It was a deceptively gentile scene: three men sitting around a plate of cold pizza, the Colorado foothills floating over the busy highway in the distance beyond us like a mirage. Dr. David Claman, world traveller and latter-day Sex Pistol, was showing two of us a historical lineage of Indian musicians on his laptop. Our director, Chuck Fryberger, sat quietly, envisioning ways he could make this landscape of South India explode across a movie screen. And I was just shaking my head; how would I ever catch up with these guys, in the course of a project that requires me to take my old French violin and learn the music of gurus half a world away? What have I gotten myself into?
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