Sruti was devastated when its founder Pattabhi Raman died in December 2002.
The recent passing away of Contributing Editor S. Rajam has been no less
a loss. His was the sage counsel we sought whenever in doubt about matters
historical or technical in music. He responded enthusiastically to our repeated
requests for illustrations – both independent and to accompany his expert
contributions on Carnatic music. Till the very end he showed the curiosity
and excitement of a schoolboy while constantly seeking to add to his substantial
knowledge. He drew and painted until about a month ago. His doors were always
open to us, as indeed it was to any genuine student of the arts and their
history. He taught and encouraged countless students of music and any artist
who sought his gentle but firm mentoring. He retained his inexhaustible
fund of enthusiasm for the great cave art of India – Ajanta, Sittannavasal,
and so on – all his life. Even as recently as November 2009, he hosted a
slide show of Ajanta paintings and sculpture at his Mylapore residence by
Prof. Subramaniam Swaminathan, sharing his boyish excitement and sense of
marvel at the astonishing wealth of the art on display.
He was a master of two arts, music and painting, though he perhaps did not
make a major mark as a concert musician. Still, it is difficult to determine
which was his better suit, his music (as a scholar and teacher) or his painting.
It is reasonable in view of his twin gifts to assume that we shall probably
never see the likes of him again.
Last year, Sruti featured him on the cover for our profile of him to mark
his 90th birthday. We used a photograph from his youth, s superb profile
in which he looked every bit as handsome as a Greek god. In the interview,
he had said of his youth, "Those days, I had long hair and looked smart,
cycling everywhere. 'Master Rajam,' they used to call me." When we suggested
that with his dashing good looks and multiple talents, he had probably been
a ladies' man in his youth, his denial was instant and vehement.
Let’s go on a journey to the past. To 1940. We find GNB in his room,
lost in thought, with a copy of a Tyagaraja kriti in his hand. Let’s
follow his chain of thought without disturbing him. What does the pallavi
of the song say? It draws your attention to the dwarapalaka shouting
the name of Vasudeva. Surely, the guard called out in a high-pitched
voice? Doesn’t it mean that Tyagarajaswami must have opened the song
in the tara sthayi? How do we know that the present form of the song
is faithful to the way Tyagaraja composed it? Many musicians start the
song in the madhya sthayi panchama and render it with emphasis on the
madhya sthayi. True, Kalyani oozes beauty regardless of the sthayi or
swara adopted as its base, but doesn’t each song merit a distinctive
treatment?
Let's imagine GNB's thought process: "How can the singing reflect the
enthusiasm of the shouting guard if it doesn't start the name of Vasudeva
on the tara sthayi shadjam? Take the sentence 'Vasudeva, he shouted'.
Ideally, we must articulate the name Vasudeva at the tara shadja, then
come down to the madhya sthayi to reflect the narrator’s voice, before
going back to the tara shadja to express the word ‘shouted’ appropriately.
Doesn’t this express the song best? Why don’t I try modifying the pallavi
in this manner?”
This article on S. Rajam by N. Pattabhi Raman,
is reproduced from Sruti 83 (August 1991).
Rajam is a musician who loves to teach. For him, teaching is a pursuit
of happiness, not a drudgery.
Over the years, his love of teaching has found different channels of
expression.He has helped several stalwarts to learn specific songs.
He has given private tuition to numerous students. He has given ‘contact
classes’ at the University of Madras for the benefit of students availing
themselves of the opportunity to learn music through the correspondence
course conducted by the University’s Department of Music. He has been
teaching a group of 30-40 ladies all the melakarta compositions of Koteeswara
Iyer.
And he is well-known and respected for his carefully re-searched, lucidly
expounded lecture-demonstrations on rare raga-s and rare compositions
and the kriti-s of Koteeswara Iyer. Equally, he has won wide respect
for his lucid series of Music Appreciation Notes appearing in Sruti.
The Madras Youth Choir
Still going strong - V. RAMNARAYAN
We walk into a rehearsal of the Madras Youth Choir, and find a group
of middle-aged but dedicated chorists from soprano to bass focused on
practising a variety of songs based on Indian classical and folk music
idioms, adapting Western harmonic arrangements. The brainchild of the
late composer and pioneer of Indian choral music M.B. Srinivasan, the
unique choir is 40 years old. The young musicians who joined him back
in 1971 are still as enthusiastic as ever about his legacy, though no
longer young.
