After hours of listening to press-baited indie rock and folk groups, the eclectic world of Vancouver-based producer Tarun Nayar is a warm, welcome escape.

Nayar’s debut solo record 22 Degrees of Beatitude recently dropped, and should retain its position as one of the year’s best party albums well into December. We recently spoke with Nayar about his early days as a musicians, and his experiences working with musical cultures from all over the world.

Can I start by asking about your cultural background?

Born and raised in Montreal. My dad came from India, his family is mostly around Delhi. My mom is fifth-generation Canadian.

Were there a lot of Indian families where you grew up?

Not really, eh? There are a lot of Indian people in Montreal, but growing up I wasn’t really involved in that community. I was more scared of it. But I have been playing tabla, Indian drums, since I was 7, so I was involved in the Indian music community.

Is music something you came to, how do you say, willingly?

Not really [laughs]. My dad started me off playing piano, and I didn’t like it, so I switched to tabla, which I really liked. I had an amazing teacher. So it started off as a love for my teacher, which then translated to a love for music.

For a kid to learn an instrument, there must be a very pressured, almost antagonistic determination from the parents.

Well, I tell my parents all the time that it was the greatest gift they ever gave me. At that age, there’s so many schools of thought about the “right way” (to integrate a child with music). but for me it was “Let’s get this kid involved, and make sure he practices.” My mom cracked the whip. I remember sitting inside on summer days, having to practice at least an hour a day, looking out at kids playing basketball on my own net.

Mocking you with fun?

Yeah! But now, I’m so thankful, because it’s what I’m doing with my life. I think you need to start young.

How did you transition into electronic music?

Growing up, I knew playing strict Indian classical was not for me. I was into punk, reggae. I listened to classical music, but it didn’t really relate to my reality at all. When I was about eighteen, Talvin Singh put out his record Ok, and that blew me away. It showed me Indian classical music in a totally different context.

How have you succeeded in communicating this fusion of backgrounds and genres to your audience?

On one level, it’s easy. When people hear the music, it makes sense, but it’s difficult in the mainstream press, because it’s not easy to pigeonhole. I’m in a band called Delhi 2 Dublin, and we face the same challenge. Until people give us a chance, it doesn’t sound good on paper. It sounds too foreign. We rarely get a lot of mainstream press coverage, but when people come out and see they show, they find it’s really good. It’s different in other parts of the world; Asia and Europe are so open to these crazy fusions.

Do you think pop audiences are open to instrumental music?

With this album, I really wanted to go there...Delhi 2 Dublin is a very “vocal” project, quite pop in that approach. But with this record, I wanted to go to a more expansive, soundtracked kind of place. It’s not as radio-friendly to make instrumental music, but it’s much more appealing to people putting together (visual projects). In that respect, I’ve had a lot of success with this record in terms of licensing.



The songs on 22 Degrees have existed for some time. What was the motivation to bring them together?

I knew it would take a lot of work, but I realized a couple years ago that I owed it to myself to finish them off. I don’t want to sound “superior” or anything like that, but I feel that I owe it to the world, like this is what I can do. I can’t do a whole lot with my life, but that little bit is to give music to the world, offer a perspective based on my own experience.

It’s also the real way to present yourself as a solo artist.

Yeah, it’s weird for me, as a guy who is used to sitting behind a set of turntables, or doing production work, it was strange to get over that. I don’t like selling myself. That’s an interesting journey.

At the same time, you’re working in the electronic genre, which is notorious for anonymity or generally murky identities.

It’s true, and the reason I didn’t use a pseudonym is because even if I didn’t make any money, didn’t play shows for people to dance, this would still be what I do with my time.

The track “Call to Prayer” has a really haunting vocal sample. Did you record it yourself?

“Call to Prayer” used a sample recorded by a friend of mine. There’s a couple other small clips that found their way into the music as well.

Have you had the experience of “musical anthropology”, so to speak, wherein you go into the world to make field recordings or to otherwise study musical culture?

Well, I wouldn’t call myself an anthropologist, because I don’t approach it in an academic way. I just know what moves me. I was just in Indonesia, and something that really stuck me was gamelan. I know many people have fallen in love with it, but to me it was very visceral. I know I want to do a collaboration with gamelan artists.

On the track “Kezang La”, I sat down with Bhutanese musicians in a monastery and said “Sing me something.” So they sang me a couple tunes, and I thought one really worked for me. I recorded it, then beefed it up, added some beats and synth. These Bhutanese kids had never heard themselves recorded to a beat before, so I think hearing that drum machine backing was a real trip. As it was the first time they had worked with a click track, so it was really difficult as well. They weren’t used to playing to someone else’s tempo.

Have you gotten the finished recordings back to them?

I’ve tried a couple times. Bhutan is really hard to get into. It took us years to get the permits to go over there. I don’t know if it’s made it back to the three kids I worked with - they can’t download music!