Check out Tajdar-E-Haram, Vol. 1 by Amjad Ghulam Fareed Sabri on Amazon Music. Stream ad-free or purchase CD's and MP3s now on Amazon.com. Urdu Kalam/Poetry Tajdar-e-Haram is considered a milestone in world of Qawwali Music, and has been subject to renditions by artists including Amjad Ghulam Fareed Sabri, Adnan Sami Khan, and recently by Atif Aslam. Listen to the original and arguably best version below.
Terms Coke Studio's attempt at ‘Tajdare Haram' decent, says no harm in adapting classics for modern..
Amjad holds it was his father's uncompromising emphasis on fundamentals that pivots the masses towards his family's works to date. PHOTOS: PUBLICITY
KARACHI:Who better than renowned qawwal Amjad Fareed Sabri, the flag-bearer of the Sabri clan, to comment on the recent reproduction of his father Ghulam Fareed Sabri and uncle Maqbool Ahmed Sabri's iconic works for mass consumption? In its first episode of season 8, Coke Studio featured Atif Aslam ‘revisiting' the magnum opus of Sabri brothers Tajdare Haram as an accolade to the duo. 'The people behind Coke Studio sought my permission to pay tribute to abbajee's kalaam,' he said.
Up until now, the track has racked up over 2.5 million plays across different internet platforms within days. While Atif received flak over his rather flippant attempt at the classic, Amjad isn't entirely unimpressed.
'I really like how the music was arranged. Atif didn't do badly. I wish he could have worked on his diction a little more,' he maintained, adding that spinning around the original poetry was also not one of the best ideas.
Amjad was of the view that there is no harm in changing any form of classical music, particularly qawwali, according to modern needs. 'As long as the essence remains untouched, there is no harm.'
But as he commented on how far one should go to revitalise a classic, he reminisced about how pivotal it was for his abbajee to pay attention to detail.
'It was Friday afternoon and I was waiting for my turn on the microphone at the mosque in our neighbourhood in Lalukhet. It was a ritual to let children recite eulogies after the congregational prayers,' he shared. 'Everyone present there knew my father, so they all made way for me when it was my turn on the pulpit. I had stayed up all night to practice and was more than confident. It all ended in praises. I hurried home and found out that abbajee was already up.'
He took a pause and went on to say, 'With no forewarning, he beat me to a pulp. I couldn't figure out why he was doing that until he said, ‘There is something wrong with your lungs. You can't be my son'. My recital had fallen on his ears, thanks to the loudspeaker. This is how particular he was about the modalities of reciting his kalaams.'
Despite this, he proclaimed his father would be happy seeing the new generation own his message and propagate it. 'After every decade or so, the audience yearns for music created in the past. The element of nostalgia is vivid.' The Sabri scion said what has continuously attracted the masses towards his father's works is his uncompromising emphasis on fundamentals. 'Strings should have ensured the particularities of qawwali singing remain intact.'
Unlike many, Amjad likened the notion that Pakistani musicians of the day have begun drawing inspiration from the past, but feared commercial motives will stifle creative freedom. Referring to the iconic qawwali Bhar Do Jholi that was reproduced without permission in Salman Khan's
Atif performing the song at Coke Studio8
He took a pause and went on to say, 'With no forewarning, he beat me to a pulp. I couldn't figure out why he was doing that until he said, ‘There is something wrong with your lungs. You can't be my son'. My recital had fallen on his ears, thanks to the loudspeaker. This is how particular he was about the modalities of reciting his kalaams.'
Despite this, he proclaimed his father would be happy seeing the new generation own his message and propagate it. 'After every decade or so, the audience yearns for music created in the past. The element of nostalgia is vivid.' The Sabri scion said what has continuously attracted the masses towards his father's works is his uncompromising emphasis on fundamentals. 'Strings should have ensured the particularities of qawwali singing remain intact.'
