For most of her set, we lost ourselves. Sure, we were at the Barbican, and this was Ganavya's biggest headline show to date. But as she set about showcasing her blend of spiritual jazz, Indian traditions and devotional music, mainly with songs from her free-flowing album Daughter of a Temple, the California-based singer and multi-instrumentalist — whose name means 'one who was born to spread music' — took us somewhere else.
"Love supreme, a love supreme," she intoned in her luminous voice, as harps cascaded, keys swelled and our minds drifted to faraway lands of misty sunrises and jagged mountains, of new possibilities and fresh hope. Like the morning ragas of Indian classical music, or the sonic cathedral building of John Coltrane — whose storied spiritual jazz classic Ganavya was riffing on here — it was a sound that elevated as it grounded. That plugged you back into yourself.
Dressed in white, flanked by harpists Charles Overton and Miriam Adefris, with Max Ridley on bass and Jay Verma on piano, Ganavya sang in ways pure, tender and utterly authentic, her myriad hand gestures following the silvery acrobatics of her vocals. Early on, overwhelmed, her face crumpled into tears, and some around us were crying too. All this intense emotion was leavened by playful but often rambling between-song patter and delicate but powerful instrumentation from a wealth of special guests. Rising star alto saxophonist, Brooklyn-based Immanuel Wilkins, introduced 'Om Supreme' with fluid improvisations before Ganavya joined in with mantras that, repeated, turned trance-like.
A sprawling multigenerational choir from Love Supreme Projects, a chanting and yoga centre in west London, filed on to sing heartfelt backing vocals. Vocalists Jahnavi Harrison and Manizeh Rimer ("My sisters") each sang prettily enough alone but shone so much brighter when harmonising with Ganavya. British actress Sarah Niles, best known as the therapist in Ted Lasso, read a moving Buddhist meditation on love. American singer-songwriter Sam Amidon arrived for a guitar-led duet with Ganavya on a new song, 'Would Be Better', which told of fitting all one's friends in the world into 'six neat streets'.
"I miss my friends and family so much when I'm touring that I decided to bring them on tour with me, including my parents," said Ganavya, for whom collaboration and community are key.
Born in New York, Ganavya was raised in the cross-art-form Hindu Harikatha storytelling tradition in Tamil Nadu, southern India, in a family of singer-musicians in a village with a temple around every corner. Following a stint on southern India's pilgrimage trail she relocated to the US as a teen and studied theatre, psychology, music and more (she has a PhD from Harvard) while immersing herself in the free jazz scene. She worked with Quincy Jones, Wayne Shorter and Esperanza Spalding and released her debut album in 2018 and its follow up, Like the Sky I've Been Too Quiet, six years later. In 2023 she wowed the UK with a solo spot at Sault's debut live show then on Jools Holland's Later.
Her popularity has since skyrocketed. Her current fourth album, the Nils Frahm-produced Nilam, sees her playing the bird-shaped Tamil harp, the yahz; for this show, however, she flexed her skills with an animated turn on upright bass, slapping and plucking in ways that that still felt effortlessly beautiful. Indeed, much of the time, Ganavya's presence seemed like a call to remember our higher consciousness, to dig deeper into our purpose. We chanted 'Om namah shivaya' with her, following her dig-deep arm movements, leaning into the repetition.
"There's no cult here. I have no answers," Ganavya cautioned, and certainly her spell was cracked by her overlong statements, and the appearance of her parents for two prayer-songs that dragged — albeit a likeable double act, neither are strong singers. Yawns set in. The magic began to fade. Not even the arrival of brilliant London pianist and producer Alfa Mist for the final track, a rendition of Monsoon's 1982 UK hit 'Ever So Lonely', could bring it back.
But as we went out into the London night we did so slowly, quietly, as if keeping that divine voice close.
