Confluence

Technically, the show witnesses a series of short pieces that involve music and dance in equal measure, as well as conversation and spoken routines. In practice, however, it comes across as predominantly a dance piece supported by music, especially since Sawhney’s band performs from behind a screen so that we only see them at certain moments when the lighting permits.

Similarly, when Sawhney tells Khan a (purposely) boring story, Khan ignores him by indulging in his own routine. When Khan, however, reciprocates with his own dull anecdote, Sawhney can only respond by walking off the stage leaving Khan’s monologue to be accompanied, once again, by dance. Nevertheless, it is incredible to watch here one person gripping another’s head by the ears to prevent their entirely floppy body from collapsing in a heap.

Elsewhere, much of the dancing is truly breath-taking. Two people bind themselves around each other to form a four-armed Shiva that writhes frenetically. A line of dancers thrust their arms forward at a diagonal and then spin them around their heads, and Khan whirls almost uncontrollably, creating a multi-dimensional effect as his shadow appears on a number of screens.

Nevertheless, across the 70-minute running time there are a few too many low points for the evening to feel truly phenomenal. None of this is meant as a criticism of Sawhney, a musician who is pre-eminent in his field, and whose guitar playing on the night is particularly fine. The trouble is simply that the show takes place too much on Khan’s ground in order to fulfil its objective of nurturing a ‘collective unconscious’ between the two art-forms.

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