Lesser Known Gruhabhedams: Season 2

Decided to make a second round on Lesser Known Gruhabhedam. Here's the first one in this second set:

What were you thinking Rahman?

I've been meaning to do this for a while now: compile a list of Rahman songs we all adore, BUT for those few cringeworthy moments in them. Some cringes in life die down. Some, you learn to live with. But there are others which just won't leave you. The cringe is magnified manifold particularly when the song as a whole makes for a great listening experience and when you just want to forward/ mute out those few seconds.

A few notes: 1. I was a diehard Rahman fan up until the early 2000s and I'm most familiar with his work until then. So this (teeny tiny) list doesn't contain many songs post 2002/ 03. 2. I'm only talking about musical cringeworthiness, not w.r.t lyrics/ pronunciation stuff. (I imagine the latter would generate a much longer list.) 3. Obviously this isn't meant to be an exhaustive list - these are (according to me) few of the most obvious ones, and this list might continue to get updated. 4. Rahman, I still love you.

So without much ado... presenting to you the "What were you thinking Rahman?" moments (going roughly from most to least egregious):

1. Dil se re: Okay, this is inexcusable. Anupama and Anuradha mouthing the wrong swaras? Why Rahman? Why? "Sa sa sa sa ri ri ni ni sa ri ma ma pa pa ri ri sa sa sa ni" wouldn't have sounded any less "cool".
2. Thee thee thitthikkum thee: What a remarkable song and vocals. Why oh, why those swaras (ma pa ni sa ri sa...) in that first interlude? "Drishti"? Just. Doesn't. Fit.
3. Anjali anjali: Again, a brilliant song. Not a fan of the third flute interlude. Simply doesn't go. Random major scale/ hamsadhwani/ mohanam notes following a lovely (mishra) maand? Why?
4. Bol sajni: a) Kavitha's voice. Me no likey, sorry. b) That go-up-the-cliff-and-drop effect in the humming in both interludes. :( :( What a gorgeous song otherwise!
5. Poovukkul olindhirukkum: Seriously, what's with those interludes again? Both of them. What is usilampatti penkutti doing in here?
6. Alaipaayuthe kanna: Anupallavi doesn't start on beat! Mixing guy, this one's on you. Despite the "ting" to indicate samam!
7. Snehithane: Not a fan of the first three lines of the charanams. Call me old fashioned, but I can't get over these musical digressions.
8. Kannathil mutthamittal: Same as above. The charanam beginnings are a little too random for me.
Addition as of 05/16:
9. Avalum naanum: Nice, breezy (albeit very simple) pallavi - but what's with the post violin part of the interlude and ugh, the charanam start??
10. Yeh rishta kya kehlata hai: Again, the charanam. Aargh. (Not that I love the rest of the song too much, so this one's kinda okay.)

Anyone got more?

Post concert reflections

This weekend I performed a Carnatic concert after a very long time - 4.5 years to be precise. Let me get straight to the point of this post. It was a fiasco in my opinion: I'm still reeling from the disappointment and had to vent. I've always been a reluctant performer. Especially lately, I've struggled with my identity as a singer - I identify myself much more easily as a rasika/ connoisseur, and theorist (and more recently, a teacher). Performing is something I've always had to push myself to do - there isn't much of a natural drive. But you know, having a good voice and having trained ever since I can remember, the right thing to do is to sing more, right? Immanuel Kant also contributed to my guilt: according to him it's immoral to not put one's talent to use/ practice. So while singing and performing don't give me the high that listening to, discussing and analyzing music does, I've tried to do it off and on. Sometimes it does make me feel very good, no doubt - but that doesn't happen as frequently as one might hope. Not that my earlier performances were great - I've never been happy after performing a concert - but this time it was nothing like before. I don't know what happened - I was simply not in the right headspace. I faltered big when singing kalpana swaras in one of the pieces in the middle of the concert and from there on it was only downhill. I've been pretty withdrawn and angry and disappointed in myself. I've been going through many phases. First I decided that I should stop performing and stick to what I know best: writing about music (and doing the little teaching that I do). Then I thought I need to perform at least once more to undo the damage, at least for myself. I'm back to shutting down now though. I'm pretty bad at coping with failure. But then again, when I think back, I feel this was bound to happen: what else can I expect after lack of practice (partly because of a very busy work schedule lately, and partly because of a personal lack of motivation to practice), and being completely out of touch with performing? I realize full well that actual singing is far from punditry and philosophizing about music, but sadly don't do much about it. Anyway, you don't have an option but to move on, and that's what I should do. But it's going to take a while.

