A Carnatic-music concert can be enjoyed even if you think Kapi is a darkly aromatic bean. Honest!
Here’s something you will not find in a concert of western classical music that has just begun to play Mozart’s Symphony No. 40: a member of the audience, face flushed with the smugness of discovery, whispering to his neighbour, “G minor.” Some compositions, like Bach’s Toccata and Fugue in D minor, bear names that flaunt their scales. Others don’t. And there are many whose names dispense with pomp and circumstance altogether, unconcerned about revealing anything, even what the compositional style is, fugue or étude, sonata or nocturne. But the audience tunes into the music without fretting about the mechanics. You will not find listeners with guides tucked into the pockets of their tuxedos, only to be whipped out upon the commencement of a piece – turning to M, passing Mahler and Mendelssohn and stopping at Mozart, running an index finger down the list of symphonies until No. 40 is reached, and dragging the finger across to land on “G minor.”
But seat yourself at a Carnatic-music concert and you will find that, for the first few minutes of each new piece, this exercise consumes a certain section of the audience. This rasika, during the alapana, transforms into an intelligence officer gleaning meaning out of garbled transmissions. The music, at this point, isn’t a portal to pleasure but an exam question awaiting an answer. Is this Shree or Madhyamavathi or Brindavana Saranga? Twenty points. Vexed foreheads are uncreased only when the pallavi begins, whose opening words lead those with raga-identification books to rifle through relevant pages. Those without guides may corkscrew their necks in the direction of the omniscient mama behind – him of the fierce, sandpaper-voiced whisper – who is enlightening his mildly baffled wife. This acquired knowledge will then be passed on from row to row, a heaving body in a silent mosh pit, till everyone in the auditorium knows the name of the raga emanating from the stage.
These listeners have, in these furtive endeavors, missed crucial minutes of the piece, but they are not to be blamed. They are afflicted, the poor souls, with what might be called the TOUR syndrome: the Tyranny of the Unidentified Raga. It’s a compulsive condition, one that convinces the rasika that the composition they are listening to cannot be enjoyed unless they know the name of its raga. They may not care whether the canteen dosa came off a multi-serve griddle or a solitary skillet, and whether the batter was bought off a shelf or fermented from scratch, but Seshachala nayakam, they maintain, cannot be satisfactorily digested unless they label it a Varali. Only after arriving upon this information, whose importance assumes the proportions of a sphinxian riddle to be cracked open in order to be let through, can they begin to focus on the singer’s (or the instrumentalist’s) expressiveness and phrasing, the warmth and colour of tone and timbre, the aspects of a concert that would normally attract listeners.
The virus causing the TOUR syndrome is surely the lay listener’s desire to latch on to a ball of twine before entering a labyrinth. When a western-music critic reviews a concert, he speaks of it in reasonably approachable terms. Consider this recent review, in the New York Times, of a performance by the tenor saxophonist Tony Malaby and his band. “[Malaby] has a burly but beseeching tone, and in his own bands he often pushes toward an amiable ruckus… Ms. Davis left her piano bench to conduct the ensemble, usually during a slow-dawning, expectant ballad. Her voicings tended to suggest a troubled serenity, with chords full of close intervals…” The aesthetic qualities of this jazz concert –“burly but beseeching,” “slow-dawning,” “troubled serenity”— are instantly apparent even to someone who thinks a blue note is a slightly despondent denomination of currency. The music is described, first and foremost, at an empathetic level, and only then are we given technical details (“chords full of close intervals”).
But our reviews emphasise technical aspects to such an extent that a casual listener – someone who likes music and listens to pleasant-sounding western-classical music, pieces like Vivaldi’s The Four Seasons, and looks at Carnatic-music reviews hoping to find something he can relate to – is left feeling like a first-standard student set adrift at a Mensa convocation. The reviews themselves aren’t misguided. But just as the appreciation of cinema finds space for the views of both the academic-minded theoretician, published in journals, and those of the reviewer seeking to converse with a general public through newspapers and magazines, music reviews too could accommodate critics who strive to highlight the emotional aspects of a performance. Because our Carnatic-music reviews are so riddled with insider jargon, a certain kind of listener assumes that this music cannot be enjoyed without technical knowledge – and the easiest insider information to acquire is the name of the raga. Knowing the raga, they feel they’re at least somewhat in control over this concert experience, that they belong in this hall to at least some extent.
