O S Arun, the Raja of Talvi

The bespectacled, lissome lady, looking 45-ish, apparently of a nature that has bestowed upon her a nonchalant disregard for everything and everyone around her, did something that all the rest of us there were itching to do, but could not, fettered as we were by a misplaced sense of antipathy towards public display of emotion. She danced. Bending to her left, clapping, bending to her right, clapping, again bending to her left this time almost to the point of a stoop, and clapping…..not a dance that was a product of years of strict training into an art, but much higher in worth, the dance of a woman in trance, held in a spell by the mind-buoying music of a master-of-the-game, a master musician called O S Arun, the Raja of Talvi.

The photographer rushed to her vicinity to get a close shot of the unusual spectacle. Click-flash. The lady didn’t care. She continued her bend-stoop-clap gyrations regardless, apparently in a grip of bhakti. From the stage sprang forth the spell. “vittala, vittala-vittal, vitol-vitol-vitol-vitol,” sang O S Arun putting his hands together, and the audience, half of them with an eye on the dancing lady, clapped in perfect sync, resulting in a discrete thunder. Presently, Arun increased the speed of his ‘vittal-vittal’, the words pouring fast, and faster still, until it became talvi-talvi-talvi-talvi.

That the lady did not collapse in a swoon was a testimony of the mercy of Lord Vittal.

Wah, Arun! Wah, Ustaad! What music he produced today, the 22^nd day of January, 2012, at the Krishna Gana Sabha auditorium!

It is a pointer to how well Arun connects with his audience that even before the bhajan concert began, began the stream of request-slips. A smile at the contents of the slip, a nod of acknowledgement to the requestor, Arun would accede to the demand and plunge into business. A little into the concert, they began shouting their requests. “Panduranga, Panduranga…please” screamed a voice from the rear. “Ha Raghava”, shouted another from the front rows.

The concert began with a chant of Jaya Ram, Krishna Hare—practically a niraval of the four words in Behag.The next treat was a brief alapana that rode over the word 'shyam'. One could make out ri-ma-pa-ni sequences. What would it be? Brindavana Saranga? Hindi lyrics flowed: aaj aayo shyam mohana. The rendition was so soothing, so mellifluous, notes wafting in the air gently, leisurely. Aaj aayo shyam mohana.

I admit it. I could not place the raga. It left me nonplussed. I asked Arun the next day what it was. Shyam Kalyan, he says. Wow! Where had you been hiding all this while, Ms Shyam Kalyan (a raga is supposed to be feminine, right?). I google up Shyam Kalyan, and a surprise springs on me like a wily gorilla warrior from the bushes. From the time of Thyagaraja, I jump to the time of Ilayaraja. Movie: Kamala Hassan's immortal 'Nayagan'. Singers: Chitra and Mano. Song: Nee oru kaadal sangeetham. Pure Shyam Kalyan, yes, unmistakably. Turns out that Aaj Aayo Shyam Mohana is not some avadhi composer of yore, but our own Swathi Thirunal. If I had my way, I'll ask Arun to sing this every single time he sits on the stage across an audience that includes me. Wow! Incredibly wow!

Soon after came another name-chant, “Govinda Gopala” in Sahana. Arun is a trained carnatic music (and son of Mr O V Subramanian, a reputed carnatic teacher) and not surprisingly, it was a great Sahana, slow and peaceful, very, very carnatic, in contrast with many other elements of the concert. Then came an equally superb Maand, a rare kriti of Vadhiraja Swami, a saint who lived half a millennium ago in Karnataka. ‘Bhega baro, bhega baro neele megha varna’ is a song that one has heard in bhajana paddhati in raga Madhyamavathi, and therefore the Maand was a welcome surprise. Maand has a folk appeal, and Arun’s handling of it sounded like a cheery farmer singing his heart out in thanks-giving at harvest. The bouncy, springy Maand made for a nice contrast with the previous mellifluous Shyam Kalyan and Sahana and if there was one thing that was common between them, it was the spirit of bhakti.

Then came IT. The devilishly beautiful Ha Raghava. This, as mentioned before, was at a request, as had been the case in a previous concert a couple of weeks earlier, reviewed by me for The Hindu and reproduced in this blog. The Abang in Mohanam is simply out of the world, and here is where the Vittala-Vittala-Vittal-vitol-vitol, occurs, the devotion-dripping words that impelled the lady to dance. It was a mesmerizing Mohanam, as in the previous concert, Mohanam with a light and Hindustani touch, taking one back to the Golden days of Hindi film music – to Latha Mangeshkar’s Pankh hoti to udu aati re (Sehra, 1963), and the relatively more recent Bhupen Hazarika soul-stealer, Dil Bhoom-bhoom kare (Rudali, 1995). The Marathi Abhang Ha Raghava flowed on these lines, but suddenly, as though reminded by a pinch, Arun let forth a mighty brikha, starting from the upper notes and swirling all the way down, in a very very carnatic manner. Not only did the rendition transcend from Hindustani to Carnatic, and back, but it had that transcendental meditative quality, that mystic calm. Ha Raghava ! Wah Raghava ! Wah Ustaad !!

This was followed by a Panduranga, Panduranga rendition, and presently someone wanted Vishamakaara Kannan. It was the only Tamil piece of the concert. Somewhere here, Arun sang the immortal Yamuna Kalyani piece, Krishna Nee Bhegane Baro, and it was the second ‘bhega baro’ of the concert, it was as though that the singer had made the entreating of Lord Krishna to “come soon” as the leitmotif of the concert. Another brilliant piece, that. Arun ended the 2-hour concert with another vittala-vittala chat in Bindu Malini.

Music apart, what is worthy of note in Arun’s concert is his endearing demeanor, pleasing stage manners, a smile for everyone, a waving encouragement of the audience to join-in, become one, for in a bhajana, matters such as musical prowess become mundane and redundant, like the remnants of the ore after the gold has been taken out, and the only thing that matters is the bhakti.

Well done, Arun, the Maharaja of Talvi.

