Phrasing and modulation set him apart
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Composer Lalgudi Jayaraman gives his own interpretations to ragas without infringing on the territories of the neighbouring ones. Gowri Ramnarayan
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“You can’t assemble words for a song. They have to come by themselves to suit the mood and moment.”
Photo: R. Shivaji Rao
Grand lineage: Lalgudi Jayaraman with Krishnan and Vijayalakshmi.
Composers prolific and spare, intricate and spartan, magnificent and elegant, have enriched Carnatic music. Their works establish the dos and don’ts of ragas, extend their territories, underline common and uncommon usages. Their inventiveness h
as added unperceived beauties to known melodies, given form and substance to less and unknown melodies. It is they who have turned scales into ragas. In contemporary times, Lalgudi G. Jayaraman has fulfilled all these requirements of the uttama vaggeyakara. He has not only set verses by others to music, but created both sahitya and sangita for varnams, kritis and tillanas. He has enjoyed composing music for orchestras (AIR vadyavrinda), for dance drama (“Jayajaya Devi”). More recently, he scored for the film, “Shringaram.”
It is a surprise to learn from the top-notch violinist about his parampara in composing music. Flanked by wife Rajalakshmi, son Krishnan, daughter Vijayalakshmi and disciple S.P.Ramh, the veteran wanders into a past rich with grandmother Muthulakshmi’s songs on family and village deity Ulagaayi Amman in Valadi. “She couldn’t read or write. But she poured out Tamil songs of utter devotion,” says he and launches into Patti’s “Kannan Vadivai Kaanungal.” We witness a rare treat. Wife Rajalakshmi sings with her husband.
Father Gopala Iyer’s songs had philosophic and patriotic import, including praise of Gandhiji. Led by Lalgudi, family members render his “Yedu Indiya Tuyar.” Rajalakshmi adds, “My father-in-law and his sister corresponded through songs! We have a tradition of Tamil learning. Writer La.Sa. Ramamrutam belongs to our family.”
When and why did Lalgudi Jayaraman start composing his own songs? “Accompanying great musicians was a boon. It nourished my own growth.” One day he found himself composing a tillana in Vasanta, in Telugu. He was 26 years old. “When GNB heard it, he patted me on my back.” More followed but Lalgudi did not play them on the stage at once. “I composed them for my own pleasure. Sometimes the main raga I play in a concert refuses to leave me until I do something in it.”
However, some eminent ‘others’ got to know his secret and began to sing his tillanas on the stage — Nedunuri Krishnamurti, Voleti Venkateshwaralu, D.K.Jayaraman, M.L.Vasantakumari and Maharajapuram Santhanam were among them. His own recording of tillanas became a “smash hit.” Soon Mohanakalyani and Revati jatis were sweeping through street corners, foyers, functions in many parts of India. Lalgudi gave his own interpretation to these ragas but nowhere did he infringe upon the territories of neighbouring ragas. No foreign note or nuance could creep in. The novelties were in the phrasing, and in the Lalgudi brand of modulation. That is why, he himself and those trained by him, have been the best exponents of his compositions. These works are not only about swara and laya. A singular aesthetics makes them distinct, different. The popular appeal stems from the limpid glides. But look again, and you see the underlying swara and rhythm whorls. This then is the Lalgudi hallmark: the difficult sounds easy, in a spontaneous seeming flow. Is that why he prefers jaru to briga? The answer is brief. “Sangitam inheres in jaru.”
“Father has composed a few kritis too,” smiles daughter Vijayalakshmi. Ramh joins her in a razor’s edge trip across Hamsarupini in “Tenmadurai Vaazh Annaiye” where Mohanam meets Madhyamavati. “See how father creates a distinct identity for the raga!” she exclaims. Ask Lalgudi about the sahitya and he says, “You can’t assemble words for a song. They have to come by themselves to suit the mood and moment.”
Lalgudi opted for genres less frequented by others. His deep swaragnanam and swara anandam have been motivations. His Nalinakanti varnam plaits well-known swaras with fresh passages and fresher intersections. Two others varnams emerged out of a challenge: hadn’t scholar Sambamoorthy declared Nilambari and Devagandhari were unsuitable for this format? Composed as a tanavarnam in Telugu, Nilambari changed into a Tamil padavarnam when dancer Kamala asked for a new piece. Padma Subrahmanyam too made a special request for a tillana in Maand on Kamakshi, Voleti suggested he try Pahadi. Viji and Ramh sing Lalgudi’s navarasa varnam in nine ragas, composed for Chitra Visveswaran, each section describing a scene from the Tiruvilayadal puranam, with vallinam and mellinam to evoke melody and meaning.
Bhava is soul force
Clarity in sahitya, the major feature of the Lalgudi school, springs from the man’s conviction that bhava is soul force. How can it not influence his personal output? The swaraksharas too show as much feeling for the word as for the note. Krishnan stresses his father’s concern for the sahitya, as the generator of bhava, in every piece he plays. ’ Referring to the Madhuvanti tillana, they chorus, “Father said that when we sang this swara passage the effect should be of dry leaves falling from the tree.” His swaras can image everything from a bee to a goddess.
Next comes a Nattaikurinji kriti (“Kandan Seyal Andro”) in a rare vignette of the composer singing with his children and disciple. He halts, overcome by emotion. “You must know when to oscillate and when to sing straight. That is maturity,” he says. If he composes something on request he does insist that the singer must satisfy him before staging the piece. Lalgudi has a special feel for Subramania Bharati. At his suggestion, the session ends with Bharati’s haunting “Engirundu Varuguvado” (Where does it come from?), describing the many sources of sound. Srutibedham introduces many ragas in Suddhasaveri, just as the different sounds merge into the primal sound of Krishna’s flute. Lalgudi falls silent. Behind his closed eyes, we can see the melodies shimmering across a sunlit stream.
(A fortnightly spotlight on music gurus, musicologists and representatives of different schools, who have enriched Carnatic music.)
“You can’t assemble words for a song. They have to come by themselves to suit the mood and moment.”
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Straight from the heart
Lalgudi’s varnams and tillanas are performed enthusiastically by dance artistes. Padma Subrahmanyam explains why:
Lalgudi’s compositions have something more than technical virtuosity, they come straight from the heart. Close your eyes and listen.
The music melds perfectly with the theme. Every phrase and bhava will immerse you in its own shade of emotion. His bow itself brings out the mood.
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