Technical knowledge is important – to the critic evaluating a performance; to the mature listener looking to sink deep into the music – but it is not the primary aspect of a Carnatic-music concert. Like the language the composition is set in – Telugu or Kannada or Sanskrit – these details about raga and tala, korvai and karvai are essentially building blocks, with which the composition is constructed by composer and singer. The purpose of the composition, however, is to transcend these blueprints – these foundational plans with diagrams of pipes and wiring and air-conditioning vents – and transport the listener to a realm of emotion similar to the feeling that arises upon sighting a majestic painting, unaware of its roots in oils or watercolours, or savouring the creation of a chef before whose art the only possible response is to close the eyes. You don’t need to acquaint yourself with the contents of the spice rack, just the capacity to surrender to the moment.
An edited version of this piece can be found here.
Copyright ©2011 The Hindu. This article may not be reproduced in its entirety without permission. A link to this URL, instead, would be appreciated.
vikram
December 23, 2011
Waat to do, we are like this wonly. I am very much liking your article 🙂
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KP
December 23, 2011
As usual your music related articles are way aead of anything else you right about .
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Narender Mehra
December 23, 2011
Hi Baradwaj, I had been reading your blog-pieces (though they are not just that) for quite some time (that will translate to a couple of years) and I enjoy your servings irrespective of the topic you choose. I am complete novice to many topics, say for example, with respect to the technicalities of music. I read to enjoy the personal touches you impart to a topic consciously/sub-consciously. It is your way of thinking which casts a spell and am sure that will be the case with many of us. I would wish that you write some pieces capturing some snippets from your life where you can be little more ‘personal’ like the one you wrote about your relationship with your father…
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rameshram
December 23, 2011
Aaha Aaha Aaha Kapi, music academy canteen , indu paper,december katcheri, baradhwaj rangan writeup irundha…..Heart attacke varadhu pongo! – my facebook friend Poornam vishwanathan
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KS
December 23, 2011
Oh my! I was thinking about the exact same thing just this morning for some odd reason…about how some people insist on identifying ragams and believe that ability is imperative to enjoying carnatic music!
It all feels so wrong – this compulsive, sometimes supercilious, pursuit to guess the ragam before you can immerse yourself in it. I wonder if TOUR is the effect of conditioning – years and years of being around (snobs and) music ‘aficionados’ who insisted on it and made that the yardstick of a proper carnatic lover.
I agree with everything you say in the article, but I must pick on this (though you probably didn’t mean it the way it sounds): “technical knowledge is important..to the mature listener looking to sink deep into the music” – really? [Let’s be careful, lest statements like that spawn more TOUR victims 😉 ] Even if all you want to do is just enjoy the music? What qualifies one as a “mature” listener anyway? Is it being able to distinguish notes or, is it the ability to feel the abundance of emotion that it evokes? Does it really matter that it was Hamir Kalyani the singer opened with; isn’t it enough that it left you glowing inside?
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rameshram
December 23, 2011
But seriously, this cultural transference of quirks can be very funny. a friend of mine (was from IIT kanpur) used to make fun of the tendency of people to do the “air guitar” (clips here from dain noji the world champion http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=THBiP7E4MXc ) and imagined what it would look like when people appreciate a palaghat mani iyer solo with an asinine grin playing an “air mridangam” (you gotta picture this) .
imagine the preassure on your poor google mama when he gets something wrong! (it’s happened once or twice. There was a year when I remember everybody decided to do “rare ragas” and our asamanjams (the performers) usually have only cut and paste creativity in alapanais , so your raga that was a pa short of natabhairavi in the avarohanam would sound like good old hindolam, and completely floor google mama for 2 secs when the amam hindolam than would have escaped his mouth…
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Ranga
December 23, 2011
Great article, BR! Years back, when I was a member of a quiz club, we would even have rounds that focused on identifying the raga of a particular composition, which essentially meant that the non-initiated like me would switch off and start thinking pleasant thoughts of the quiz master choking on his kapi or drowning in the arabhi sea!
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Mandar Inamdar
December 23, 2011
Beautiful article, as always..
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brangan
December 23, 2011
Narender Mehra: It’s interesting that you said “subconsciously.” I do believe that a lot of writing (or any other creative pursuit) is dictated at a non-conscious level, as if you’re just pulling stuff out of some deep well within. But there are others (writers, filmmakers) who don’t believe this at all, and I keep arguing with them all the time 🙂
KS: Yeah, I guess that line came off weird. What I meant is that technical knowledge can help you enjoy a concert at a deeper level, the way, say, knowledge of moviemaking intricacies can add to your appreciation of cinema. Should have found abetter word for “mature” though.
Ranga: arabhi sea. LOL!
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aandthirtyeights
December 23, 2011
Hmmm. I love this piece, I really do. But as hard as I try, I am not able to divorce my enjoyment of music from its technicalities – my training just interferes. I cannot listen to a song without knowing its raga instinctively (I am often the Google mama, although, given my age and youthful looks, it’s more like Google payyan)… Makes it very difficult for me to write reviews that are “non-technical”, because I often can’t tell what is technical and what is not.
