Winter Music Festival In Madras -- Ever-expanding, Ever-excellent!

In December 2007 and January 2008, I had written four essays in THE HINDU, comprehensively analyzing the intriguing phenomenon of the massive winter music festival in the South Indian city of Chennai.  Recalling them in this blog in December 2013, I had mentioned that there was no change in the scenario. 

And today, the picture still remains more or less the same -- and I take this opportunity to condense the original articles into a single essay. 

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Glossary and annotations
Maargazhi --  In South Indian calendar, coldest winter month (Dec./Jan.).
Carnatic music  --  Classical music of South India.
Rasikas  --  In several Indian languages, lover of art and culture, especially classical Indian music and dance.
Madras  --  Old name of Chennai in South India.

Tamil Nadu  --  Southernmost State in India, whose capital city is Madras (now Chennai), and where Tamil is the ancient and also modern language.
Music Academy  --  Prestigious cultural institution in Madras, mainly dedicated to  South Indian classical music and dance, which had played a pioneering role in the evolution of the massive winter music festival, and continues to have a unique status in the winter gala.

Greater Madras  --  Not yet a fait accompli, but rapidly evolving in recent years.

Sabhas  -- Institution organizing events of South Indian classical music, dance and drama.

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Marvelous spirit of Maargazhi season

During the past half-century, the whole world has undergone an unprecedented technological revolution, which has greatly altered the economic and social conditions everywhere, which in turn has transformed the whole cultural environment in many ways all over the world.       

So far as South India and Carnatic music are concerned, the lifestyles of our musicians as well as rasikas have changed dramatically.  More and more young people have gone away from here, to live and work in foreign countries, particularly in the West.   And more and more senior citizens here have started going abroad frequently to visit their children and grandchildren, coming back home with a different outlook and adopting an increasingly modern lifestyle.        

On another plane, more and more Carnatic musicians are getting invited by South Indian communities in foreign countries to perform there, and many of them have started going abroad on whirlwind tours, mostly to America and Europe in the West, but also to Australia in the East. All this exposure to the outside world tends to make them progressively give up the conservative lifestyle which used to be so characteristic of most Carnatic musicians even around the middle of the 20th century.   

Thus, the whole community of Carnatic musicians and music-lovers over here are no longer governed by orthodox cultural standards, which used to be considered a basic requirement for performing and even appreciating the spiritually-oriented and tradition-bound Carnatic music. 

All told, one would have expected these irreversible trends which have so substantially transformed the entire environment of Carnatic music in recent years — both in qualitative and quantitative terms — to have very seriously altered the basic character of the winter music season in Madras and diluted the powerful spirit which governs the whole festival.            

But the amazing fact is that nothing so disturbing has happened really, and the mega-gala grows on and on year after year like a magnificent banyan tree, with all its original roots still buried very deep in the spiritual soil, and some sprouts descending from the branches to the ground and striking new roots. 

Inspiration and excellence

Viewed superficially, this annual overflow of music may seem to make us mentally fatigued; but in reality it’s a tremendous source of cultural and spiritual inspiration. Probably the main reason for this is that from ancient times the winter month of Maargazhi in Tamil Nadu has always been associated with the flow of sacred music.   

Long before any of us had heard about the Music Academy or the music season in Madras — when today’s senior citizens were all very young children — we used to wake up before sunrise every cold winter morning to the sound and echoes of pedestrian devotees going on a procession in the street outside singing devotional songs in a chorus and clanging small bell-like cymbals called kinnaarams. And often we used to run out and join the procession and the singing.        

That’s the kind of musical spirit we had absorbed in our subconscious minds as children;  and it continues to condition our cultural outlook and interests today, even getting transferred in subtle ways to our children and grandchildren. 

An amazing thing about the voluminous winter festival is that the quality of the music which overflows is actually higher than that of the music which flows in a normal way throughout the rest of the year.            

There’s a perfectly logical explanation for this particular comparison. Since the occasion happens to be so special, all the musicians who perform in the festival are invariably anxious to make their very best efforts, whether they’re the most accomplished vidwans and vidushis or just promising young music students. And most of them do succeed in achieving great excellence, pleasing the public and the critics alike.               

Some questions and answers

What makes it possible for the festival to be organised on such a massive scale?   --   An important factor has been the progressive proliferation of Sabhas in the city during the past 50 years or so.   And none of the established or new institutions would be able to function effectively without the financial support of the rapidly emerging ranks of sponsors from the industrial and commercial sectors.   

Will the winter music festival in Madras go on expanding in future?  --   Most certainly, it will.  A very vital factor which will cause a further and formidable transformation of the whole social and cultural environment in the next 50 years will be the rapid and relentless expansion of the suburbs, in terms of both area and population. 

Most of these new neighbourhoods will be economically thriving and socially energetic, and will cry out for cultural activities and infrastructure.  Carnatic music will figure prominently in their cultural agenda, and the massive winter music season in the present metropolis is bound to spread itself out to cover all of Greater Madras, becoming even more massive than it is today.  

Spiritual bearings

Will the festival still retain its original spirit and character in the future scenario?    --    I am sure it will.   The festival is never likely to lose its basic spirit and character in spite of the tremendous changes occurring in the whole realm of Carnatic music, because Carnatic music itself has a way of surviving such extreme transformation in the environment.     

The most important reason for the triumphant survival of Carnatic music is the fact that Carnatic musicians and rasikas have a way of never losing the spiritual bearings which somehow continue to run in their blood generation after generation, no matter where they live and what they happen to be doing in the modern world. 

Will the increasingly voluminous music in the festival continue to be of the highest standard?   --   I strongly believe it will be so.  It is true that the further enlargement of the winter music festival and its extension into the suburbs will put much greater pressure on the performing artists during the hectic month of Maargazhi;  but that isn’t likely to affect the determination of the artists to make their best efforts to shine during the very special season. In fact, the higher pressure — like examination fever — is only likely to improve their concentration and enable them to perform better, and most of them are likely to achieve greater excellence at their respective levels.   

Classical Music : Never-ending Nexus Between Tradition And Innovation

A few days ago I had brought to the web-wide world''s attention the mega-marathon Carnatic music festival which dominates the cultural life of Madras in the winter season, when music-lovers from all over India and many parts of the world make an annual pilgrimage to the South Indian city, to bathe and swim in the overflowing currents of classical music. In this dynamic cultural environment I invariably recall some of the deep insights I have gained and written about as an earnest and articulate  observer of ongoing musical trends and traditions during the past 50 years. So let me share with you today some of my reflections in my column Articulations in THE HINDU in 1991, on the intricate and never-ending nexus between artistic tradition and innovation.

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Glossary & annotations
(in same order as in text)

 

Carnatic/Hindustani music  --- Classical music systems of South/North India.