Unlike many, Amjad likened the notion that Pakistani musicians of the day have begun drawing inspiration from the past, but feared commercial motives will stifle creative freedom. Referring to the iconic qawwali Bhar Do Jholi that was reproduced without permission in Salman Khan's
Bajrangi Bhaijaan, Amjad said, 'This is exactly what's wrong with the Adnan Sami version. It is disgusting and disrespectful towards the legacy of the Sabri brothers.' Drawing a parallel between Atif and Adnan's attempts, he said that while the former is an honest accolade to his father and uncle, the latter reeks of ridicule and levity.
Published in The Express Tribune, August 21st, 2015.
Like Life & Style on Facebook,follow @ETLifeandStyle on Twitter for the latest in fashion, gossip and entertainment.
Published in The Express Tribune, August 21st, 2015.
Like Life & Style on Facebook,follow @ETLifeandStyle on Twitter for the latest in fashion, gossip and entertainment.
Recommended Stories
Coke Studio 8: From boys to men
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COMMENTS (8)
Tajdar E Haram Chords
| 5 years ago| Reply| RecommendWell I heard the original but the things Strings have really modified the Kalam according to today's generation music taste ! . The effort might seem as not good for those who have grown up listening to NFAK or Sabri Brothers but for the modern music and especially the current fusion of sufi music with Rock , this was the best rendition in this decade of Pakistani music after Dastaan-e-Ishq by Ali Zafar ! . I even heard every one in my campus mimicking and singing lines of this qawalli and that's how I knew how much it has been popular with this generation
| 5 years ago| Reply| RecommendI was not expecting it from Atif. I think he was superb.
'It was Friday afternoon and I was waiting for my turn on the microphone at the mosque in our neighbourhood in Lalukhet. It was a ritual to let children recite eulogies after the congregational prayers,' he shared. 'Everyone present there knew my father, so they all made way for me when it was my turn on the pulpit. I had stayed up all night to practice and was more than confident. It all ended in praises. I hurried home and found out that abbajee was already up.'
He took a pause and went on to say, 'With no forewarning, he beat me to a pulp. I couldn't figure out why he was doing that until he said, ‘There is something wrong with your lungs. You can't be my son'. My recital had fallen on his ears, thanks to the loudspeaker. This is how particular he was about the modalities of reciting his kalaams.'
Despite this, he proclaimed his father would be happy seeing the new generation own his message and propagate it. 'After every decade or so, the audience yearns for music created in the past. The element of nostalgia is vivid.' The Sabri scion said what has continuously attracted the masses towards his father's works is his uncompromising emphasis on fundamentals. 'Strings should have ensured the particularities of qawwali singing remain intact.'
Unlike many, Amjad likened the notion that Pakistani musicians of the day have begun drawing inspiration from the past, but feared commercial motives will stifle creative freedom. Referring to the iconic qawwali Bhar Do Jholi that was reproduced without permission in Salman Khan's Bajrangi Bhaijaan, Amjad said, 'This is exactly what's wrong with the Adnan Sami version. It is disgusting and disrespectful towards the legacy of the Sabri brothers.' Drawing a parallel between Atif and Adnan's attempts, he said that while the former is an honest accolade to his father and uncle, the latter reeks of ridicule and levity.
Published in The Express Tribune, August 21st, 2015.
Like Life & Style on Facebook,follow @ETLifeandStyle on Twitter for the latest in fashion, gossip and entertainment.
Perhaps because theirs was a proverbial ‘qawwal gharana' (a family of qawwals), was why in my mind, Sabri's Karachi household eternally vibrated to the combined music from harmoniums, tablas, dholaks and sarangis used to produce a qawwali.
All of us know that qawwali is no ordinary music and nobody knows this better than the qawwal himself. An ode to Prophet Muhammad (pbuh), his son-in-law Hazrat Ali (AS), and above all, to God directly, qawwali is a form of sufistic devotional music originating from South Asia and is part of a musical tradition that stretches back beyond 700 years. In essence, qawwali transcends all forms of music ,where the aim of performing is to reach arsh (spiritual heights of love, including ordinary, spiritual and celestial love). This was probably best portrayed in their legendary 'Tajdar-e-haram':
Anyone who has attended even a single Sabri qawwali night would agree that the performance on its own would melt even the hardest of hearts – putting it on the path of a spiritual high. And this is where the paradox lies. Be it the elderly Sabri brothers or Amjad Sabri (with whom my generation is more familiar), the modulations remained the same, each performer enjoying the effect it had on their respective listeners.
