At a modest house in Plymouth, the best veena player in North America goes about her busy schedule. Amid teaching a select set of students and organizing her global concert itinerary — including a stop Sunday at the Cedar Cultural Center in Minneapolis — Nirmala Rajasekar finds time to head into the practice space at the back of the house for hours at a time.
"The one constant is practice," she said in an interview last week. "The veena demands complete submission. My children used to call the veena 'the older sister' because we always needed to take care of it."
The veena is a long, hollow-necked instrument with a pear-shaped body. It has four melody strings and three drone strings over a board with 24 frets. It is a majestic yet cumbersome instrument, played from a sitting position. In Rajasekar's hands, it emits a beguiling blend of staccato rhythm and liquid flow. Twanged notes pearl into a gleaming resonance, quickly tagged by more sinuous, lingering sounds, interwoven with notes precisely plucked thanks to her deft wrists and fingering.
Sunday's Cedar Cultural Center concert celebrates the release of "Maithree: The Music of Friendship," a new album featuring an ambitious meld of cultures, musical textures and sonic spice. It features a quintet with locals including cellist Michelle Kinney; Pat O'Keefe from the new-classical ensemble Zeitgeist on clarinet, saxophone and cowbell; and Pat's brother, Tim O'Keefe, a master of percussion on African, Middle Eastern and South American instruments.
The fifth and sole nonlocal member is Thanjavur K. Murugaboopathi, another international star in the South Indian Carnatic genre of classical music. He plays the mridangam, a percussion instrument that hypnotically meshes with the veena in a manner similar to the tala drums and the sitar in North Indian music.
Along with band originals, the "Maithree" song list includes a 17th-century Irish jig ("Mary O'Neill"), a Turkish folk dance ("Nihavent Oyun Havasi") and plenty of material from the Carnatic tradition. But the treatments are strikingly fresh. "Nanati Baduku," for example, is a raga written for a 13th-century poem, with the cello and clarinet departing from traditional lines of percussion, veena and vocals.
"I call it a handshake," Rajasekar said with her customary enthusiasm and wide smile. "We all bring in music, and then we spend a lot of time talking and showing each other how it goes. How do you improvise on this? Where can you improvise? We want to be authentic to the music, but we also want to reach across, so we discover where we have license to do it."
Minnesota fellowship
Rajasekar was sitting on her couch last week waiting for the locals to show up for rehearsal. Murugaboopathi, who hails from the city of Chennai on India's southeast coast — Rajasekar's birthplace and the global epicenter of Carnatic music — was a houseguest.