There are a lot of creative forces to keep track of on Junun. Receiving top billing is the Israeli singer and composer, Shye Ben Tzur, who wrote the songs. Then there's his backing band: the 19 performers, hailing from distinct Indian-music traditions, who form the Rajasthan Express. And you've also got Radiohead's Jonny Greenwood contributing rhythm guitar, bass, keyboards, and drum-programming to the arrangements.
Still, aside from the album's complex backstory and multilingual lyrics (written, variously, in Hebrew, Hindi, and Urdu), Junun is readily approachable on its own. When Aamir Bhiyani’s rhythmically crisp trumpet peals out over programmed and acoustic percussion during the first minute of the album's opener and title track, Junun establishes its celebratory side. (Instrumental virtuosity and rhythmic drive: check and check, respectively.) Then the singer comes in, delivering an attractive setting of Sufi mystic poetry. (Warmly humanistic vibe: check.) The song could easily coast from this point. But once a tempo downshift hits, midway through, the assembled performers sound even more exultant. (Are you dancing yet? I was.)
It's the wealth of smart musical touches that make Ben Tzur's songs feel so emotionally legible. The bowed strings of "Hu" have a vulnerable quality that contrasts winningly with the song’s more full-throated vocal exclamations, while Ben Tzur’s breathy flute playing complements Greenwood’s tinny digital programming on the opening of "Kalandar". And the gradual acceleration of a vocal-driven number like "Eloah" also contributes to the album’s impressive range of textures.
"Chala Vahi Des" starts out with melancholic vocals delivered by Afshana Khan and Razia Sultan, before throttling into a harmonium-and-drums groove. In the song’s final section, Greenwood’s surprisingly funky bass playing enters into a dialog with the vocalists and drums. Also making an appearance, during the chorus of the triple-meter tune "Allah Elohim", are the ghostly, sliding tones of the ondes Martenot—an early electronic-keyboard instrument that is one of Greenwood’s favorites. (He's used it on Kid A, Hail to the Thief, as well as in his score for There Will Be Blood.) Given the prominence of his guitar on the same track, "Allah Elohim" is one of the rare moments on Junun that sounds directly influenced by Greenwood's other work.
Concerning Greenwood's mostly background role: the sight of a famous British pop musician collaborating with lesser-known artists from another hemisphere can easily prompt charges of exploitative appropriation. But since Greenwood’s latest releases on Nonesuch have all focused on his work as a composer of film scores and classical music, the pop-world conversation about cultural tourism doesn’t seem all that helpful here.
A better reference point would be the tradition of modern composers looking to escape the "Eastern" and "Western" category trap. In his 2015 memoir Words Without Music, American composer Philip Glass recalled how "it was very common in the 1960s for Western musicians, even composers, to be completely ignorant of global, or world, music." Glass, for his part, famously followed up his studies of the Western canon (at Juilliard and in Paris) by traveling to India, where he eventually worked for Ravi Shankar. Other composers associated with the minimalist movement, such as La Monte Young and Terry Riley, spent decades investigating Hindustani raga with Pandit Pran Nath.
As a post-minimalist himself, Greenwood is a natural heir to that history. And so after happening upon a composer like Ben Tzur, he’s apt to decide to "discover more about him." What Greenwood found was a composer splitting his time between the Middle East and India, who has managed to develop a unique fusion form that is constructed from several traditions—including Bollywood-style brass exuberance, the devotional Qawwali music of Sufi Islam, and bowed-string instruments associated with the Manganiar community.
The result is a mix that includes folk feel and studied arrangements. Naturally, with Greenwood's participation comes that of longtime Radiohead producer Nigel Godrich, who succeeds in presenting this detailed music with precision. While Greenwood's presence guarantees a certain level of interest, the newsiest takeaways from this album involve the skill of Ben Tzur and the musicians of the Rajasthan Express. The ensemble’s playing and the leader's compositions make Junun an easy stretch—though, crucially, not a condescending one—for listeners otherwise unfamiliar with the great variety of methods often obscured by "world music" market-speak.
