Crossing contexts
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Madirakshi, music by Sikkil Gurucharan and Anil Srinivasan, invoked complex emotions
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Photo: K. Ananthan
Heady flourishes Madirakshi was a give and take from two different music traditions
Meaning does not lie in things. Meaning lies in us.
— Marianne Williamson
To see things through oneself may well be the challenge. How do you understand the “Madirakshi” performance? An experiment, a fusion? How does the coming together of two classical music entities become “contemporary classical music&
#8221; even if they are separated by cultural contexts and belong to different music traditions? Then is it the reading that is contemporary? The musicians could well be contemporary, but haven’t we steadfastly confirmed our belief in “past lives in the present”? Isn’t then art a way of seeing the intangible, something that facilitates our definition of reality?
Sikkil Gurucharan and Anil Srinivasan’s evening of music – “Madirakshi: Intoxicating Eyes” – was a rare concert of Carnatic vocal and the Western piano collaborating together. Intoxicating it was, no doubt. The unusual concert, in Bangalore last weekend, forged new musical idioms and expanded boundaries of classicism. And as they together charted undiscovered precincts of mysticism, they took along Kshetrayya, the 13th century Telugu poet, Sadashiva Brahmendra, the 17th century Sanskrit poet, Subramania Bharathi from 20th century, among others. Time collapsed into a musical timelessness.
Madirakshi was a dialogue between two different music traditions, not a tension free one though. What is the frame and what becomes the painting is left to an individual’s perception. But the experience, seamless as it was, only enhanced each other; never to reduce or challenge. If the Carnatic stresses emphasised the emotion, the long silences between notes and phrases, as in Western music, put you on a contemplative plane. To quote scholar James Wierzbicki: “Like a frame around a painting, silence marks music’s edges. There is silence before and after music, and there is also silence within music.” But as music director of Chicago Symphony Orchestra, Daniel Barenboim argues in his conversation with writer Edward Said in “Parallels and Paradoxes”, sound does have a concrete relation to silence, and is hence not free from each other. What you therefore got was organised sound emerging out of a silence that was intuitive and meditated. The lengthy, reflective vocal phrases – moving from statement to interpretation, the sound of the piano growing from a note, its elongation, and the nearly non-existent but profound strokes on the khanjira, transported you into a poetic realm. What is poetic could well be intrepid, can’t it?
“Ksheerabdi Kannikaku” in Jhinjooti had a dream-like quality, enraptured in the beauty of the goddess. So quiet, so tender, it was immersed in a heavenly serenity. One cannot help admiring Sikkil Gurucharan’s fine understanding of music; not once during the concert was he overzealous to establish his mastery over the form. This has to be indeed said of Purushottam on the khanjira; his understated beats were like a caress.
Kalki’s love poem “Punkuyil Kuvum” has outstanding closing lines: “Solitude can be the only replacement for my beloved”. The song, predominantly in Valachi, acquired Keervani graces from the piano. Anil was particularly wonderful in this song. “Lalitha Lavanga”, Jayadeva’s poem had graces of ragas Lalit, Basant and Vasantha. The vocal was leisurely with a plaintive texture and the piano came in double speed, giving the piece a sense of pace. The piano, one did feel could have been a little more subdued here; however the whole piece took a dramatic turn as they launched into “Virahati Haririha” in Vasantha. The Venkata Kavi composition rushed with ideas. Anil shifted scale on the piano and the entire mood and character of the piece changed. The highlight was of course Kshetrayya’s padam “Madirakshi” and how poignantly their music characterised the lament!
No great music is possible without a blend of intellect and emotion. And the most intense sensuality forms the cover for deep spirituality. Madirakshi evoked complex emotions: from high romanticism to sublime feelings, continuously expanding one’s notion of music.
I maintain: to see things through oneself is the challenge.
DEEPA GANESH
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