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soumya
December 23, 2011
BR, as usual an out-of-the box piece… I have known many people afflicted with TOUR syndrome(your terminologies are truly spell binding) closely.. and my observation is that raga-identification-ritual serves other purposes as well..for one it is a fantastic conversation starter, very much similar to ” Hey nice phone, android? Galaxy series?”, which could have an octagenarian stare at you like you descended
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soumya
December 23, 2011
*from an UFO..apart from that it can also boost the determination of initiated-but-no time/resources to indulge in learning classical music category of people( like me) to take it up at the next available oppurtunity.. Lastly have you ever witnessed any cricket match where the spectators dont engage in so called in-depth analysis of everything from weather conditions to last LBW appeal which should have rightfully gone to the third umpire to the next bowling strategy?
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Sujatha
December 23, 2011
Here in the US, some of the local Carnatic musicians take the guesswork out of the TOUR syndrome, by kindly supplying us with a slide showing unobtrusively on the side of the stage, with the information on the raaga, taalam, composer and language. But not until 2 minutes into the piece.
The exercise is then to guess the raaga before the cheatsheet arrives, and vindication is at hand. Yes, that was Mohanakalyani! Or, yay, that was Varamu, after all!
Then as the concert progresses, the slides start to get sloppy. Surely, that was a Papanasam Sivan composition, why is it listed as Oothukaadu, or why was the taalam info missing. Did we miss a few korvais as the singer sang, puzzling over the omission? Of course, but we eventually settle into obliviousness, just listening to the music without paying attention to the slides any more.
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munimma
December 23, 2011
As has been said before, you write well when it comes to music.
The student in me who is trying to understand the raga, feels a tiny victory when she can identify one correctly. The rasika in me, of course, forgets all that and tries to immerse in the beauty of the music.
At the last TMK one I attended, he kept coming up with these googlies of never heard before ragas, that even the better seasoned ones around me were stumped.
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Ravi K
December 24, 2011
I’m sure some enterprising software engineer is working on an iPhone app that will identify the raga of any song played into it 🙂
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brangan
December 24, 2011
aandthirtyeights / soumya: Oh this was only about a certain section of the audience that treats raga-identification like some kind of quiz and pats itself on the back when they get it right. And even this I’m not saying is wrong at all. And I do agree that if you’ve been listening long enough it’s impossible not to do this at all (mentally; just like when I see a film it’s impossible not to think of genre and earlier films made on these lines and so on). But a lay listener need not bother or be intimidated by this aspect, is what I was trying to say. A song, when sung well, is its own reward, even if it’s in a BMK-style raga that only he knows about.
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RC
December 24, 2011
Reminded me of the time when my mother felt immense pressure when she was quizzed by a much older relative about which raagam something playing on the tape was. Her relief on being right was much evident, to me atleast 🙂
Brangan: Love your posts; you make it seem like the words come effortlessly, but life isn’t that easy, is it? 🙂
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RC
December 24, 2011
And ‘BMK-style raga that only he knows about’ Lol! I really like him the least when he is in acrobatic mode.
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BNB
December 29, 2011
brangan & Narender Mehra: Regarding the sub-conscious source of creativity have you guys read “The War of Art” by Steven Pressfield. The legend of Bagger Vance was based on his work and he talks at length about the muse and it’s role in creativity, and mentions historical references to the muse. The book has an account of his own struggles as a screen writer and useful advice as well for writers or anyone in a creative profession.
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Kuppuswamy Vythianathan
December 31, 2011
I should thank a fellow pssenger in Shatabti Express for this introduction.
Vythindiranathan.K.
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reelorola
November 24, 2014
Petrified and shaken, we will utter a raga name and all hell will break loose with Mami Mamas disdainfully pouncing on us with jargon like “adhu madhyamam illaye prathimadhyamam aache” thereby scaring us out of any further inquiry 😛
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Gradwolf
November 24, 2014
“But there are others (writers, filmmakers) who don’t believe this at all, and I keep arguing with them all the time”
From the comment above. Was someone deep into the workings of one book at this time?!
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brangan
November 24, 2014
Gradwolf: er… cough, cough…
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MusicMonk
November 24, 2014
in a lighter sense, it is called “KRIS” (Kriti & Raga Identifying Syndrome) , it is the same craving a critique gets to express his/her views on anything they see, feel and hear, sometimes even to things they do not see or feel or hear, 🙂
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Natarajan Viswanathan
July 6, 2021
It is actually a kinship or bonding that the rasika feels with the musician, happens even in film music when you notice an interlude where the composer takes an unexpected but very pleasurable turn. In truth, I see even the musicians crave this appreciation of the minute details which somehow vindicates the many years of toil that went into refining their craft.
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