Dream

I'm in NYC visiting a dear friend, Diya, and I had the most incredible dream this morning - and for that I'm for once so thankful for jet lag and my general holiday laziness and reluctance to get out of bed well into the morning. A very concrete musical tune came to me out of nowhere and I haven't felt this blissed in a long time. The setting for the dream was basically (surprise!) my Facebook news feed, but what popped up in it was this beautiful video from a (imaginary) page I'd "liked": of Bombay Jayashree singing with her (Carnatic) orchestra on the beach, in front of a gorgeous South Indian temple. Oddly enough she was singing in Bengali - which was probably the result of recently attending a wonderful concert by Kaushiki Chakrabarty in which she sang a Bengali piece and/or the fact that Diya - whom I'm visiting now - is Bengali and/or the fact that I've lately been watching a Netflix series on Tagore's short stories. The highlight of the dream was the tune. What I heard - although it was just one line - was very intriguingly, a really well-defined and "distilled-out" tune with quite a unique meter and rhythm. (It was in khandam/ 5-beat cycle.) This has never happened to me before. Or it probably has a couple times but I've never woken up remembering the tune. This time I did, and it was an incredible feeling. I like the tune although it isn't very unique. I think it's nice - and sounds something like Pancham se Gara/ a Bihag-ish Khamaj, which has been quite a common Raga in film songs though. And I think I like it because I really had nothing to do with it. The tune isn't really mine. But what I'm feeling more than anything - pride/ happiness etc. - is a sense of intrigue. I'm fascinated by this experience and wonder if there have been other such Kekule's-Benzene-ring kind of moments of serendipity in music. (I'm sure there have, and much more grandiose ones.) I've always been a very deliberate - as opposed to a spontaneous - musician, and always felt inadequate because of that. That makes this dream even more fascinating. Right now I'm torn between developing this tune into a full-fledged composition and Googling on music and dreams. It's a good place to be :)

Sadly no amount of Google image search yielded a picture of Bombay Jayashree singing on the beach, but this post wouldn't be complete without her face, so here goes:

Brindavani: a collaboration with Flautist Shri Ravichandra Kulur

It was around this time a year ago that this project took birth. Ravi Kulur ji - whom I'd met and performed with in Pt Ravi Shankar's ensemble in 2009 - was visiting San Diego and got in touch with me. He was going to be performing with Guruji and Anoushka. As I was just planning a casual meeting with him, it occurred to me out of the blue to ask him if he might be interested in recording something for me. Given his schedule and how big an artist he is, I really wasn't expecting him to agree, but thought of asking him anyway since I'd known him to be really nice. Ask I did, and to my absolute surprise and delight, he was more than willing. Amidst rehearsal schedules with Guruji and other artists, he was kind enough to entertain my request. At the time, what I had in mind was a ghazal I had composed - I wanted Kulur ji to play some aalaaps and interludes for it. But then I felt I needed to make more use of this unique opportunity and get him to play more. But everything other than the ghazal I had composed till then was proper Carnatic (especially structurally; and of course I didn't feel any of them was worth taking to Kulur ji). I was wondering how to create a flute-centric piece. I finally decided I had to write something new. I wanted to have a standalone flute piece with grand orchestration and may be add some vocals. With not much time left, I quickly came up a few lines in Brindavani in a thillana-esque style and decided to leave the rest to improvisation.

The day arrived and I had to meet him at the studio. Back then, neither did I have a car, nor did I drive. The studio was in Carlsbad and getting there from La Jolla was a two hour bus ride. It was probably the best bus ride I've had though - an oceanic route, combined with the excitement of my first composition to be performed by a renowned artist made it truly memorable. After the long trip, I reached and Kulur ji who was already there greeted me. We began. What can I say - listening to him breeze away the flute from just a few feet away was exhilarating. We started with the Brindavani piece - his improvisations were transfixing. I felt extremely fortunate. We took about an hour and half and were done with whatever I had in mind. Thanked him, my stars, and most importantly Guruji Pt. Ravi Shankar - for it was because of him that I'd met Kulur ji.

Well, that was part one. Then began the orchestration woes. As I was worrying about whom to approach, Murali Venkataraman introduced me to Eshwar Ravishankar and I really need to thank him for that. Eshwar has worked tremendously for this song and his orchestration has truly elevated it to a level I hadn't imagined. I think his arrangement has added such grandeur to this song that it has come a long, long way from its genesis in what I wrote. Amidst the various challenges of power cuts, unreliable internet, an unstable computer, and exams and other deadlines, he has given his all to this. Through the last one year Eshwar and I have discussed, debated, argued about, and celebrated this piece, thanks to Gchat and Whatsapp. It was all a lot of fun and I've learnt many things.

Many thanks to Sanath for playing the mridangam on short notice when he was on a vacation in India. Many thanks also to Armando Cepeda (who's also worked with Guruji) who kindly let us use his studio for Kulur ji's recording. Thanks to Kirthana for her sweet vocals in the interlude, and last but not least, thanks to Abin Pushpakaran for the very dedicated and tireless work with the mixing and mastering. Here's hoping you all like this piece. Coming soon!!



PS: Kulur ji did also record for the ghazal I mentioned. The vocals have also been done by another gorgeous singer. I hope to release that soon as well.