Neyveli Santhanagopalan sparkles with manodharma

(Another version of this review appeared in The Hindu on January 13, 2012)

Sitting in front, in full view of the men on the dias, there was easy eye-contact between me and Neyveli Santhanagopalan, a friend of mine couple of decades (and indeed one of the extremely few artiste-friends, because I assidiously keep away from artistes so as to keep my independence in judgement shielded from influences, friendly or otherwise.) It also helped that I happened to be sitting next to Papanasanam Ashok Ramani. Since Santhanagopalan caught my eye and acknowledged my presence with a nod, it was easy to communicate. When it was time for the central piece of the concert I therefore had no inhibitions in screaming to the singer that I liked him to take up a vivadi raga--any vivadi raga. "Tell me what you want" insisted, Neyveli, but I held my ground. The raga must be his choice, not mine. As long as it was a vivadi, it was ok by me. I am a vivadi junkie. I cant help it.
This is the background to the splendid Vagadeeswari, the 34th Melakarta raga that Neyveli treated his audience to at Kalarasana on December 30, 2011, the majestic dive of its signature shatsruthi rishabham providing a soul-filling calm.
It was a superb sketch of the raga, but it must be said that violinist Delhi Sundararajan's essay was a whisker better than Santhanagopalan's. In this, Sundararajan sort of made-up for his 'average' follow-up of the previous Lathangi, the brilliance of which vocal alapana the violinist could not quite match.
Tyagaraja's ‘Paramathmudu' followed the Vaagadeeswari alapana as expected, which was tailed by some imaginative swara sequences. I know that Neyveli Santhanagopalan is fond of this raga. Elsewhere in this blog, there is description and review of another rendition of Neyveli Santhanagopalan's Wah!gadeeswari. Vocalists generally seem to prefer this to other shutshruthi rishabam ragas--we dont get to hear Jyothiswaroopini or Nasika Bhushani or Rasikapriya, or for that matter, even Nattai, much. I would have preferred Nasika Bhushani, but having left the choice to Santhanagopalan I could do nothing but sit back in acceptance.
But indeed it was a brilliant Vaagadeeswari indeed.
For Latangi, it was Papanasanam Sivan's masterpiece, ‘Pirava Varam Taarum.' Santhanagopalan is in fine form. The Latangi and Vagadeeswari alapanas in the Kalarasna concert, as well as the enchanting Purvikalyani and Sankarabharanam in his concert for Parthasarathy Swamy Sabha, rich in manodharma as they were, clearly showed him to be a class apart.
Neyv eli Santhanagopalan is a superb artiste. If you regard the world of carnatic music's performing artistes of today as a straight line, the left end representing preference for bhava and aesthetics even to the point of sacrifice of manodharma, and the other extreme representing the opposite, viz., a 'bhava-be-damned, it is the imagination that matters' stance, you could probably think of Aruna Sairam and Sanjay Subramanian as the ambassadors of the two extremes. The moment you bring Neyveli Santhanagopalan into the model, the line bends into a circle, the vocalist standing on the point of contact of the two ends, standing for best of both bhava and manodharma. A remarkable artistry, with few parallels in the contemporary world. (The problem with Neyveli, however, is his reluctance to reach out to the rare, and it has been my regret that for two decades I have been trying in vain to get him sing Simhendra Madhyamam for me.)
The manodharma aspect came to the fore particularly in the niraval and swaras of Purvikalyani piece, ‘Deve Deva Jagadiswara' of Swati Tirunal. ‘Vaanara Parivrudha' was the point chosen for swara singing and Santhanagopalan heaped dozens of single-avartana swaras. The eka-avartana swara singing is perhaps becoming a defining feature of Santhanagopalan's singing, for it was sumptuously present in the Latangi piece too.
The Sankarabharanam (Tyagaraja's ‘Enduku Peddala') came out fine in all its features —alapana, song, niraval and swaras (at the traditional point, ‘Veda Sastra'). It was a thoroughly enjoyable Sankarabharanam, even if it was lacking in an element of novelty. Pretty much the same could be said of the Sriranjini peice ‘Bhuvijidasu' of Tyagaraja, which Santhanagopalan sang at Kalarasana. In fact the only blemish of the two concerts was the hurried RTP
in Sama. There was too little time left and the choice of Sama was unwise, because it is a raga that needs leisurely treatment. Santhanagopalan's Sama raga as well as the tanam were too brisk for comfort.
(In contrast, the Kannadagowla piece, ‘Orajupudu' of Tyagara, rendered at Parthasarathy Sabha, was surprisingly slow.)
A line from a Dikshitar composition was chosen for pallavi in the Sama RTP, ‘Parameswaram Rameswaram Meswaram Easwaram.' That it was partly in honour of the mridangam accompanist, Mannargudi Easwaran, was clear by the way Neyveli waved towards Easwaran, and I unabashedly admit that I felt chuffed when he waved towards me too, at the mention of 'Rameswaram'.
Regrettably, the pallavi was hurried through, in the interests of time. Santhanagopalan is an expert pallavi singer and one has heard him do complex, multi-raga pallavi's with ease. A decade hall, in this very hall, he did the 4-raga pallavi, 'Sankarabharanai Azhaithodi vadi Kalyani Darbarukku' in a manner that could only be described as superhuman. The RTP of December 30, 2011 was, therefore, sub-prime.

A note on rights of a performer and the audience

In law, rights of the creator are recognized and protected. These rights take

precedence over custom, audience and social requirements. In IPR, size of the

creator or the violator is of no significance II.

INTRODUCTION The Copyright Act, 1957 defines 'performer' as an actor,

singer, musician, dancer, acrobat, juggler, conjurer, snake charmer, a person

delivering a lecture or any other person who makes a performance.

Performance, in relation to performer’s rights means any visual or acoustic

presentation made live by one or more performers.

III.

RIGHTS OF A PERFORMER Where any performer appears or engages in any

performance, he has a special right known as the “performer’s right” in relation

to such performance. A performer's right includes his consenting for sound

recording or visual recording of the performance and for reproduction of such

recording. Whoever records a live performance without the performer's

consent might be liable for infringement of such performer's rights.

IV.

TESTS FOLLOWED BY COURTS In Garware Plastics and Polyester Ltd. and Ors.

etc. vs. Telelink and Others, the Bombay High Court followed the below

criteria:

AUDIENCE TEST: The character of the audience - whether it could be

considered as private or public is the first test to decide whether the

performanceis a private performance or performance to thepublic.

RELATIONSHIP TEST - is the relationship between the owner of the copyright

and the audience. If the audience may be described as the "owner's public",

then in performing before that audience, he would be exercising the legal right

conferred upon him. Any one who, without his consent, performs the work

before that audiencewould be infringing his copyright.

VALUE TEST: The impact of the performance on the value of copyright or the

loss of profit which would otherwise have accrued to the owner of the

copyright ifthe same audience had watched the performance on payment.

V.

