ANIL SRINIVASAN

A recent article about Gurucharan and me

2010-05-01T12:35:00.001-07:00

http://www.deccanherald.com/content/59058/bringing-home-piano.html

New and perhaps improved

2010-05-01T12:33:00.000-07:00

I'm back. Its been a while since I wrote on the blog - my fault. I will start updating this as and when possible. Write in, tell me your views and critique.

More than ever, music seems to be the only truth I know.

NIE, 2 weeks ago

2010-05-01T12:30:00.000-07:00

Music and the Mind

It’s April and already it is impossible to sit without ceiling fans and air-conditioners. Most of us are busy figuring out the lull that this time of the year usually brings in. The ubiquitous summer camp advertisements are here. One particular flyer caught my attention. A camp is being organized to learn classical music in two weeks leaves me wondering if there is a miracle worker in our midst that I am yet to meet!

Funnily enough, I was part of a panel on music education two weeks ago that brought up a related query. Can classical music be taught in smaller chunks? I wonder. As a musician, classical music has always been a passion I took seriously, and I am yet to lay claim on “having learnt it”. Clearly, the need that my esteemed panellists voiced was for music appreciation. And a fundamental understanding of principles, concepts and ideas in music. Now why is this suddenly becoming important and is there any functional “utility” related to it?

A friend of mine who is an educationist recently told me a very moving story. She was working with a well-known charitable organization that rehabilitates and retools abused children. Being a pragmatist, my friend was plagued with questions on what “retooling” could mean, especially since the children in question were reluctant to rejoin the mainstream for reasons most of us appreciate and understand. It was then that she came across 8 year old Smita*, a victim of severe physical abuse who was rescued a year ago from Delhi. A cheerful child otherwise, Smita was showing anxiety and reluctance in sitting down with the tutor, a lady who was known for her patience and empathy with these beautiful children. On probing, it became clear that the child was dyslexic and in combination with her psychological trauma, a sort of exaggerated learning disability pattern emerged. Running out of methods to help Smita, my friend casually put on a cassette with classical music in it, playing only the raga alapana section (or free-style improvisation on a chosen raga). Smita and two of her friends became instantly hooked, out of a combination of curiosity and wonder. Emboldened, my friend began vocal exercises in simple five-tone ragas which the children not only enjoyed, but started looking forward to. My friend then drew the notes on the floor of the classroom as a giant piano keyboard, and started devising games of skipping notes and combining them. In less than three weeks, the change in the attitudes of these children towards learning, and towards establishing higher abilities to discern patterns and understand counting started bearing fruit. Further, music was having a positive effect on mood, morale and concentration, something we all already experience even as adults.

Therefore, is music the only solution to an ailing planet? It would be easy for me to reply in the affirmative. From Oliver Sacks in the neuroscientific realm to Howard Gardner, the effect of music on cognitive processing and learning is a much-discussed topic. Music and its effects on decision making and ability to judge visual-spatial distances are being studied and experimented with. And yet, most of us are happy deleting music from higher education, preferring to award the more popular sciences and mathematics first place.

Which brings me to the notion of “functional utility” that I expressed earlier in this article. In a world obsessed with “subjects that are linked to better job prospects”, I believe the arts suffer a lot. Not only do we make the crucial mistake of expecting all disciplines to have direct correlations with careers, but we completely discount the purpose of schooling or all education, for that matter. We are no longer interested in having a child develop at his/her pace. Instead, we want job assurances by the time the child arrives in the ninth grade, rushing to secure admissions in schools that have “better IIT placement track records”. Whither music?

Until we start considering the effect music has on a child like Smita. On not only helping her overcome learning disabilities but enhancing her outlook towards life. Or on a more everyday note, start considering the lives of the great men and women of our time. From CEOs to doctors and corporate lawyers, look at a success story the next time you read about it. You will find that these individuals also lay claim to artistic talent, or at least, a proclivity for the arts. Many of them become leading art and music patrons, or well-known artists themselves. A favourite piece of music or a favourite musician always finds mention. In effect, it is an integral, all-important part of the “success code” that we all seem to define on some rather stringent parameters for no apparent reason.

No wonder then that discussions related to music education are finding more takers in corporate boardrooms. Functional utility aside, the need for a child to enhance his/her decision and learning abilities and aesthetic sensibilities with some exposure to classical music is now finally being understood. But far from shouting my hurrahs, I wait for this understanding to reach the stampede outside the admissions offices of our elite schools. This is not an argument to replace the sciences or mathematics with music and the visual arts. It is merely a suggestion not to ignore that vital aspect of a child’s intelligence.

For now, temper down the scorching heat by playing some music that you like on your stereo. You will find it much easier to breathe. And think about all that I said. This summer might well be a time for transition.

ANIL SRINIVASAN

My article on 31st May, Sunday Express

2009-06-01T01:20:00.000-07:00

An echo of poignant serenity

Anil Srinivasan
First Published : 31 May 2009 11:14:00 AM IST
Last Updated : 31 May 2009 01:28:35 PM IST

A musician is at times made to answer questions — scathing ones, like the purpose of art, the use of it all. One plausible ideal is the creation of music for its own sake. This, accompanied by an innate, almost supernal, force exhorting us to give it our best. Many great musicians manage to do just that. Listen to their recordings of 50 years ago. At the right moment in your life, their inspiration can

enter your soul and pull it up. This, more than anything else, seems to be the only ideal driving some very special musicians. As a listener, I find myself flying back towards their music when I need spiritual solace, a homing pigeon in search of its perch.

Today, I return to M D Ramanathan. This great Carnatic musician, teacher and composer would have turned 86 last month, had he been alive. My first introduction to his music was listening to him rendering Samajavaragamana in an old LP belonging to my parents. Much younger then, I found the music unappealing: very slow, with the alankaras (musical ornamentations) a little too elaborate for me to understand. I “ditched” listening to MDR soon afterwards, preferring a more

melodious M S Subbulakshmi and faster-paced younger vocalists who held greater appeal. The fact that much fun was made of MDR’s facial contortions while performing did not help my childish imagination either, and I put him down as ‘uncool’.

It was in New York, in early 2005, that I returned to MDR’s music. Listening to an assorted tape at a friend’s apartment, I came across the same Thyagaraja composition in Hindolam. This was followed by a rendition of his

thillana in raga Behag. With the snow falling gently outside, the overheated atmosphere inside the apartment began to slow my pulse. I sat back, closed my eyes, and started allowing my mind to swirl meditatively to this vocalist’s rendition. In art, you can often see the outlines of an older painting if you look closely at a canvas. This effect, called “pentimento”, perhaps applies to music too.