Ilaiyaraja live in San Jose

I know this post comes very late - I just didn't have the time to sit and write about it, and moreover, for a while after it was over, I was in a stupor and was unable to put anything of what I felt in words. Nevertheless, I thought I should say something about the concert here for the record, since it was easily one of the most cherished musical experiences I have ever had. On March 1st I witnessed a dream concert: "Maestro" Ilaiyaraja was in San Jose with his entire team of amazing musicians. From Chitra to SPB to Hariharan to the no-name stars in the orchestra, the show was nothing short of magic. Four decades of musical brilliance came alive in the 5-or-so hours. The orchestra was impeccable, the singers masterly and fervent, and the man - Raja - himself, stood there truly like a king, bursting with all the years of well-earned and rightful pride and authority. It was an unforgettable evening and I was so emotionally charged - like all the other die-hard fans I'm sure - that I had a "hangover" for almost a week after the concert. I would be doing injustice to the concert if I start talking about any one or two songs, and it would be impossible for me to write in detail about every song. Still, I'll just go ahead and say that pottu vaiththa kadhal had me at the edge of my seat from start to end and sundari kannal and thenpandi chemmaiyile brought tears. If you closed your eyes, you'd think it was the original casette playing (but with the recording boosted up and digitized to modern standards). The rushing violins in sundari kannal were transfixing and the trumpets just so grandiose. Chitra, my idol was her usual adorable self, and SPB was giving us some glimpses of Raja's genius by narrating some anecdotes during composing and having the orchestra play for us some short, isolated bits to highlight the strength of those particular sections. Mano was jovial and entertaining and was a true sport when Raja pulled his leg about his Thamizh years ago when he was learning Shenbagame (although I wonder who *wouldn't* have been a sport with Raja), and Karthik had a great stage presence. The four women who were part of the chorus and also had some solos/ duets each were amazing too. Unfortunately I don't know their names - except for one of them, NSK Ramya. Overall, wonderful evening and the heart felt heavy as it came to an end. Some people were put off by Raja's quirks - they felt he was being too arrogant and not respectful of the people who had paid a lot to watch him. Well, some of his comments were indeed uncalled for - like when he asked "idhu dhaan neenga vaazhara latchanama" or something to that effect when people were whistling/ loudly cheering to some of the songs. But then he's extraordinary, and for all the years of joy he has given us, I don't think I have anything to grumble about and will take anything from him in return for his out-of-the-world music.
We've always known this man to be superhuman, but seeing him live, listening to him sing, pray, pour his heart out, love, cheer, and also admonish, scold, and rant was truly something else. An evening I'll remember for a long time to come.

Of rakti, scales, and hedonism

!Rambler Alert!

The motivation for this piece really was the question, "What ragas do I like, and why?" I don't think I can come up with even a remotely satisfying answer to that. In fact, I'm not sure if it's even possible to answer this, but I've found it quite interesting and stimulating to mull over the question (like a zillion other pointless ones) and I believe I stumbled upon some intriguing observations. Well, at least intriguing for me. Right from when I was a child, I've been drawn to certain ragas that I believe have a certain kind of "personality". But rather than trying to characterize this personality, which seems daunting, let me try to explain with examples. When I was little, Hamsadhwani was an absolute favorite. Natural, I guess: it's undoubtedly a "happy" raga, and the very first krithi I learnt was in this raga (Vinayaka). As I grew older, Hamsadhwani started seeming kinda mundane, but I believe my new preferences were still similar in a sense: for many many years now, I've died for Bahudhari, Hamsanadham, Nalinakanthi, Ranjani, Dharmavati, Varamu and Bindumalini. This is surely not an exhaustive list, but you get the idea. All of these have an almost visceral effect on me: I feel physically exhilarated/ stimulated/ touched; and Nalinakanti is the most strongly evocative of these (Check out this (compositionally very simple) piece, that I can listen to endlessly, while almost feeling my heart leaping.) On the other hand, ragas like Thodi, Begada, Reetigowlai, Bhairavi and to an extent even Sahana, don't have this effect. I respect and revere them. I fear (yes) and love them, but I'm not sure they give me the kind of "high" that the former set of ragas give me. The difference in preference was way stronger when I was younger - I just wouldn't be able to appreciate these latter ragas. I guess age and experience have helped me mature - I'm glad that now there are certain pieces in Bhairavi for instance, that I absolutely love. Based on these preferences, many connoisseurs of Carnatic music might not consider my breed "serious"/ "deep"/ "pure". Here comes what's most interesting to me. I feel that the former ragas are in a sense hedonistic. The focus is on strong emotional appeal, if not always pleasure. Well, I could say that ultimately it all comes down to pleasure in some sense: even Shubhapantuvarali evokes a kind of a pleasure - through its heaviness - but that's different from the pleasure that Nalinakanti brings about. Ragas like Bhairavi on the other hand seem to be somewhat on a "higher" plane. And it seems to me that this hedonism has been systematically curbed - just like hedonism in life in general. Pedagogically, we are (may be tacitly) encouraged to appreciate the more "serious" ragas like Reetigowlai or Bhairavi. They take musical maturity, conditioning, depth and involvement to appreciate. Of course, I need to keep throwing disclaimers throughout this piece that these claims are not grounded in any kind of experiment - neurological or sociological - but are just strong-ish hunches I have.