Led by its president K.S. Subramaniam, retired bureaucrat and well
known translator of Tamil author Jayakanthan, MYC is still alive and
kicking. The secretary D. Ramachandran and P.C. Ramakrishna sing bass
doing themselves and the choir proud with the high quality of their
wholehearted singing. Other senior members are equally dedicated to
the cause, concentrating hard on the song at hand.
First there is silence, then there is sound. Then there is language;
and then there is a theme. The first thing that penetrates silence
is sound. There are two types of sounds – musical and unmusical,
nada and noise. The nada of the tambura is all pervasive and soothing.
That is the first layer in the fabric of Carnatic music – sruti.
The sound wave from the tambura is not regional, not religious.
It has no words. But it conveys peace, calm and tranquility. Isn’t
that the end result that good music must produce?
Now, if a musician has to penetrate this tranquil nada already created
and create something more on that, he has to use two tools – raga
and tala. Again, both these are non-regional and non-religious.
One is melody and the other is rhythm. The nature of melody conveys
the context of the mood. Raga also means colour and content. The
nature of rhythm and tempo conveys the pace and the pulse of the
music.
These reflections spring from concerts heard at the Music Academy from
19th December onwards. I missed the Vijay Siva concert which had already
taken place.
Some years ago I had ventured the thought that perhaps a new golden
age of Carnatic music was beginning. That observation was questioned
on the ground that the contemporaneous presence of an exceptionally
large number of front-ranking performers that had characterised the
golden age is not matched by anything similar today. Without re-opening
that controversy, and avoiding the term ‘golden age’, let me merely
say that my impression that a great resurgence of Carnatic music was
beginning stands confirmed.
The resurgence is well on its way. Perhaps a dozen different top-ranking
musicians are not performing at the same time, but I will stick my neck
out and say that at least a few of today’s musicians are worthy of being
placed in the company of the great figures of the past. However, the
more important point is that a number of promising newcomers are emerging
every year, and some of them are very good indeed. Much diligent research
is going on among the practitioners of today, and innovations (some
good, some not so good) are being tried. There seem to be camaraderie
and active collaboration among the musicians. There is a huge production
of and trade in recorded music. Until recently there used to be much
concern at thin audiences, but this year – leaving aside the overflowing
crowds for a few top names – most concerts were reasonably well attended.
I was particularly impressed by the good attendance at the morning lec-dems,
some of them highly technical – again, quite apart from the packed hall
for a few names. The Carnatic music scene today is undoubtedly a very
lively one.
SAVAL-JAVAB
A series of interviews with musicians and dancers "I aim to live my father’s dream"
An interview with Akkarai S. Subhalakshmi.
Her precocious talent and years of assiduous practice have helped her
to blossom into an artist of repute, from the child prodigy she was
not so long ago. Now in her mid-twenties, she has toured the world accompanying
veterans and established artists, and won numerous laurels worldwide
with her impeccable playing. Yet, success sits lightly on her shoulders.
AKKARAI S. SUBHALAKSHMI, talented young violinist, talks about her musical
journey in a tête-à-tête with NIVEDITA NARAYANAN.
When did you start learning music?
I belong to a musical family. My late grandfather Suchindram S.P. Sivasubramaniam
was a vocalist, violinist and a prolific composer and my grandmother
Sornambal a Harikatha exponent. My father Akkarai S. Swamynathan is
a veteran violinist. Initially, I learnt vocal music from my father.
Violin lessons began when I was seven and I showed a flair for this
instrument.
Tell us about your father’s teaching methods.
My father taught me in a manner that helped me adapt to any situation.
He is a very strict mentor. He would make me play along as I listened
to recordings of veterans – on tape and over the radio. This helped
me develop quick reflexes.
REAR WINDOW Buddhist chants: the song of the breeze
- SADHANA RAO
A group of monks stand together in a three-tier semi-circular alignment,
representing the collective quietude of a monastic order in their presence
and posture. It appears as if an élan vital threads them together and
emanates from them and their silences. One of Bhutan’s many monasteries
prepares itself for its quotidian ritual of chanting. The sunrays gliding
over the towering peaks and steeply forested valleys of the eastern
Himalayas come to rest upon the gardens of the monastery. The rays are
young and warm, devoid of their sharp blaze and burn. Clusters of flowering
rhododendrons and the foliage of the wild Himalayan cherry offset the
vibrant hues of the maroon robes of the monk – an organic and natural
setting for an aural rendering.
