SEMMANGUDI SRINIVASA IYER






Semmangudi's thoughts: Music then and now

(Extract from the "Hindu")

"There will always be a group of committed listeners and performers who will refuse to compromise on traditional values..."

SONGS about the glory of India and the joys of Independence were on everybody's lips in August 1947. Today we wonder: have we really achieved freedom? Politics, social patterns, attitudes and values have suffered a drastic change since then. And although I believe that Carnatic music has not only survived but developed in many new directions, I see also the shifting perspectives and goals.

Before the 1930s, musicians performed before small groups of 200 to 300 listeners. The microphone brought a revolution. The singer did not have to develop a voice of full-throated resonance any more. Thousands could hear his murmurs and croons. But amplification has been at the cost of tonal clarity, as also of depth, weight and vocal power. The mridangam is a victim too. Restraint robs it of natural force and lucidity. This new style of music may please the ear, but cannot haunt the mind.

The amplifier's feedback can be a hindrance on the stage. So it is for listeners assaulted by the gigantic speakers in the hall that convert music into noise. The distortions can be minimised by placing small speakers at regular intervals to project more even sound. Why, the bell-shaped speakers of the early days, placed above the pandal, were far better than the models that we have now.

Once Budalur Krishnamurti Sastrigal and I sat on the bridge across the Cauvery in Tiruvaiyaru to see how well we could hear the flute recital of Palladam Sanjiva Rao at the high school venue nearby. Sanjiva Rao's lengthy mandara (lower octave) phrases were nectar from the heavens. Mandara sthayi has gone out of vogue. We have neither the vocal strength nor the taste for it any more.

IN the past, Carnatic music was nourished by the nadaswaram tradition. As a child I followed the pipers through the four streets round the temple in the procession of the deities. Now and then the pipers would stop and ruminatively elaborate a raga. The crowds would throng to worship the gods as well as to listen to the music. The pipes seemed to call the people to come and cleanse their souls in prayer and music. The brothers Kiranur, Tiruppamburam, Tiruvizhi-mizhalai... Mannargudi Chinnapakkiri, Chidambaram Vaidyanatha Pillai, Rajaratnam Pillai, Viruchami Pillai... they were giants. I wonder how many can recognise their names today. That kind of expansive, contemplative music has vanished. I can still hear their morning ragas - Kedaram, Bilahari, Saveri, Dhanyasi, Nattakurinji - as the deity was taken to the riverside mantapam for the tirthavari ritual; and the evening strains as he rode the silver chariot back to the sanctum. Today the children of those pipers have exchanged their family art for office jobs.

I will concede that present-day singers have developed a better voice culture than in our times. They have also developed better sruti alignment. Of course many of them are inaudible without the mike. But you will say I fault this because I belong to the old school!

THE growth of music depends as much on the listeners as upon the artists. Nowadays people do not have the time or the temperament to savour four- to-five-hour-long concerts. But they know much more theory, which makes them formidable. It is very difficult to satisfy them. What a contrast to the old-timers who often identified Khambhoji not by name but by a well-known song in it as the 'Sri Subrahmanyaya namaste raga'! The credit for cultivating greater knowledge among listeners should rightly go to Ariyakudi Ramanuja Iyengar. He not only gave us the concert format that we follow now, but also popularised many ragas and a variety of kritis in them.

The old listeners had patience and discipline. When an organiser found someone gossiping in my concert, he literally dragged him by the ear and threw him out of the hall. Once when I found some Mylapore advocates chatting in the last row I asked them: "Would you let me talk in your courtroom?" No more trouble! At the least sign of inattention my guru, Sakharama Rao, would simply pick up his gottuvadyam and stage a walk-out. He did not tolerate any insult to the art he worshipped.

Today performers not only tolerate indiscipline, they also rely more on the razzle-dazzle of virtuosic skills, which do not permit depth. I will not mention names - no, I do not want stones thrown at me! But listeners have been trained to appreciate ragas sung in ways difficult to identify or understand. This trend is lauded as clever. People have come to believe that real enjoyment comes from what they do not understand. They crave for ragas "new" and "rare", but so limited that there is no doing anything with them except racing up and down the scale. I have never indulged in such tricks.

A REGRETTABLE modern tendency is to burst into applause for every little thing. This creates the illusion that the success of a concert is to be gauged by the volume and frequency of the applause. Determined performers work towards a crescendo of superfast swaras tagged with the "tadinginatom" - in other words, arranging swaras to imitate drumbeats. Laya wizard Dakshinamurti Pillai would exclaim even in those days: "Leave drumming to us! Sing from the soul!" But from Kanchipuram Nayana Pillai to the Alathur Brothers there were those who indulged in fireworks. Today this has become the rule rather than an exception. The music and the applause are equally mechanical. Once in Bangalore, when violinist Lalgudi Jayaraman and I traded kalpanaswaras in fast and slow speeds, stimulating each other to plunge more and more into Anandabhairavi, finding poruttams each more beautiful than the one before - there was no need for any climax of calculated rhythms. And the hall was filled with an exhilaration beyond thoughts of applause. My friend and contemporary the late Musiri Subramanya Iyer used to be so lost in bhava that he never thought of evoking any response.

The brika is another dangerous device. Its glamour is often mistaken for grandeur. I would say that no attention-getting device has lasting value. Music must not draw attention to skills; it must make performer and listener forget themselves. Sometimes I feel that not having a good voice is an asset to the Carnatic musician. It impels him to Herculean efforts to grasp something beyond his reach - to explore new, original, fascinating territories. Of course, now you think I am talking about myself. Maybe I am.