This Bhairavi-group of ragas are what are usually referred to as "rakti" ragas. (Some like Thodi are also "ghana" ragas, and may be not all ghana ragas are considered rakti ragas, but I won't go into that here.) Vidushi R. Vedavalli lucidly explains what rakti is in this Sruti article. Basically, rakti ragas are defined more by the raga "swaroopa" or form, rather than by the swaras alone. I like to think of this idea as a kind of 'holism': in rakti ragas, the whole is more than the sum of its parts. For some more philosophical jargon (sorry, can't help flaunting my disciplinary bias): rakti ragas don't reduce to the swaras, and don't supervene on the swaras. They have a distinct identity that emerges in terms of phrases, usages, prayogams, gamakams etc. and the mere scales of these ragas cannot fully capture these facets. My feeling is that the aptitude for these ragas is rooted in a deep reverence/ musical intelligence/ musical discipline. I feel it's unlikely for someone to say they get a plain "kick" out of, say, Huseni. (Of course, a LOT depends on the kind of notes too: Begada roughly belonging to the major scale certainly sounds happier than Huseni, so rakti apart, I'm sure a "theory" about preferences needs to be more nuanced and account for this point. Clearly, I am glossing over details, but given the sloppy theorist that I am, let me proceed anyway.) But interestingly, I feel in musical experience that involves tremendous amounts of conditioning - as is often the case with a Carnatic rasika - it is so hard to distinguish between "pure emotion" and "conditioned emotion". I mean, someone might say they are really touched by Begada and argue that they are as touched by it as I am by say, Nalinakanthi (I'm quite sure my dad would say that, and he was never trained in music - but he's of course a self-trained listener and rasika). Of course, mental states are entirely personal and we'll never know, but I'm still going to (audaciously) try to argue that Begada-appreciation is finer, more nuanced and more conditioned than Nalinakanthi-appreciation. To bring back the hedonism metaphor, the liking for the latter seems kinda "baser", less refined as far as music goes. Now what's curious about this is that as Smt Vedavalli says, the very meaning of rakti is that which is "pleasing and engages the mind joyfully": "ranjayati iti raktihi". Ha, so much for my insistence on almost the reverse. I have a half-baked response to this as well, but I'll spare you for now and move on.

One thing that's common to my "adrenalin-pumping" ragas is that they're all scale-based. I have no idea why. It's also indeed puzzling why/ how a "characterless" Chandrakouns/ Charukeshi/ Gambheera Nattai/ Srothaswini tug at my heart way more than any standard rakti raga that's supposed to be full of character. Well that's the question at the heart of this piece and evidently, I still don't have a clue as to how to answer it. It's also very curious that usually, in almost everything I do, I'm way more analytical than emotional. So is it probably that these scale-based ragas are actually intellectually stimulating for me? And this intellectual stimulation is somehow translating to emotional appeal in a way I can't tell? Likely. All I can say I guess is that I like the non-traditional appeal of these ragas.

It's of course heartening that many top notch artists indulge in a Charukeshi or Srothaswini for an RTP (yes, "indulge"; and that word can only be used for these kind of ragas: you can't possibly "indulge" in a Bhairavi lest you make her angry). Right now, I'm getting back to a breathtaking Charukeshi RTP by Jayanthi Kumaresh.

Oh, and check out this interesting blog post by Sanjay Subrahmanyam on this topic.

Six Years

OCTAVES turned six this month. What a wonderful six years it's been. OCTAVES has become a big part of my identity today. Many of my old posts (with a ton of smilies) make me laugh today - but that's what growing up is, I guess :) Also, through the years it has got quite a few makeovers, thanks to Blogger which keeps getting better and better.
Although guilty of not updating this space regularly these days, I'm hoping to get back to posting more frequently in the coming days... Until then, here's the customary - but very heartfelt - thank you to all the visitors who've kept it going through the hits and misses!

The mind's battle of the Rajas

Yesterday was another of those days - experiencing (note: not merely "listening to") an endless chain of Ilaiyaraja's melodies. My heart leapt with joy, swelled with love and wept with pain; all with the same intensity. My mind faithfully followed every note, every inflection and every syllable that came out of Chitra's voice - it soared with her high notes and swooped down with beauty, as does her magnificent voice. I've never felt a deeper and more surreal connection with another voice.

And then suddenly, Thyagaraja seemed mundane. I couldn't help wondering if he could ever bring out the myriad emotions that Ilaiyaraja can (and I got reminded that growing up I would argue with my dad that I've learnt more Mayamalavagowlai from Ilaiyaraja than from Thyagaraja). Can Rama bhakti make you feel all the *real* emotions that life brings us, that are so beautifully brought out in Ilaiyaraja's music?

I woke up this morning humming Hecharikaga ra ra. I felt beauty. I felt peace. I felt serenity. Thyagaraja is not just about Rama bhakti. There's so much more to take from him.

Humbled and thankful to whatever it is that has made me live in a time and place where I can experience both, judge and obsess over one rather than the other, and then finally realize the smallness of it all. The "cycle of awe" continues...

Reverse engineering a gruhabhedam: the genius of Raja

If there's one piece of music that leaves me transfixed every time I listen to it, it's Composer's Breath from Ilaiyaraja's album Nothing But Wind featuring the flute maestro Pt. Hariprasad Chaurasia.

-Art by my amazingly talented sister Sumi.
-----

Where do I begin...I bought Raja's two non-film albums (read "cassettes") - How To Name It and Nothing But Wind back during my undergrad days and for almost a year I would pretty much listen to nothing else. Raja taught me several lessons and each one of those would vie with the others to make me feel it was the sole purpose of my life :) But one lesson stands out till today as the most revealing, the most intriguing, and the most awe inspiring. Unfortunately, it came to me much later - I hadn't quite seen the genius through for until numerous times of involved listening. But come, it did, and to this day it gives me goosebumps.

