and wane poetically. Various little details almost get lost in the activity, but fortunately, he also gives the instruments plenty of room to roam. Making the guitar take a back seat to the rhythm feels like madness, but it shows a degree of humility in highlighting every contribution to the overall atmosphere.

Colossal, stomping drums rage through with the animalistic presence of “Baisakhi.” Doing a great job of doubling down on energy, the song is completely propulsive. He draws clear inspiration from Middle Eastern influences, as traces of surf rock and metal’s roots are evident. He shows off deft skill in the work, letting the track unspool in this grandiose fashion. Doubling down on everything, the way that the piece works itself into one final plaintive plea of the guitar’s siren feels refreshing.

Softer and more atmospheric, “Hope Anew” pulls things back a bit. The rest of the band takes a back seat to the guitar gestures of the furious and subdued. Of note is the bass line, hiding right there. It has an emotive quality, doubling down on the melody that underpins the track. With the bass work, the song feels almost dub-like in its execution, featuring multiple tempos that coexist in surprisingly cohesive harmony.

One of the jazzier ambient interludes strolls through with the Tristeza-inspired “Event Horizon.” Again, he removes all unnecessary clutter to fixate primarily on the guitar work that leads the way. It is a softer skill, continuing to de-escalate the energy and tension further downwards.

Effortlessly blasting through with ferocity, the finale “Sinner” feels badass, simply put. Bass has an almost funky aspect that underpins the guitar work. Drums and tablas work together in this completely dazzling way. Really, it feels as if there is an endless series of rhythms constantly competing against each other. By the time it ends, it feels like a fitting conclusion to the funky jazz, embodying everything that came before.

Given how easily his music lends itself to cinema, it is unsurprising that his next two projects were devoted to soundtracks. Madhubala deals with early 20th-century Hindi poetry, whereas Missi jumps forward a century to focus on the contemporary. Most artists would have difficulty capturing the differences between such dramatically different periods. For one, India in the early 20th century was not free; now, thankfully, India has been independent for under a century, though still for far less than most realize. Rather than showing the differences between the two periods, Mukerji highlights the similarities across such a vast span of time. Time has been called cyclical, and it makes sense, given how often the same themes repeat across multiple generations.

“Theme I” on Madhubala barely rises above a whisper. It gains power in the quiet. Mukerji completely forgoes the guitar with this piece, choosing instead to highlight the space in between sounds. One could consider this piece an attack on silence, showing the impressionist quality of the sounds and giving the decay of each gesture a heightened, romantic quality. He lets the work drift away, as if coming from a half-forgotten dream. It also helps that he brings together classical traditions from multiple continents and subcontinents into a singular approach that feels doubly refreshing, liberating even.

His guitar returns in psychedelic fashion with the delay and echo of “Theme II.” Technique plays alongside the effects that he plays against. Sometimes it feels like he’s playing alongside himself. It is a fascinating piece, reminiscent of ragas but with a distinctive rock flair. He finds the midpoint of the two extremes, landing in an overlap of lines that typically do not cross. No percussive elements are necessary, for the rhythm is a thing constantly in flux. From the work’s initial subdued nature, he allows the song to begin racing. It is only competing against itself. With the more intense flow of various riffs that he runs through, it feels akin to having the heart race after a long slumber.

“Theme III” picks up from the final echoes of “Theme II.” An ebb and flow of rising and falling action works to frame the track in this half-remembered state. He utilizes the quieter side of things, giving every ring-through of the theme plenty of space. It is hypnotic how he does things on here. Unlike the previous piece, he pulls back from anything overly active. Instead, all that exists is the way that the song grants a degree of peace and beauty before fading away.

His backgrounds collide with “Theme IV.” Deeper chords work to flesh out the low end. Much of the piece is content with how the echoes reverberate. A good sound system emphasizes the subtle ways he shifts the work, moving from the high to the low end and back again. By the time it closes, it feels almost like drifting back into sleep again after a short reverie. This piece should close out the entire Madhubala soundtrack.