 

Mandolin  --  European string instrument, primarily  developed in

 

Ramani, Balamurali, Jayaraman, Krishnan  --  Carnatic musicians.

 

Chaurasia, Jasraj, Amjad Ali  --  Hindsstani musicians.

 

Pratap Pawar  --  Innnovative Kathak dancer.

 

Kathak  --  Classical dance of North India, aligned to Hindustani music.

 

Flammenco  --  Classical music and dance of Spain. 

L. Subramaniam  --  Versatile Indian violinist-composer, with a passion for mixing Indian and Western colors.

 

Ravi Shankar  --  Iconic Indian sitarist-composer, who passed away in 2012.

 

Sitar & sarod  --  Major string instrumnents in Hindustani music.

 

Guru-sishya parampara  --  Rigid tradition of intimate master-disciple discipline, which has for many generations governed the twin classical music systems of India.

 

........... .......... ..........

 

 

THE HINDU  Friday Review
 9 October 2009

MUSICSCAN

Innovative base of tradition

 

 

In the context of ongoing attempts to introduce alien colours in traditional systems of music, I had quoted a substantial portion of an essay I had written in The Hindu’s Sunday Magazine in 1991, asserting that the elements of Western music cannot normally enrich Carnatic music. (Musicscan, October 2). Apart from mentioning certain exceptions to this natural law, that article had also discussed some significant aspects which are as relevant today as they were in the scenario prevailing then. So let me quote the rest of it too below:

Revolution time!

... But this axiom too, like most others in this world, is not without an exception. What strikes me as being a true paradox is the astonishing talent of the young mandolin artist U. Shrinivas. I have more or less given up my efforts to find a technical explanation for the mysterious amalgam of his music, which sounds so powerfully Western and yet remains so purely South Indian. It is impossible to understand how, when this boy performs, we are bombarded by a tornado of staccato sounds and yet course along a gentle stream of melody. I can only say that when genius attains the status of magic, perhaps there is no point in looking for logic any more.

The introduction of the mandolin in Carnatic music is itself a revolution, but harnessing it so well to serve the spirit of the tradition is nothing short of a miracle. But this is not without a precedent. Although the Western violin is an indispensable part of the Carnatic music tradition as we know it today, its absorption into the system was also the sequel of a revolution which took place long ago.


Contrasting colors
I must say a word here about the attempts to bridge the gap between Hindustani and Carnatic music in joint recitals known as ‘jugalbandhi’. They do sometimes create scintillating and beautiful music — as in the case of flutemasters N. Ramani and Hariprasad Chaurasia or vocalists Jasraj and Balamuralikrishna, or when sarod maestro Amjad Ali Khan teams up with an ace violinist like Lalgudi Jayaraman or T.N. Krishnan.

But even their quest for a common idiom has been a long and arduous one, in some cases marked by initial errors of perception which have needed sustained correction. And the disturbing fact remains that the proliferation of such ventures undertaken by musicians of far less sensitivity is producing results of a very damaging kind.

What is true of our classical music in this context is also true of our classical dance. To cite an example, dancer Pratap Pawar’s exploration of the amazing similarity between some elements of the Kathak and Flamenco idioms has true aesthetic merit. Equally intriguing and powerful are Amjad Ali Khan’s efforts to find a concordance between certain features of Hindustani instrumental music and medieval English music. So are Ravi Shankar’s second concerto for sitar and Western orchestra and L. Subramaniam’s double violin concerto.

Artistic evolution

 

One cannot overlook the fact that today’s traditions are all based on innovations of the past, and that some of today’s innovations might be the foundation for future traditions.

 

It is necessary for us to reconcile in our minds the apparent contradiction between artistic tradition and innovation and the evolutionary relationship which exists between them. This is a universal phenomenon which is as complex as the evolution of life itself. Art is also a living organism, which needs to renew itself in order to survive. Innovation therefore can never be forbidden. Obviously it would be impossible for anyone to draw an arbitrary line somewhere and say: “Thus far, and no more!”

In the last analysis, it all depends only on who innovates, and how. What should really cause great concern among us all is the snowballing of fruitless and even frivolous activities in the current Indian music scene, undertaken in the name of experiment and progress. The credentials of the concerned artists are often quite unimpressive; but even highly accomplished musicians fall into a trap sometimes. Who is to stop them all, and how?

Custodians of values

The inevitable question which arises in this context is this: who are the true custodians of values in matters relating to classical music? Teachers and critics have traditionally played a primary role in this regard, but professional and social conditions are no longer what they used to be. There are many factors which have undermined and are steadily eliminating the ‘guru-sishya parampara’, thereby diminishing the importance of discipline and the influence of teachers. Some effective alternate systems of handing down the tradition are bound to emerge eventually, but they have not yet crystallized. And although more and more people are writing profusely on music these days, we do not have many mature critics who can offer constructive advice on such fundamental aspects, either to the musicians or to the public...

But the sky is not all cloudy, and it has its bright side. There are still some seasoned musicians who have not allowed this trend to influence them. Some young people who perform our classical music today seem to have an amazing degree of concern for the orthodox norms, though they have not studied the art wholly in the conventional way. It is difficult to trace the source of the divine spark which exists in them. 

 Moreover, the music-loving public has two conflicting faces. At a certain level its taste is diluted by the influence of television, video, cinema and even pop music. But on a higher plane, it is also becoming increasingly respectful towards some of the unassuming elder musicians who never came into the limelight in a big way. On such heartening factors rest our hopes for the future.

Massive Winter Music Season In Mecca Of Carnatic Music

Come December, a  fabulously massive classical music festival spanning several weeks in December/January takes place in Madras, which is the Mecca of Carnatic music.  During the winter season of 2007-08, I had written a set of four seminal essays on this intriguing phenomenon, in my column Musicscan in THE HINDU.   All intricate aspects and subtle nuances of this cultural supershow discussed on that occasion remain  exactly the same today.

I have great pleasure in recalling those thoughts and sharing them with you now, and I hope you will take the trouble of finding the texts with the following links. I am  glad to note that not a single sentence or word I had written then needs a change now.

     Maargazhi --  the spirit is intact  (7 Dec. 2007)

     Source of cultural and spiritual inspiration  (21 Dec. 2007)

     Of volume and value  (4 Jan. 2008)

     Expansion on the cards  (18 Jan. 2008)

If  you hadn't read these essays when they were published, I guarantee that they will give you some deep insights into this recurring annual extravaganza.  And if you had read them, I hope you will find it interesting and useful to refresh your memory!