LEEWAY The Copyright Act, 1957, while recognizing the special rights of a

performer, has also envisaged a leeway where certain recordings would not

amount to violation of performer's right. A performer's right is not deemed as

infringed if such recording is for private use or solely for bonafide purposes of

a review, reporting of current events, teaching or research. The use of

recording such live performance has to be consistent with fair dealing of such

artistic or musical works.

VI.

A performer has the right to refuse his performance to be recorded. Even

when the performer consents for recording his performance, the Performer

can stipulate/restrict the purpose for which the consent is given, e.g. for non-

commercial private use only. Performer's or show organizers can print the

terms and conditions in the ticket issued to attending audience/ at the

Auditorium that 'no camera, audio-visual recordings are permitted during the

show' with 'All Rights of Admission' reserved b y the Performer/ event

Organizer. Such printed terms would become binding contract between the

performer/ event organizer and the audience. Any violation of such terms

would amount to breach of contract and violation of rights.

VII.

FUTURE In India, performers rights are not recognized as per the

internationally accepted principles. India is yet to sign the WIPO Performances

and Phonograms Treaty (WPPT), 1996, that grants three kinds of rights to

performers, apart from recognizing moral rights, in respect of their unfixed

(live) performances viz., (i) the right of broadcasting (except in the case of

rebroadcasting); (ii) the right of communication to the public (except where

the performance is a broadcast performance), and the right of fixation i.e., the

right to determine embodiment of sounds, or of the representations thereof,

from which they can be perceived, reproduced or communicated through a

device. A Bill to amend the Copyright Act, 1957, incorporating these

internationally recognised principles and rights is pending promulgation

before the Parliament for the last couple of years. With the amendment, the

performers will have better economic and enforceable rights in respect of their

performances which would be valid for fifty years since the performance.

VIII.

CONCLUSION To conclude, copyright is a bundle of rights which includes

economic rights and moral rights of a performer or an artist. A simple thumb

rule regarding such performances is 'whatever can be exploited, has to be

protected'. No doubt a symbiotic relationship exists between a performer and

the audience. But, it has to be borne in mind that what the audience pays for is

only an 'entry pass' for listening and seeing the performance at a convenient

place or seat within the venue and not for recording or commercial

exploitation of a performance. Recording such live

performances without consent of the performer or the event organizer though

might amount to violation of rights of the performer and/or the event

organizer, such live performances can be recorded by the audience solely for

the purposes of private use, research, teaching and reporting current events.

Such fair dealing may not transgress rights of the performer and/or the event

organizer.

O S Arun, the sorcerer

(This review was published in The Hindu on January 13, 2012)

“Let us enter the New Year without any inhibitions,” said O.S. Arun to exhort his audience to sing – rather chant – along with him and his rasikas gladly obeyed. Presently, ‘Narayana, Narayana' rang out, heads swayed and a couple of hundred pairs of hands clapped to the beat of the mridangam player J. Vaidyanathan. While the frenzied audience chanted in unison, the sorcerer who held them spell-bound sang Narayana in 50 different ways—a fitting adieu to 2011.

No person who was present in that Bhajan Sandhya (‘Bhajan evening') of O.S. Arun at the sabha would remember 2011 more than this for that evening. It started with a lovely Hamsadhwani piece in praise of Lord Ganesha. Loud and boisterous, Arun stormed his way into the hearts of his audience as he presented bhajans gilded with Hindustani touch, taking them through ragas such as Mohana Kalyani, Hamir Kalyani, Madhuvanti, Karnaranjani and Mohanam. Wedged somewhere between them was a Nadanamakriya, but it was a bhajan alright, in the devotion-soaked words of Bhadrachala Ramadas (‘Garuda Gamana Ra Ra').

The Hamir Kalyani piece was a bunch of verses from Krishna Karunamrutam on Krishna as a lad that ended with the words ‘Balam Mukundam Manasa Smarami.' It was preceded by a sloka in the raga and embellished by some brilliant chip-in by violinist Mullaivasal Chandramouli. Perhaps because it was a bhajan and the accent was therefore on the bhava, Arun's pronunciation of the key words was expressive - for instance, when he sang the words ‘Visaala Netram,' the vowel ‘aa' went on for what seemed to be forever. The effect was stupefying. The piece ended in a chant of ‘Govinda, Govinda' and the Lord's name was probably chanted around 500 times.

It was in the Madhuvanti piece that followed ‘Sesha Saila Vaasa Narayana' and a Sai Bhajan that Arun pulled everybody into business. The opening lines began in the depths—the ‘pa' of the lower octave, taking the notes ‘pa-ni-sa-ga,' dripping with bhakti, and it was only fitting that the audience deliriously joined Arun in chanting Narayana.

The next offering, Nadanamakriya, was a quick one and just then Arun received a request-note—and Karnaranjini made its appearance and the words ‘Yamunai Nadiye, Kannanai Kandayo,' by Appa Rao, added a Tamizh flavour to the fare. But the highlight of the evening was the Mohanam piece, ‘Ha Raghava,' an abhang. It must rank among the finest Mohanam ever sung and the Sanskrit verse segued into ‘Vittala, Vittala,' where again the audience joined, clapping to the beat.

T M Krishna: Tilting at the windmills

1. 
   
   When I sent this (http://www.thehindu.com/todays-paper/tp-features/tp-editorialfeatures/article2797164.ece) review for publication in The Hindu, I was sure I had done a fair job, giving a true picture of his performance. I thought it was positive, and deservedly so, because although it was not among his very best, it was still pretty good.
   
   But a few days after the publication of the review, T M Krishna, wrote a looooong letter to Mukund Padmanabhan of The Hindu, the Associate Editor incharge of Friday features. A copy of the letter was forwarded to me, reading of which caused me a lot of amusement.
   
   Regrettably, Mukund decided not to publish Krishna's rejoinder. I was all for it. For, that letter of T M Krishna's, which took exception to many things I had said in my review, is bovine excrement of the purest form. Again regrettably, since it was a correspondent between TMK and Mukund, I am unable to reproduce it here. I would have loved to.
   
   Basically, TMK makes three points in his rejoinder.
   1. In pointing out that TMK used the ni-sa combination in singing Vegavahini while the textbook says the raga assumes the notes da-ni-da-sa in its ascent, I had got it completely wrong. He offers tonnes of proof that it is not so, and pouring scorn and innuendo at my ignorance, he wonders which textbook I refer to. He also wonders if I think that Muthusami Dikshithar himself got the raga wrong and points out that musicians like him do research a lot, practice a lot to internalise what they have learnt before offering a raga in a concert.
   
