Raghu Dixit On Russia Gig After War: ‘There Is An Awkward Silence’

“There is an awkward silence when it comes to war,” says Raghu Dixit, a few weeks after returning from St Petersburg. He had just performed in Russia — the sole Indian artiste at a global folk festival featuring acts from Mongolia, Syria, Bulgaria and Serbia — at a time when international exchange is, in his words, “very limited” and “only artistes from select countries are allowed to visit and perform”.

He adds, “There was a sense that the cultural landscape has become more complicated.” But what stayed with him more was what hadn’t changed. “What struck me was that the desire to connect hadn’t disappeared. The audience was just the same – curious, excited and full of love." 

That desire was on full display the moment he walked on stage in his lungi, bringing Kannada folk poetry and his signature high-energy stomp to a crowd experiencing his live act for the first time. “They danced and sang and by the end of the set were humming my songs between two performances,” he says. “With music, it isn’t really about the language. It’s the energy, the rhythm and just the simple melody that carries us all together. And the experience deepens even further because I take time to explain the poetry to them.”

Raghu had come there as part of a collaboration put together by Serbian multi-instrumentalist Slobodan Trkulja. The two had first met back in 2019 at the Rainforest World Music Festival in Borneo, and Dixit still remembers the moment clearly. “We made an impromptu decision for him to join me on stage for one of my songs. No rehearsal. Nothing. And it was one of the most satisfying moments for me,” he says. 

It wasn't Dixit's first time in Russia — "The first time I performed in Russia was many years ago and that was an incredible experience too" — but the context made this one sharper, and more telling about what folk music actually does. Did he notice any surprising cultural or emotional overlaps between traditional Russian folk sensibilities and the roots of Indian folk music? “Absolutely,” he says, adding, “Folk music everywhere seems to come from the same basic human need — to tell stories, remember where we came from, celebrate together and just share moments of joy and happiness. The instruments and scales may change, but the emotional architecture is always similar. A farmer in Karnataka and a farmer in Russia may never understand each other’s words, but they probably understand each other’s struggles and joys through each other’s songs.”

His music relies heavily on rhythm, emotion, and body language rather than just literal language comprehension. How did he break the ice with the Russian crowd? “Frankly, I don’t overthink these things. I just go out there and sing and make sure that I have fun while doing it. That’s it. Everyone gets it without much effort. Once the audience participates, the language problem has already disappeared.”

It is a belief his overseas tours have only reinforced over the years. “My overseas tours always reinforce something I’ve believed for a long time: Indian music doesn’t have to become less Indian to travel,” he says. “Sometimes we make the mistake of thinking international audiences need a familiar entry point. They don’t necessarily. Give them something authentic, performed with conviction, and they will find their own way into it. The world is a lot more curious than we think.”

Backstage in St Petersburg, that curiosity spilled over. “So many of them rushed backstage to take pictures that the security was overwhelmed,” he laughs. “Some of them sang Mithun Chakraborty film songs while the others spoke in Telugu! There were also a few of them well versed in Hindi. I think interest in Indian culture in Russia is just phenomenally high. They love all things Indian. There is a great amount of interest in Yoga and spirituality as well. Half the bands singing on stage that day had a bhajan in their set! Yes!”

That desire to connect is what has kept his own band alive for 25 years. The Raghu Dixit Project, which began when mainstream Mumbai record labels pushed back his self-titled debut album, has outlived gatekeepers, trends and formats. The greatest change, he says, is internal. “I think I’ve become less interested in proving that I’m a good musician and more interested in being a truthful one,” he says. “When you’re young, you want the world to hear you. As you grow older, you start listening to the world a little more. The music becomes simpler, but hopefully the person making it becomes deeper.”

The industry around that music, however, has only become more complicated. Twenty five years ago, the hurdle was a record label executive in an office. Today, it is different, but not necessarily easier. “It is definitely a much better place, but I wouldn’t call it paradise,” he says of the current independent scene. “25 years ago, the gatekeepers were record labels. Today, you can bypass the gatekeeper - but you’ve inherited 10 new ones - algorithms, platforms, metrics and content calendars.”

The freedom to release without permission is real, but he worries about what comes with it. “The great thing is that young artistes today can make and release music without waiting for someone in an office to give them permission. But independence is not just about releasing music yourself; it’s about retaining a voice that isn't dictated by numbers. I hope the younger talents never forget that,” he ends.