Sherman's cheery reply was : "As Rabelais wrote at the end of Gargantua and Pantagruel, "Honi soit qui mal y pense." Cut to indignant family who don't expect to hear language like that on their set, and instantly zap channels - to a shot of Homer Simpson, stepping on the business end of a rake and stunning himself "Doh!" grunts Homer "Ay caramba!" yelps Bart. A recent episode saw its hero - a plump, balding film reviewer, name of Jay Sherman, with a penchant for Fair Isle sweaters and high-cholesterol foodstuffs - being accused by a journalist of talking over the heads of the people who watch his cable TV show. Its makers are obviously secure in the knowledge that it's the cleverest comedy of sub-moronism ever to grace the small screen, and that confidence brings it perilously close to rudeness - to sneering openly at the very Joe and Jane Sixpacks who have made it a hit. It's hardly unexpected, then, that a new offering from the Simpsons stable, The Critic, should skirt hazardously close to offending its audience in much the same way; on one occasion, in exactly the same way.

But that's the price we pay for a life dominated by science and practical matters, with too little space left for the soul."n Ravi Shankar: 15 July 7.30pm Barbican, London EC2 (booking 0171 638 8891). Insolence, a horrible quality in everyday life, can be a splendid thing in comedy, which is one reason why The Simpsons is such a gleefully daring production. "Whether in classical music - Indian or Western - or even in jazz, I find that nowadays there's less to touch the heart, less depth and spirituality... That's why I'm still here! If I were only exploiting, or playing to the gallery, I would have been finished long ago."And while Shankar acknowledges the "speed, virtuosity and technical finish" of younger players, he bemoans a certain lack of soul in their performances. Good things have come out of all this; some new things, too - film music, for example, which initially went over everyone's head but that's now accepted as the norm, even copied But I've never tried to copy anyone myself.

"And yet I've always kept my traditional performances quite separate - although, perhaps, that's what disturbed people most. But, as a composer, even in my childhood, I wanted to do so many new things and was never frightened of experimentation. But ultimately it was the range, tonal quality and especially the dynamics of Western instruments that made the biggest impact on me: you could hear everything, from the softest to the loudest note - with no microphone."Colleagues and critics couldn't understand this double-identity of a traditionalist with a will to explore. I heard jazz, which fascinated me; then I discovered the attractive sonorities of Japanese instruments. So I became interested in using violin, viola, cello, double-bass and then, gradually, I started employing different wind instruments - the Western flute, for example, because the bamboo flute, which is so beautiful as a solo instrument, can only really 'project' when amplified. "And I soon realised that using them in orchestration imposes its own set of limitations.

But I was always fascinated how 50 violins could sound like a single instrument."Shankar gained a good deal of experience recording Indian instruments when he was with All-India Radio. I also trained myself not to do certain things, such as use unnecessary harmonies, which would kill the spirit of raga. Then I got commissions from the London Symphony and New York Philharmonic Orchestras, but I never attempted 'mixing' the musics, or using harmony and counterpoint in the Western sense. And to be honest, I didn't really have sufficient knowledge to do so, although I did receive some very basic Western music education at school.