Listening to MDR on that midwinter afternoon, I could glimpse several years of my life as though in kaleidoscopic vision. Each note seemed to drag itself out of the previous one, creating a patchwork quilt of musical ideas. As he stitched the melody slowly, I started seeing the composition in its entirety, understanding the purpose of each successive phrase,

savouring each moment of reposeful silence and quietening myself to the point of absolute concentration. The pace of rendition was purposeful and not because he “could not sing” any faster, and the silences were pregnant with possibilities, as though he had a clutch of different musical permutations at his disposal, but chose one deliberately and with precision.

In fighting my own battles as an adult, and trying to find my feet in the musical milieu and define my “sound”, I find myself guilty of earlier having not understood MDR’s depth and unique place in the firmament of Carnatic music. How beautiful a silence is! And how rare it seems to be in today’s obsession with razzmatazz! In understanding the man from his music, I see an artist whose only ideal seems to have been music itself. He was often in the “background”, devoted to his beloved Kalakshetra and not acquiring the sheen of popular fame or bloated fortune. The

silences were from his own soul, offered with surrender and piety to his teacher and musical schooling. And like the snow outside,

it fell in gentle but beautiful patterns on the listener’s ears.

In spring 2006, I heard another master musician sing live in New York. This was somebody I knew personally, and had not heard in a long time. After a brisk introduction in Shankarabharanam, he moved into a heartbreakingly beautiful rendition in Sahana, and once again, the reposeful silences came to the fore. Each note had a purpose, and there was no hint at either gimmickry or superfluousness. I’ve often scorned the word “purity” used so lightly in the classical music context, but this was a singer who came very close to embodying it. Not knowing it at the time, I found my eyes moistening and my senses heightened, and a sense of déjà vu as my mind quietened down once again, and focused on life’s possibilities. This was not an ordinary musician. This was “Subra”, my brother’s classmate and my senior from high school, whom the world knows better as Sanjay Subrahmanyan.

While this article is not about Sanjay, I cannot help link the two musicians inextricably in my mind’s eye. There are not many overt similarities apart from their adherence to classicism and a very informed, scholarly approach to many rare ragas. However, there is a common love for pacing and repose, and a profound reverence for silences in their music — pauses in their delineation that allow the listener to unwind, breathe and find room to rejoice again. I remember an American lady who sat next to me for Sanjay’s concert who suddenly clutched my hand at the end of his piece in Sahana. I do not think she followed either lyric or significance or musical context. I think the silences moved her too.

MDR might no longer be with us. But sometimes, in the silences that I allow myself between rehearsals and a hectic day’s work, his exhortation to contemplate and savour the music I create calms me. And in the rare and precious moments that I do experience Sanjay’s music, I feel at home. I stop questioning my purpose as a musician and just breathe.

Automatic Music

2009-04-05T11:56:00.001-07:00

Perched on a stool that was too tall for me, I manage to reach the keys of the piano with the help of two large books and a cushion placed under me. I am three and already, the piano is the only truth I hold sacred. As I grow older and learn to love and cherish my instrument, I realize that it is an expression, and an articulation of everything that is on my mind. Automatically, the fingers move on the piano keys and they dance around when I am happy, and plod on wearily when I am depressed. The impulses are neurologically controlled and the change in body heat and reactance is nonconscious. Procedural memory, or the idea of “wiring” something into your system with repeated trials, can do this to you. And in my case, it is about thirty years of playing my instrument and counting.

When I first read John Bargh and his notion of automated processes, I thought that this was a further glimpse of the obvious. Surely, we all know that we reach out for a switch at night we do not consciously know where it is, but its “wired” deep inside. However, it is only on detailed analysis of this notion that I understood that it has implications on how we approach music, for instance, or more broadly, emotion. Emotional processes are automatically controlled as well. A certain person evokes a bodily and automated response, as does a certain situation or a certain piece of music.

So how does “new music” or a “new genre” get created? For both the musician and the listener, this requires rewiring, changing the way the body responds to music in a far more extensive way than we think. There are a select group of musicians in the world who excel at this task. We call them the renegades or the mavericks until their vibrations seep into our internal processes as well, and we start responding automatically to their sound. It’s a process that takes time, a lot of effort and in today’s day and age, more exposure and publicity.

When John Mayer took the blues and married it with the rock n’roll tradition, we got classics such as “Free Fallin’” and “Your Body is a Wonderland”. The trick has been to use certain sounds that evoke automated responses (the layered guitar intro to Free Fallin’) and then introduce the new sounds very subtly, almost subliminally. And the process of transformation begins. As the momentum grows, the subliminal becomes the dominant, and an entirely new sound and scape is created and we have entered new territory.

Take another John. In this case, John McLaughlin and his wonderful work across the past several decades. John took the world of the blues and jazz and infused elements of those domains into the experience of Carnatic music, a form that he enjoyed as much. What works for it is the deep reverence that the artist exhibits for each element of the whole. Harmonic elements and instrumentation is sometimes heavy handed, but often times, virtuosic, and in the quiet that follows several alaaps, resonant. The opening measures of the much-loved “Giriraja Sudha” from Remember Shakti flow from guitar to U Srinivas’ mandolin in a seamless glide. There is something profound in the tantalizing silence that follows. John McLaughlin is definitely not an ordinary musician. He is a philosopher, and is telling powerful stories through music. And in his considerable effort to rewire, he has created a new template, and continues to “reautomate” the listener.

I am not saying that rewiring requires a “break from” or “alternative to” traditional music and its expressions. It can happen within existing traditional forms of expressions too. To be successful, however, it requires the performer to have automated his emotional pulse

through adequate effort and tooling in the traditional form to such an extent that his or her flight into new territory appears painless, and takes the listener along with it.

Maybe I am getting too theoretical, and so I will stop. However, I think there are three deep thoughts here. First, that it requires a great amount of intensive practice or “sadhana” to be able to make changes or alterations to existing patterns. Second, that the listener will “automatically” follow the performer, provided the latter’s ability to guide the former slowly and gently, step by step. Last, that this process is considerably facilitated by providing “hooks” in the music that the listener is more used to, and more anchored to, and then gradually expanding his aural horizon.

After all, we have to keep creating more original music and showing the world that we are capable of great things. We are capable of creating new listeners, “rewire” the world if necessary. A R Rahman has raised the bar. Let’s follow suit.

Copyright New Sunday Express. This article appeared on 5th April, 2009

Next Article..

2009-03-07T21:45:00.000-08:00

Whither Independent Music?

