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.
Monday, June 1, 2009
Sunday, April 5, 2009
Automatic Music
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
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
Saturday, March 7, 2009
Next Article..
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.”
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.”
Thursday, March 5, 2009
Indian music beyond Rahman?
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.
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
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
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
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
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
Wednesday, February 18, 2009
My website
My website www.anilsrinivasan.com
is ready and waiting to be explored. Do check out the music links at Gallery > My Music.
More soon.
is ready and waiting to be explored. Do check out the music links at Gallery > My Music.
More soon.
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