Amidst trying to get a grip on the treacherous equations and derivations of Electrodynamics and Statistical Mechanics - not to mention, in the dingy IIT hostel room - solving Raja's puzzles in Nothing But Wind was a much more satisfying experience, needless to say. The epiphany under discussion hit me on one such occasion of listening to Composer's Breath. Let me try and explain to my understanding, one of the underlying theoretical ideas behind this piece that the man has so ingeniously woven in - the reason for this post.

Disclaimer: my apologies in case this is all too familiar to you and sounds platitudinous.

First, here's the track: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=I4g6Zl4nB_g

It starts off with a lovely Hindolam/ Malkauns. Hariprasad Chaurasia's bhava-rich and masterly playing
make it a most pleasurable experience. The main melody (starting at 3:54) is beautiful. It goes, Sa,, ni da ma ga ni da ma gm da# ni# sa,,,,. I'm certainly not an expert on analyzing chords and harmonies but parts like 4:26 that recur throughout just sound heavenly. The drama starts at 6:12 (and there is a lot of build up to it in the chords that just precede) when you start hearing Hamsanandi/ Sohini. What's happening here? Just an ordinary raga change? Absolutely not. A random change in shruti as well as raga? No again. Let's do this piecemeal. First, notice that the shruti is reduced by half a step - or half a note. The new sa is at ni3 of the original shruti. Next, observe that the absolute positions of all the other swaras remain the same. So basically, what starts at 6:12 is Hindolam relative to a new sa; but what's most crucial here is that unlike in a standard gruhabhedam, the new sa is *not* one of the swaras of Hindolam itself: it is a newly introduced swara. So what was a pentatonic raga becomes a hexatonic one due to the additional swara and that turns out to be Hamsanandi. And when you do this, lo and behold, a thrilling coincidence (pun intended) occurs: every swara of Hindolam remains the same, albeit of another variety. ni2 becomes ni3, da1 becomes da2, ma1 becomes ma2, ga2 becomes ga3 (and of course, sa becomes ri1). It is obvious and stunning at the same time. The main melody in Hindolam that I mentioned above now changes to Hamsanandi as follows: Sa,, ni3 da2 ma2 ga3 n3 da2 m2 ga3 r1 sa d2# ni3# sa,,,.

Okay, so far so good. But this made me rack my brains: I had never come across such an unusual way of doing gruhabhedam - such a gruhabhedam would probably not be permitted on a Carnatic stage. I was wondering if there was any way of reconciling it with the standard process. And then, I started thinking about how we might bring about the opposite gruhabhedam: Hamsanandi to Hindolam. Hamsanandi's ri would have to be taken as sa... and... if you do a sa varjya (omit sa), you get Hindolam. And immediately it dawned on me that THIS one was indeed a standard Carnatic gruhabhedam! It is not unusual in Carnatic to do a gruhabhedam transpose from hexa (or heptatonic) ragas to pentatonic ones by omission of sa (and pa)! (And that's because gruhabhedam or no gruhabhedam, one often renders phrases in a raga without sa - and sometimes pa- just to add beauty) In fact, here is a reference that talks about the Carnatic master of all times, T.N. Seshagopalan doing exactly this: http://ramsabode.wordpress.com/2007/04/10/tns-musiri-chennai09042007/
(There is also a youtube video of a breathtaking Hamsanandi alapanai by TNS where he shifts base to Madhyamavati using the same concept)

So WOW - the brilliance of Raja in Composer's Breath lies in that he has actually reverse engineered a (standard) gruhabhedam! Who would've thought of it! If only I could enter his head and see the workings.

The rest of the track goes in and out of many, many ragas - malayamarutham, bhageshri, sindhubhairavi etc which all sit smiling and pretty in Chaurasia's safe custody (and bring poignant flashes of 80s Tamil cinema along with them - probably because they remind me of many of Raja's 80s songs). But the highlight for me is that even after the Hamsanandi episode is over, Raja teases you with some brilliant sparks alternating between the two sa's (thus alternating between the two ragas) within a matter of seconds, like between 6:44 and 7:33 - pure magic! Also at the very end of the track starting at 15:32.

Sometimes I wonder if I'm overly pedantic. Sometimes people say that too much analysis especially in art is not healthy and robs it of its beauty and charm. But the more I think about it; no...I beg to entirely disagree. This situation always reminds me of something a celebrated Astrophysics prof G. Srinivasan told us in a class - a physicist apparently once said that understanding that stars are nothing more than huge blobs of gas and studying the equations governing their behavior doesn't make them seem any less pretty and poetic! :) Unfortunately I don't remember which physicist this was.

As I complete another year of existence on this planet today, I cannot thank Raja the God enough for giving infinitely more meaning to my appreciation of human creativity, godliness in art, and life.

2011: Music and me

Just thought I'd share some quick notes on how this year has been for me, musically. Not that I do this customarily every year and not that I have any tremendous accomplishments to report this time; but 2011 has been fulfilling in many ways and I just felt like jotting down some thoughts here. I had my first article on music published (in Sruti). Gruhabhedam having been a pet subject for many years whereas cognitive science being a whole new ball game, it was exciting and intimidating at the same time. It seems like the article was well received overall and I hope I did some justice to the subject.