ANIL SRINIVASAN

(courtesy the New Sunday Express, Mar 8, 2009)

So I am wandering down a deep, dark alleyway on Pocketbroke Lane. Beyond the curtain, I see a man trying to sell the idea of an album to me. He asks me if I will deliver the product to him, and he will not pay me, but he will publicize me well and hopefully, if we sell a few CDs, I can make some of my money back. Interesting, this. My intellectual product, no money, and some of it to be paid to someone else who claims to market your product. In reality, it’s the concerts that bring demand, not the man behind this greasy curtain.

And before you think I am referring to a suspicious drug cartel or dealing with the pirated music mafia, let me assure you that this seems to be the status of all independent music producers and musicians. A bunch of talented people (and sometimes, the not-so-talented-but-moneyed) get together and make some music that is not popular (read as “non-film), and does not contain even one track that will go on to be picturized as an “item number”. If you sell a thousand of these discs, you can declare yourself a success. Five hundred, a moderate success. Less than that, you can call yourself a talented musician.

Is there a future to independent music or are we deluding ourselves? In many conversations I have had recently with friends, on Facebook, in real time, in concert halls, the issue keeps cropping up. With film music flooding the market, and the remaining space taken up by pirated music of all forms, the future for “independent music” looks bleak. By independent music, I refer to all musicians who do not play on film music sessions, or are a part of a larger organization contractually or in terms of affiliation. Like what Norah Jones was before she became a superstar. Or what self-styled fusion groups or indigenous rock bands are.

In recent times, I have given Norah Jones and her story a great deal of thought. When her sound flooded the American airwaves a few years ago, with “Don’t Know Why”, there was a return to an independent sound. Here was an artist who was not “well known”, who had not been contracted out to a big label (Blue Note was a small label at the time), and her soulful and yet intimate music felt like an old friend, warm and sensitive. This was against the grain of popular music thought at the while. No heavy instrumentation and high-powered bass guitaring. Further, this was neither the “blues” nor was it “jazz”, but something in between, a sort of healthy marriage of several influences. And the Grammys smiled on her.

I wonder if we are ready for such an independent sound now in India. Having heard the Raghu Dixit Project in recent times and of course, the hugely popular Indian Ocean, I think we are. Rather than give in to popular sentiment and gloom over the music industry’s transitional state, I think we need to encourage these musicians who march to the rhythm of their own drums. I don’t think that a clutch of film playback singers is all it takes to ensure an evening’s entertainment. Great music in India comes cheap, and is surprisingly fresh and original and uses all our indigenous traditional influences in innovative ways and to great effect.

To all my friends who are “independent” musicians, I think this quote from Virgil Thomson says it best – “I've never known a musician who regretted being one. Whatever deceptions life may have in store for you, music itself is not going to let you down.”

Indian music beyond Rahman?

2009-03-05T09:57:00.000-08:00

Music, Magic, Madness and Madras

ANIL SRINIVASAN (Courtesy, The New Sunday Express, Mar 1st, 2009)

So what happens now? I remember reading an essay by psychologist Cialdini in what he termed “Birging” (Basking-in-reflected-glory). I think nearly all of us are guilty of it at this point, when “our city boy” has done “us” proud and alarmingly, “we’ve done it!”. Some of it is justified, I suppose – we have seldom had great showings at international award functions, least of all that pinnacle of all glory – the Oscars. There is no doubting that A R Rahman is perhaps the most intelligent designer of music and sound, especially in the popular genre, that we’ve had in a long time. However, all the euphoria and excitement aside, my big question remains unanswered. Where do we go from here?

There is palpable optimism in the air. Indian cinema has come of age, many movie buffs claim. In one unforgettable email I received recently, a fellow musician claimed that India has finally been given her due. This set me thinking if perhaps getting a globally recognized award was the only proof of all the sophistication and rapid strides we have made intellectually, musically and economically. If Rahman did not win, would we declare ourselves “not yet” ready for global approbation and acclaim? Surely, we have a lot to be proud about already, especially given that Rahman has been astounding us and his global fans for nearly two decades now! And I am not saying all this to sound like a wet blanket or take away from what is surely a great moment for Indian entertainment history.

In another interesting argument I was a part of, some zealous Rahmaniacs claimed that this was a good way of “showing ‘em who’s boss”. Who are we showing off to, and what are we showing off about? I do not think that a Western music listener ever decried the quality of Indian music, nor did he or she ever claim that great music only comes from the West. Having lived in the United States for a good part of the last decade, I can confidently state that the sentiment, if at all expressed, was quite the opposite.

I choose instead, to draw a different set of inferences from all the brouhaha. One, we can finally admit that music is a viable career option and stop being ambiguous about how we answer people asking us musicians “so what else do you do?”. Two, we can assure ourselves, that despite infrastructural constraints (our favourite excuse for not being upto snuff at international competitions), we are capable of fantastic stuff. Three, this only means that we need to pull up our socks and start working harder to better the standards that have now been set. Finally, we need to be equally magnanimous in acknowledging some other wonderful musicians who have been making waves in international circles, creating new musical idioms, and lay the same unquestionable claim on Madras as their home town.

In previous articles, I have referred to Madras as having something magical in the air we breathe that fosters so much originality and creative excellence. This becomes obvious when I take the example of musicians such as U Shrinivas, Chitravina Ravikiran and most appropriately for this week’s essay, Guitar Prasanna. I am sure, that by now most readers will be aware of the documentary “Smile Pinki” that also won on Oscar. Prasanna composed the musical score for this documentary and has contributed in no small measure to the Oscar win.

My first experience of Prasanna’s music was listening to him play “Ksheerasagara Shayana”, a moving composition in Raga Devagandhari on the guitar. What I loved about the effort was the fact that the composition was so complete in itself that I was least bothered about the fact that it was an unconventional instrument rendering it. There was something unique in the way it was rendered, with each note stretching itself languorously across the measure and creating a web of images in the mind’s eye that managed to be both soothing and vivid at the same time. Here is a musician who quit a cerebral and potentially rewarding career post his studies at IIT Madras, who straddles the world of South Indian classical music and jazz with graceful felicity. Prasanna seems to have experimented boldly with silences. There are pauses in his solo renditions that are pregnant with possibilities, several layers of consciousness embedded in the twists and the slides on his instrument. This is an intelligent musician who has charted a very unique path over the last two decades. It so happens that his medium of articulation is the guitar. This is made all the more obvious when listening to his soundtrack for “Smile Pinki”, where the soundscape is richly coloured with the solo guitar playing with and around the strains of a sitar and a bansuri in addition to a rich percussive template. This is contemporary excellence in addition to being uncannily traditional and classical in its melodic treatment.

Coming back to the point about musicians from Madras who are moving dimensions and crafting new paradigms, the most important take-away seems to be the rich collaborative pool we have managed to cultivate. With a plethora of studios buzzing with activity around the city, and schools for audio engineering and classical music (both western and Indian), Madras is living up to its description of being an idea framed by music.