   Well. It is indeed a cruel joke of Fate that the other side of such a gifted musician should be so Quixotic. When I read the rejoinder the vivid picture that manifested itself before my eyes was that of an armoured old man riding a skinny horse and rushing to attack a windmill believing that it was a ferocious giant. The similarity between Don Quixote de la Mancha and Thodur Madabusi Krishna is inescapably striking as he rushes to attack me, perceiving criticism when there is none.
   No where in my review have I said that Krishna was technically incorrect. The textbook that I refer to, dear TMK, is 'Ragas in Carnatic Music' by Dr S Bhagyalekshmy, and all I have done is to point out the contrasting definition of Vegavahini as obtained from Krishna's singing, and that given by Dr Bhagyalekshmy. Period. To repeat, no where have I said that Krishna was techically flawed.
   
   To simplify my stand, let me illustrate it by means of an example. Suppose I am singing Mohanam and here and there you detect 'ni', then you are going to say that I have not understood Mohanam well. But on the other hand, if I use 'ni' throughout the singing, you're likely to think that what I am doing is a variant of Mohanam, a different school. You are not going to say I havent understood the raga because quite obviously, I am using the nishadam deliberately.
   
   It was in such a spirit that I wondered at the difference between Krishna's Vegavanihi and the ascent-descent lakshana given in the 'textbook'.
   
   
   TMK has every right (and perhaps duty) to point out that Vegavahini as portrayed by him is not unprecedented or without the sanction of the grammer, instead of assuming that I have tried to pick nits in his singing.
   
   2. The second point that T M K makes in his letter is that he did not 'challenge' the violinist, R K Sriramkumar, to identify the raga, but merely asked him to help him out, because he had forgotten the name of the raga. Challenge the accompanist? he asks indignantly, and stressing that he would never do such a thing. He also observes that if I had meant it to be humourous, it was in 'bad taste'.

2. Well, again the Quixotic streak. If everything tastes bad, then he ought to get his tongue checked out. The truth is, it was a challenge alright, but certainly a friendly one, without any trace of polemics, irreverence or a put-down spirit. The audience enjoyed the exchange between the two veteran artistes. I enjoyed it. I reported it. Period. To take exception to THIS reveals, if nothing else, the highly strung-up nature of the person which, it is not difficult to see, is responsible for such incredulous incomprehension of plain reportage.
   
   Krishna wants us to believe that having started to sing kalpana swaras in a certain raga, he not only forgot the name of the raga, but also made a public demonstration of his having forgotten it by asking the violinist if he could please tell him what it was that he was singing. This is by far the funniest thing that I have heard, and even if one were to accept, in a spirit of liberal accommodation that Krishna was speaking the truth, the fact is that he asked the violinist to identify the raga and one, sitting on the opposite side, is inevitably drawn to the conclusion that the accompanist was thrown a gauntlet and was asked to pick it up.
   
   
   
   3. The third point that Krishna makes in his letter is that he was never in 'discomfort', as was reported in the review, even though, he admits, he felt cramps in his foot while singing Dhanyasi. Well, very good. Who am I to say how TMK felt that day? If he says he was not in discomfort, thats it. No disputes there. All I will say in defence is that he did appear to be in discomfort, because he was so incessantly sipping water, massaging his foot, and leaving long pauses in his singing.
   
   Now, the problem comes when TMK addresses the issues of the long pauses. He says that he paused, and as reported, waved to the violinist to continue, only because the Sriramkumar was playing so brilliantly and he (TMK) felt impelled to leave the centrestage to him. The problem with this argument is this: during most of the pauses, especially during the one specifically adverted to, the violinist was NOT playing. There was silence on the stage, as everybody, including Sriramkumar, was staring at TMK, eagerly awaiting the next vocal phrases.
   
   This is not to say that TMK was not singing well, or--oh, I dread this mis-inference--that the singer lacks grip over Sankarabharanam. Several people among the audience were wondering if there was something bother Krishna either physically or mentally. Again, I only reported it. If that was not the case, and if Krishna was indeed happy and healthy, I lead the list of people who would feel a sense of relief upon learning that.

   ReplyDelete

T M Krishna's 4-hour concert for Kalarasna on January 8, 2012 - not one of his best

(This review appeared in The Hindu on Friday, 13th January, 2012)

Carnatic music's celebrated ‘So-what'ist T.M. Krishna caused no surprise when he took up Nattai for elaborate treatment as the third piece of his concert, but a titter did run around the hall when the delectable alapana abruptly segued into a tanam. But the flag-waving iconoclast had more surprises in store, for, when everyone was expecting a pallavi to follow the tanam, what did appear was the Tyagaraja Pancharatna, ‘Jagadaanandakaraka.'

TMK and violinist R.K. Shriramkumar led the show alternately, with the latter playing the notes and the singer doing the lyrics. Then, when it came to the seventh charanam ‘Onkara Panjara,' it was time for another ripple of titter, for the colourful vocalist picked up the line for a niraval. Whoever had heard of a niraval in a Pancharatna rendition?

The way TMK is getting his fans used to sudden twists and turns in his concert, a day will come when no one would be surprised if he opened a concert with a mangalam and did the national anthem right in the middle. Bruised and bleeding, ‘tradition' is going to sing back to TMK one of his favourites – ‘Irakkam Varaamal Ponadenna Karanam?' But it was indeed a superb Nattai and one must thank TMK for showing the raga in its full splendour rather than dismiss it as a dispensable opener.

Early on in his four-hour concert, TMK hummed an alapana a little and just as the audience were beginning to label it as Chakaravagam, he announced it as Vegavahini. Now, Vegavahini is Chakaravagam in Dikshitar's ‘asampoorna paddahati.' The textbook distinguishes Vegavahini from Charavakam in a slight variation in the ascent — pa-da-ni-da-sa, instead of pa-da-ni-sa. However, TMK freely used the ni-sa combination right through the rendition. While the alapana was intellectually stimulating, the rendition of the Dikshitar composition, ‘Veena Pustaka Dharini,' dragged, and turned out to be a dead bore.

Wedged between Vegavahini and Nattai was Dr. Balamuralikrishna's composition, ‘Omkaarakarini,' in Lavangi, a derivative of Mayamalavagowla. (The raga omits ga, pa and ni). TMK's swara singing here drew a huge applause.