In October last year I mustered some guts and started to write some elaborate concert reviews on rasikas.org (unfortunately haven't been able to keep up with it much post May 2011 as I haven't attended many concerts since - hopefully 2012 is better). It's been a great learning experience to say the least (a small digression: the mere fact that SO much debate and discussion happens around it with such fervour makes me very proud to be part of this Carnatic tradition - not many traditional art forms can boast of such strong, academic involvement from connoisseurs). One of my reviews is leading to a larger project in the pipeline about which hopefully I'll soon be able to write here. Moving on... I got involved in an interesting movie project in the summer. Wish I could write more about it but again, will have to wait until it sees the light of the day. Hmm.

Ha, and a random post on my synesthesia resulted in some pleasantly surprising responses. First, I didn't expect the post to resonate with that many people and second, it led to getting acquainted with a talented filmmaker interested in the subject! It's a strangely satisfying feeling to talk in detail about something (especially as surreal as synesthesia) you've experienced all your life, for the first time - with someone you've never met/ talked to before. Thank god for blogging.

It's always a nice feeling to perform on stage a blockbuster number that you've grown up listening to - I sang Chandralekha at a Tamil New Years event in San Diego. I don't care how it came out but I thoroughly enjoyed myself :P Talking of performances, a more serious one happened a few months later, in October - with the blessings of my guru, I did my first full length Carnatic concert in the US at Shri Mandir, San Diego. I'm nitpicking my performance to this day- nevertheless, it was an eyeopener and a very valuable learning experience in many ways; many thanks to the accompanists.

One of the most exciting things this year has been a song I've composed - it's exciting because it's my first non-Carnatic: a ghazal. I'm usually extremely hard on myself but I must say I'm quite pleased with this one. With all the encouraging feedback it got from friends and family, I'm hopeful that it will soon be completed and up here. The fact that I'm handing it over to someone else to sing is even more exciting. More, soon!

Last but surely not the least, thanks to an eight year old bundle of incessant energy and talent, I discovered the teacher in me and I can only say that it has been an immensely gratifying experience!

Octaves hasn't seen a lot of audio posts from me this year (and I'm beginning to think it's going to continue to be like this) but I've enjoyed writing here and hope you've enjoyed reading as well.

Okay, time to get back to whining about not being at the Madras music season now. Signing off, and wishing you a fulfilling and fruitful 2012.

Kannodu Kaanbadhellam: Revisiting after a decade

Kannodu Kaanbadhellaam was the first film song I covered. Ever. On a casette, with the help of the "karaoke" button on the music system that would suppress the original voice (the casette was then supposed to go to ARR - but ah, well that's another story). That was ten years ago, but the memories are still fresh. "Jeans" had released a couple of years ago and although a ludicrous movie for the most part, it was a laugh riot in our family and we all loved it. In fact if I remember right, we watched it multiple times in the theatre. I was at the peak of my ARR craze then and every time I would see his name appear in the credits on the screen, with the ni-sa-ri-sa track playing in the background, I would melt. We loved the songs so much and I almost damaged the casette by playing it too many times. And my uncle would joke that his car just wouldn't move if he didn't play Jeans songs =) Ah, those were the days...

This song, kannodu, surprisingly wasn't a favorite at first. It was Nithyasree's first film song and I found it.. er.. funny - for lack of a better word. The visuals were hilarious and that added to the comic factor. But it slowly grew on me and as the influence of the movie waned, I started seeing the classical richness of the song. And then in 2001, something came over me suddenly and I wanted to explore that "karaoke" button on our music system (although we'd had the system for a while before that) and kannodu was the first that came to mind. Everything was simpler back then - from the process of recording to my process of thinking. It was a more naive, carefree mind, not super intent on self-nitpicking. And I surprise myself every time I think of how I recorded back then: the whole song done at a stretch (coz you see, I couldn't cut-copy-paste on a casette).

Fast forward to 2011. The spontaneity, the unbridled enthusiasm, the uninhibited singing - all muted. I like to call it maturity - to keep my sanity. But there's also one other huge difference now: "cooler" gadgets and recording softwares that seem to mock you and exaggerate the smallest flaw. And these things only make it that much harder to achieve complacency.

Anyway... I've had this karoake track for quite sometime now and I somehow never wanted to try recording it- I just wanted to be content with my decade-old recording and not venture into it again. But venture I did, and here's the result. I wanted to sing some actual "kalpana" swarams at the end but the karaoke track had an annoying loud flute sound playing the original swarams, so I couldn't sing anything else there, hmph.

So here goes...

Song: Kannodu kaanbadhellaam
Film: Jeans
Music: A. R. Rahman
Lyrics: Vairamuththu
Singer: Nithyasree Mahadevan



And here's the old one (which I'd posted here some years ago) again, for the record (I think the tempo got increased somehow as a result of which my voice is kinda distorted, but anyway)

Colored Ragas: Synesthesia and Carnatic Music

Here's something very curious - and very personal in some ways - I wanted to put out there so that hopefully, I get to hear what people have to say about this and even better would be to know if there are other people who have similar experiences.