Rahman’s Oscar and Pinki’s smile may just be the beginning of a wonderful era of musical excellence to emerge from our beloved hometown. However, we need to look beyond awards and recognize each and every musician from this city who is making a difference, in his or her own way. We need to go back to the concert halls and breathe in the magic they all create, and use it to channel our collective energies towards making the social and economic climate more conducive towards propagating the city’s musical output.

My piece on Rahman that made it to the cover page

2009-03-05T09:51:00.000-08:00

Light at the Edge of the World

And so a golden age begins. The floodgates are open and we are now firmly on the mainstream musical map of the world. And its all down to the inimitable ARR. This is tremendous, because it means that the paradigm for listening has shifted. It also means that there is now a new standard to aspire for, a greater commitment towards musical aesthetics than ever before. With this comes a responsibility to understand the music of this rather self effacing, reticent mind that sits so productively on the shoulders of a man who grew up in the same magical city as us.

Rahman's music has always been ahead of the times, each composition containing an element that is unique. In fact, the Rahman era has galvanized sound engineering, spearheading a movement towards finding a truly global idiom, one which instantaneously appeals worldwide. I remember telling friends that to truly appreciate ARR' music, one needs a high-fidelity stereo system, since his music is not made for ordinary boomboxes. There is always that extra timpani that one hears after a stanza, the extra sarangi layer beneath a truly moving melodic line. Sometimes, it is a whiff of a theme, played repetitively in the background that uplifts the entire song (the guitar in "Kabhi Kabhi Aditi" for instance). Other times it is the use of the strings, played with a sensitivity that defies description (the theme from "Bombay'). In fact, the musical speciality of ARR's music is that it is unpredictable, and there is nothing that one can call a signature other than the entire envelope of it – to view it as a "sum-of -component parts" would be doing the music a great travesty. This is not an ordinary mind, as it works holistically. It is a mind that "views" the music in its entirety, obtaining the best combinations of instruments and voices, balancing rhythm and harmony with an innate sense of precision.

Musically speaking, it would be very easy to point out that Rahman's speciality has been his ear for unconventional sound – human and otherwise. He has always put in a voice that the prevailing convention of the time may have not appreciated as fully. Interesting use of instrumentation (remember the "singing" violin in 'Pakkadhey Pakkadhey" or the use of a capella voices in "Rasaathi En Usuru"?). And he does not stop with just bringing in this element. There is a treatment to it that reflects a keen understanding of audiences as well as musical tonality. For instance, when Unnikrishnan sings "Katre En Vasal Vandhu" from Rhythm, it is the rustic percussion and desert echo voices that lift the song from just carrying a pleasing melody.

The use of the moving bass is yet another feather to Rahman's cap. From the very first song that drifted our way in the early 90's ("Chinna Chinna Aasai") to the latest offering from Slumdog Millionaire, the bass (guitar, cello or strings) is like a spring unwound – restless, energetic and dynamic. This feature reaches for the gut, forcing even the most unmusical to start tapping their feet unconsciously.

I could go on, but this is not a time for analysis. It is one for celebration. Rahman has taken us a long way, showing the world that there is tremendous light emanating from this edge of the world. Our stars are on the rise yet again. Lets look up!

ANIL SRINIVASAN
Courtesy The New Sunday Express, Jan 18, 2009

My piece on Jazz for NxG

2009-03-05T09:50:00.000-08:00

Jazz and India
ANIL SRINIVASAN

There seems to be something indelibly linking both jazz and India. Whether it is the evidence of jazz concerts in Calcutta from the 30s and 40s or the love and affection most jazz greats had for Indian music and musicians, there seems to be a spiritual connection. John Coltrane was moved enough to name his son "Ravi" (after Ravi Shankar). However, where is jazz in India now? Does it restrict itself to niche audiences and only the elite? Does it ever have a chance of hitting a more mainstream crowd?

To start with, the use of jazz progressions, ragtime blues and the like was made familiar to the Indian ear in the film music of the 40's and the 50s (try listening to the improvisations in "Mera Naam Chin Chin Choo" or even the treatment of the cello in "Waqt ne Kiya"). Even in more obviously jazz-intensive pieces in contemporary cinema (try "Vennila Vennila" from Iruvar), we find the evidence of free-form, improvisational progressions. Clearly, the aural cavities are not unfamiliar with more popular jazz ideas. From S D Burman to A R Rahman, we are able to see jazz's subtle influence. The famous trio of Shankar-Ehsaan-Loy seem to show even more obvious jazz leanings, considering Loy Mendonsa' obvious interest for, and cultivation of, a taste for jazz. Most tracks from Dil Chahta Hai have a clever idea imported from the world of jazz, if you listen closely enough. There are more dissonances in chord progressions, and every song has a rhythm that incorporates a syncopated beat-pattern, both tell-tale signs!

Louis Banks was recently nominated for the Grammy award for two collaborative jazz albums. The first one ":Miles from India" is a Miles Davis tribute, and has used the talents of many musicians, including John McLaughlin, U Srinivas and Zakir Hussain. "Floating Point" featuring Louis with John McLaughlin is the other Grammy nominee. Having developed a keen ear for the blues and jazz, Louis Banks has evolved a very distinctive style over the years. The pioneering work of John McLaughlin in creating the Mahavishnu Orchestra, and subsequently "Shakti" as a collaborative ensemble that consists of guitar-led jazz improvisation with a heavy infusion of classical Indian music is another big development in the India-Jazz scenario. John McLaughlin's ability to spot talent in the rarest of places, and his instinct in continuously pushing the envelope forward has recently seen the additions of musicians such as Dominic Miller, Pete Lockett and even Shankar Mahadevan. The staples of the Shakti quartet continue to be U Srinivas and Selvaganesh in addition to Zakir Hussain. U Srinivas' collaboration with artists such as Michael Brook and Michael Neyman have also found critical acclaim.

Musicians such as Karl Peters and his brother, our very own Keith Peters have had the distinction of accompanying many senior musicians from both the classical and jazz formats. Among the younger generation of musicians to emerge from India in the jazz realm are pianists Madhav Chari (arguably, the list should include Vijay Iyer, an Indian-American settled in New York), drummers Adrian D'Souza and Ranjit Barot (the latter being known more for his film work). As a tradition, jazz finds itself loved in certain niches – Goa and Bombay in the West and Calcutta in the East.