The main piece was Dhanyasi. It was a creative alapana, somewhat speedy, and a little into it, TMK appeared to be physically uncomfortable and was seen massaging his foot. From this point and till the end of the concert, the singer was obliged to take sips of water frequently. Nevertheless, TMK's musical prowess shone through the alapana, which rode all over the second upper octave. Shriramkumar's follow-through was a marvel and, at least in aesthetics, his raga essay outshone TMK's.

Syama Sastri's ‘Meenalochani' was the song chosen. The niraval landed alternately on the words ‘Meenalochani' and ‘Neerada Veni' and swaras were prefixed to ‘Chandrakaladhari.' This was followed by a thoroughly enjoyable 27-minute tani. The three percussionists – Tiruchi Sankaran (mridangam), B.S. Purushotaman (ganjira) and N. Guruprasad (ghatam) did a remarkable job.

Then came Sankarabharanam. TMK was not quite himself here. His discomfort was evident from the long pauses between phrases of the alapana and indeed at the end of one unusually long pause, he simply waved to the violinist asking him to carry on. Despite the patches of brilliance, the Sankarabharanam did not turn out to be a wholesome offering.

The ragamalika sequences that followed were perhaps the best part of the concert. Here, in yet another departure from the convention, TMK and the violinist alternated in choosing the raga. In this way, they went through Latangi, Varali, Hamir Kalyani, a rare raga, Bhoopalam, Sama and Kanada. After singing a few notes of that rare raga, TMK challenged Sriram Kumar to identify it. Pat came the answer - Kokilavarali.

To sum it up, it was a lovely concert, though admittedly, one has heard TMK sing better.

Wah! gadeeswari !!!!!

Or should it be ‘wow-gadeeswari’? No matter by whatever name you call it, Neyveli Santhanagopalan’s Vagadheeswari alapana (at the Tanjavur Kalyanaraman memorial concert in Chennai) was stunning. Its predecessor in the concert was an out-of-the-world Chandrajyoti, and for the 100-odd people assembled in the hall, it was a great treat. The Vagadheeswari alapana was marked by an absence of the ‘Naattai kind of emphasis on the ri, but that is perhaps the raga is to be sung. This time too, I went to the concert with my two expert co-rasikas, Sivaramakrishnan and Govindarajan, and a week after the concert Sivaramakrishnan remarked to me that the Vagadheeswari was still ringing in his ears.

I request readers of this blog to condone my arrogance. Neyveli Santhanagopalan is singing really well these days and I would like to arrogate to myself the credit of his good singing. As elaborately mentioned elsewhere in this blog, Santhanagopalan has been bitterly stung by my critical review in The Hindu last December, the basis of which was a concert that appeared to be apathetically approached by the musician. Ever since, the vocalist appears to have turned (back) into a serious musician. A couple of months back I attended another of his concerts, at Bharatiya Vidhya Bhavan, where he sang a fine Jaganmohini and a very innovative Purvi Kalyani.

Getting Santhanagopalan refocused is my singular contribution to carnatic music!

Coming back to the concert under reportage, well, it was a brilliant Vagadheeswari, but…………..

What’s with these musicians, I do not know. They are squanderers. Like the Bushman who picked up a 48-karat diamond and flung it into the bushes.

When everyone was expecting Paramathmudu or some such number, Santhanagopalan announced a ‘tisra jati jampa sankeerna nadai’ pallavi (which began with the words ‘Sri Ramam Ravikulabdhi Somam’). Now, taking up a pallavi in itself is not bad. But the performance had none of the features of an RTP. There were no tala exercises, no multi-raga forays. What a brilliant alapana and what a contrasting follow-through! Like the first sip was vintage scotch and the rest of the glass was distilled water.

Chalo! The scotch taste was so great that, dear Santhanagopalan, all is forgiven. With the alapana and the Chandrajyoti piece (Baagayanayya of Saint Thyagaraja), Neyveli Santhanagopalan again proved his mettle. The Chandrajyoti alapana was particularly innovative. A few more concerts like this, he will hopefully become a crowd puller, again. For a long time Santhanagopalan-fan like me, it is something devoutly to be desired.

Between the two vivadis, Chandrajyoti and Vagadheeswari, were two fillers, Ananda Bhairavi (Marivere) and Sama (Annapoorni). The latter had some brief but brilliant swaras at the traditional point, Payasanna.

The ‘tani’ piece, which followed the pallavi, was a brief kapi (Kanmaniye Keladi).

For this concert, Santhanagopalan was accompanied by Vittal Ramamurthy on the violin, Chennai Thyagarajan on the mridangam and Trichy K Murali on the ghatam.

A week later Santhanagopalan sang again, for Naadhabrahmam, this time with much accomplished accompanists – Nagai Muralidharan, Tiruvarur Bhaktavatsalam and E M Subramanian. Despite the big ticket accompaniments the concert lacked the ‘kick’. For sure, the Saveri was very nice, as was the main piece, Mohanam. The Mohanam was very ‘Madurai Mani’ish and was easily the better of the two substantial elements of the concert, indeed best of the three, if you include the sprightly Begada that came earlier. A feature observed in the alapanas of both Saveri and Mohanam was the very quick descent, which created an asymmetry between the ascent and the descent. The slow rise creates an expectation of an equally measured decline which the sudden drop belies. Santhanagopalan must correct this minor, but consequential, oversight.

The Saveri piece was Shyama Shastri’s Sankari Samkuru, rendered well. The kalpana swaras that followed were replete with tala exercises. One can only wonder at the singer’s caprice. He takes up a pallavi and sings it in straight rhythmic proportions. But in a regular piece he indulges in tala acrobatics. There is nothing wrong in this – just strange.

The Mohanam began with a whiff of Kalyani. It was meant to be a racy piece, because when Santhanagopalan started with it the clocked showed 8.22. “I’ll end the concert by 9 pm,” he promised. The alapana was indeed very good. When the vocalist began the concert, with the Sri raga varnam (saami nine), the voice was obviously strained and was barely audible, and the the poor acoustics at the Dakshinamurthy auditorium, Mylapore, did nothing to help. However, by the Mohanam’s time, the voice matured and shot through the notes with a punch (as opposed to flitting through them lightly). This is a defining aspect of carnatic music and Santhanagopalan did well to provide the necessary ‘azhuthum’. The composition taken up for rendition began with ‘Jagadeeswari’. I’m told it is of a composer called Vedamuni Dasar.