There are many changes for the better. There are more sabhas, sponsors, government support and more musicians. Artists enjoy financial security, a far cry from the days when parents were afraid to get their daughters married to musicians. Yes, I speak from personal experience.

ANOTHER tremendous step forward is the emergence of women as equals of men in this male-dominated field. With the exception of the Dhanammal family, women musicians sang a string of songs exactly as they had been taught. They did not attempt much improvisation of raga and swara, they avoided the challenge of the ragam tanam pallavi. With the advantage of naturally sweet voices, women are now overtaking men in each one of these departments.

Concerts today have team spirit. Instrumentalists have made great strides. The violin has become a solo instrument on par with the veena and the flute. New instruments like the mandolin and the saxophone are crowd-pullers. We have to wait to see if they will endure.

The rasika has greater variety and choice than ever before. But there is less diversity in another area. In my time you could say this boy was trained by Maharajapuram Viswanatha Iyer, this man is the disciple of Ariyakudi, and so on. But today every youngster sounds the same. Their concert pattern, manner of kriti rendition are all the same. They are all one even in refusing to descend from the higher octave until they extract applause.

The reason is that they are no longer merely the sishyas of this or that guru, but of the cassettes that flood the market. Nor has criticism developed as a constructive guide. Critics are more interested in attacking established artists to produce copy that sells.

OUR age has seen a proliferation of musical compositions. The lesser-known kritis of the great masters have been discovered and polished. And each day brings a new composer to light. The old endures because it is steeped in the essence of the ragabhava. And time will decide the fate of the new. I will say that Papanasam Sivan's songs are not skeletal verses; they are filled with life-giving melody.

Staying with the guru for years and absorbing music by listening as well as learning is no longer feasible. Now we have institutions where music is taught to groups of students in one-hour slots - a waste of energy and money. In Thiruvananthapuram, where I was Principal of the Sri Swati Tirunal College of Music, I devoted a whole morning to a class, attended to the needs of each individual student and finally sang the whole piece so that they got the whole picture of what they were learning in parts. I find that those who learn from classes held in the home of vidwans show better results than government college students.

I cannot end without repeating my conviction about teaching methods. You know that children who learn in the Montessori method have a better grasp of the subject than those who are force-fed. They learn spelling and grammar after becoming familiar with the language. Similarly, exercises in the scales like sarali and janta must be taught after the child learns little, simple songs. Then he will learn more, enjoy more.

With all these developments in the art and its sponsorship, why is it that the impact of present-day music is confined to concert time? Why does not it linger in the mind for days after? One reason is that there is too much of it easily available round the year. You do not have to wait for it and seek it as in the past.

Perhaps the problem has to do with a fast lifestyle, one that hankers after novelties and innovations all the time. It lacks the perseverance and discipline on which the creative arts thrive. But Carnatic music will retain its grandeur and depth despite temporary trends. There will always be a group of committed listeners and performers who will refuse to compromise on values. It will remain a small minority. So what? The classical arts have never had mass appeal.

As told to Gowri Ramnarayan in Chennai and translated from Tamil by her.


Taste of Trinity culture

Semmangudi Srinivasa Iyer stands for all that is best in the Music Trinity culture. In the inaugural concert in the Sri Rama Navami series organised by Sri Maruthi Bhaktha Samajam Trust in Nanganallur, Srinivasa Iyer conveyed to the rasikas the conceptual comprehension of the subtleties of Carnatic music as treasured in the kirtanas of Sri Thyagaraja, Muthuswamy Dikshitar and Syama Sastri.

Characterised by bigu-sugu, he made the listeners realise that sugam in sangita deepens as it advances from the gross to the refined. His performance stood apart, because it was sublimated with a touch of musical idealism. His inspired singing seemed to educate the audience that a musician has to link himself to something higher than his self when he handles the compositions of the great vaggeyakaras.

The concert began with the Chala Natta kirtana of Dikshitar ``Pavanathmaja'' followed by another Dikshitar song ``Ramachandrena'' (Manji). The Thyagaraja compositions were ``Rama Nannu Brovara'' (Harikambhoji) ``Ramakatha Sudha'' (Madhyamavati) and ``Lekana'' (Asaveri). ``Marivere'' (Anandabhairavi) represented Syama Sastri. Being a Saturday, he rendered ``Divakara Thanujam'' (Yadukula Kambhoji). There were brief alapanas of Poorvikalyani (``Manava Janma'' was the Purandhradasa kirtana), Anandabhairavi, Yadukulakambhoji and Surati (`Sri Venkatagirisam' being the song). The brevity was to highlight the significant aesthetics of the ragas. The swaraprasthara part too shared the same objective.

Marked by distinctive individualism in interpretation V. V. Subramaniam on the violin presented the depth of the ragas in soft idioms. As a true accompanist he deeply espoused the loftiness of Semmangudi Srinivasa Iyer's style. The harmony of the performance between the vocalist and the accompanists. V. V. Subramaniam, Umayalpuram Sivaraman (mridangam) and V. Nagarajan (kanjira) served to map out the interpretative depths, the values that such experienced artistes cherished. Sivaraman wrapped up the song sequences with percussive charm and grace. His tani with Nagarajan bristled with laya brilliance. If Semmangudi Srinivasa Iyer gave a lasting glimpse to the beauties of the Trinity's music, V. V. Subramaniam provided glowing shades with flowing felicity of expression and Sivaraman and Nagarajan revealed the absorbing magnificence of laya. The performance was a travel back in time.