With recent developments in dedicated venues for jazz performance ("The Blue Frog" in Mumbai, for instance), the appreciation for this form is beginning to witness a resurgence. However, mainstream acceptance or even awareness is still low, a direct consequence of a lack of information. Jazz is not native to the subcontinent, but the emotional moorings that underlie its origins do share certain similarities with some of our musical traditions. Jazz started as the music of the common man in economically weakened conditions, and as a form of free expression. It was an alternative to the mainstream, the established European musical aesthetic that was in vogue in the Americas of the early 20th century. Many folk traditions and street music traditions in India have similar moorings.

Over time, jazz acquired polish and more "sophistication", having found an unusual home in the night clubs and lounges of New York and Chicago. In so doing, it gained upper society acceptance and patronage, but also lost its more populist mission. Folk music forms and even certain forms of classical music have suffered similar fates in India, a subcontinent gripped by 'cinema fever', the most prevalent form of entertainment today. The lack of awareness has defined jazz to be too niche in India to warrant the interest of mainstream record-labels and some of the best jazz musicians have to collaborate with either their film or overseas counterparts to push their agendas forward.

In a world that is getting to know divisiveness and segregation, jazz is perhaps even more important than ever before. Jazz is a pure language, a highly evolved expression of the soul. Its power to free the conscious mind from constraints of classification and judgment make it an effective tool against terror and strife. Its magic will always endure.

Courtesy : NxG, The Hindu

My website

2009-02-18T13:34:00.001-08:00

My website www.anilsrinivasan.com
is ready and waiting to be explored. Do check out the music links at Gallery > My Music.

More soon.

On Chopin

2008-09-10T07:03:00.001-07:00

http://www.deccanherald.com/Content/Sep102008/metro-wed2008090989020.asp

Latest Article

2008-08-24T03:39:00.001-07:00

http://www.newindpress.com/sunday/sundayitems.asp?id=SEA20080823165441&eTitle=Arts&rLink=0

An article on Ravikiran

2008-07-29T22:37:00.001-07:00

http://www.newindpress.com/sunday/sundayitems.asp?id=SEA20080719112042&eTitle=Arts&rLink=0

2008-07-29T22:36:00.000-07:00

Dancing to Different Melodies
ANIL SRINIVASAN

So everyone is talking about China and India. I remember every discussion in business school having both these names mentioned as though they were one phrase, like “salt and pepper”. And that is where the divergence begins to grate on my sensibilities, because no two systems of thought could be more different. Separated by a stretch of mountain, glacial systems and desert, these two neighbours have progressed to the accompaniment of different rhythmic clocks. So much so that our musical systems share very few aspects in common. However, a slightly deeper analysis of the musical structures in authentic Chinese melodies reveals certain amazing coincidences.

The Youlan (by Confucius) is supposed to be the earliest chronicled musical work in Chinese musical literature. Listening to it being rendered with a Yanqin (our “santoor”) and the pipa (a fretless lute) brings forth a certain set of characteristics that hold a common ground. For instance, the prevalence of melody set to a certain rhythm cycle (Chinese music seems to have an abundance of 3, 4 and 7 count cycles– tishram, chatushram and mishram respectively) is similar to classical forms everywhere, particularly ours. The melodic tone used (usually whole tones, avoiding chromatics or sharp notes) reminds me very much of scale-changes on the Carnatic raga “Mohanam”. Shifting the opening note of Raga Mohanam brings forth new ragams – Madhyamavati, Hindolam, Shudda Sarang and so on. All of these ragams (and some more, such as Shudda Saveri) have pentatonic systems. These magical five notes can evoke moods, variations in ambience and a wealth of musical textures. Both the Chinese and the Indian music systems have honed in on these notes and their incumbent variations.

However, at least to a mind untrained to look beyond such superficial resemblances, this is where the bridge collapses. While the Indian classical music systems have traversed great distances into the ocean of sound, I find that Chinese music treats improvisation with less importance than an adherence to form and discipline. There is freedom in the use of form and melodic line in the Indian imagination, which somehow seems a trifle curtailed across the border. This is interesting given where the influences of each of these musical systems (Indian and Chinese) come from. While spiritual antecedents, hymnal chanting and a detailed codification and indigenous grammar characterized South Indian classical music, the North Indian forms gathered influences from foreign incursions, notably from Persia and Central Asia. Some of these Central Asians have influenced the Chinese as well, probably evidenced by the pentatonic melodies common across our borders. However, the entry of the Western musicians (first in the 17th Century in China, and later through much of the Cultural Revolution and the rise of communism) has seen regimentation in Chinese music with respect to form and content. Indeed, most large Chinese cities boast of symphony orchestras of a standard comparable to those in New York or Vienna. However, the emphasis is more on structure.

I am certainly not trying to paint a certain system of musical thought in an inferior light. Indeed, I am ill-equipped to judge another melodic system without a more in-depth analysis of its rudiments and structural character. However, when I think of Yo-Yo Ma (the renowned cellist) or Lang Lang ( a world famous western classical pianist), I see the indelible influence of the West.
Certain structural characteristics of the Western classical form must have appealed to the revolutionary Chinese in the mid-20th century. Collective adherence to form (in the case of ensemble playing or orchestral arrangements) and interpreting music strictly by design (using the composer as the guide, and restricting the scope for individual self-expression) seems to be reflective of a culture that was trying to establish discipline and a common code of cultural discovery. In India, just as in every other sphere of human endeavour, the triumph of multiplicity and individualist notions seems apparent in music as well.

Perhaps the China that is now gearing itself globally in terms of its economics will embrace a more individualist spirit, and these will be exciting times for Indian musicians to collaborate freely and enrich the cultural template of this part of the world, especially material drawn from the folk traditions of the two countries.

For now, I am content keeping the two systems of musical thought separate. Copyright New Sunday Express

Rahmania

2008-07-09T06:15:00.001-07:00

The Indian Musical Spirit
ANIL SRINIVASAN

I am going to gush about A R Rahman in this article. Not just because he is the most talented music director and arranger on the block but just simply because he has done us all a phenomenal service – he has proven that we can, as a nation of music-loving, music-making people, find a delicate balance. This is not merely a balancing of styles, tastes and preferences but of perspectives. He has made it possible for us to have the music of our times presented in such a well-organized, classy package. No fuss or frills, but well-conceived music delivered with aplomb. It manages the quintessential amount of lyrical classicism with absolutely edgy, grip-the-corner-of-your-seat contemporaneity. Listening to his music makes me think of yellow autos on New York streets, and skyscrapers reaching the sky in Mylapore all at once. The beauty lies in the fact that Rahman makes such zany collages seem plausible.