Tailpiece: I have noticed that to get the best out of Santhanagopal, you have to put him in a bad, and therefore aggressive, mood. Bruise the singer’s ego and you get a sterling performance from him. With apologies to my friend Santhanagopalan, I commend this method to my readers.

Balamuralikrishn-AH!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

(Another version of this review appeared in The Hindu on January 29, and can be accessed at http://www.hindu.com/fr/2010/01/29/stories/2010012951390800.htm).
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At 79, he is still Balamuralikrishn-awe!

The ‘event’ that took place on Sunday, January 17, 2010, at Nungambakkam Cultural Academy--it can be called a ‘concert’ only in a technical sense--was actually a Festival of Manodharma, its glory enhanced by the low frequency of the great singer’s performances.

The numbing spell that Balamurali binds his audience in was palpable from the pin-drop unbearable silence that engulfed the hall when the curtains went up. It was as though the audience was waiting to catch the first move of some gladiatorial sport.

The silence was broken only when Balamurali, as though with careful deliberation, opened up with several low gurgles of omkarams, like you hear in temples. And then, anchoring himself in his base sruthi and signaling to the sound technician to raise volume, Balamurali took off.

The voice was strong as a rod of steel, which made Veeraraghavan’s ‘vocal support’, ridiculously irrelevant.

Kalaimamani Dr S Natarajan, the General Secretary of Nungambakkam Cultural Academy, had placed a request for an all-Tamil concert (a point that Dr Shanmugasundaram of Tamil Isai Mandram, who keeps complaining that the world of carnatic music ignores Tamil, needs to take note of).

The concert with an alapana of Hamsadhwani. Balamurali style is said to be one of obscure, teaser alapanas, that leave the audience guessing its identity. But that style was not the one he used that day. Hamsadhwani shone clearly and presently the alapana made way for ‘pirai aniyam perumanai’, a Balamurali composition. Balamurali then tailed it with lots of half-avarthana swaras and it was in this infinite variety that the singer’s powerful manodharma shone. Here, I must mention violinist Akkarai Subbulakshmi’s enthusiastic support.

The next component was another Balamurali-composition, ‘varuga varuga maa mayil yeri’ in Panthuvarali. Again, it was an out-of-the-world alapana where the vocalist spanned the all the three octaves with obvious ease, going right up to the second upper sa. The composition as well as the swaras that followed were rendered practically without gamakas – which brought in a touch of Hindustani – and perhaps it would therefore be appropriate to call this Kamavardhini, rather than Panthuvarali. (Some experts say that both are the same raga except that Kamavardhini is Panthuvarali sans gamaka. However, when I asked Dr Balamuralikrishna if I should call it Kamavardhini or Panthuvarali, he said his composition ought to be called Kamavardhini, though not was because it was gamaka-less. He said the difference between Kamavardhini and Panthuvarali goes deeper than that, the latter being a derivative of the former. It was a brief conversation on the phone and did not offer scope for an elaborate discussion, and therefore, I'm unable to present, at the moment, the nuances of Kamavardhini and Panthuvarali as according to Dr Balamuralikrishna. But do keep an eye on this post, for I shall sooner or later catch up with the singer and obtain the necessary amplification on the subject.)

A Mohanam followed. After a brief alapana came ‘Aya kalaikkellam arasiye’ yet another brilliant Balamurali creation. At the end of this piece came a thoroughly enjoyable tani by percussionists Harikumar (mridangam) and Karthik (ghatam).

The concert then swung into a bunch of ‘light classical’ pieces, notable of which was ‘appa naan vendudal kaetarul puridal vendum’ in Vagadheeswari, a Ramalinga Adigalar Thiruvarutpa piece. Thyagaraja swami’s Seetha kalyana vaibhogame brought the curtains down.

It was an excellent concert, befitting the great musician's stature, but yet one shortcoming needs to be pointed out. Throughout the concert, there was no niraval. Niraval singing has its charm and it is not fair on the part of any artiste to deny his audience the pleasure.

In fact, this was the disappointing feature of the singer's concert at the same venue two years back (a review of which appeared in The Hindu and can be accessed at http://www.hindu.com/fr/2008/02/08/stories/2008020850550300.htm).

Comparing the two concerts (of January 2008 and 2010), I felt that the 2008 concert was a trifle better. Maybe this impression arises out of the tillanas. The current concert featured a tillana in Dwijavanthi; the previous one had Balamurali's own creation, in Garudadhwani. The Garudadhwani tillana was just celestial. It was so, so good that the audience just could not stop applauding.

Interview: Madurai G S Mani

Comedian Chandrababu would dance in the studios as they recorded his songs. T S Balayya loved singing kalpana swaras. Dale Carnagie abhorred imitation. Kambodhi’s ‘ri’ differs from Sankarabharanam’s in the swings…….

King Gilpin’s horse could take off in five different directions at the same time. Talk to Madurai G S Mani, you find the conversation much the same. Information pours like a waterfall, in multiple cascades.

The man is a genius! His music is one of pure manodharma. On-stage innovation is his hallmark. The music comes straight from the heart, pours straight into the soul.

But singing is only one of his several musical talents. He has composed hundreds of songs, scored music for thousands of Tamil films, acted in a few, created plays, taught music all over the world.

Madurai G S Mani spoke to me about his past a couple of years ago. The interview was submitted to The Hindu, but – I can only blame it on my fate – only a mutated version of it appeared in print.

Here is the ‘full’ version:


What are your recollections of your days with M S Viswanathan ?

Very pleasant memories. Apart from the pleasure of working with a great music director and being a part of some immortal hit songs, the several years I worked with him (from 1957) put me in touch with many great personalities of the Tamil film world. Although I was personally acquainted with people like MGR, Sivaji and Kalaignar, I would name two film personalities as my very good friends—Chandra Babu and Kannadasan. Of course, P B Srinivas is a very dear friend of mine, he still comes to many of my concerts.

How did you happen to stray into film world ?

Well, I met MSV by accident. We both happened to be waiting in B S Ranga’s office. A conversation started and MSV asked me who I was. I said I had come to Madras for a All India Radio recording, which
had been aired that morning. Apparently, MSV had heard the concert on the radio, for he said, “they announced (the singer’s name) as Madurai G S Mani ?” I said I was the singer and MSV asked me if I
would like to join his troop. That was it.

How was it working with M S Viswanathan ?

It was great. I must say that I’ve never seen a bigger workaholic than MSV. He would work day and night without a word of complaint. He was a great composer.