Missi works in a completely different way. Away from Madhubala’s poetic inclinations, it is clearly contemporary. The moods are more dramatic and varied here. While there is that general sense of contentment that runs through the whole experience, something Mukerji does well, it is a tense series of songs. Here, the tracks reflect upon some of the anxiety that is an inherent part of contemporary life. Alongside that tension is the genuine release: the way we can find the gorgeousness amongst the ordinary.

“Theme I – L’enfer” feels mechanical. The low-end clangs rumble for an industrial aesthetic. We hear this beating heart everywhere we go, yet we cannot pinpoint it. Anxiety defines the piece, even as kinder gestures seem willing to gloss over it. Yet, to Mukerji’s credit, he never makes things overly comforting. He wants the listener to sit with the discomfort to some degree, making it a strong opening to the rather varied collection of songs.

Experimentation is an essential aspect of “Theme II – Ecdysis.” While the low end of before is certainly there, the bass has shifted from the tense to the comforting. His guitar rolls in similarly, in a serene way. Tempos are kept mellowed, too. No percussion is necessary; everything gets anchored by this strong emotional core. By allowing the many different aspects to intersect, there is a purposeful way in which they all play together. Moments of the experimentation have a lot in common with Christopher Willit’s earliest, gauzy releases. Half of this is his technique, and the other half is how he uses it, by climbing up and down scales. It is a gentle, comforting little moment.

“Theme III – Missi’s Theme” feels like an object gaining clarity as it gets closer. At well under a minute, it is stripped down to the utmost essentials. Feeding off what came before in “Theme II,” it takes the ringing gestures and shows where they will logically go next. It is a soothing atmosphere and one that is doubly refreshing to take everything in, right before it simply stops.

Expansive rural psychedelic aspects filter into “Theme IV – Supplicant.” It captures the sense of eternity. Gone is any trace of a steadfast rhythm section. Instead, he uses the ebb and flow of water as a reference point. So this way, the sounds gain a limberness. This light-on-the-feet aspect feels outright beautiful to experience, and some of the harder-to-place sounds feel as if the guitar is bouncing off various metallic objects in this grandiose, sweeping place.

Hard to pick out the traces of the guitar on the finale of “Theme V.” If there is a guitar, it is very cleverly hidden under some tender symphonic sweeps. Ending things on this thought-provoking note, the song’s extended drone-like Zen feels aptly suited to close out the mysterious series of pieces, right before it simply fades into pure nothingness.

After the two EP-sized soundtracks, there is a notable gap of almost five years until Mridhangit. The EP soundtracks display a different side of Mukerji’s craft, but upon listening to Mridhangit, it is easy to see why exactly it took so long. Sheer numbers indicate that there were a lot more collaborators on this album than on anything preceding it. Mukerji’s skill remains a focal point, but the songs themselves have evolved. In the music scene itself, Mukerji could not have arrived at a better time. Currently, the music world has rediscovered what true skill means on the guitar and in effects boxes, judging by the shocking explosion in popularity of Angine de Poitrine. This Quebec-based duo creates completely baffling time signatures while highlighting a sense of play, with Mridhangit, a similar attitude is at work, one that allows the listener to get completely crushed by the massive waves of sound. Even aesthetically, on the album art, there is a huge shift from the humble origins of Ma De Re Sha’s simple, direct picture of guitar and table. Here Mukerji even touches upon elements of math rock, progressive rock, and more. Some of the track lengths prove that the confidence has grown, with a handful of tracks hitting the five-minute mark, one even exceeding the six-minute mark, “Rahu Ketu.”