I am listening to the track “Kabhi Kabhi Aditi” from Jaane Tu.. on my personal stereo. It is peppy and uplifting. However, what I love about it is its ability to traverse across style and mindsets. It has a moving bass that can appeal to the younger audience, a tidily crafted melodic line that can move the more musically oriented and it has lyrics that are clean, crisply rendered and quite adorable. The overall effect, including the detailing of various nuances of Rashid Ali’s voice (who, if he is reading this, should know he has found a very loyal fan) in the repetitive alaaps in the end are precisely monitored.

I do not know if everyone agrees with this observation, but Rahman is not merely a craftsman representing our spirit. He is the spirit. This is India now, a microcosm of several styles and cultures peppered with tradition and bursting with confidence. This is the India that moves on horizontal time, each individual leading multiple lives and careers. It is the India that believes in possibilities and alternatives, and no longer rushes to linear conclusions to every decision problem. Each of these Indias find an echo in Rahman’s music score. With their juxtapositions of different styles, the mixtures of varied voices and the ever-present surprise element in each song ( a guitar riff that sounds different, a voice that sounds unique or an instrument one does not associate with a certain mood), Rahman’s music truly accompanies the rhythms of our extremely colourful modern-day reality. When Rahman attempts a remix (try “Pon Magal Vandhal” from Azhagiya Tamizh Magan), it still exceeds expectations. A classical infusion (like, “Narumugaye” from Iruvar) works equally well, and an all-out ‘dance the night away’ number (like a “Fanaa” from Yuva) proves difficult to dismiss easily.

When I saw the publicity material for Bombay Dreams near Columbus Circle in New York two years ago, my heart gave a lurch. On that unaccustomed earth, with the wind swirling the temperature down to sub zero, I still felt my face grow warm watching the Broadway crowd crowding up to get tickets to watch an Indian production. Having lived in the United States at a time that world attitude towards all things Indian gradually went through a transformation (from “poor nation with potential” to “knowledge experts and entertainment gurus”), I found Rahman’s music to be a fitting companion score to India’s zeitgeist.

In my ongoing crusade to excite more composers of original sound, and the need for Indian musicians ( classical, film, whatever) to expose themselves to as many global influences and thought processes as possible, I find myself returning to Rahman’s music as perhaps the most important development in Indian sound in a long time. India is a truly global player and its music should be elevated to the greatest heights possible. With our own, extremely evolved classical grammar and our natural curiosity to adapt and assimilate with the global community, I think that the possibilities for Indian music are as expansive as our collective imagination.

Copyright New Sunday Express

Part time or Pastime

2008-06-27T13:14:00.000-07:00

Part-time or Pastime

ANIL SRINIVASAN

I had emails from several readers requesting me to keep my columns simpler and less serious, and so I decided to start this week's piece on a different subject. And so I focus on myself, and why I have come to love music more than anything else in the world. This is an easy topic for me to be humorous about, but extremely difficult to write nonetheless. So hopefully, some of those confessions might make you all think of the role music has had to play in your own lives. So here goes.

I am 31 years old. I am reasonably bright, and I like well-ordered things, drinking tea at odd hours and reading a lot. I went abroad and had the benefit of a great education. Unlike many of my peers, I decided to come back as soon as I finished my education. The energy Chennai has managed to create is irresistible, as only those who have come rushing back will know. I make music, teach and consult, and am considered fairly competent on all of those things. More importantly, I love every one of these activities and engage in them whole-heartedly. So far, so good.

At a conference last year, I was among many musicians registering dissent when a prominent classical musician announced to the gallery that those involved in anything less than a 24 hour pursuit of classical music ought not to call themselves musicians. Those who straddled music alongside careers in the corporate world were "hobby musicians" or "pastimers", she argued. Perhaps this is true to some extent, considering the economic sacrifices many of the greatest musical names through history have made in favour of a full-time dedication to the one thing they adored. But "pastimers" as a descriptor refused to sit well with me, and this leads me to the crux of today's essay.

The pursuit of music, regardless of the time one devotes to it, requires seriousness on the part of the executor. It commands absolute surrender. Music is seldom an "outcome", and this becomes evident the moment my fingers start moving on the keys. It becomes a journey with several routes to traverse, unexpected surprises assaulting one's consciousness at every turn. To the listener, this particular set of notes may resemble a composition but to me, it is always an exploration into the unknown. I am barely conscious of what I am playing. As in meditation, I can only focus on the breathing. In this case, it becomes the unguided automaticity of skin on enamel, finger on key, heart on string. An outcome happens to get crafted at the end of the exercise. I often surprise myself when I listen to recordings of my playing as I rarely remember specific phrases or patterns I have played.

On the flip side, I actually find that my life in the "outside world" often helps in this process of musical discovery. To me, my parallel pursuits offer a different perspective on structures, emotionality and form. For instance, at a concert in Bangalore with Chitravina Ravikiran, I found myself harmonizing a certain phrase in contrary progressions – a system of chords in which the intervals between any two concurrently played notes of a single chord increase progressively ( so, the main melodic note is accompanied first by a note on the third place from it, then the fourth from it and so on in the right hand (i.e. 1-3, 1-4, 1-5…) while the left hand starts with the seventh note from the initial note and comes progressively closer(7-1, 6-1, 5-1 etc.). When I thought about this later, it struck me that this idea for harmonics came from studying a bar chart at work, when two histograms of opposing rates of growth had been juxtaposed against each other. This was not a premeditated idea, merely an unconscious application of my wandering mind.

Every time I approach my instrument, I set off reflexes that have become conditioned with time and age. I feel nervousness, excitement and a rush of adrenalin without having to control these processes. These reflexes are unmarred by anything that I do while not actively engaging with music. On the contrary, the human interactivity and enforced adaptability of other domains provides me immense relief, a balanced perspective and increasingly, some interesting ideas.

I do not say this to exhort those engaged in music full-time to apply for corporate jobs. With due respect, all I submit for consideration is the possibility that a life that constantly travels between domains absorbs many good things from each of these domains. Osmosis is integral to my performance in the non-musical realm as well. I often find that my approach to decision making in business has benefited greatly from my daily musical routine.

Ellington once said that there are two kinds of music in this world, the good kind and what he humorously termed "the other" kind. Whether music is part-time or pastime, I think the only hope for every musician (and only a musician knows himself to be who he is!) is to avoid making the latter!