I remember, when we were setting music for ‘nilave ennidam nerungagadae’ (film: Ramu)—in just under half an hour MSV produced at least ten different tunes. The tunes simply kept coming off his harmonium. Each tune was so wonderful and it was difficult to select one. Finally, when we were trying out the Bhagyasri tune, P B Srinivas said, “edi chaala bagundi” (this is very good).

MSV and Kannadasan were prolific. Just as MSV would compose music in a jiffy, Kannadasan would produce songs in no time.
You must have seen Kannadasan in action. How was it to work with him?
Of course. Once, they were doing the music for Ambigapathy. Music director G Ramanathan had set the tune. Pattukottai Kalyanasundaram was asked to compose the lyrics. When he heard the situation and the music and declared that nobody but Kavignar (Kannadasan) would be able to compose lines for the music.

All were in a fix, because the producer of the film was Kannadasan’s brother, A L Srinivasan and the brothers were not on good terms with each other. Yet there seemed to be no choice. Somebody went to Kannadasan and impressed upon him that as a poet he should not refuse to compose lyrics. He agreed and came to the studio. Ten minutes—that was all he took to compose the song. Without a word, ALS
handed him a blank cheque. Without a word Kannadasan accepted it and departed.

There was so much respect for art those days.
Yes. No matter how personal relations were, professionals appreciated excellence in others. For instance, once I complimented K V Mahadevan over the hit song, Mannavan Vandanadi in Tiruvarutchelvar. “Mama, you’ve produced such a wonderful Kalyani,” I said. Mahadevan replied, “Maybe, I did. But look at G Ramanathan. He has produced such a great Kalyani using lower notes,” he said, referring to ‘Sindanai sey
maname’ (Ambigapathy).

They were so dedicated to art. For instance, T S Balayya took up tavil lessons for two months from Tanjavur Venkatesan in preparation for his role in Tillana Mohanambal.

Tell us about Balayya.

Oh, he was a wonderful man. He could sing carnatic music well. In shootings, between shots, he would make me sit with him and listen to his kalpana swaras in various ragas.

How was the atmosphere in the studios ?

Very friendly. Chandra Babu, for instance, was such a playful person with an affecting cheer. In the studio, he was like the bull in the china shop. During recordings, he would sing the chorus and as the background music would be going on, he would prance all over the studio, pat somebody on the cheek, slap someone's back but get back to the mike in time to sing his lines. A fine man, I still miss him.

How was it composing music for legends like T M Soundarajan and P B Srinivas ?

TMS used to takes our lives out, because he was a perfectionist and would not stop until he was satisfied even if we okayed a take. As for PBS, I have not known a person who could touch up a song like he could.

Example ?

Well, take the song 'Kalangalil Aval Vasantham'. Listen to the swirls at the ends of each line: paravaigalil aval mani puRA, kanigalile aval MangaNI. Those were his innovations. He could embellish the composition of the music director so well. And he would pick up the music in a snap.

Did you not aspire to become a playback singer or a music director yourself ?

I did, but it did not happen mainly because the star actors always had a say in the choice of the music director or the playback singer for the film and they always preferred established directors and singers.
Coming to carnatic music, who did you learn from?
I learnt progressively from my mother, and then from Jalatarangam Babu Iyengar who was a grandson of Poochi Iyengar, the nadaswaram vidwan Iyyempattai Venu and finally Mazhava Raya Nendal Subbarama Iyer, the 1943 Sangita Kalanidi awardee. It was Subbarama Iyer who taught me many nuances of carnatic music.

Such as ?

Well, for example, he would demonstrate how to bring the essence of a raga in one single note. One day, he
asked me to sing Sankarabharanam and Kambhodi without going beyond panchamam. When he saw me
perplexed, he asked me to sing Ennduku Peddala. No sooner than I had started to sing ‘enn..nnn….’ he waved me to stop. Just the one note, ‘ri’, note sufficient to bring the swaroopa of Sankarabharanam. Subbarama Iyer used to say that not just each raga, but each note has an ascent and descent. For example, each note in Sankarabharanam swings upwards, whereas the same notes in Kambhodi glide down.
In that nuance lies the personality of the raga.

Then, you seem to have picked up music from very diverse sources—a jalatarangam artiste and a nadaswaran vidwan—apart from a vocalist ?
Not only that, I have imbibed music from several other sources such as Harikatha exponents too. For
example, there used to be a Harikatha expert called Tiruvayyar Annasami Bhagavatar. The ragas he would
handle used to be so beautiful that senior artistes such as Ariyakudi and Maharajapuram Viswanatha Iyer
would sit in the front rows and listen. The Bhagavatar would frequently ask them if his singing was okay.

I have also drawn substantially from North Indian music. I lived in Delhi for three years from 1954, when I
listened to dozens of Qawali concerts. Begam Akthar once took me to the red light area in Delhi, near
Qutub Minar. In the house that had the biggest number of courtesans, there would be music and dance
programmes between 7 pm and 9 pm on Saturdays I would sit there and listen to the music. At round 9 pm, when it would be time for 'other' things, they would tell me, “Panditji, you may go home now.”

In your concerts you display a penchant for singing rare ragas.

Well, Dale Carnagie once said, “imitation is suicide”. Isn’t carnatic music a huge ocean ? There is so much to explore, so many ragas that could be presented. Why ignore them ?

Sometimes I tell our upcoming musicians, “why do you borrow phrases from GNB or Ariyakudi ?” After all, they did not imitate each other.

You have also composed songs?
Yes, I've composed over 400 songs under the mudrika 'Raja poojitar' and some 30 varnams. Nearly a third of them are in Sanskrit.

Heard in the Halls: Sesha's comeuppance!

A senior vocalist told me of this incident. He told me this some five years ago, so this must have happened quite some time back.

In this, there is a lesson for organisers. Choose carefully the person who handover the mike to.

Once someone was felicitating Seshagopalan at the end of his concert. After praising Sesha to the high heavens, the man added one kind thought:

“I wish you climb higher and higher and come up in life like Unnikrishnan!!"

Heard in the Halls: What name thy house?

Main artistes ought to be generous in remunerating accompanists. If not, they are in for caustic comments.

Take for instance, the case of this vocalist of great renown, who died in the early 1990s. He had a big fan following and perhaps because of that he believed he was doing accompanists a favour by giving them an opportunity to play with him. Wasn’t this ‘favour’ compensation enough? Ought he also pay them?

Well, accompanists who make a living by their art, were never amused with this line of thinking and naturally, this vocalist-of-great-repute earned himself a bad name among them.