Born on December 23 1976, Amjad Sabri was introduced to this genre of music at a very young age and joined his father on stage to perform in 1988 when he was aged 12. Hence it was no wonder that the youngster would be hauled out of bed by his father at 4am to wash, pray, fetch his instrument and perform his first raag of the day. He once described it as finding it difficult to be awoken so early in the morning but admitted it was the right way of doing it, because if a raag is performed at the right time, the performer himself enjoys it to the fullest.
And because he pointedly enjoyed his recitations, his performances always radiated calmness, spiritual fervour and joyful energy – creating an identity in a specific art where he effortlessly defied all social boundaries and simultaneously tackled diversity. And that's what makes Sabri the legend that he is.
He would perform at Sufi shrines, sitting cross-legged on a mat with his accompanying skull-capped chorus. Recall his stellar Coke Studio performance recitation of Ameer Khusro's kalam 'Rang' that he did with Rahat Fateh Ali Khan.
Then there were the innumerable TV appearances that he regularly made, including morning shows and Ramazan transmissions. And I, for one, will remember him for his legendary events at the Karachi Gymkhana club.
But others who knew him up close and personal share details of the kind of person he was; a world famed qawwal who would stroll around the narrow lanes of his neighbourhood in Liaquatabad. A man who would try his hand on random carrom board strikes, treat fellow cricket enthusiasts to his off-spin bowling, chat with strangers at dhaabas and keep his Ludo board a permanent fixture in his bedroom at home. This was Sabri in his own element, the family man that his clan knew and adored.
Yet, how many of us are aware of the hurdles of ‘being a Sufi'? Certain extremists find the mysticism of Sufism, its reverence of the saints, and representation of Islam disseminated through art (including music and dance), abhorrent.
As a result, Sufi shrines were bombed by extremists, and singers were shot. The law even failed to protect them. In 2014, the high court, not extremists, accused the younger Sabri of blasphemy for singing a qawwali on a morning show that mentioned members of the Prophet's (pbuh) family. The threats simultaneously hit home: six months prior to his assassination, three men had allegedly broken into his house with the intention of harming him, retreating only after realising that he was not there.
Sabri was an upstanding man, seemingly operating on a very different tangent of existence. He was among us, but not really with us.
Ironically, his last recitation on a morning show before his death was ‘Ae Sabz Gumbad Wale Manzoor Dua Karna' which included the stanza:
https://www.facebook.com/samaatvnews/videos/amjad-sabri-ka-samaa-ki-sehri-mein-akhri-kalam/1156618184360652/
On the same day, while he was on his way to perform at another morning show, two men on a motorcycle intercepted him and riddled his car with bullets. The brutal shooting had taken place near Karachi's Liaquatabad underpass that was named after his father.
And that is when the music died too.
Sabri's voice and music connected generations and gave us a shared religious language. His father had recited that way. His uncle had recited that way too, and now his own 12-year-old son performed his ‘Karam maangta hun' renditionin tribute to him, for all of us can truly emulate his essence.
Because Amjad Sabri represented something all of us are capable of being: peaceful, gracious, passionate.
Because you can never dim the light of a star so bright.
Atif performing the song at Coke Studio8
He took a pause and went on to say, 'With no forewarning, he beat me to a pulp. I couldn't figure out why he was doing that until he said, ‘There is something wrong with your lungs. You can't be my son'. My recital had fallen on his ears, thanks to the loudspeaker. This is how particular he was about the modalities of reciting his kalaams.'
Despite this, he proclaimed his father would be happy seeing the new generation own his message and propagate it. 'After every decade or so, the audience yearns for music created in the past. The element of nostalgia is vivid.' The Sabri scion said what has continuously attracted the masses towards his father's works is his uncompromising emphasis on fundamentals. 'Strings should have ensured the particularities of qawwali singing remain intact.'
