Are they second-class citizens?
GOWRI RAMNARAYAN
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A concert will fall flat without them but the percussionists are not given their due.
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Photo: S. R. Raghunathan.
Chennai, December 12, 2006:Karthik, J.Vaidhyanathan and B.S.Purushothaman.
``A respectful organiser escorted me to an air-conditioned hotel room. Ten minutes later he was back, saying he had mistaken me for the main artiste for whom the room was reserved. He said I'd have to shift to an ordinary room." J.Vaidyanathan's words are more heated than his crackling moras on the mridangam. ``When the fate of the mridangam is so bad, what can upapakkavadyams like my kanjira expect?" asks B.S.Purushotthaman.
``We are the black sheep," Ghatam S. Karthick laughs wryly. They are neither envious nor grudging of comforts for the main performer. Their question is simple: how can they develop team spirit when a colleague who shares the stage with them gets preferential treatment?
``I will change my name if any singer makes an impact on the stage without pakkavadyam," is J.V.'s first shot. ``We remain second-class citizens," shrugs Karthick. Adds Purushotthaman, ``We have greater performance opportunities today. But respect? Sabhas don't even engage us directly. The artiste decides whom he wants."
Doesn't this lead to the best percussionists being overworked? No, they explain. While the best is engaged for sabha concerts, the main artiste settles for mediocre support for lucrative wedding recitals.
J.V. cites the example of his name being replaced by another in a recording — to avoid royalty payment. A cheap trick? ``There are many more," they chorus in unison.
``Even the names of vehicle drivers are included in film credits. Concert credits? Most ads and invitations mention the lead performer, squashing the rest under ``and party." Karthick, adds, ``A singer can get by with a lacklustre violin. But the quality of a recital depends on the percussion."
All three admit that many educated younger main artistes treat good percussionists well, a few even offering better remuneration. As of now 25 per cent is what they get, to be shared by the upa pakkavadyam as well. ``Do we work less hard? Is our training less demanding?" The mridangist suffers most as the maintenance of his instrument is extremely expensive, its pitch management tricky. ``I spend more time with my mridangam than with my wife," J.V. confesses. `` Do you know how difficult it is to get willing brides for percussionists," asks Karthick.
J.V. agrees, ``Parents are willing to give their daughters in marriage to bank clerks but not to percussionists." Purushotthaman admits, ``As a family man now I'm forced to think of earning as I didn't when I was a carefree bachelor. Forget luxuries, I can't even afford an old car," says Purushotthaman. ``I have a car in my name," `Car-tick' chuckles, and adds, ``If we ask for better rates, the organiser condemns us as being too big for our boots."
If things are so difficult, why did they become percussionists? ``Madness, what else?" asks Karthick. ``Passion!" exclaims J.V. ``If this is the fate of established percussionists like us, what about new entrants?" Purushotthaman shakes his head.
Nor do they feel a sense of security. A leading sports star is not dropped from the team if he fails occasionally. But for a percussionist a slight fall in standards can be disastrous. Sponsorship in music is confined to recitals. ``Why can't corporate sponsors use musicians as brand ambassadors?" asks J.V. Karthick mentions the launching of a Trust offering Mediclaim policies.
Today Carnatic music boasts of more artistes, concerts and sabhas than ever in the city, and more travel and tours as well. Audiences too are felt to have grown in knowledge. And yet, people continue to walk out during the tani avartanam. Why? ``They know little about laya," J.V explains. ``You have to listen first to understand," insists Karthick.
They themselves make every effort to play their best for the people who stay back. Purushotthaman asks, ``Have you noticed the new trend? People walking out for coffee during the violin solo?" On the credit side there are listeners who choose a particular concert with their eye on the team. ``Yes, they say, I came to this concert because you are playing today," J.V. nods.
``The media should support us more," cries J.V. Main artistes are constantly profiled, interviewed, reviewed and discussed, while sidemen are neglected.
CDs and cassettes do not have pictures of sidemen and women even on the back cover. ``You even cut us out when you publish concert pictures," says Karthick. Explain that the photographer wants to capture an emotional moment, and J.V will say ``Am I not equally involved in playing for a fine neraval?"
``How many percussionists have received the Sangita Kalanidhi?" Purushotthaman queries. Most awards pass them by in favour of singers and solo instrumentalists. They agree that a ship has its captain. But he cannot sail the ship alone. The big sabhas must lead the way in affording proper recognition and treatment to accompanists. The smaller will follow suit. With better team spirit, concerts will gain in quality. Such dreams are for the future. As things stand, J.Vaidyanathan, S.Karthick and B.S.Purushotthaman advise their disciples not to become professional percussionists.
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