Glossary and annotations

(in same order as in texts)

1

Maargazhi --  In South Indian calendar, coldest winter month (Dec./Jan.).
Tamil  --  Ancient/modern language, one of four major languages of South India.
Carnatic music  --  Classical music of South India.
Non-resident Indian (NRI)  --  Legal term  defined in income tax rules to identify Indian citizens living abroad;  short form  NRI is freely used in social circles also, usually in conversations.
Krishna Gana Sabha  --  Cultural institution organizing performing arts, predominantly classical Indian music and dance, as well as contemporary Indian drama.
Hamsadhwani  --  Young, trend-setting Sabha in South Madras.
S. Rangarajan (RJ)  --  Retired diplomat-journalist, now living in America and writing insightfully on art and culture and Russian scenarios --  also figures in the shortest list of my oldest and closest friends.
Rasikas  --  In several Indian languages, lover of art and culture, especially classical Indian music and dance.

2

Tamil Nadu  --  Southernmost State in India, whose capital city is Madras and where Tamil is the ancient and also modern language.
Music Academy  --  Prestigious culturaal institution in Madras, mainly dedicated to  South Indian classical music and dance, which had played a pioneering role in the evolution of the massive winter music festival, and continues to have a unique status in the winter gala.
Bombay, Calcutta  --  Metro cities in West and East India, now officially called Mumbai and Kolkata;  but just like Madras in the South, the British-given names are still informally in vogue.
Delhi  --  Generic name of twin cities of (old) Delhi and New Delhi in North India.  For some mysterious reason, the original name Dilli hasn't been officially restored so far, and the British version still holds good.

3

Omar Khayyam  --  Ancient Persian philosopher-mathematician-astronomer-poet, best known for his monumental romantic and philosophic verses called Rubaiyat.
Tsunami  --  Japanese expression for powerful tidal wave.
Krishna Gana Sabha  --  Prestigious Sabha in Madras, more than 50 years old and still playing a dynamic role in the city's cultural life.

4

Greater Madras  --  Not yet a fait accompli, but rapidly evolving in recent years.

When Music Critic Subbudu Made A Volte Face Vis-a-vis Veteran Carnatic Musician Semmangudi!

In the preceding two posts (July 30 and August 4), I had told the story of how the caustic criticism of the redoubtable Carnatic music critic Subbudu of The Statesman in New Delhi against the marble-voiced maestro M.D. Ramanathan in the 1970s was completely neutralized.

Now here's the story of how Subbudu's toxic campaign against the venerable vocalist Semmangudi was terminated in the Capital in 1978, as told by me in THE HINDU's Friday Review in Chennai 30 year later.

 

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Glossary & Annotations

(in same order as in text)

Semmangudi centenary  -- Throughout 2008, many cultural institutions in Carnatic music circles everywhere organized special events to commemorate the 100th birth anniversary of the legendary vocalist Semmangudi (1908-2003). 

Evening News  --  Hindustan Times Evening News was the only English evening newspaper  in New Delhi till the mid-1980s when Midday materialized.  Therefore EN could reach out to many readers of all the leading morning English papers those days  --  Times of India, Hindustan Times, Indian Express and The Statesman.  (When the New Delhi edition of THE HINDU, South India's leading newspaper, was launched in 1986, I was invited to write a composite column on Carnatic and Western music, and I gradually gave up writing in the evening paper). 

M.S. Subbulakshmi (1916-2004)  --   Legendary prima donna of Carnatic music.

Jawaharlal Nehru  (1889-1964)   --   Legendary freedom fighter and first Prime Minister of India.

M.D. Ramanathan (1923-1984)  --  Legendary Carnatic vocalist, mentioned in the two preceding posts.

Ashok Kumar  (1911-2001) --  Legendary actor in Indian cinema.

Rasikas  --  Lovers of art and culture  --  in the given context, lovers of Carnatic music.

Lalgudi Jayaraman (1930 - 2013)  --  Legendary Carnatic violinist.

Vellore Ramabadran  (1929-2012)  --  Modest and dependable percussionist, with a steady touch on the mridangam, prime drum in Carnatic music.

Swara improvisations  --  improvised sequences of musical notes, following and adding colorful flourishes to a song.

Morning paper  --  New Delhi edition of The Statesman, Calcutta's leading English newspaper.  Although this had a much smaller circulation than the Capital's leading morning papers, Subbudu's caustic comments on certain senior musicians' performances in the Capital used to be widely quoted in Carnatic music circles all over India. 

Hamsadhwani  --  A unique cultural institution in Chennai.

Sherlock Holmes  --  Legendary detective in modern English literature.

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THE HINDU

Friday Review, Chennai
8 August 2008

Musicscan
 
In a miraculous way Semmangudi’s  morale was completely restored during his visit to New Delhi in October, 1978. 

Back from the brink

Witnessing the exuberant flow of the ongoing Semmangudi centenary celebrations in Chennai, I can’t help recalling how discouraged the veteran vocalist had become in the 1970s on account of the insistent demand of the redoubtable Delhi-based music critic Subbudu that it was high time he retired as a performing artist. In fact, so despondent had Semmangudi become that in the late 70s he was literally on the brink of retirement, and had even started being extremely detached and rather superficial in his recitals — particularly when he performed in the Capital, where he was expecting to attract yet another hostile and highly damaging review in the Press. Truly, it was a very vicious circle!

Nor can I ever forget the miraculous way his morale was completely restored during his visit to the Capital in October, 1978, thanks to the great adoration of his true admirers there, whose spokesman I had the privilege to be, as the music critic of the Evening News.

Warm welcome

A couple of days before the concert, the evening paper warmly welcomed him in the following terms:

“Who is the doyen of Carnatic music today? It is difficult to answer that question. It would seem that there’s a triumvirate ruling. The most widely-known Carnatic musician, of course, is M.S. Subbulakshmi, Jawaharlal Nehru’s protégé and Magsaysay award winner.

“If solidity is the criterion for one’s judgment, the greatest living Carnatic musician must be considered to be M.D. Ramanathan, the marble-voiced master of meditation. But if age, seniority and musical vigour are the norms we adopt, then undoubtedly the doyen of Carnatic music today is Semmangudi Srinivasa Iyer... Though in his seventies, he is still active, and continues to be the idol of more than one generation of music-lovers.

“His voice has a certain nasal intonation for which you have to develop a taste, as for the bitter and yeasty flavour of beer. But once you’ve adjusted your ears and mind-set to it, Semmangudi will take you on a rare adventure of music. When he gets going on his swara improvisations, it’s like riding a boat along a tumultuous river... True, Semmangudi is no longer at his best, but even so he does have tremendous appeal for his faithful fans.

“For several years now he has been dogged by severely adverse criticism in the Capital’s Press, which has not only offended his admirers... but even threatened to deprive them of his music. The maestro has become so sensitive that he had threatened to retire a couple of years ago, though luckily he didn’t.

“Do critics expect that performing artists should have perpetual youth? Would they expect Ashok Kumar to retire from films just because he can no longer play the young hero’s role?”