An almost imperceptible command is heard and the group starts the chant
of compassion Om Mani Padme Hung Rhi. Deliberately, consciously, each
syllable is pronounced with precision and reverence. The spoken word
as lyric is the very foundation on which the chants rest. The musical
phrase that forms the chant flows in the manner of a medesimo movimento.
No individual singer stands out…. It is the music and the lyrics that
mark its stirring presence, as one note effortlessly leads to another.
The group is aware that it is each and every individual’s contribution
that goes to compose the whole score. As the chant enters its repetitive
cycle, the chants and the crescendo veer off into a unique cultural
space, the result of centuries of nurturing and a crystallisation of
tradition. At some point in the rhythmic pattern, the chanting evolves
and becomes a deep affirmation or prayer. The composition of the chant
has the magic and mystique to strike a subliminal chord. The experience
and resonance linger long after the voices and sounds fade away.
sruti.com
Sruti was devastated when its founder Pattabhi Raman died in December 2002.
The recent passing away of Contributing Editor S. Rajam has been no less
a loss. His was the sage counsel we sought whenever in doubt about matters
historical or technical in music. He responded enthusiastically to our repeated
requests for illustrations – both independent and to accompany his expert
contributions on Carnatic music. Till the very end he showed the curiosity
and excitement of a schoolboy while constantly seeking to add to his substantial
knowledge. He drew and painted until about a month ago. His doors were always
open to us, as indeed it was to any genuine student of the arts and their
history. He taught and encouraged countless students of music and any artist
who sought his gentle but firm mentoring. He retained his inexhaustible
fund of enthusiasm for the great cave art of India – Ajanta, Sittannavasal,
and so on – all his life. Even as recently as November 2009, he hosted a
slide show of Ajanta paintings and sculpture at his Mylapore residence by
Prof. Subramaniam Swaminathan, sharing his boyish excitement and sense of
marvel at the astonishing wealth of the art on display.
Let’s go on a journey to the past. To 1940. We find GNB in his room,
lost in thought, with a copy of a Tyagaraja kriti in his hand. Let’s
follow his chain of thought without disturbing him. What does the pallavi
of the song say? It draws your attention to the dwarapalaka shouting
the name of Vasudeva. Surely, the guard called out in a high-pitched
voice? Doesn’t it mean that Tyagarajaswami must have opened the song
in the tara sthayi? How do we know that the present form of the song
is faithful to the way Tyagaraja composed it? Many musicians start the
song in the madhya sthayi panchama and render it with emphasis on the
madhya sthayi. True, Kalyani oozes beauty regardless of the sthayi or
swara adopted as its base, but doesn’t each song merit a distinctive
treatment? 
We walk into a rehearsal of the Madras Youth Choir, and find a group
of middle-aged but dedicated chorists from soprano to bass focused on
practising a variety of songs based on Indian classical and folk music
idioms, adapting Western harmonic arrangements. The brainchild of the
late composer and pioneer of Indian choral music M.B. Srinivasan, the
unique choir is 40 years old. The young musicians who joined him back
in 1971 are still as enthusiastic as ever about his legacy, though no
longer young. 
First there is silence, then there is sound. Then there is language;
and then there is a theme. The first thing that penetrates silence
is sound. There are two types of sounds – musical and unmusical,
nada and noise. The nada of the tambura is all pervasive and soothing.
That is the first layer in the fabric of Carnatic music – sruti.
The sound wave from the tambura is not regional, not religious.
It has no words. But it conveys peace, calm and tranquility. Isn’t
that the end result that good music must produce? 
These reflections spring from concerts heard at the Music Academy from
19th December onwards. I missed the Vijay Siva concert which had already
taken place. 
An interview with Akkarai S. Subhalakshmi. 
A group of monks stand together in a three-tier semi-circular alignment,
representing the collective quietude of a monastic order in their presence
and posture. It appears as if an élan vital threads them together and
emanates from them and their silences. One of Bhutan’s many monasteries
prepares itself for its quotidian ritual of chanting. The sunrays gliding
over the towering peaks and steeply forested valleys of the eastern
Himalayas come to rest upon the gardens of the monastery. The rays are
young and warm, devoid of their sharp blaze and burn. Clusters of flowering
rhododendrons and the foliage of the wild Himalayan cherry offset the
vibrant hues of the maroon robes of the monk – an organic and natural
setting for an aural rendering.