Season Stories
An edited version of this appeared in Sruti long ago. Somehow, I didn't put it up here earlier.
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My first brush with this season was trying to book Music Academy season tickets for relatives threatening to arrive from around the world. I was advised to be there slightly early. Now, the counter was to open at nine-thirty. I entered at eight-thirty to a bewildering sight – a hall full of campers, some of them looked like they’d been sitting there for weeks! A middle-aged couple in the back row were eating idlis coated with molaga podi from a steel tiffin box. Two men, sipping coffee in the portico, discussed how their decision to come by five-thirty was now vindicated. Needless to say, I returned ticketless. I must, here, praise the Academy's transparent, fair, just ticketing procedures – I tried pulling many contacts, including a Sangita Kalanidhi and the offices of Sruti. Nothing worked. Next time, I shall come by 3 am with my own steel tiffin box and laugh at the newbies.
I had not heard Valayapatti A. R. Subramaniam live before his concert with Tirupati Haribabu at the Academy. I might have missed even this concert if not for my guru's insistence that I listen to his thani. There were three of those that day, in Khandachapu, Mishrachapu and Adi Talam, each more spectacular than the other. It was fascinating to watch a master in complete command of his art. Two things separate masters from the rest. The first is their ease and comfort - even the most complicated rhythm seems so simple. The second is the amount of time they have – they are always so unhurried. A little like Roger Federer knocking a swinging, 230 kmph Roddick serve for a cross-court return winner without any fuss!
On the subject of percussion, my favourite mridangist this season was Arun Prakash. At Nungambakkam Cultural Academy, when Ravikiran announced, "I shall now play a Thyagaraja kriti in Raga Neelambari, 'Nike Dayaraka' in Mishrachapu taalam," I could almost see Arun Prakash licking his lips. He percussion side remained silent for about three lines. Then, he began punctuating the kriti with single beats. Slowly, he built up to just three touches at three-two-two. This was interspersed with very interesting, but very minimal, very delicate rhythms. Neelambari's lilt was given just the right pedestal to thrive on. After the Neelambari, when the audience was suitably blissful, a Garudadhwani came. Tatvamerugatarama. And the mridangam was right on the button, exuberant and joyous!
He proceeded to do the same for Vedavalli at Carnatica (MR Janaki College) and Music Academy – sensing exactly what the main artist is trying to do in each piece, what mood, what emotion she wants to convey, and creates it to perfection. The two Vedavalli concerts feature amongst my favourites this season. I will not forget that intoxicating neraval in Sukhi Evvaro at Carnatica for as long as I live!
R.K. Srikantan never seems to age, does he? A huge audience at Music Academy was delighted by his timeless voice (and that perfect sruti), poise, classicism and immense scholarship. The stage has become such an extension of his persona that he doesn't even think twice before rebuking his son with, "Sruti!" every now and then!
Dr. N. Ramani's concert at Asthika Samajam in Thiruvamiyur was another spine-tingler. Extraordinary renditions of Harikambhoji, Nasikabhushani and Sahana came in succession after which he took a little break. He came back and asked the audience, "Thodi vasikkatuma? Sree Krishnam Bhaja Manasa?" The Thodi alapana lasted for nearly forty minutes, each nook and corner of the raga being explored in the most leisurely manner. And then there were those searing brigas - cascades of swara patterns falling one over the other!
This year saw five flute concerts at the Academy - Mala Chandrashekhar, Dr. N. Ramani (with R. Thagarajan and Athul Kumar - his son and grandson), V. K. Raman, Mysore Chandankumar and Shashank. I wonder if this is a record. Other sabhas featured Jayaprada Ramamurthy, B. Vijayagopal, J. B. Srutisagar, the Sikkil Sisters and many more. Personally, it was disappointing to find one of my favourite flutists, Prapancham S. Balachandran, not performing at any of the major sabhas. Still, it is boom time for the bamboo-wielders, clearly.
When the schedules for the season were out, one concert really intrigued me - Shashank's jugalbandhi with Sanjeev Abhayankar. The two musicians were outstanding, as ever, but they performed two separate concerts – they just happened to be sitting on the same stage. Neither fed off the other or created any energy for the other to take off from. But that's a risk inherent to any jugalbandhi – since the musicians come from different idioms, if they do not interact at the same wavelength on that day, the concert could become an exercise in tedium. (I must also mention here that the artists were let down by an abysmal sound system.)
