In order to evolve an art form, one needs to stretch beyond what was accomplished prior. Consider Ravi Shankar: the sitar player nearly single-handedly introduced classical Indian music to the world. He resides within a global music elite, rubbing elbows with the likes of Caetano Veloso, Miriam Makeba, and Oum Kalthoum, artists that have sold millions of records and defined a particular sound indigenous to their native land. Ravi’s role in creating a new paradigm for the unwavering modalities of traditional India is unfounded. To evolve upon this is a most difficult quest.

His daughter, Anoushka, has taken up the task, especially on her last two albums: the hauntingly beautiful Rise, and Breathing Under Water, collaborating with tabla player/drummer Karsh Kale on the latter. On her first three releases — Anoushka, Anourag and Live at Carnegie Hall — she proved her adept ability on the sitar. On each she interpreted her father’s compositions with tender skill, showing no problem handling the lightning-like rapidity and soft fingers necessary for pulling off the spectral plucking. With Rise and Breathing, however, she boldly stepped into new territory as a composer. In fact, talking with her, as I had the chance to do for a Global Rhythm cover story, she seemed most proud of her newfound ability to compose, even more so than the actual performance.

Take Rise: each of the ten songs is beautifully and meticulously crafted. There are no divergences from tradition; every song follows the parameters of a raga, with the personal flourishes required of interpreters. She has considered the emotional quality and rhythmic structures necessary for a raga but, through production and instrumentation, made each her own. From the opening “Prayer in Passing,” a lush landscape of Pedro Eustache’s bansuri and duduk and Ricardo Miño’s piano orchestrated around her sitar, an emotional gravity arises that refuses to be calmed during the album's sixty-two minutes.

Not all compositions are so reflective: Ravi’s longtime tabla players Bikram Gosh and Tanmoy Bose immediately scat on bols with “Red Sun,” while Gosh adds percussive acumen to the cinematically-inspired devotional “Mahadeva.” From there Rise becomes quiet: “Naked,” as the name implies, is Anoushka bare, a solo effort featuring lone sitar and keyboards. “Solea” is equally downtempo, though with a touch of Spain; flamenco pianist Miño returns not only with ivory but handclaps, the infamous palmas of Andalusia’s folk form.

“Sinister Gains” is where Anoushka really flexes philosophical, weaving the Australian digeridoo into beatboxing bols. With the rag, as lucid and shimmering as the sitar is, there’s a haunting quality embedded in the strings. The best showcase both sides; in fact, this striving toward non-duality is the basis of India’s great religious systems: Hinduism, Buddhism, and Jainism. Little wonder she waxes melancholic on “Ancient Love,” a heartbreaking closer that features Bose on vocals and tabla. The eleven-minute track, highlighted by tasteful electronic beats via producer Gaurav Raina (MIDIval PunditZ), is the perfect end to this brilliant introduction. Prodigy or progeny, Anoushka Shankar is set to explode in her sonic exploration.

Which all set the stage for Breathing Under Water. Her father, while not someone involved in the electronic evolution, did propel his art form into the future by allowing his tabla players to solo, something unknown prior to his time. (As was using two tabla players in performances, something he also introduced.) Kale, like the younger Shankar, was also reared on the raga, and performs in the classical mode brilliantly. But just as he was learning the ten-finger drum, he was on a full drum kit, educated as much from Radiohead as Alla Rakha. He picked up acoustic guitars, keyboards and ProTools along the path. All of these elements fuel his sonic meeting with Anoushka: a forward-thinking traditionalist exploring and inventing, and a diverse producer and performer rerooting himself. With such an introduction, one can only imagine what kind of juggernaut of an album Breathing Under Water promises to be — and fully accomplishes.

While the cover marketing only lists three contributors — Sting, Norah Jones, and Ravi Shankar — every song includes an orchestra of collaborators. Let us start with those three. Sting’s vocal contribution to the Kale-penned “Sea Dreamer” is one heartfelt ballad, reminiscent of the man’s Fields of Gold post-Police singer/songwriter phase, with the addition of Anoushka’s well-placed sitar. Similarly, Jones lends her voice to the even more heart-wrenching, slower “Easy,” while the elder Shankar performs on the two traditional takes, “Oceanic,” parts one and two. Both Sting’s and Jones’s songs bridge cultures through pop music: well written, radio-accessible, with touches of America and India.     

The heart of this album lies in songs like “Ghost Story,” heavy on the percussion and featuring the chilling vocals of Sunidhi Chauhan, and the guitar- and sarangi-led “A Perfect Rain,” with the voice of Shankar Mahadevan. Kale sings on the santoor-fueled “Abyss,” featuring longtime collaborator, ghazal/qawwali vocalist Vishal Vaid. The two complement each other brilliantly, a habit that’s been occurring for years in Kale’s Realize Live band. Noah Lembersky’s contribution to the opening “Burn,” sung in English and featuring a beautifully produced sarangi and the reliable strings of composer Salim Merchant, deserves constant repeat.

Equal credit to co-producer and composer Raina. His work on tracks like “Slither,” with the sitar chopped and delayed, making it the closest to dance floor capabilities, and the Indo-Chinese orchestral song “Little Glass Folk,” merit special notice. Just as on Rise, his ability to tread that water between classical — already noticed on albums like Cheb i Sabbah’s Krishna Lila — and the more youthful, digitally enhanced generation, is commendable, and rare.

In my first book, Global Beat Fusion, Kale talked about his childhood experiences with the stories and mythologies told to our generation, one for him that extended to the Hindu Diaspora. He talked about how these tales ended up informing his music in later years:

“I would get so deep into the stories that one time there was a scene at the end of the film where they all burn. So I took all my action figures into the backyard and put them in a pile and there was the whole big scene, and I brought the boom box out and lit them all on fire. They all burned into this one big plastic mess and I just ruined all of my toys. That was how much I used to get into these stories and tried to reinterpret them in my own way.”

In one way or another this is what we all do: reinterpret ourselves, our situation and surroundings, from what we’ve learned in the teachings and experiences of those prior. If we refuse to evolve our persons, or our arts, then we are merely repeating the experiences of others. Such a path can never lead to self-realization, or to collective understanding, for the truth of creativity lies in our ability to experience it for ourselves. Rise and Breathing Under Water are fully realized albums that will serve as markers in the future of music, when we drag these dusty mp3s from our basement hard drives to show our kids, “See, now, this is where it all changed…”