November Rain - Hindu's Music Fest

Time to wake up sleepy-head...with the Season's frenzy coming to an end along with the drowziness of winter mornings, some musical musings should work as well as mom's decoction...Let's start with three snippets from the Novemberfest:

Fateh Ali Khan, 10th November, 2007

I came with sky high expectations (literally - I flew down just to catch the Ustad!) but landed on rubble. It was supposed to be Fateh Ali Khan's concert but was wholly hijacked by his son Rustam, who was introduced as one of the brightest stars in the firmament of Pakistani Classical Music. Sorry if this sounds a tad jingoistic but that unlikely claim does not say much about the health of classical music in MusharaffabadAs Rustam frequently took pains to mention, the Patiala Gharama is known for its assertive style, sargams and layakari...but Bade, or even lesser mortals like Ajoy Chakraborty, never used their vocal power to submerge all traces of subtlety and feeling....or bend the tanpura out of shape as Rustam heartlessly did. For someone used to Bade's brilliance, it was was hard to conceive how the apaswara-riddled yells in the tara sthayi could have stemmed from the same school…

With 2.5 hours at their disposal one would have expected at least 2 bada khyals. Yaman (pronounced Aiman) sounded promising with a 5 minute alaap but the youngster's shaky grip on the raga's fundamentals was already showing, especially in the descent from dhaivat to madhyam. There was an obtuse insinuation about the speaker system after a couple of particularly jarring slips and then an exhortation for the audience to contribute to the "sam" (Samam) - not being familiar with etiquette in an HM environment I was perplexed as to how this was sought to be achieved. I was apparently not alone...

The Vilambit was anything but vilambit in length and soon the sargams and taans were roaring along, bouncing on and off the raag's notes at will...after a breathless and soulless session, Governor Saaheb stepped onto stage and made a request for a "Punjabi Song". I felt like booting the philistine out of the auditorium but the duo on stage were presumably more receptive to the suggestion, promptly launching into a thumri.

With an hour left after Barnala’s retinue had departed, there was still time for a weighty piece but now the artistes decided to indulge the South Indians in the audience with a piece in Kalaavati that was little more than a launching pad for sargams...tolerable enough. but schoolboy-ish stuff for someone used to hearing swara kalpanas day in and day out.

Along came a sufiyaana kalaam and another plea for the audience to clap along...the request being rather more comprehensible this time, the crowd happily obliged. This is the sort of nonsense that one hears every time some 3rd rate crowd puller from the North/West is flown down on a carpet of greenbacks to Chennai. An audience that can't be bothered to put its hands together for the finest alaapanas suddenly feels obliged to give these charlatans a standing ovation. Sanjay Subrahmanyan made a compelling statement against this injustice in an editorial that brought him a prolonged boycott from a well-known sabha in the city.

Having lost my patience and any hope of listening to serious music, I made my way to Marris across the road and rediscovered my soul in a masterfully crafted sambaar- at least somebody's still keeping his gharana intact!

None of my vitriol need be construed as a comment on the greatness of Fateh Ali Khan. As pointed out, this was almost completely his son’s show. Recalling the majesty of his renditions with brother Amaanat Ali Khan, one couldn’t help feeling sorry for this man who was reduced to getting the audience to cheer on his son’s mediocrity with shouts of “very good”, even as his grimaces betrayed his true feelings. Few things could bring greater pain than watching one’s house being brought down – it must take all the force of paternal affection to be a willing participant in such an act.

Colours of Rain, 11th November, 2007

I split Sunday evening between Hariharan’s Ghazal Sandhya and Colours of Rain, conceptualized by Classical Pianist, Anil Srinivasan and Carnatic Vocalist, Sikkil Gurucharan, as a bridge between Western Harmony and Indian Melody. My partial attendance of the latter was further truncated by “paapi pet” which once again sent me rushing towards Marris’ meals well before the curtains fell!

The items that I managed to catch were: Bharathi’s Vellai Thamarai (Abheri/Bhimplas), pieces in Sindhu Bhairavi, a Sadashiva Brahmendra composition in Mishra Khamaj and an excerpt from Shankara’s Madhurashtakam in Madhuvanthi which included a brief alaapana and swaras.

The purist in me was a little skeptical about carnatic music being stripped of its rhythmic tapestry and the need for a keyboard/piano to provide a counterpoint. On the former point, I stand reasonably convinced – there is probably space for a format which allows the subtleties of verse and melody to be freed from their rhythmic leash. The lyric in particular took a bold step into the limelight, emerging from the shadows of its parents, sruthi and laya. The colorlful sets, mood lighting and designer clothes notwithstanding, it was the remarkably modulated voice and the beauty of the verse that grabbed the attention, once Gurucharan got started on a piece.

