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T.N. Krishnan and T.N. Rajam performed at the Wilson High School Auditorium in
Long Beach on October 4, 2003. They were accompanied by Aditya Kalyanpur on the
tabla and Guruvayoor Dorai on the mirdangam. The concert was held under the
auspices of the South Indian Music Academy, a rather grand name for an association
that organises Carnatic music concerts in the Los Angeles area. While both
Krishnan and Rajam are originally from the South and were initially trained in
Carnatic music by their father Narayana Iyer, Rajam subsequently sought tutelage
under Omkarnath Thakur of Varanasi and adopted the Hindustani style.
There are many aspects where Hindustani and Carnatic music differ and it is
difficult to bring to fore all such nuances. Yet the reason for a jugalbandi (I
think that breaks down to jugal -- together, and bandi -- tied) is
that they derive from a single base of notes, ragas and history. Nowadays, it is
common to have little Hindustani trinkets adorn the fag end of Carnatic music
concerts. My own theory is that Hindustani music -- particularly the
bhajans -- appeals to the untrained listener not only on account of its
explicit and accessible religious fervour or its already widespread popularity but
also because it is arguably easy on his ear.
The concert started off with the traditional "Vaataapi Ganapatim" in Hamsadhvani.
With my limited exposure to Hindustani music, I have observed that the emphasis is
more on the raga than on the piece. As a consequence, there is more than one piece
as part of each raga but each piece is delivered in a different style or tempo.
For Hamsadhvani, Rajam essayed a "Madhya laya khyaal" of Amanat Ali of the Bhindi
Bazaar gharana. Yet another distinctive feature in Hindustani music is the almost
equal significance accorded to percussion. This is quite an intriguing aspect at
least to an outsider. In contrast, in Carnatic music, the percussionist merely
performs the role of a beat-keeper even though he improvises the beat with each
sangati (alternative rendering of the same phrase). He is of course allowed
a solo rendition, the thani avarthanam, following the main composition
rendered by the vocalist but still there is a very definite marginalisation of his
role in the concert. In Hindustani on the other hand, the percussion is a natural
step in the progression beginning with the initial slow, reflective sketch of the
raga by the vocalist and culminating in either a slow or a fast rendition of a
particular song with many sangatis whence the tabla takes centrestage and
the vocalist (violinist in this case) becomes the secondary performer.
The artists then went on to play a tune in Desh which I couldn't recognise. Desh
has no Carnatic equivalent. In Carnatic music, a raga is not just an ascension and
descension of notes on the octave but also comprises of many sanchara
prayogas that distinguish the raga. These sanchara prayogas are subsequences
of notes along with ghamakas and other improvisations that make each raga unique.
That is how Sankarabharanam is distinguished from Bilahari even though the latter,
viewed from the scale, is a subset of notes of the former. So, when I say that
Desh has no Carnatic equivalent it has no distinguishing sanchara prayoga either
and can be portrayed only as a Hindustani raga. Actually, it is not entirely true
that there is no "Carnaticisation" possible of an alien raga. One has only to look
at the marked difference in the styles of ghamakams characteristic to each school
of music. As one of those self-important (this little review being no less of an
example) treatises on the Web claiming to be the idiot's guide to Carnatic music
would put it, the ghamakam on a note is the exploration of its
neighbourhood. This perhaps is one of the biggest scoring points for Indian
classical music over its Western counterpart. In Western classical music, a note
is merely a flat utterance; Spartan and devoid of any romance with the onus to
generate harmony consequently being on a sequence of notes rather than a single
note -- an exercise in permutation and combinatorics, its staunchest critics would
argue. In Indian classical music on the other hand, the note has equal
responsibility as any sequence containing it as any song containing the sequence
in producing an expanse of melody. A mere "M" in Sankarabharanam at the wrong
instance will be met with frosty stares and disapproving groans while the same "M"
with ghamakam -- "GG.PG" would ensure at least one vigorous shake of head in the
audience.
But I digress. Following the Desh, we were treated to another big helping of
patriotism with "Jayati jayati Bhaarata maata" on Khamaz. While originally
borrowed from the Hindustani school like Desh, Khamaz however has been endowed
with many sanchara prayogas so much so that it has evolved significantly
differently from its Hindustani parent. And not without reason it seems -- I have
it on good faith that Khamaz was absorbed by the Carnatic school much earlier than
Desh was which explains the indigenisation. I have another grand theory about
this. I am of the opinion that a ragam assimilates these peculiar traits by dint
of the songs composed and set in them. For instance, the prayoga
"GD.P.PM2G.M1G.GRR" in Kalyani could very well be deemed to have originated from
"Nidhi chaalasukhamaa". Perhaps what I said is quite obvious to the more
well-versed amongst you. One could of course also argue that, and pardon the
platitude, it is a chicken-and-egg situation. Which begets which -- the ragam and
its sanchara prayoga begetting the sangatis in the song or vice-versa? Since my
knowledge in this regard is rather limited I shall venture to say no more.
We then moved to the main piece of the concert. It was an RTP in Kalyani. I am not
sure if Hindustani music has an equivalent for the RTP. In fact, I am not even
aware if there is any notion of thanam in the Hindustani style. I must
qualify that however by saying that most string instruments including the violin,
sitar and sarod allow and indeed require for phrases to be played rhythmically to
a single beat cycle. Needless to say, that the RTP quite easily was the best piece
of the concert. It featured nearly an hour of essaying the ragam (whose Hindustani
counterpart's name I am ignorant of). Following the RTP was the omniscient and
obligatory piece in Sindhubhairavi. Following that was Krishna Nee Begane Baro set
in Yamunakalyani and finally there was a purely Hindustani piece, Jogi Mat Jaa
which apparently was a favourite of Rajam's guru's. There was one sour element in
the concert and that was a shameless promotion plugged in jarringly in the middle
of the concert of a mish-mash crash course on CD to Indian culture through Indian
dance and music obviously intended for the expatriate hoi-polloi.
A comment about the artistes themselves at this point with the disclaimer that I
consider myself grossly unqualified to pass any remark on their scholarship -- I
have merely penned a few naïve thoughts that struck me at the moment. One
needs no introduction to T.N. Krishnan's virtuosity with the violin. It is true
that age has caught up with him and his bowing is not as limpid and even as before
but he still commands the same respect as ever when it comes to expressing pure,
undistilled classicism in his music however unquantifiable that may be. I had not
heard Rajam in a live concert until that evening. To me, she symbolises a
genuinely happy amalgam of two schools of music that are continually shedding
themselves of any remnant of the other's forms. On the day, her ghamakams were
crisp and controlled. Her bowing was smooth and rhythmic like the motions of the
head oarsman on a chundan vallam (snake boat) and with Krishnan's fiddle
now following devoutly and now leading masterly, it was like riding on a carousel
with two horses prancing up and down in merry unison behind one another. And to
extend the simile, they played note after note of subtle but stinging exhilaration
that rolled and lapped under oneself like tall undulating waves gently rocking a
boat. The percussion tête-à-tête however left much to be
desired. The mridangam and the tabla were clearly incompatible with each other
that evening, the latter being the more articulate of the two -- speaking more
eloquently and in far more intricately different pitches than the mridangam. And
as it inevitably happens, it spiralled downwards into a noise contest with each
one vying to belt out the loudest and eeriest note possible.
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