Unlike many, Amjad likened the notion that Pakistani musicians of the day have begun drawing inspiration from the past, but feared commercial motives will stifle creative freedom. Referring to the iconic qawwali Bhar Do Jholi that was reproduced without permission in Salman Khan's Bajrangi Bhaijaan, Amjad said, 'This is exactly what's wrong with the Adnan Sami version. It is disgusting and disrespectful towards the legacy of the Sabri brothers.' Drawing a parallel between Atif and Adnan's attempts, he said that while the former is an honest accolade to his father and uncle, the latter reeks of ridicule and levity.
Published in The Express Tribune, August 21st, 2015.
Like Life & Style on Facebook,follow @ETLifeandStyle on Twitter for the latest in fashion, gossip and entertainment.
Recommended Stories
Coke Studio 8: From boys to men
Facebook Conversations
COMMENTS (8)
Tajdar E Haram Chords
| 5 years ago| Reply| RecommendWell I heard the original but the things Strings have really modified the Kalam according to today's generation music taste ! . The effort might seem as not good for those who have grown up listening to NFAK or Sabri Brothers but for the modern music and especially the current fusion of sufi music with Rock , this was the best rendition in this decade of Pakistani music after Dastaan-e-Ishq by Ali Zafar ! . I even heard every one in my campus mimicking and singing lines of this qawalli and that's how I knew how much it has been popular with this generation
| 5 years ago| Reply| RecommendI was not expecting it from Atif. I think he was superb.
VIEW MORE COMMENTS| 5 years ago| Reply| RecommendWell, to be honest and unbiased, it is good when you are watching the video as well. Have tried the audio only and changed the track almost after 2 minutes. Atif has tried to do the justice but there seems to be something missing in the overall track . original version remains the best in this case.
| 5 years ago| Reply| RecommendAtif Aslams version was slick, quite listenable ..... but it can in no way be compared to the versions by an accomplished qawwali singers.
| 5 years ago| Reply| RecommendAtif / Coke Studio have the distinct privilege of butchering one of my favorite qawwalis. It was a pathetic effort.
| 5 years ago| Reply| RecommendI agree with Amjad. You can listen at. 3:20 into the song and can tell he was ill prepared. Btw the qawwali is written by hakim mirza madni and I don't why Amjad would refer it to as his dad's Kalaam. It's like saying Nusrat Farah Ali's Kalaam when he sings shikwa and jawab-e-shikwa which is written by Hazrat Allama Iqbal. In the case of Adnan Sami, the musicians actually re sang Sabri's composition. So def the credit was due there to the original composer and the original writer.
| 5 years ago| Reply| RecommendWe are such a dynastic society that even songs are the ownership of some family clan..Amjad is a great Qawal..however Atif rendition is simply top notch and as good as the original master piece.
| 5 years ago| Reply| RecommendSabri brothers... legends in their own lifetime...but apparently the music business is a difficult one.
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His performances always radiated calmness, spiritual fervour and joyful energy. PHOTO: YOUTUBE
An upstanding man, seemingly operating on a different tangent of existence. He was among us, but not really with us.
His recitation was eerily reminiscent of how his father, Ghulam Farid Sabri performed his signature qawwali tracks. It was the exact same way his uncle, Maqbool Ahmed Sabri also performed. This style of qawwali can probably be traced to how his ancestors had performed, right back to the time of Mian Tansen, a favourite musician of the Mughal court.Perhaps because theirs was a proverbial ‘qawwal gharana' (a family of qawwals), was why in my mind, Sabri's Karachi household eternally vibrated to the combined music from harmoniums, tablas, dholaks and sarangis used to produce a qawwali.
All of us know that qawwali is no ordinary music and nobody knows this better than the qawwal himself. An ode to Prophet Muhammad (pbuh), his son-in-law Hazrat Ali (AS), and above all, to God directly, qawwali is a form of sufistic devotional music originating from South Asia and is part of a musical tradition that stretches back beyond 700 years. In essence, qawwali transcends all forms of music ,where the aim of performing is to reach arsh (spiritual heights of love, including ordinary, spiritual and celestial love). This was probably best portrayed in their legendary 'Tajdar-e-haram':
'Kya tum se kahoon ay ‘Arab ke kunwar,
Tum jaante ho man kibatiyaan,
Dar furqat-i to ay ummi-laqab,
Kaate nah kate hain ab ratiyaan,
Tori preet men sudh-budh sab bisri,
Kab tak yeh rahegi be-khabari,
Tajdar-e-haram, tajdar-e-haram.'
