Peter Culshaw explores the worlds of Sufi in 'Surrender to Love'

Ambient Sufi songs for inner space

share this article

'A disciplined, compact collection of musical miniatures with a long reach'

One of the founding partners of theartsdesk back in the day, author of the immersive Manu Chao biography, Clandestino, roving world music journalist, composer and "nomad pianist" Peter Culshaw released his previous set, Music from the Temple of Light, in 2023. 

Surrender to Love is spun from the same threads that were woven through that Temple of Light – mixing an ambient piano as a grounding for the music, with a range of Eastern and Middle Eastern instruments and voices, and a ruling spirit and approach that’s drawn from the Sufi wing of spirituality – a music and practice associated with Islam, but one that perhaps predates it, stretching away into older, even prehistoric means of devotion and surrender. 

The authority in these Sufi-inflected pieces is in their quality of stillness, in how they converse with silence, and how stay close to their secret centres – a simple piano phrase or melodic line, while expanding the music’s orbit around that centre. There’s space here, inner space rather than the space up there. It opens with the title track, a rumble of bass joining a staccato flurry of piano notes before a flute and percussion ease in through the spaces, a vocal chorale intoning the word "surrender". Further in, “Durga Piano” feasts on tanbur and limpid piano, while “Pastor Robson” features Culshaw’s keys paired with Aura Rascon’s bansuri on flute. 

There are many transporting moments, and the set is, in part, a soundtrack, too, for Sama: To Listen, a feature-length movie by Darek Mazzone, filmed over three years in Morocco, Turkey and Malaysia, and premiering at the end of January in Seattle. The recording of Surrender to Love was also nomadic in nature, with sessions in London, Mumbai, Odessa, Kuala Lumpur, Istanbul and Brazil. This may suggest a sprawling, unboundaried epic of a set, but it’s a disciplined, compact collection of musical miniatures with a long reach, its 11 pieces spanning barely more than 35 minutes, transporting listeners to an inner space where no one will hear you scream, but they will hear your joy. We need a tumbler or two of that spirit to start off 2026.

Add comment

The content of this field is kept private and will not be shown publicly.

Plain text

  • No HTML tags allowed.
  • Lines and paragraphs break automatically.
  • Web page addresses and email addresses turn into links automatically.
The authority in these Sufi-inflected pieces is in their quality of stillness, in how they converse with silence

rating

4

explore topics

share this article

the future of arts journalism

You can stop theartsdesk.com closing! 

We urgently need financing to survive. Our fundraising drive has thus far raised £33,000 but we need to reach £100,000 or we will be forced to close. Please contribute here: https://gofund.me/c3f6033d

And if you can forward this information to anyone who might assist, we’d be grateful.

Subscribe to theartsdesk.com

Thank you for continuing to read our work on theartsdesk.com. For unlimited access to every article in its entirety, including our archive of more than 15,000 pieces, we're asking for £5 per month or £40 per year. We feel it's a very good deal, and hope you do too.

To take a subscription now simply click here.

And if you're looking for that extra gift for a friend or family member, why not treat them to a theartsdesk.com gift subscription?

more new music

The Isle of Wight's finest flex their musical muscles
Never enough hype, never enough volume, never enough Turnstile
Second album from Canadian metallers edged ahead with its graceful yet heavy tones
Natural harmonics ring out subtly, gloriously, magically
From haiku to heartstrings: the year's essential vocal jazz recordings
Imbued with duende, this stellar masterpiece sets the bar sky-high
Fresh slants on the known, in a year when Yeah Man, It's Bloody Heavy!! was the most startling archive release
Documentary adds little to what we know about British rock's greatest solo star