Barnes & Noble
The daughter of sitar maestro Ravi Shankar took the long way to this au courant world-fusion album. Studying and performing alongside her father, Anoushka pursued the rigorous training in Indian classical music that separates the true practitioners from most global travelers: Two albums of straight ragas proved her bona fides. Rise, though, is the kind of recording that fans of the young sitarist have been hoping she'd make, because it's the kind of youthful crossover disc that makes all those thousands of years of tradition very, very sexy. From the cinematic opening, with its low, rumbling synthesizer (instead, it should be noted, of a low, rumbling traditional tambora), it ushers in a world ripe with exotica. But there's substance to the perfumed textures. Shankar wrote, arranged, produced, and recorded nearly everything here, and it's a musician's record, not a marketing executive's. Vishwa Mohan Bhatt, the Indian guitar virtuoso, is one of the masters on hand, confirming Shankar's offbeat sensibilities when it comes to the music of her homeland. Exploring the vocal rhythm technique of teental on the one hand and nouveau flamenco on the other, Shankar follows a wide-ranging muse. Her playing is consistently fluid and flawless, but one gets the clear message that her instrument is only part of the picture here. The album is the sound of a thoughtful musician with a serious legacy making a personal declaration -- indeed, the daughter also rises.
Mark Schwartz
All Music Guide
The daughter of Ravi Shankar moves far from the tradition on her fourth solo album, using her considerable sitar skills (understandably, she'll never be her father's equal, but who ever will?) as just part of her arsenal on an album that strives hard to blend the past and cutting edge. It succeeds in part, as on "Solea," where Indian and flamenco meet, the two opposite ends of the gypsy road, and discover they have much in common, or on "Red Sun 4," where the Indian tradition of vocal percussion called konnokol seems as modern as anything to emerge from drum programming. At other times, the album seems to float too weightlessly on a cloud of miasma. "Sinister Grains" is a case in point: it's pretty, and certainly well executed. But when it's over, it's hard to remember, as ephemeral as a pleasant summer breeze. "Voice of the Moon" fares somewhat better, more grounded in its Indian-ness, with an arching melody. But even that's countered by the album's opener, "Prayer in Passing," which seems too much like an alaap without a theme, a prelude that leads to nothing, form without substance. Shankar uses plenty of programming on this, adding voices (including her own), palmas, piano, guitar, and other unusual textures, which certainly bring variety to what she does. And with "Ancient Lore," the epic (11-minute) closer, she actually pulls it all together (thankfully without the didgeridoo that's there on one earlier cut), the judicious use of reverb giving a certain ambience, and a reminder that she's a sitar player whose roots lie on both East and West and she improvises. Rise isn't perfect, by any means, but it's the first step on a new path. Chris Nickson