Glowing performance

And on the day of the concert I met the maestro in the afternoon and explained that five or six hundred rasikas would be eagerly attending the event, and he had no right to ignore their earnest collective wish to hear him perform in whatever manner he could. I pleaded that he shouldn’t let frustration and anger dilute his music further, and asked: “Lalgudi Jayaraman and Vellore Ramabhadran are there to convert your suggestions into statements... what more do we need to hear echoes of your best music?”  Semmangudi seemed to be greatly touched by the argument, and promised to do his best in the evening. And so well did he keep his word that he almost regained his original touch, and gave a rousing performance which glowed and glowed all the way.

And the review in the Evening News said: “His sensitive reaction to adverse criticism apart, Semmangudi seems to feel that since his music today lacks some of its characteristic vigour, he should phase out his performances, making room for younger artists.

“But lovers of Semmangudi’s music wouldn’t agree with him. What they now expect from the maestro is no longer his music at its very best, but only some glimpses of his glorious art. These he provided in abundant measure in the recital under review. Ably assisted by ace violinist Lalgudi Jayaraman and the ever-green mridangam-player Vellore Ramabhadran, Semmangudi re-created in his swara improvisations some memorable passages reminiscent of his vintage days.”

But quite sensationally, those remarks were overtaken by a rave review by Subbudu himself in the morning paper, with a loud headline which screamed:  Semmangudi back in form!

Still living on

Of course, the maestro did retire as a performing artist a few years later, after giving many more wonderful concerts. But even then he couldn’t resist the clamour of his adamant admirers, and made a spectacular comeback in 1996 when he was 88 years old, with a memorable concert in Hamsadhwani. Which inevitably makes us think of Sherlock Holmes, who just couldn’t be killed by his own creator Sir Arthur Conan Doyle, but staged a comeback to live permanently in English literature — just as Semmangudi is bound to live on in Indian music!

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PostScript, 2013

A question of credentials and credibility

It was a matter of great regret for me that when I told this 30-years-old true story in my column Musicscan in THE HINDU in 2008  --  as it is today, when I recall the whole scenario all over again  --  that both Semmangudi and Subbudu were/are no longer  alive, to either confirm or deny the facts as declared by me.  To that extent, I can see, there is enough scope for anyone to raise doubts about my credibility.

My credentials, however, have a very strong foundation.  Throughout my past 50 years' association with THE HINDU  --  which is well known as a newspaper with the highest ethical standards in the world  --  the Editors (Mr. G. Kasturi and Mr. N. Ravi) had reposed complete faith in my integrity and given me almost unlimited freedom of expression and style.  The mere fact that my essay on the Semmangudi episode was published by THE HINDU without calling for any evidence other than my own recollection of the facts is surely an adequate testimonial for  my bona fides.

 

Zubin Mehta Conducts Ravi Shankar's Rainbow Concerto

"Rainbow Concerto?"  I can hear you asking. If you are a knowledgeable music-lover, or (I hope not!) a music critic, you may say "Ravi Shankar never composed anything like that!"

You'd be quite right, of course, for he never composed any work bearing the title Rainbow Concerto.   But that's the name I would like to give to his Sitar Concerto No. 2, which he called Raaga-Maala (meaning 'Garland of melodies' in Hindi).  It was composed by him specially for the New York Philharmonic Orchestra and its glamorous conductor Zubin Mehta, who was one of his greatest admirers.

And what precisely is the reason for my preference?  Just read on!

THE HINDU, New Delhi
28 April 1989
Soothing combinations

It is a compulsive characteristic of the adventurous human spirit that it accepts no achievement as a terminal one.  For many decades men had constantly struggled to conquer the Everest.  But as soon as some of them had accomplished the fantastic task, others had to start trying to do it without wearing oxygen masks.  For centuries men had aspired to fly in the free sky.  But after they had learnt how to do it, they had to cross the sound barrier and then to reach out to the moon.

The supremely creative person in the visual and performing arts is a great adventurer.  His spirit can recognize no boundaries which would confine his experience within prescribed norms even if he happens to be a seasoned practitioner of traditional art.  A superior exponent of classical music may be a trusted custodian of traditional values, but no rules or conventions can really contain his spirit if it trespasses into alien territories.

After setting up unprecedented standards of excellence in playing the violin according to Western norms for more than half a century, Yehudi Menuhin finds a thrill in sitting cross-legged on the floor with Ravi Shankar, willingly accepting the dominance of the sitarist in a novel and intriguing experience which obviously enhances his musical vision. . . .

Beyond the borders

A dessert in a dinner, far from being forbidden, is a desirable element of it.  Similarly, while one cannot imagine Western orchestral music being totally invaded by Indian colors, one cannot also object to an earnest partnership between a composer who is a master of Indian music with a desire to explore the mysteries of orchestral sound, and an eminent conductor who offers to command the powerful forces of a Western orchestra to enable the imaginative venture to be fulfilled.  It all really depends on who is the composer undertaking such a venture, and who is the conductor aiding him.

And when they happen to be Ravi Shankar and Zubin Mehta, with the sitar maestro featured also as soloist, the resulting music is bound to be electrifying.  I am not surprised to hear reports that  the European Community Youth Orchestra's current tour, with these twin captains at the helm of the cruise, had attracted delirious responses from music-lovers in Madrid, Rome and London where they had rendered Ravi Shankar's Sitar Concerto No. 2  --  titled 'Raaga-Maala'  --  before they performed it in New Delhi last week.  Nor am I surprised to see that our own music-lovers have been overwhelmed by the phenomenon.

Rainbow colors

What a fabulous rainbow does Ravi Shankar reveal to us in this magnificent work!  In the first movement he explores the raga Lalit in depth.  In the fourth movement he wields a kaleidoscope and shows in flashes the varied shapes and hues of Mian-ki-Malhar, Shyam-Kalyan, Tilakkammod, Bhageshree, Hindol, Bahar, Bihag, Rasia, Pahadi, Sindh Bhairavi, Dhun, Malkhauns, Hamsadhwani, Sudh-Sarang, Jog, Shree, Suha, Kedara....


For a while I wondered whether it was proper for the performers to skip the second and third movements of the composition.  But the answer was not difficult to see!  In spite of the sensational quality of the Sitar Concerto, it had to be featured only as a lesser fraction of the evening's program, if the orchestra was to retain its own character and credibility.  And quite appropriately, there were superb renderings of Beethoven's Leonora Overture No. 3, Ravel's sound-poem La Valse, and Mahler's Symphony No. 1.

Maestro Ravi Shankar Mows Down Music Critics!

My memories of Sitar maestro Ravi Shankar are spread over almost 50 years, and it's one of the greatest joys of my life that I was able to write about his music and personality on several significant occasions.  One of those occasions was purely imaginary and was concocted by me in a humorous vein in the evening paper in New Delhi;  but it was actually a forceful comment on a very serious and intricate issue concerning Indian classical music which still remains to be resolved satisfactorily.   I did have an opportunity several years later to show it to Ravi Shankar, who had a hearty laugh.