I associate colors with ragas. Yes. And swaras too. Kharaharapriya is greenish; Kalyani is yellowish; Bahudhari is purplish; Nalinakanthi is orangish... Sa is yellowish, ri is greenish, ga is majenta, ma is reddish... I could go on. You might think either a) I'm making it all up, or b) I'm crazy. Well for now in my defense, I can only say neither is the case, unless you can jump into my brain (which, trust me, you likely wouldn't want to do). I've experienced this raga/ swara - color correlation since childhood. In fact, I associate colors with abstract things much more fundamental than colors and ragas in some sense: I see letters of the alphabet as well as numbers, as colored. I have always been very curious about this and among the handful of people I shared this with when I was growing up, no one seemed to experience anything similar. It was only a couple of years ago that I learned about synesthesia from this extremely insightful and engaging talk by V.S Ramachandran (and shamefully, I go to the very university he teaches at and I haven't had a chance to meet him yet). In brief, synesthesia is a neurological condition where multiple (usually two) senses/ perceptions get mixed up.

The correspondence (between the color and say, a raga) in my case seems to be completely random: there doesn't seem to be a pattern in the correlation between say, the frequency of a swara or the mood of a raga and the colors I associate with them respectively. Same goes with numbers and letters: I see no pattern (for instance, higher the number, darker the color). My initial suspicion was that this had its roots in the fact that I had colored plastic letters and numbers to play with when I was a kid; but now I doubt it, for I don't even seem to remember the colors of most of the pieces. But may be the colors, in their abstract, stuck on subconsciously and I lost the ability to actively recall what color each piece was. But even if all this began with my playing with these colored pieces of letters and numbers, how did it catch on to music as well? May be it's all linguistic after all? May be the color of a raga for me is the color I associate with the first letter of the name of the raga? For I see 'N' as orange, and Nalinakanthi is indeed orange too. But this cannot be the case: the foregoing example has to be a coincidence, for other ragas starting with N are not necessarily orange for me. In fact, I don't seem to always perceive ordinary words as colored (although letters are colored) and even when I do, the color seems to have little to do with the color I associate with not just the first, but any of the constituent letters (and similarly, the color of a raga seems to have little to do with the colors of the constituent swaras).

Two clarifications are in order. First, I think letters or numbers or ragas or whatever - produce a sensation of color only when they're "inside" and not "outside". I mean, when I look at a number or hear someone say a letter; or for that matter even hear someone sing a raga or a swara or sing it myself; I don't think the color sensation shows up. Or if it does, it certainly is not very strong. It is rather the thinking of these entities (for lack of a better word); that conjures up the colors for me. And second, it's extremely hard to put a name to each color I see! It's usually a haze and while I'm sure that I'm having a color sensation, I'm not sure what color it is. I think it's usually not even a well defined color (which is why the "ish-s" suffixed to names of all the colors I mentioned above)

I don't know if what I've described above is characteristic of synesthetes in general. May be I'm not synesthetic at all. One goal for this year is to go to a Cognitive Science lab and get a test done. How interesting that would be!

Sorry for the ramble. I've been wanting to write about this for so long now and finally, just dashed it off while in a restless mode :( Hope it all made at least some sense, and I'm very eager to hear your reactions.

Wish list for my dream concert experience

I don't have a specific artist in mind; but I'd just LOVE to experience this dream (vocal/ instrumental) concert sometime. And I'm restricting myself here to the standard concert format- I could come up with other wish lists for other concert formats, but one's enough for now.

1. Maathe - Dharu Varnam - Khamas, Adi
2. Shankaram Abhirami - Kamalamanohari - Rupakam (swaram)
3. Ranjani Niranjani - Ranjani - Adi (ragam, swaram)
4. Chittam irangaadhenaiyya - Sahana - Khanda Chapu
5. Pirava varam thaarum - Latangi - Adi (ragam, neraval, swaram)
6. Niravatisukha - Ravichandrika - Adi
7. Inta sowkhya - Kapi - Adi (ragam, neraval, swaram)
8. RTP Nalinakanthi with swaras in Bahudhari, Hamsanadam, Valaji, Nattakurinji, Varamu, Behag.... you get the idea :P
9. Entha muddho - Bindumalini - Adi
10. Aliveni - Kurunji - Mishra Chapu
11. Thillana - Rageshri - Adi
12. Mangalam

Reflection....

I recently came to a realization- it seems to me like I'm not an artiste in the true sense of the word at all. Here's why: I think a key characteristic for an artiste is to be spontaneous. And I'm the least spontaneous person with respect to almost everything. I don't talk spontaneously, I don't write spontaneously and I don't SING spontaneously. I don't do anything on impulse. Everything needs to be reasoned and planned out. I never surprise myself or anyone around me. When I think about it, it's such an irony that I'm into as spontaneous an art as music. I sat down to think one day, why I love composing Carnatic songs. And it dawned on me that that has to do with my lack of spontaneity as well! May be if I were a natural talent, I would tend to do alaapanais with ease and rattle away kalpana swaras. Why compose? Coz it involves careful thought, construction and coming up with a concrete form. It's so much easier than doing an aalaapanai or singing swaras.... for the simple reason that it doesn't require spontaneity and is not extempore!