Copyright The New Sunday Express

Another article from The Hindu, Trichy

2008-06-24T11:54:00.000-07:00

A funny but interesting read.

http://www.thehindu.com/2008/06/05/stories/2008060557640200.htm

Raagtime from Mint

2008-06-16T12:59:00.001-07:00

Samanth, a good friend and old New York hand ( dare I call him that!) wrote this article. I am deeply honoured by comparisons to some of the greatest Carnatic musicians of our time.

http://www.livemint.com/2008/05/17000008/Change-and-Continuity.html?d=1

Rock Pianists and World Change

2008-06-16T12:42:00.000-07:00

Rock pianists and world change
Saturday May 31 2008 19:19 IST

Anil Srinivasan

We will need to believe in our music, enjoy and engage in its splendours before we are well equipped to have our way with humanity’s ears

As a student of social psychology, I have had the privilege of attending lectures by the famous Tory Higgins. In his first lecture, he taught us how a theory can be attacked. At the outset, he said, one has to believe the theory and hold it close to one’s heart. Only when the theory sounds utterly convincing and absolutely impossible to defeat, he added, does the situation prove conducive to rip it apart completely. He finished that particular argument by adding that disemboweling a theory requires utter faith and belief in it in the first place. He illustrated his point by discussing a friend of his who studied in a seminary school for years before declaring himself an atheist.

This is a powerful thought and it helps in my approach to composition and pedagogy within classical music. To understand classicism, and more importantly, to work ‘around’ the classical idiom requires the greatest belief in its principles and a profound reverence for its tenets. Once drenched, it becomes easier to collaborate with artists from other idioms and figure out excursions outside established norms.

Recently, I heard a transformative piece of work on a friend’s stereo. The artist was Maksim, an internationally renowned ‘rock’ pianist. While this may sound like a contrary juxtaposition of words, the music of this Croatian sensation seems to traverse genres as smoothly as my friend’s car along a traffic-free expressway. The composition is the well-known Flight of the Bumblebee by Rimsky Korsakov, except that this particular rendition does not seem like the original. Here is a pianist trained at the best conservatories in Europe, winner of several classical piano competitions and perhaps one of the fastest movers on a keyboard (yes, he is faster than Adnan Sami!). And unlike the many classical pianists I have encountered in New York cafes and music circuits, I see absolutely no listlessness or stuffy resignation in either Maksim’s personality or his style of playing. This is a pianist who dresses and looks like a rock star, takes classical compositions out of their original shells and sculpts them into power-packed, faster-paced bubbles of locomotive energy. Suddenly, a Brahms intermezzo is making me want to hit the dance floor, an idea that is not really as absurd as it sounds!

World over, the tastes of the youth are described as mercurial and rebellious. Maksim has hit that particular vibration with calculated precision. The same lips that spouted Jay Z, Bjork or DMX are suddenly discussing Brahms and Chopin. It has taken Maksim years of ‘believing’ in the classical idiom to turn rebel, uproot the classical repertory from its foundations and turn it on its head. The result is music that is irresistible.

This article is certainly not meant as a campaign for free experimentation. On the contrary, I wonder if musicians and audiences, especially those who favour ‘fusion’ have taken the time to believe in the original idiom of their choice completely, be it classical or otherwise. Has there been an attempt to penetrate to the very soul of their respective tradition before the experimentation has begun? If they did so, I believe that entirely new genres can emerge, captivate audiences and even draw them towards music that are otherwise difficult to relate to (like in Maksim’s case). “Rock Piano” can be as exhilarating as “Jazz Violin” or even “Classical Bebop”, provided that their respective proponents have been arduous students who managed to get their homework right. True musicians have been endowed with a gift truly beyond the ordinary. This gift, however, comes with a serious responsibility of taking the existing musical lexicon and enlarging it meaningfully.

I often hear friends and music lovers complain of a dearth of ‘really good new music’ or even of the low quality of the current ‘fusion’ artists. If this is really true, I suppose we are facing a sad situation. I choose to believe in the contrary, simply because I believe that our generation has the capacity for immense creativity. And by that, I mean that we have the capacity to ‘create’ new genres, and not merely experiment with the old ones. We can produce output that is truly new, adding to the world's output of music and taking the boundaries forward, just as we continue to achieve all this in medicine or science.

However, we must first ‘believe’ in the existing repository of music and regale in its splendours. Thus equipped, I do not think there is anything stopping us from changing what the world is listening to!

Anil Srinivasan
Copyright New Indian Express

Growing up with TMK

2008-06-15T11:15:00.000-07:00

There are two of us. It is a warm morning, and all I remember is dust floating in the air as I see the rays of the sun, refracted by the glass in the car window, as it makes its way into the back seat. I am sitting with my cousin. As always, I am sulking wistfully while my cousin is characteristically upbeat and jumping more than I would like. I am about to start voicing my irritation to our respective parents in the front seat when, all of a sudden, without warning, my cousin starts to sing. And, suddenly, the sunshine takes an altogether different meaning and I understand, for the first time in my life, what it means to be transfixed. The composition is Gajavadana in Hamsadhwani. Of course, at the time, I do not know either the name of the piece or the raga. All I know is that my cousin has just won himself an undyingly loyal fan. What I do not realise at the time, and continue to marvel at, is that this talented cousin of mine would grow up to become TM Krishna, one of the most celebrated Carnatic musicians today.

Through the years, I have seen Krishna grow from strength to strength, gaining both in stature and vidwat. Starting with the Spirit of Unity concert at the age of 12, Krishna has gone on to perform in numerous concert venues across the world. The awards he has amassed are many, keeping pace with the rapid strides in the development of his musical expression. And my own musical journey as a classical pianist seems to have followed Krishna’s, slowing down a pace due to my other responsibilities as an academic and as a consultant, as though adding a staggered harmonic layer to a vibrant, sonorous melodic line. Through heartbreak, celebration and mayhem, we have tried to be true to a happy resonance we both discovered in the music of our childhood.

Another freeze-frame. My cousin is sitting on a tiny stool near my piano, barely reaching the height of the keys when seated. There is a party in progress and unmindful of anyone in the vicinity, he starts to sing the opening lines to Sujana Jeevana in Kamas. I start to play along with him, but stop soon enough. I am so fascinated by this composition, and I start to cry. Unknowingly, but keeping pace with the steady 3/4 rhythm.

We are now in the present. I am walking through a freezing blizzard in New York, engulfed by a hooded parka. The sidewalk is bare, framed by a winterscape that I can hardly see, inhibited as I am by both the north wind and the cumbersome attire. I naturally have my iPod to keep me company. I am listening to a raga alapana in Kamas sung by my cousin when I feel the warmth of my tears as they well up and caress my cheek. The delicacy of that Madras evening nearly two decades ago comes flooding back, and I weep at the legacy my cousin’s music has created.

Music is the earliest sensation I can remember. More than touch, sense or smell, the seductive drone of the tanpura and the magical movement of keys on the piano in the nursery have informed my processing of all things that have come to pass since then. And ever since I can remember, my life has been punctuated by music of different kinds. Snatches of a phrase from Sivan’s Srinivasa in Hamsanandi are among the first ‘improvisations’ I have attempted along with my grounding in early Mozart minuets. And no memory of childhood is complete without the music made by this very special member of the family. The awe continues. As do the pirouettes the mind makes when listening to particular phrases rendered with a tremendous amount of verve in his kutcheris wherever they may be. Indeed, growing up with Krishna has been one of the most significant influences in the development of my own sound.