 

By the way, for the benefit of foreign readers who may not be familiar with Indian music and names, let me add a glossary of native terms figuring in the article below.  (I must also mention that the names Sitar Ali Khan and Veenachalam are imaginary, but they bear a striking resemblance to real-life Indian names like Amjad Ali Khan or Arunachalam). 

 

Glossary

 

Carnatic/Hindustani music:  Classical music of South/North India.

 

Jugal-bandhi:  In Hindustani music, a joint venture between musicians belonging to different disciplines or schools of music.  Extended use, to indicate joint ventures between Carnatic and Hindustani music

 

Pandit/Ustad:  In Hindustani music, traditional titles adopted by musicians belonging to Hindu/Muslim faiths --  hence Pandit Ravi Shankar, Ustad Bismillah Khan

 

Sitar/Veena:  Important string instruments of North/South India

 

Tanpur:  String instrument providing a continuous background drone in Hindustani music  (cf. tambura in Carnatic music)

 

Tablah/Mridangam:  Main percussion instruments in Hindustani/Carnatic music.

 

Vidwan:  Accomplished musician, in Carnatic music (cf. feminine Vidushi)

 

 

 

Evening News, New Delhi

9 June 1978

Music critics and mince-meat

 (with apologies to Ravi Shankar)

 

Sitar maestro Ravi Shankar, it is reported in the Press, has come out with some strong comments against music critics in India in his autobiography which is being serialized in a Bengali weekly.  According to him, says the report, they are "scholars in language but paupers in music."

 

But Ravi Shankar is not the only musician with a grouse against music critics.  The enterprising musicians Vidwan Veenachalam and Ustad Sitar Ali Khan have been hounded by music critics ever since they started experimenting with the so-called 'Carnatic-Hindustani jugal-bandhi.'

After their first jugal-bandhi in Madras in 1973, a critic there wrote that Hindustani music had unduly dominated the event, reducing Veenachalam's role to that of a mere accompanist, and that all basic elements of Carnatic music had been dumped in the Bay of Bengal.

The musicians thought over the matter carefully;  and when they gave their next jugal-bandhi recital in Bombay in 1974, Sitar Ali Khan was more restrained and let Veenachalam have his way in many things.  A Bombay critic wrote that the Northern musician had been swamped by his colleague from the South, and that Hindustani music had been consigned to the Arabian Sea.

So, when they performed again together in Calcutta in 1975, the musicians tried to be absolutely fair to each other, and both of them under-played their roles.  And a Calcutta critic wrote that both of them were acting like dummies, and had merely accompanied the tanpur-player.

So in their jugal-bandhi in Ahmedabad in 1976, they had a word with the tanpur-player and asked him to tone down his instrument.  The upshot of it was that an Ahmedabad critic promptly said the tablah-player had made mince-meat out of the mridangam-player and the concert was a fiasco.

 

When the jugal-bandhists gave a performance in Madras again in 1977, they cautioned the tablah-player.  This time they thought they had everything squared up properly.  But our old friend, the music critic, was not impressed:  he asserted that the mridangam-player had swallowed the tablah-player.

 

I am sure Pandit Ravi Shankar knows all about the woes of Vidwan Veenachalam and Ustad Sitar Ali Khan, for I understand from reliable sources that they met the Maestro some time ago and asked for moral support.

"Don't worry!"  Ravi Shankar is reported to have told them.  "My autobiography will be appearing soon in a Bengali weekly.  I will be making mince-meat of the music critics, and you can swallow them!"

...............................................................

Postscript, 2013

 

So far as I can see, enterprising Carnatic and Hindustani musicians (both old and young, whether famous or otherwise) are by and large still struggling to achieve a proper equilibrium in their provocative joint ventures.   They do manage to get things right sometimes, but that usually seems to be a matter of chance rather than of cultivated control.  Of course, there are some exceptional cases where excellence and success are the natural results of such endeavours.

Both before and after I wrote the above light-hearted article, I had/have written several serious reviews and essays on such North-South encounters (as well as similar East-West encounters, between Indian and foreign musicians). I shall pull them out from my records in due course, for a critical re-look at these endlessly ongoing experiments.

 

 

When Ravi Shankar Thought I Was Important!

Millions of music-lovers all over the world must have been in a sorrowful mood during this holiday season, because sitar maestro Ravi Shankar, who has done so much to popularize Indian classical music in the West, has passed away.  Although I am just one of those millions and am quite an insignificant figure in the global arena of art and culture, there was an occasion 40 years ago when Ravi Shankar thought I was a very important person  --  because when we came face to face in isolation, I automatically became a symbolic figure who represented all those millions of admirers living all over the world.  Rather than talk about it now, let me just recall an essay I had written a few years ago in my column Musicscan in THE HINDU, telling the whole story:

THE HINDU

August 22, 2008

Musicscan

Of ego and humility

After discussing two weeks ago my emotionally charged interview with the venerable Carnatic vocalist Semmangudi in 1978, I am tempted to talk about a different kind of encounter with the sitar maestro Ravi Shankar and a revealing sequel several years later, which showed how powerful even an ordinary music-lover's image can be in the mind of a great and sensitive musician.

Let me first tell the original story by simply quoting from an article I had written in the Evening News, New Delhi in 1985, under the headline Airport Encounter:

“On Friday night we saw. . . .  a few snatches from the New York Philharmonic Orchestra’s performance of Ravi Shankar’s composition, Sitar Concerto No. 1, and some crisp chats with conductor Zubin Mehta and soloist Ravi Shankar. . . .

“What struck me forcefully was the utter simplicity of these men who have achieved such success, such fame, such glory.   Neither Zubin Mehta nor Ravi Shankar sound like men who have conquered the New York Philharmonic, with its proud set of musicians who’ve got their own king-size egos  —  though that’s exactly what the maestros have done!

“You may say Ravi Shankar has a super ego, as does Zubin Mehta, and what they say to the TV camera doesn’t mean a thing.  But which great artist doesn’t have a colossal ego?   How could he or she ever achieve greatness without an ego made of solid concrete?

“I’ve had only a single face-to-face encounter with Ravi Shankar, but it’s enough to convince me of the essential humility of the man, no matter what the rest of the world thinks or says about him.

“It was in 1971.  I was on an Avro flight from Vizag to Hyderabad.  On the way the aircraft landed at Vijayawada, and Ravi Shankar and [the tablah artist] Alla Rakha got in.

“There were only a few passengers on board.  I was occupying a window seat on the left side, with nobody else in that row on either side.  Ravi Shankar took the window seat on the right side in the row just ahead of mine, and Alla Rakha took the aisle seat next to him.  