On the second, my skepticism was only marginally allayed. Anil’s talent on the piano is obvious but it is debatable whether his instrument added any value to the format. He would typically start with some notes from the raga, sound a constant refrain (presumably as a counterpoint which was, admittedly, alien to an ear untutored in western harmonics) and serve up a flourish at the end, almost as a cue for applause. It was, at best, redundant and at worst, intrusive.

Also unclear was the role of BS Purushottaman on the Kanjira. While the Sarangi (Murad Ali Khan) and the Violin (Mysore Srikanth) effectively prefaced and underlined Gurucharan’s vocals, the poor Kanjira vidwan cut a sorry figure on stage, probably aware of the limitations of the concept in allowing for any meaningful percussive contributions. It did not help that, with the exception of Gurucharan/Srikanth, none of the artists on stage were sensitive to the intrinsic rhythm (solkattu) of the pieces, leading the few laya forays he attempted, towards awkward conclusions.

As a bait to draw heads clogged with easy listening towards classical music and perhaps as a vehicle for emphasizing the oft-neglected lyrical aspect of carnatic compositions, the Anil Srinivasan-Gurucharan collaboration serves a useful purpose. But the mind hardened by the assertiveness of mainstream classical music, while engaged by the uniqueness of the concept, felt that the overall effect was…what’s the word…Ah yes! Light…

BTW, what is Dhritiman Chatterjee, Satyajit Ray veteran, doing in the Chennai music scene? I’ve noticed him at least thrice in various concerts over the last few weeks…in one of these, he was presented with a photo-request which went…”you are…15, Park Avenue”?! He gamely obliged…


Rajan and Sajan Mishra, 12th November, 2007

Beneras Gharana maestros Rajan and Sajan Misra performed at the Academy on Monday. An excellent technical review from a highly regarded exponent can be found here:http://www.hindu.com/mp/2007/11/14/stories/2007111450300800.htm
For the view from the layman’s armchair, read on….

Trademark descending brushes against N3 and M2 (how clearly the swaras stand out in a Hindustani rendition!) unambiguously announced Shuddh Kalyan (Mohana Kalyani) although I’d missed the brothers’ introduction. In stark contrast to their cousins from across the border, the Pandits preferred to present the Vilambit as a focal point rather than a sidelight. The official clock was pushing 8 by the time the tara sthayi was unfurled. The younger (Sajan?) sibling struck the more resonant notes with ringing rests distributing the tonal range with equal felicity from the mandra gandhar to taar pancham. The elder seemed slightly flummoxed by the slippery meends around the nishads and madhyams and his halts lacked the assurance of his brother – it must be mentioned, though, that he was suffering from a bad case of cold…in the taan section however, the roles were reversed - The younger had trouble with descents while the elder’s version assumed a Dhrupadiya character in their weight and clarity.

A short composition in Durga (which, I am given to understand, is the equivalent of Shuddha Saveri although the caresses of the Nishadam would probably put it closer to Arabhi) followed before an interval was imposed.

Jhinjhoti was the next major item, presented in Rupak tal with gears shifted to Teental and then Dadra for the Madhya Lay and Drut respectively. The analogy with Kambhoji was immediately apparent with phrases such as PD2S and SR2M1G3 alloyed with the decidedly Hindustani colour of N2D2N2 and occasionally, even N2SD2 (although the latter did not feature in the sargam). Sajan’s dalliance with the notes was just beginning and his grins were getting wider with each perfectly sounded constant.

After a brusque and mesmerizing Megh (Madhyamavati, with a shade of Brindavana Saranga in the Nishadam) the brothers sought the audience’s opinion on a suitable raag for a bhajan. But the crowd, having smelt blood, was in no mood for tukkadas just yet, demanding the heaviness of Darbari even though it was close to 10 PM.

Sajan promised a “glimpse” into the raag. He can count, in addition to his evident musical talents, a gift for understatement – this was no glimpse, it was a manifestation, a torrid affair with the raag devta. With his eyes closed, and lips curled in a curious amalgam of pleasure and pathos, Sajan was the Nayaki on a pleasure-trip with his Nayaka - the Primal Drone - teasing Him with some exquisite glides and holding Him in a comforting clasp at the tonal rests. Alas, the crude audience, whose hands are accustomed to cheering every cheap gimmick thrown their way, desecrated the artist’s union with a patter of scandalously-timed applause and wolf whistles. Sajan opened his eyes in shock, outraged by the full-glare of public attention on a very private moment with his Muse. He put up his hands in helpless frustration and made a request to hold back the applause until the composition was completed. The audience complied but the consummation was already interrupted. What followed was pleasant but no longer divine.

Darbari was concluded at about 11 and a Bhajan in Bhairavi wrapped up the concert. For once I had to skip Marris’ meals but I knew I could count on Burger Man to keep his stall open until mid-night. The roles were reversed this time – the highest adherence to musical tradition but a bit of a compromise on the gastronomic front! “Saaton Sukh to Bhagwaan Raam to bhi nahin mile”….