Someone once told me that the word “Krishna” comes from the Sanskrit term for “that which draws everything in”, just like the colour black. With his swashbuckling style, grandeur of mannerism and vocal expression, Krishna manages to be the point of reference in any conversation he chooses to be part of. I have often heard him be described in similar terms with respect to his stage behaviour. His unbeatable levels of energy, zest for living on the edge and ability to provoke increase by the year, and I watch with quiet amusement at his ability to command centrestage in each endeavour he undertakes. To me, none of this is new. It began with a delectable rendition in Kamas many lifetimes ago, and I only see my cousin being himself. Brash, even arrogant, but overwhelmingly sincere.

Rather than view this article as a biased dedication to a cousin I admire, I think of it as a challenge to distinguish the good from the bad, and view Krishna’s legacy from a balanced perspective, however hard it may be to achieve. As a classical musician, I am able to observe Krishna’s clarity of thought. His concerts are examples of elegant classicism, with a balanced repertoire consisting of complex musical patterns framed by emotive power. Each note is well-rounded, rendered by a voice that is wholesome and sculpted to near-perfection. His exaggerated stage mannerisms notwithstanding, there is an electricity in the air when he is performing, palpable and overwhelmingly alive.

There are lessons in this to me, I believe, as I prepare to foray deeper into unknown territory. And these are lessons that I find applicable to anyone consumed with the desire to create. Like the need to take a risk with oneself. Boldly and sometimes in the absence of reasoned logic. And of course, the ability to surrender oneself almost single-mindedly to the process, trusting in it enough to take care of one’s raison d’etre. Or to stand by one’s beliefs in the face of daunting criticism.

Krishna has become the language with which I interpret many musical structures in my ongoing journey towards finding my own sound. Every so often I stop and pause, aware that my sound is transforming who I am, and absorbing varied influences that the conscious mind does not recognise. These are my moments of truth, ‘points of inflection’ in my musical trajectory. And each of these moments is a return to Krishna’s music.

As I write this, my feet automatically lead me to a concert by Krishna. And the experience of childhood and a return to musical innocence begins all over again. At the end of the concert, I find my identity returned to me. Emboldened, I step out into the cheery sunshine outside, aware that my music will be transformed forever.

Copyright New Indian Express

A Dedication

2008-06-15T10:50:00.000-07:00

This article is a dedication to Morris Holbrook. He was a professor at Columbia Business School and taught me to appreciate music holistically. I will always hold him as a prime example of someone who learnt to juggle music with academics, and did both with so much grace. And thought nothing of the sacrifices one makes in the spheres without in order to pursue one's passion whole-heartedly.

Professor Holbrook did a series of studies on music, mostly to understand the role music plays in shaping the way most of us think and feel about things non-musical. He once told me that the found that most adults form their "preferences" for musical styles and formats in their early to mid twenties. Knowing fully well of scores of relatives who took to appreciating classical music well into their forties, I questioned that observation until he gently guided me through the reasoning of the human mind in its quest to categorize musical stimuli early. I do not remember how that particular conversation went, but we discussed one possibility. We reasoned that the groove perhaps gets set much earlier than we realize. The understanding of "concepts" and "spiritual connect" happens much later. In effect, our minds quickly become comfortable with the structural characteristics of a preferred music form much earlier than the 'emotional' meanings associated with it, which in turn are affected by life situations and experiences as the years roll on. A fascinating idea.

As I think back to the musical styles, songs, artists and records that I treasure the most, I realize that the music I heard while taking the commuter train to work in Mumbai shares pride of place with the concerts I had attended at the time, all of which happened in my early twenties! I had started listening to Carnatic music at the time, a preference that has now burgeoned into a dangerous obsession. I had also started listening to Miles Davis and for some inexplicable reason, to Cat Stevens. And I hoarded my Ilaiyaraja "mixed tapes" like a smuggler with new-found gold. Musical favourites that continue to dictate my life, evaluations of other artists and styles.

And this brings me to the next observation, which is perhaps an important one. I see the young India emerge with a swagger, confident and unfettered by constraints. They march to a rhythm that is unquestionably rooted in our cultural identity, and yet keep themselves porous enough to admit influences from other worlds. Musically, this is an exciting phase of life to be in. I am yet to see someone under the age of thirty who does not compulsively listen to music of some form. Be it classical, pop, jazz, reggae, and of course the ubiquitous "film" music, the young Indian is far more exposed to every style and format, aided by the combined might of the recording industry and the information highway .

In this milieu, it is important for musicians from all genres to realize that the new collective is forming "grooves" that they will perhaps stick to listening to even in their older years. As a musician, I can see that this is perhaps a responsibility, and also a position of tremendous privilege. It is a call to communicate to younger audiences more meaningfully, developing a dialogue that will deepen their interest in, and their craving for, music that is both contemporary and representative of a cultural identity that they are proud to espouse.

It is also a call for more "composers" and creators of original sound. As ever, I maintain that the younger India is endowed with tremendous creativity, and are capable of pushing forward the repository of musical content we currently enjoy. New sounds that reflect individual compositional style should be judiciously interwoven with themes that reflect today's mood and preferences. And this does not mean resorting to the sort of risqué lyricism that predominates popular music. Traditions can be retold with grace, stories that embody our cultural heritage can be vocalized through younger and new perspectives equally well.

When I think of Professor Holbrook sitting in his office at the business school, playing jazz on his makeshift keyboard suite, I think of the word "bliss". There is a secret to all this, he used to say - to be able to understand the vagaries of the corporate world, make sense of academic politics and maintain one's passion for a language that goes beyond the corporeal requires the perfect balance. It requires being able to understand ancient stories but tell them in a way that is entirely new, infusing old themes with entirely new music and push forward the envelope boldly. And keeping one's focus on the young people, for they will decide what will become of the world we know. It is this focus that will keep the music we make from going out of style!
ANIL SRINIVASAN

Copyright New Indian Express

Piano, Writing and Just About Going Nuts

2008-06-15T10:29:00.001-07:00

Its late at night. Its rumination time, and I am the lead singer here. And I am accompanied on raindrops by a lazy Madras downpour.

I have always been a reader and snoop. And decided to put thought to spot, idea to blog, and begin typing away.

So here I am. Occasionally, my mutterings find their way into a regular column for the Express, and I unleash that on anyone who cares to read them here as well.

Happy to be a part of this world.