“I had a perfect side-view of Alla Rakha with his cherubic face and balding head.  I had all the privacy I needed, and I couldn’t resist taking out a pad and sketching his profile. It came out perfectly.

Maestro’s thrill   

“As we all got down on the tarmac at Hyderabad, I approached Ravi Shankar and showed him the sketch.  He showed it to Alla Rakha, and both of them expressed their appreciation.  We chatted as we walked towards the arrival lounge.  Answering a casual query from Ravi Shankar, I said I lived in Madras.

“Oh, we are giving a recital in Madras!”  Ravi Shankar said, mentioning the date. “Why don’t you come?”   I whipped out my wallet from my hip-pocket, and showed him my ticket for the concert.

“I would never have believed it, but it had a tremendous impact on the world-famous musician.   His face lit up:  he seemed surprised, delighted, absolutely thrilled.  ‘ By God, you’ve bought a ticket for the concert already?’ he asked.

“ ‘Of course!   I wouldn’t miss it for anything in the world!’  I said.  ‘Thank you! Thank you!’  Ravi Shankar said, ‘Do come and meet me back-stage after the recital!’

“Of course I never did go back-stage and meet him.  There were a hundred admirers milling around the maestro at the end of the recital,  and I wouldn’t have counted.  But out there on the tarmac at Begumpet airport, I did count for something in Ravi Shankar’s life.   He can’t possibly recognise my face after 14 years, but I am sure he still remembers me!”

Remarkable recall

Well, that’s the story as I had told it in the Evening News, New Delhi, in 1985.   And there was an intriguing sequel four years later, when I spotted Ravi Shankar in a buffet luncheon in the Indian Council for Cultural Relations in the Capital.

I walked up to the maestro and introduced myself, giving him my visiting card.  In the course of the pleasant conversation which followed, I mentioned that we had actually met earlier, though I didn’t expect him to remember the occasion.  He looked rather surprised, and asked: “Oh, really?  When was that?  And where?  Can you please remind me?”

I said briefly: “Hyderabad airport, 1971.  I showed you a picture of Alla Rakha.”  Ravi Shankar stared at me for a few seconds, and his face lighted up with pleasure. “Of course! Of course! I do remember!” he said, “You also showed me a ticket you had for my concert in Madras, didn’t you?”

And as if that wasn’t enough proof that he did remember and wasn’t pretending, he took a very intense look at my clean-shaven face and asked: “Weren’t you having a pencil-line moustache then?”   Which really took my breath away, because I did have a pencil-line moustache those days!

Of course, there was just a chance that he might have seen my story in the Evening News four years earlier;  but when I asked him about it, he said no, he hadn’t, and I believed him.   And this happened in 1989  —  eighteen years after our airport encounter, during which time the maestro had scaled still greater heights, not only as a performing artist but also as a composer of Western orchestral music with intriguing Indian colors.

Jarring Trend Ruins Russian Folk Music

In continuation of the story I told (Jan. 6) about Hungary exporting a mixture of folk and renaissance music and dance 20 years ago mainly for consumption by foreigners, I must show you an article I wrote in 2008 about distortions and disturbing trends in the performance of Russian folk music. 

Although the focus was clearly on folk music, somehow this essay happened to take a quick look at the evolution of Russian music as a whole, tracing the different streams of music flowing in parallel trends and traditions, and also noting the revolutionary turn things took after the collapse of the Soviet Union: 

THE HINDU, Chennai
October 31, 2008

Musicscan

Parallel trends and traditions

. . . .  I came to know that a visiting ensemble called Russkaya Pesnya ('Russian Song') had given a performance of Russian folk music in Bangalore on October 14.  This information was given by Ms. Kala Sunder  —  who had studied Russian in Moscow and is a Russian-English interpreter now based in Bangalore  —  to my old friend RJ, who had been her father’s colleague in the diplomatic corps in Moscow. 

She said this event was organised by the Indian Council for Cultural Relations (ICCR) and the Russian Embassy, in the context of an ongoing economic-scientific-techno-cultural exchange between the two countries, under which 2008 is the ‘Year of Russia in India’ and 2009 will be the ‘Year of India in Russia.’

Apparently a dozen cultural events have been organised in the Capital since February this year, and a few in Mumbai, Kolkata and Bangalore  —  including performances of folk music, chamber and church music, as well as Russian pop, jazz and rock-n’-roll.

All of which sets me reflecting on the evolution of Russian music in the Tsarist and Soviet eras, and the revolution which convulsed it towards the end of the 20th century after the collapse of the USSR.

Historic perspective

The progress of Russian music in the past two centuries has been rather complicated, with the clash and co-existence of parallel trends and traditions;  but the main developments can be summed up by the following remarks which I quote from online sources:

“There are about 150 ethnicity groups in Russia, each with unique traditions, culture and forms of music.  Initially folk music was mainstream, but [later on] Russia adapted to Western type of classical music...   Patriotic songs and music was created during the Great Patriotic War...   Soviet era [also] produced many prominent classical musicians...  

"During the period of Soviet domination, music was highly scrutinised and kept within certain boundaries of content and innovation...   After the fall of the USSR, western-style rock and pop music became the most popular musical forms in Russia.” (music.russiansabroad.com, and Wikipedia).

Parallel trends/traditions

It is important to note that the development of Western-European styles of ‘classical music’ during the 19th and 20th centuries (in the forms of opera or orchestral music) in the Tsarist regime, and the emergence of ‘people’s songs’ about rustic collective farms and romantic factories in the Soviet scenario, did not either suppress or substantially alter the folk music traditions prevailing in various regions of Russia. 

In fact, these relatively new trends (which turned into old traditions in due course) had derived considerable inspiration from the ancient folk music of the country, which had continued to flourish side by side with them.

That’s why even in the 1970s and 1980s, Soviet cultural festivals in New Delhi had featured folk music and dance which invariably created the impression of being authentic, although obviously trimmed and streamlined for presentation in concert halls abroad.  But later on we had started encountering ultra-modern Russian music which had somehow sounded artificial and seemed to lack the essential Russian character and nuances.

Jarring element

As Ms. Kala Sunder had lived and studied in Moscow and has a strong Russian orientation as an accredited interpreter, I asked her about her impression of the recent folk music concert in Bangalore.  I must say her answer by e-mail is perceptive, and has a loud and clear ring of truth:

“To me, Russian folk music conveys a sense of vast expanse, of the wide steppe and the slow-flowing rivers.  And often an underlying melancholy and desperation, even as it sets your toes tapping...  The Russkaya Pesnya’s concert opened with numbers with a modern orchestration, complete with a heavy beat and flashing lights that produced a disco-like atmosphere.  It was quite alarming!