I've always firmly believed that with singing, Carnatic is much tougher than film songs, but with composing, it's exactly the other way round. Why? coz true singing in Carnatic involves manodharma- or imagination (in the form of aalaapanai, neraval, swaram etc), and if you want to be good, it better not be "pre-meditated imagination"! And composing Carnatic I believe is easy since SO much of it comes ready made in the form of ragas. So if you pick a raga in which to compose, it has its standard usages and nuances and you just go with the flow. There are boundaries. There are rules. And with limited pieces to move around in the game, its not too hard to come up with a standard classical composition. (There's at least a small challenge only if you pick rare ragas, but that's not all too tough either) Where as with "filmi" songs, a whole new range of possibilites arise. Chords. Harmonies. Overlays. Variety of instruments. There's lesser rules, so it's that much tougher to produce a good piece with not much to follow.

Anyway, coming back to me- if art means spontaneity, then I must admit I'm hardly an artiste. I'm so regimented in my thoughts... Sometimes, the thought that I'm fundamentally wired this way scares me. But many times, I feel good as well. I find immense pleasure in analyzing a piece of music philosophically. So if this is what is "natural" to me, then is this art as well? I don't know.

I cannot...

I am writing this on impulse, but I shall go on...

Its all been about screaming out to people what I CAN do. "Listen to me!", "I can sing too!" and about "getting an audience". Bah!
How egotistical.
Some days back, a dear friend from high school- Janani- requested me to sing the song "bhor bhayi" by bade ghulam ali khan. Very enthusiastically, I checked out the youtube link she gave me, of the Delhi 6 version rendered by Shreya Ghoshal. I heard the song and was dazed for a while. Then I heard it again. And then again.
The next day, with a lot of reluctance, I started to try singing it. I am glad I did that, for two reasons: one, it made me realize the greatness of the singers even more, and two, it made me realize, all over again, how grossly inadequate I was. After a whole day of trying to perfect it, I'm left feeling so angry and disappointed with myself. So angry that I want to say out loud, that here is something I CANNOT do.
All this while, I respected Shreya for the golden, silken, flawless voice she had. And that was it. People had often told me that my tone was similar to her's, and having covered some of her songs, I thought I wasn't too far behind. HAHAHAHAHA.
This song- bhor bhayi just made my respect for her go up ten times. This girl can SING! Wish I could do half as well as her.
Okay, time I stopped and gave the link to I am talking about:
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=gM2NkPOOd84&feature=related

You know what's worse: the mind knows it all- this is Gujari Thodi- Thodi minus pa (i.e Shubhapantuvarali in Carnatic minus pa); so there's no grounding, M2 to D1 transition is difficult; starting phrase itself is dmdndmgrs at lightning speed. The mind understands it completely. But the vocal chords don't. It is SO annoying.

Janani- I'm sorry; I hope there comes a day when I've mastered this song.
On the other hand, sometimes (many a time actually), I feel I should just get into music research and stop singing. Or at least stop till I get somewhere close to where I want to be, with my singing. But no, the Ego won't let me do that. I'll be happy if my ego even lets this post remain to see the next day.

If I were shut in a dark room...

The worst thing to do when you have a deadline approaching is go to bed with headphones on, playing "serious" music. I think the music will put me to sleep in time, but it engulfs me...chasing sleep out of my system...
Anyway, great- here I am, at 1 am craving for more of Harini... (its a pity she doesn't sing as much these days), and came to a realisation: if, some day I'm shut in a dark room with no way out and given a choice of just three songs I can listen to, they'd be: thenral vandhu ennai thodum, poo vaasam purappadum penne and enakkenna aerkanave.

Umm.... really...? Never mind- am in an inescapable Hamsanadham mode now!

When recording meant nothing more than singing...

It was only recently that I learnt about cool music softwares and what they can do to your voice and how powerful tools they are. Of course I knew about their existence even before, but somehow never really felt upto it to try my hand at using them... Blogging etc. never really crossed my mind. I was a happy listener and visitor to others' blogs.
So until some months back, my recording exercise consisted of just one thing- singing. No amp, no reverb, no normalising, no pitch benders or scale changers... nothing. And most importantly, no mixing! Just pop in the original casette or cd into the music system and another empty casette, hit the 'karaoke' button and just start recording, singing along with the original singer, trying drown her voice hehe...(wasn't even aware of karaoke cd's being available in the market!)
Actually in a way recording that way was great fun. 'Ignorance is bliss' so holds here.
Since I would record on a tape, there was obviously no cut-copy-paste or anything, so even a slight slip here and there, and the entire song would have to be redone, right from the beginning! There have been so many instances where I goofed up something towards the very end of the song and felt so frustrated about having to start all over again!
Although modern softwares and recording on the computer gives one a lot of flexibility and luxury, recording on tapes was a challenge in itself and the satisfaction it would give me after the completion of a song was immense. Especially after singing some of them atleast 5-6 times (the entire song, that is! ) !
I was just thinking of those good old days...and felt like blogging those old recordings, however bad the recording quality is (I trust it aint too bad, since they're all now made up and enhanced with....ahem....softwares (again! sigh)...

Some old recordings- done 6 years back :
Kannodu Kanbadhellam:

Jhoola bahon ka:

Konjum Mainaakkale:

Boondon se baatein:

More recent ones: Thathiththom:

Manam Virumbudhae:

Sowkkiyama:

Snehidhane:

Kannamoochi:

Chalo tumko lekar chalein (Jism)

pal pal hai bhaari (Swades)

Dil mera ek taara (December 16)

Mausam ki sargam ko sun (with Deepthi Krishnamurthy)

Jahan piya wahan main (Pardes)