Another venue with really poor acoustics was the Ananthapadmanabha Swamy Temple in Gandhinagar where the Valayapatti Kaashyap Naadalaya series happened. I was at Sikkil Gurucharan's concert there, sitting behind a large group of giggly girls. When Gurucharan flashed one of his smiles, the entire bunch swooned in unison. I was almost expecting cat calls! I won't be surprised if we find Sikkil Gurucharan T-shirts soon - with his bespectacled, dimpled, smiling photograph on it, and girl-gangs wearing them and sitting in his concerts with flyers and posters. Another prediction – in five years, the December Isai Vizha will be rechristened the December Paattu-Saapattu Vizha. Signs of this change were evident this year. I heard a morning concert at Narada Gana Sabha that did not attract much of a crowd. But by 12.30, when the concert ended, the parking was full and overflowing! Music Academy even had a board at the gate that read, "No Parking for Canteen Visitors". The food served at most of these places is excellent. Sometimes, it is highly innovative - the Music Academy, I'm told, served 'Gabbage (Gos Curry)' one day. I even remember eating ‘rasakullas’ somewhere.
Back to the music. Saketharaman sang to a packed audience (although I didn't spot groups of giggly girls) at Mylapore Fine Arts, which would rate amongst the toughest places in the world to listen to music. It might just be easier to appreciate music in a local train in Bombay, at a DMK political rally or during a Taliban attack in Kabul. Sitting in the last row, I was constantly distracted by smells of fresh sambar, hot decoction, the sounds of a wet grinder, buzzing mosquitoes and sundry chatter. When the imbalanced sound system and its vagaries are added to this noxious mix, the listener gets the feeling he's sitting in a torturous heavy metal concert and not even allowed to headbang.
By the time I heard Saketharaman at Music Academy on a good sound system, late in the season, his voice in the lower registers sounded like a wet grinder. He still did a commendable job, his imagination and Charumathi Raghuraman's violin more than making up for his voice. Sanjay Subrahmanyan also faced similar issues later in the season, especially at his concert at the Academy on the thirtieth. But once that voice settled down, there was no stopping him. His Shankarabharanam was sublime, and his taanam in Kalyanavasantam was nothing short of legendary. A noted critic sitting beside me was in tears, and blamed his long taanam phrases around the kakali nishaadam for them. The pallavi that followed it had a lovely mathematical pattern (we hear he picked it up from Dr. N. Ramani), and he presented it with incredible precision and ingenuity. The RTP of the season, for me!
The season is like one of those extra-large buffets – you can either try a bit of everything, or concentrate on one or two cuisines and really enjoy them. I chose the latter approach this year. While I got to understand some musicians intimately, I missed some of the music. I heard that T.M. Krishna's concert at the Music Academy was a spectacle worth being present for – an RTP in Nattakurinji sounds delicious, and his concert at Narada Gana Sabha was his best in years. Kalakshetra organised a Hindustani music festival and re-staged Ramayana. I couldn't make it to either (it would be nice if they shifted the Kalakshetra campus to Mylapore briefly for the season). Schedules didn't allow me to catch the Malladi Brothers, Vijay Siva, Lalgudi Krishnan and Vijayalakshmi, U. Srinivas, Nedunuri and many others.
This brings me to a question – is there too much happening at the same time? The same artistes perform everywhere, and if one follows a musician around, one figures that much of the audience is also the same. Many concerts are races against time with the curtain-drawer standing menacingly backstage. Artists often find themselves with ten minutes left and a taanam and pallavi to finish. Also, many concerts are sung to empty halls – only siblings, parents, assorted relatives, friends, a sprinkling of retired men and women, NRIs, foreigners and the odd photographer or journalist. Rarely do these number beyond a hundred. Musicians, organisers and sponsors know all of this. Yet, the season grows each year.
I’m beyond trying to explain this baffling phenomenon now. It’s a lot more fun to just pick up one of those season schedule books, a pencil, some loose cash (or season passes), a motorbike and enjoy!
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