“Mr. Sinister” sets the tone immediately. Dustier than usual, the song takes notes from his soundtrack-focused. Ruben Rubio on the fretless bass adds to the beguiling spirit. The melody reflected within the bass is doubly refreshing. When Leo Margarit’s drums hit, the song bursts forth with energy. Mukerji utilizes this wonderful gallop to the guitar work, feeling reminiscent of John Fahey’s fingerprinting work on “Fare Forward Voyagers (Soldier’s Choice).” When it reaches the madness of the last minute, every form of restraint lets go. This is perhaps the most metal, post-hardcore aspect of his practice, of giving the tension plenty of time to grow. Even waiting for the final stretch to lose himself feels appropriate given the utter madness that the track engages in.

Grunge fuzz adorns “Bheja Fry.” Aspects of ‘90s alternative rock filter into the fray, for there’s this limberness that he gives the whole experience. The tabla programming is a fine touch, as this track perhaps holds back compared to its fiery predecessor. With a very celebratory attitude, the song given brings a little bit of funk, courtesy of Rafael Freitas. Downright groovy, Mukerji even shows what psychedelic rock from the ‘60s updated would sound like, as aspects incorporate some of Jimi Hendrix’s guitar phrases. Overall, it is just a good time, and is one of those pieces that feels good for the heart.

His jazz and surf rock inclinations come together in the soothing mix of “Twelve Ganeshas.” Absolutely sun-soaked, Mukerji gives the work a fun, summer-jam-like presence. Some of the deliberate choices draw on Chicago’s jazz-rock tradition, with elements that feel highly reminiscent of Tortoise at the peak of their powers back in their creative ‘90s. Quite an easy-going piece, it feels natural, relaxed, and real. Underneath all the work is Praveen Sparsh on the mridangam, further emphasizing the exquisite loveliness that seems to radiate from every part of the piece.

“Enjoymaddi” stuns. Impressionistic piano work courtesy of Chaplin gives the work a classical quality. His playing recalls the delicate touches of Debussy, for the chord clusters have a naturalistic presence. Interestingly, the song even waits a while before the rest of the band comes in. When they eventually do, they perfectly sync up with the piano’s phrases. Upright bass helps anchor it in a jazz-like cadence for a moment, as Maciej S opts for subtle gestures rather than something much more massive. By far the most orchestral of all the works, by the time Mukerji’s guitar weaves into the mix, it becomes a deliriously joyful crescendo.

Vocals appear as rhythms with the meditative title track “Mridghanit.” Praveen Sparsh provides the Carnatic spoken rhythms, giving the song a distinctive southern Indian cadence. Rahul Krishnan on flute and tabla solidifies the incredible percussion. Easily the highlight, everything takes its time working itself into a frenzy of activity. Within this piece, there are several different miniature suites of sound, ranging from vocal rhythms (which really need to become more of a thing) to more guitar-led elements. The fact that all of this can balance each other out to create a virtual journey is incredibly impressive.

Miles Davis’ ‘70s jazz funk comes into full swing with the stylish swagger of “Kalli Penn.” Here, everything commands attention. Chaplin on the keyboard helps give the sense that the sound is floating. Everything comes together in this wild mix of activity. Guitar work displays a level of Eastern and Western influences, alternating on a literal second-by-second basis. Completely unpredictable, this is what would be known in rock’s classic era as a real trip. The volume needs to be blasted as loudly as humanly possible, because this is among his most physically demanding works. Alejo Perezcuba’s drumming further adds the extra emphasis that simply stuns.

“Funky Pakora” lives up to its name. The slap bass work that Ruben Rubio occasionally throws into the mix brings the funk in a literal, tangible way. Underneath all that is a surprisingly creative duo: Mukerji on guitar and Dylan on clarinet. I can probably count on one hand the number of times I have heard a guitar/clarinet working in unison on a track. Working together, they make it this completely unforgettable experience, an experimentation, but still very much accessible.

The Angine de Poitrine reference point is very strong with “Dushtan.” From the way that they initially mess with the pitch shifts to the eventual full-throated assault on the senses, it simply works. His elements of metal certainly play an important role here, as it is one of the heaviest tracks on the album. Keyboards via Chaplin and the violin via Thisara Bandara help to solidify the sheer churn that the song sometimes engages with. An intense experience, Mukerji’s guitar work is perfectly buttressed by all the other madness, with the percussion giving a primal, raw quality that underpins his maddening performance.