Days passed, until one day…..

This great vocalist had built a house and had invited a whole lot of musicians, to the house warming ceremony. In the post-lunch chit-chat, the vocalist said he was wondering what name he should give the house.

There was one violinist, whom we know after the incident, was an acerbic-tongued orator.

He said: “Why don’t you name this ‘pakka vadya bhavan’?” - implying that the house was built out of moneys pooled by short-changing accompanists!

This is a true story, though I doubt if the violinist made the remark to the vocalist’s face.

How could you, Tiruvarur Bhaktavatsalam, be there at 7 pm?

It was well over half-an-hour past the scheduled time – 7 pm – when mridangist Tiruvarur Bhaktavatsalam turned up for the concert, huffing and puffing. All the while, the vocalist of the evening, T V Gopalakrishnan, sat apologetically in front of the mike, saying once in a while that the drummer was expected any moment and the concert would take off.

Well, you know, you have to take a sympathetic view of things, I said to myself. After all, in this goddamn Chennai traffic, to reach Besant Nagar Varasidhi Vinakayar Koil from anywhere in the city is one has to navigate his way through traffic snarls.

Bhaktavatsalam also started playing nice and soft, TVG was in his elements and the concert was really progressing well and, what with we Chennai’ites having Ukridge’s ‘big, broad, flexibile outlook’, Bhaktavatsalam’s late-coming was almost forgiven, forgotten.

But the way nature works is rummy.

If the mridangist had not picked the mike, had he not broken-off into a yappy commercial about TVG’s genius, he would not have blurted out the truth about why he was late.

Turns out that he had an earlier accompanying engagement—a concert of T V Sankaranarayanan at Narada Gana Sabha—which was to end at 7 pm.

Tiruvarur Bhaktavatsalam had undertaken to play at two concerts on the evening (of December 29), the first of which was to end at 7 pm and the second to begin at 7 pm and the venues were at least 45 minutes away in the thick evening traffic!

Eloquent and expansive, Bhaktavatsalam told the audience in his unsolicited and unnecessary ‘speech’ that TVS was so reverential of TVG, that when he (Bhaktavatsalam) told TVS about his (Bhaktavatsalam’s) next programme, TVS was kind enough to end his concert fifteen minutes ahead of schedule.

In doing this, the colourful and cheerful mridangist revealed his disservice to lovers of carnatic music—he not made the audience at TVG’s concert wait for him for half an hour, but also deprived rasikas of TVS of 15 minutes of music.

I brought this up in my review of TVG’s concert in The Hindu (7th January 2010), but the Hindu editorial Desk deleted the all references to the incident, retaining only a mention of the fact that the drummer came late by half an hour. The Desk felt that my candour would earn me a bad reputation and overruled my submissions that I did not care much about reputation.

Off late, Bhaktavatsalam has also developed a bad habit of seizing the mike and breaking into speeches in praise of the main artistes in the middle of concerts, a trend that perhaps owes its birth to Umayalpuram Sivaraman.

I have nothing against Tiruvarur Bhaktavatsalam, whom I do not know personally and whom I consider one of the most gifted mridangists of our times. But it helps nobody to shut up when we ought to speak up. We rasikas are partly to blame, because we give so much of blind adulation to the artistes that some of them begin to believe they are above reproach.

We have to tell them that while we love them and respect them, they can’t take us for granted.

The Return of Ramani

(Another version of this review appeared in The Hindu (http://www.hindu.com/fr/2010/01/08/stories/2010010851190400.htm) on 7th January 2010


I was just coming out of the concert of Dr Prapancham Sitaram at Indian Fine Arts, when Ashok Ramani, who was to sing next, met me in the corridor.
“Anna,” he said, (that is how we greet each other), “I would like you to stay on for my concert..” I told him whether to stay on or not depended upon what he intended to sing.
“What do you want me to sing?”
“Dharmavathi?” I said, after a moment’s thought.
“Sure. I’ll sing Dharmavathi,” Ashok Ramani said, with the easy confidence of a master.

It turned out to be a superb concert. I always go to concerts with my two other friends, Sivaramakrishnan (of Tafe Ltd) and Govindarajan (Karur Vysya Bank). My only regret that day was that Govinda could not make it to the concert.

Ashok Ramani sang that day as though he was possessed. I submitted a review of the concert to The Hindu the next day, which appeared in the paper on 8th January, 2010. The following is an expanded version of that review. Read on……..


Perhaps inspired by a rasika’s choice expressed just before the concert, Papanasam Ashok Ramani produced a thrilling Dharmavathi. Discerning lovers of carnatic music have long held Ashok Ramani to be a fine musician in terms of depth of knowledge, but for some years the vocalist’s performance was a duel between a recalcitrant voice and a compelling manodharma. Fed on a diet of manodharma, rasikas were prepared to wait for the return of Ramani. Since the last one year or so, singer’s vocal strength has steadily improved. The Dharmavathi showed that the wait was not in vain.

It was a superb Dharmavathi alapana and it is a regret that only a smattering of audience was there to listen to it. What was impressive was the consummate ease with which he delivered the alapana – he sang it as though he had been practicing it for that concert for several weeks. Mysore Vasudevachar’s Bhajana Seyarada followed an equally good follow-through by violinist M S Varadarajan. Ashok Ramani took the line ‘niravadhi sukha dayaka’ for niraval and swaras.

The swara sequences landed in the nishadam, which was a bit unwise because it resulted in an inevitable whiff of Kalyani. The vocalist would have done better ending the swara chains in either ‘ri’ or ‘da’, both being defining notes of Dharmavathi. Dr Prapancham Sitaram was sitting next to me and I asked him if a nishadham-ending was appropriate. The veteran flautist agreed with me that ‘da’ would have been a little better, the note being one of the jeevaswaras of Dharmavathi. But this minor blemish did nothing to rob the rendition of its beauty. Also notable was the violinist’s brilliant support.

Then came a nice, relaxing Nalinakanti (Manavyala of Thyagaraja). Here again Ashok Ramani’s manodharma shone. Once while on a karvai on the word ‘sri’ in the line ‘ghanulaina sri ramachandruni’, sruthi deserted him, but except for that, the Nalinakanti was a charm.

Earlier in the concert, came a sprightly Sindhuramakriya (Sudha Madhurya of Thyagaraja) and a Khamas (Idadu padam of Sivan). To the singer’s right sat a master drummer, Srimushnam Raja Rao, who had no difficulty in meshing with the vocalist.