(What should I tell you, O Prince of Arabia,
You already know what is in my heart,
In your separation, O' you who bear the title of the untaught One,
Our sleepless nights are so hard to bear,
In your love, I have lost all sense of consciousness,
How long will I remain in this state of unconsciousness)
Anyone who has attended even a single Sabri qawwali night would agree that the performance on its own would melt even the hardest of hearts – putting it on the path of a spiritual high. And this is where the paradox lies. Be it the elderly Sabri brothers or Amjad Sabri (with whom my generation is more familiar), the modulations remained the same, each performer enjoying the effect it had on their respective listeners.
Born on December 23 1976, Amjad Sabri was introduced to this genre of music at a very young age and joined his father on stage to perform in 1988 when he was aged 12. Hence it was no wonder that the youngster would be hauled out of bed by his father at 4am to wash, pray, fetch his instrument and perform his first raag of the day. He once described it as finding it difficult to be awoken so early in the morning but admitted it was the right way of doing it, because if a raag is performed at the right time, the performer himself enjoys it to the fullest.
And because he pointedly enjoyed his recitations, his performances always radiated calmness, spiritual fervour and joyful energy – creating an identity in a specific art where he effortlessly defied all social boundaries and simultaneously tackled diversity. And that's what makes Sabri the legend that he is.
He would perform at Sufi shrines, sitting cross-legged on a mat with his accompanying skull-capped chorus. Recall his stellar Coke Studio performance recitation of Ameer Khusro's kalam 'Rang' that he did with Rahat Fateh Ali Khan.
Then there were the innumerable TV appearances that he regularly made, including morning shows and Ramazan transmissions. And I, for one, will remember him for his legendary events at the Karachi Gymkhana club.
But others who knew him up close and personal share details of the kind of person he was; a world famed qawwal who would stroll around the narrow lanes of his neighbourhood in Liaquatabad. A man who would try his hand on random carrom board strikes, treat fellow cricket enthusiasts to his off-spin bowling, chat with strangers at dhaabas and keep his Ludo board a permanent fixture in his bedroom at home. This was Sabri in his own element, the family man that his clan knew and adored.
Yet, how many of us are aware of the hurdles of ‘being a Sufi'? Certain extremists find the mysticism of Sufism, its reverence of the saints, and representation of Islam disseminated through art (including music and dance), abhorrent.
As a result, Sufi shrines were bombed by extremists, and singers were shot. The law even failed to protect them. In 2014, the high court, not extremists, accused the younger Sabri of blasphemy for singing a qawwali on a morning show that mentioned members of the Prophet's (pbuh) family. The threats simultaneously hit home: six months prior to his assassination, three men had allegedly broken into his house with the intention of harming him, retreating only after realising that he was not there.
Sabri was an upstanding man, seemingly operating on a very different tangent of existence. He was among us, but not really with us.
Ironically, his last recitation on a morning show before his death was ‘Ae Sabz Gumbad Wale Manzoor Dua Karna' which included the stanza:
'Main qabr andheri mein ghabraoon ga jab tanha, Imdaad meri karnay aajana meray aaqa.'
(When I shudder in my dark tomb, my dear Prophet, look after me)
https://www.facebook.com/samaatvnews/videos/amjad-sabri-ka-samaa-ki-sehri-mein-akhri-kalam/1156618184360652/
On the same day, while he was on his way to perform at another morning show, two men on a motorcycle intercepted him and riddled his car with bullets. The brutal shooting had taken place near Karachi's Liaquatabad underpass that was named after his father.
And that is when the music died too.
Sabri's voice and music connected generations and gave us a shared religious language. His father had recited that way. His uncle had recited that way too, and now his own 12-year-old son performed his ‘Karam maangta hun' renditionin tribute to him, for all of us can truly emulate his essence.
Because Amjad Sabri represented something all of us are capable of being: peaceful, gracious, passionate.
Because you can never dim the light of a star so bright.
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