“Rahu Ketu” starts with this mysterious opening. His longest track by far, everything is given enough time to percolate. It spreads out, and the duration lets each instrument have its own moment in the sun. Ruben Rubio’s bass work is subtle and effective. Drumming feels great with the strides working their way through. It becomes a driving, pulsing energy. It has this sense of purpose that pushes the thing along.

Light and airy is the spaciousness of “Four Seas.” Here, the sounds are nearly ambient. Rhythms feel natural, going for this organic approach. Electronic elements are kept down, pulled back. Layers swirling about have this daydream quality that rolls through, taking its time. Tempos go for this slowcore aesthetic. Songs have a gauzy quality that evokes wide-open vistas. A sense of the countryside enters the equation, helping to rise into the heavens.

“Mutabor” closes the album with this soothing wash. Contemporary mixed with the classical, the track has a grandeur behind it. The tabla programming courtesy of Mukerji sets the tone. Duduk, thanks to Erkan Erginci, serves as a nice counterpart to the rest of the work. The interplay between the tracks feels kaleidoscopic, with the song kept at a low volume. Aspects of the track seem almost to simmer, letting all the fire of the previous works start to dissipate. Even the higher peaks reverberate into the distance, as there is a backward-looking aspect to how things work. Given everything that was explored beforehand, it makes sense that this has such a reflective presence.

Mridhangit serves as a template for where Mukerji has been, his life growing up overseas, and as part of the shockingly vibrant Maryland music scene. He draws on some of the Mid-Atlantic hardcore influence of Fugazi in neighboring Washington, D.C. Beyond that, he also learns from more nearby experimenters, such as the childlike wonder of Dan Deacon’s productions (one of which served as the opening piece for an Orioles game in Baltimore) and the dream logic of the shoegaze inclinations of Beach House. Whatever his approach, and he keeps it quite varied, everything comes together in this mixture of almost everything. Some of the instrumental choices he uses are highly distinctive: the table, the duduk, the mridangam, and even the Konnakol, which is rarely heard outside Indian music. These are great touches and are meaningful to me, someone who grew up surrounded by Indian classical music, with a father who spent a good chunk of his childhood in Northern India. In a sense, Mukerji taps into my childhood, teenage years, and adulthood all within a relatively short time span.

Where does Mukerji go from here? Compared to his debut, Mridhangit is more fully formed, heavier, and at the same time, far dreamier. He embodies the Jon Hassell concept of fourth world music, the idea that there are other timelines and facets of music we can explore. The combination of so many different styles, the traditional and highly contemporary, adheres to that philosophy. It also helps that the number of collaborators on his albums has increased since his debut. A whole community is seen in the many works, both people he has worked with before and several new faces. Some of the newer elements thrown into the mix, like the funk and metal influences, accentuate his already impressive guitar skills. Surf rock elements also have that neat mixture of classic, ancient, and modern, given that most of surf rock’s tenets were established by Arabic scales, written by a person of Lebanese descent (Dick Dale) decades earlier. I hope that others can hear what Mukerji does on this album and find some inspiration, knowing that, even with all the work that has been done in music, there is still much more territory that remains relatively unexplored. As Xenakis once stated when talking about his architecture-influenced work, we are but navigators in a sea of sound.

Available in so many places and formats, going from Bandcamp (which I love) to Spotify to Apple Music (I have heard good things but do not have an Apple account for monetary reasons), his work really feels like what we need right now – a sound that is undeniably human and teems with boundless creativity.

Rahul Mukerji’s “Mridhangit” is the culmination of almost a decade of experimentation and raw insight, resulting in an album so timeless and unique that it defies easy categorization—an absolute blast.

Spotify:

Bandcamp:

Youtube:

Apple Music:
https://music.apple.com/gb/album/mridhangit/1863579262