"Even folk music evolves to suit contemporary tastes, but this was jarring.  If it was playing to the gallery, the gallery didn’t seem to appreciate it!  But the troupe moved on to more ‘folksy’ rendering and that drew louder applause.  Perhaps this was the wrong audience for this sort of experimentation  —  ICCR doesn’t attract the young.”

This impression is reinforced by online videos featuring the Russkaya Pesnya ensemble and its leader Nadezhda Babkina.  And samples of the music of the Aquarium Rock-n-Roll Band, which has also performed in the Year of Russia in India, illustrate the end-of-the-century revolution in Russian music.

But of course, some immortal songs such as Ochi Chorniye ('Dark Eyes') do transcend the folk music idiom and retain their true Russian flavour no matter in what alien mode they are rendered! 

---------------------------------------

Postscript, 2013

Frontierless Magic of Dark Eyes!

Regarding that last sentence, which I had scribbled in 2008  --  I had raved about this Russian song in a review in THE HINDU, New Delhi 25 years ago (quoted fully in Articulations Online, Rustic Rituals And Romantic Reveries, Nov. 2012)  --  and in this column a couple of years ago (Articulations Online, Ochi Chorniye, Oct. 2010).

Obviously, I do have a lifelong obsession with this amazing amalgam of art and folk music, which always sounds absolutely authentic, regardless of when and where in the world it is rendered, whether vocally or with instruments only, in whatever allied or alien mode or manner, as long as the performance has the hallmark of excellence.  It's sheer magic which seems to have no frontiers at all!

Why don't you just look for Ochi Chorniye on YouTube, see a dozen or more videos which will appear on the hit lists, and hear the evidence for yourself? 

Magyar Mixture -- For Foreigners Only!

Pointing out how questions of authenticity and artificiality inevitably arise whenever traditional folk arts are performed in alien/unfamiliar environments (Jan. 4, 2013), I remembered an evening in New Delhi about 20 years ago when a visiting Hungarian ensemble had served us a cocktail of the traditional  music and dance of  Magyar gypsies and medieval  European courts.  

 

Although my acquaintance with Hungarian folk music and dance  at that time was quite marginal in spite of my intense interest in them, I did get the impression that there seemed to be something unnatural and rather contrived about several portions of the performance.  When I mentioned this to the leader of the team after the show, I did expect him to offer a convincing explanation;  but I found his answer quite intriguing.  He said . . . .  now, just read on!   

 

THE HINDU, New Delhi
5 May 1990
Magyar mixture

Austria and Hungary are not only close neighbors, but have an old historical association, once constituting a common empire.  And in a way it was interesting that within a couple of weeks of our encounter with the Mozarteum String Quartet from Austria.  there was a visiting set of musicians and dancers from Hungary performing in New Delhi last Monday evening  --  brought to this country by the Indian Council for Cultural Relations.  It was the Guild Society from Budapest , incorporating the Bakfark Consort and the Malev Kamaras Ensemble.

 

The program was a mixture of medieval Hungarian court and folk music and dance, featuring among other things a 16th-century Hungarian liturgical song, some light-hearted medieval students' songs , some West European and Hungarian c0urt dances, and a Magyar folk dance of the genre called Czardas (pronounced chardass).

I have a particular liking for Hungarian gypsy music and dance, with the double-bass setting up an accelerating rhythm and the violins, winds and cimbalom keeping pace with colorful and swirling flourishes.  The very first long-playing record I ever bought  --  more than 30 years ago  --  was a collection of Magyar music including a couple of Czardas numbers, and I remember being fascinated as much by the costumes of the dancers pictured on the disc jacket as by the lilting music which the record contained.  I once spent a week in Budapest without being able to see and hear a gypsy ensemble, and it was certainly a thrill to attend a live performance of the same kind at last in New Delhi!

But as one lives on, one learns to perceive the difference between what is authentic and what is not, even if one isn't very familiar with what's seen and heard.  The visiting team was a combination of artists performing court music and folk music, with four dancers  --  two men and two women --  playing dual roles.  Some of the court numbers and some of the folk items were performed separately, which gave one a feel of the genuine art.  But some of the numbers mixed them up a bit, which did not ring quite true.  On the whole, the program did make a powerful impression on the mind;  the dances were exquisite, and the honeyed voice of the soprano Melinda Lugosy will be long remembered.

With the sudden stepping up of cultural activity here in recent years in terms of performances, we have started seeing the relentless march of innovation and experimentation, with our classical and folk traditions tending to get mixed up arbitrarily, which is a cause of great concern.  But the whole world's culture seems to be in a kind of ferment now.  Watching the interesting procession of foreign artists in the capital city, one has seen Turkish folk songs getting mixed up with pop music, or traditional Russian folk dances being choreographed in ultra-modern ways, to mention only a couple of things. 

Backstage after the show, I asked Daniel Benko, the leader of the ensemble, how people in Hungary respond to this kind of mixture.  His answer was simple and disarming:  he said such mixing was not usually done there by this group, but is mainly meant for foreigners!

..........................................................

 

 Postscript. 2013

 Tradition, innovation and integrity

 

Well, I've been mulling over that candid response for more than 20 years now!   

 

Over this long period marked by technological hurricanes and socio-cultural tornados, I've been endlessly trying to find the elusive answers to many  intricate questions relating to the conflict as well as the concord (which co-exist) between tradition and innovation, between purity and permissiveness, between innovation and integrity.   I've often been puzzled by the great paradoxes inherent in the universal scenario of cultural progress;  and at the same time, I have also gained some very valuable artistic and psychological insights into the whole phenomenon.

 

But don't spoil the fun by asking me for a concise executive summary of my ultimate findings!  Let me just roll out, one by one, the reviews and essays containing my reflections on specific aspects which needed analysis and discussion from time to time in different contexts!

Awesome Kerala Drums In Authentic Delhi Setting

While making an extended review of the high-decibel Kerala temple-drums festival in New Delhi  --  which I had mentioned a couple of days ago (Jan. 2)  --  I took the opportunity to make a significant comment on the extent of artificiality or authenticity in re-enacting rustic folk arts in an alien environment, or even in unusual urban settings within the same country:

THE HINDU, New Delhi
15 May 1987
A treat for folk-art lovers

Following the successful Festivals of India in France and America, which intensified our interest in our own many-sided cultural heritage, there has been a tremendous spurt in the organized efforts to present the folk arts of India in the Capital.
 

During the last autumn and winter seasons this became such a voluminous and hectic enterprise that it was difficult to keep track of all such events which were taking place simultaneously or in quick succession all over Delhi.  There's a respite now, but we can be sure that the activity will be resumed as soon as the summer and the rainy season are over.

 

Authentic or artificial?

