Hot on the heels of the genre bending South Indian Carnatic/jazz fusion album Be The Change, Prasanna here offers another staggering experiment. This time he fuses Carnatic music with many of the known variants, and sources, of rock music—from hard rock to heavy metal to blues to acid to bluegrass to grunge and pretty much everything in between. Shape shifting ad infinitum into soundscapes shimmering with the dazzling hues of myriad ragas, and some thrilling excursions into mainstream jazz, this must be the musical equivalent of literary magical realism—kind of like Salman Rushdie with a Gibson Les Paul. Electric Ganesha Land, a blazing tribute to guitar legend Jimi Hendrix, is the third definitive addition to a nascent, but already remarkable, beyond-jazz anthology.

Victor Wooten’s succinct summing up of the album (“The music on this CD can only be the work of a great musician,") could equally well be an introduction of the artist himself. Radically opposed texturally to either of the previous albums, Peaceful and Be The Change, Electric Ganesha Land erupts with potent vibrancy throughout, and works on several different levels, as is always Prasanna’s wont. While an acoustic tribute to Jimi Hendrix would probably stretch one’s resilience, for instance, this one captures the raw power and psychedelic imagery with which Hendrix’s music bristled. Prasanna’s guitar-from-Mars-via-Mylapore does the rest.

The liner notes hint at a multi-hued cascade of ragas (27 to be precise, like the number of constellations the ancient Indians defined the Heavens with). The combined effect leaves the listener drenched in intoxication before the last notes flit away. Sure to baffle those unfamiliar with the Indian classical tradition, Prasanna's inventiveness will leave others thrilled. “Eruption In Bangalore” announces in no uncertain terms its hard rocking intentions. A free flowing exploration of the very traditional raga Suddha Dhanyasi like one would possibly never have encountered before. Prasanna gives a master class in rock guitar.

The savage riffs of the second track, “Snakebanger’s Ball,” might well have issued from the sonic blade of Black Sabbath's Tony Iommi. Hustling at a frenetic pace over a surprisingly minimalist Carnatic percussion ensemble of ghatam drum (in appearance not too different from a common earthen pot) and the deceptive-looking kanjira, the track packs a truckload of impact. It's is as cerebral as it is visceral, like much of Prasanna's work. In no time we are given a subtle profile of the rustic and ominous sounding raga Shubhapantuvarali, so much in vogue in the kitschy South Indian movies of the 1940s and 1950s as the snake charmers' melody. Prasanna delivers on the promise, taking the listener through the dusty streets of Madras, redolent with the dual aromas of curry and intrigue.

“4th Stone From The Sun”, with an unabashedly Hendrix-inspired title, bebops straight ahead with a funky Hamsadhwani raga, a racy composition that transmutes to a Bilahari raga before eventually garnishing the composition with a little Arabhi raga. Prasanna thrills with his kalpana swaras (impromptu explorations of the raga within the set rhythm cycle) of a high creative order. The composition has the feel of an authentic mini-kriti (the orthodox form of a Carnatic composition), complete with a Pallavi (refrain), Anu Pallavi (second verse) and a Charanam (final verse that borrows patterns from the Anu Pallavi).

In a mini-opus of sorts, Prasanna’s ingenious use of multiple, simultaneous guitar tracks in “Dark Sundae In Triplicane”, paints vivid images. One might picture a relentlessly advancing hoard of Chinese junks on the mind's horizon. Originally written for a string orchestra, Prasanna plays both the lead guitar and the electric fretted bass. Using the refrain to dramatic effect, the piece grows and grips you by the scruff of your neck in its foreboding spell. Prasanna employs the ragas Chandrakauns and Ranjani in a way which captures the essence of a very mysterious orient. Very intriguingly composed, the piece marches in an almost funereal pace towards a surprisingly funky mid-section where the melodic bass lines take a free run exploring the contours of a brooding Abheri raga. Prasanna rounds it off on the vocals with some saucy kunnakol (vocal exposition of rhythm patterns that perform the role of percussion) - the hip-hop of the ancient Indians, as he once put it!