 

We must appreciate that the various agencies involved in this context do generally seem to be conscious of the need to create an appropriate environment for our folk arts to be performed, so that the events have an appearance of authenticity.  The settings arranged on the Rabindra Bhavan lawns and some other locations in the city do have the merit of being picturesque and close to Nature.

 

But no matter how earnestly one might try, it's impossible to get away from the fact such performances in unrelated venues have an inevitable element of artificiality built into them.  The true flavour of a rustic folk tradition can never be completely transplanted from its usual setting to a strange or contrived milieu.

It's equally true that when an event in a metropolitan city does not merely seek to present a rural/ethnic art form  --   but primarily aims to create the entire environment in which it normally flourishes  --  then we do get a fine view of the art in its absolutely pure condition.
 
In unaccustomed surroundings,  it's precisely when folk arts are not presented for their own sake  --  but constitute a subsidiary element in a comprehensive social or religious activity  --  that they remain absolutely true to their character and retain their subtle nuances in toto. In major cities, such situations generally arise in religious contexts, when music often figures as an integral part of the rituals, and not essentially as a form of entertainment.

These were the thoughts which kept crossing my mind as I stood in the premises of the Ayyappan Temple in R.K. Puram on several days in the last two weeks , absorbing the tumultuous sounds of the temple drums from Kerala, during the elaborate religious festival organized by the Ayyappan Pooja Samithi.

 

Subtle thunder

 

In this column last week I had described the nature of the marathon performances by the percussion ensemble invited from Kerala for this occasion.  During the last week-end the team was reinforced with the arrival of a dozen more artists, including the group's leader and teacher, Krishna Poduval, who's a supreme exponent of the drum called chenda.  He led several memorable sessions of 'Taayambaka' (featuring five chendas and three pairs of cymbals). The Pancha-Vaaddyam group was also strengthened, to include five thimilas, three curved horns, and four pairs of cymbals  --  a formidable configuration!

 

Day after day (and night after night) the worshipful environment in the temple resounded with the thundering (and yet subtle) sounds of these powerful instruments.  How far these exercises in percussion are part of the religious rituals can be judged from the fact that during certain sessions called 'Pani' (held inside the shrine, and not in the open air), the chief percussionist actually acquires the status of the high priest, and simulates on the drums the sacred verses which are chanted. 

 

Undoubtedly, the memory of this festival will be a strong one.  For a long time to come, one is bound to recall vividly the tremendous spiritual élan generated among the devotees by the dazzling drums of Kerala.

 

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Postscript, 2013

 

Oh yes, the memory of that occasion does haunt me still,  like some superior sessions of this fascinating art in Kerala itself !   Those days we had to wait for years to repeat the visual experiences, and even audio recordings were rare.  Things are quite different today, of course, and you can instantly transport yourself to the most authentic venues just by clicking any of the following links on YouTube, and exploring many other related videos: 

 

Panchavaaddyam  

Tayambaka

Pandi Melam

Panchari Melam  

Chenda Melam

Tumultuous Temple Drums Of SW India

Talking about the character and scope of the powerful South Indian wind and percussion instruments naagaswaram and thavil (Dec. 29/31), I had mentioned three specific occasions marking a timespan of nearly 40 years  --   a soulful cameo in a Hindu temple in Madras (2009), a hillside concert in a New Delhi temple in 1986,  and a performance in a Madras concert hall in 1971.   Now let me take you back to New Delhi, to witness a high-decibel drums festival in another Hindu temple in 1987.

By the way, 'South-West India' is not an expression actually used in any context I know of,  though it sounds so familiar.   Strictly speaking, the term should denote all the four States on the West coast of India.  But we Indians are inclined to think of  Gujarat, Maharashtra and Goa as Western India  --  and if we are asked to define 'SW India' in a quiz program, our instant response is likely to be  just "Kerala!"

THE HINDU, New Delhi
8 May 1987

Dazzling drums from Kerala

"Jhillam padapada....   jhillam padapada....  
Pappada jhillam....  jhillam padapada...."

That's the popular way of vocalizing the sounds of the rustic temple drums and cymbals of Kerala, which rend the air day and night in the State's villages and towns on all festive and religious occasions.

Last Saturday night, a percussion ensemble from Kerala was seen and heard at the Ayyappan Temple in R.K. Puram, playing the 'Pancha-Vaaddyam'  for an hour, in the fortnight-long anniversary celebrations of the temple, which will go on till next Tuesday.

The Pancha-Vaaddyam is an open-air exercise by five instruments  --  thimila, a long vertical drum and maddalam, a large horizontal drum, both of which are played with the drummer's palms and fingers;   edakka, a small drum played with a stick;   kombu, a curved horn;   and elatthaalam, a pair of cymbals made of bronze.   A booming sound in the background is provided by a conch, which is called sangu.

More than one instrument of the same kind may be featured in the combination.  For instance, the group which performed at this venue used two thimilas and two pairs of cymbals.  The diverse percussive effects created by striking the hard or soft leather surfaces of the drums merge with the metallic clang of the cymbals, to produce a formidable battery of sounds.

There's another important percussion instrument of Kerala called chenda --  a medium-sized vertical drum which is played with a couple of curved wooden sticks (or with a stick and one hand), producing a variety of sharp sounds.  The instrument is widely used in all routine temple drumming, but usually it finds no place in an exclusive Pancha-Vaaddyam recital.

But whatever its status may be in the Pancha-Vaaddyam, the chenda is the sole instrument used in another kind of performance called 'Thaayambaka'  --  in this event, there's a main chenda known as tani-layam (solo rhythm) which is supported by two chendas on the sides and two more in the background. 

A third type of percussion recital of an allied nature is the 'Panchaari Melam', in which the musicians play the chenda, the curved horn, the cymbals and a short pipe known as kurunkuzhal,  which almost sounds like the naagaswaram.

In the course of the ongoing festival at the Ayyappan Temple, all these types of performances are being presented, apart from Kathakali dances and other cultural events.

My visit to the venue last Saturday gave me a rare musical experience.  I hadn't heard a Pancha-Vaadyam recital for ages;  the last occasion was in 1969 or '70, when I had stood on the lawns of the Kalakshetra in Madras and listened to the performance of a guest team from Kerala.  Vivid memories of this and many other pastoral settings came flooding into my mind as I heard the arresting sound of the authentic band.

Inside a crowded semi-open-air section of the temple stood a small decorated elephant, right in front of the percussionists who were pulverizing the atmosphere with their vigorous pounding of the drums.  Although the elephant couldn't usually have been exposed to this kind of sustained explosive sound, it remained calm and cool throughout the performance, justifying the implicit faith reposed in it by the temple authorities and by the assembled devotees! . . .

Music-lovers in the Capital who wish to hear a dazzling variety of rhythmic exercises would do well to visit the Ayyappan Temple in R.K. Puram on any one or more of the next few days (till May 12). 

                                                                 (to be continued)