ILaiyaraaja – The Breezy Musician

 

Wind is poetic. Wind is musical.

Isn’t that the reason for many poets describing the wind, using similes, keeping wind as a metaphor and even symbolising wind as an ambassador?

Before I go to the second element which finds a mention in the first line, let me briefly delve into the first element. Tamizh grammar gives different names to the same wind depending on the direction from which it blows. As per literature(and as per one’s experience as well), the quality of the wind varies and is purely dependent on the direction. Concomitantly, our feelings and emotions too vary. As an example, the wind blowing from the south is ‘thendRal’ and is supposed to be very pleasant. On the other hand, the one blowing from the north- vaadai- is supposed to evoke the feeling of viraha (separation).

Would you believe me if I said that an entire piece of work in literature revolves around the wind, the one from the north to be precise? Viraha, which is the quality of vaadai, runs as the undercurrent in Nedunalvaadai, which is part of the Sangam literature. Composed by Nakkeerar, it is in praise of Thalaiyaalangaanaththu cheruvendRa paaNdiyan Nedunchezhiyan. Unlike many other works, the hero appears only towards the end and even this is brief as the verses here talk about his visit to the camp to see the warriors who fought for him in the war. Pregnant with descriptions about nature, the palace and the cot for most part, this work is on the viraha feelings of the queen who misses her husband and leaning on the ivory cot with tears in her eyes, listens to the prayers to Goddess KotRavai.

Did I not mention that viraha runs as the undercurrent? It actually runs subtly even in the description of nature. One has to read between the lines to comprehend, grasp, understand and appreciate this fact. What I am giving below is just a sample and these three lines appear almost towards the end of the work.

வடந்தைத் தண் வளி எறிதொறும் நுடங்கித்

தெற்கு ஏர்பு இறைஞ்சிய தலைய நன் பல

பாண்டில் விளக்கில் பரூஉச்சுடர்  அழல.

The cold wind from the north blew and whenever it blew, the thick flame in the round lamps, swayed and tilted towards the south.

Pretty simple, right? North to south. It is logical, scientific and natural. What is great about this?

Anyone who loves just the surface and wants to stay only there, is bound to ask this.

But people who hate the word ‘superficial’, will say these:

But scratch the surface; go beyond that.

Don’t read just the lines; read between the lines as well.

Always aim to see the unseen.

If we follow the latter, we can discover a gold mine. The Queen’s location(no GPS those days!) is to the south of the place of war. By saying that the vaadai was blowing, the poet first touches upon the viraha. He goes a step further and rather than saying that the lamps went off(which is what happens when the wind blows), he says the flame just tilted towards the south, indicating that there is a happy ending and that the king will return to his palace after emerging victorious in the war. The flame can also be considered as a symbol for the queen, with the vaadai being the emotion.

This is what the wind does to the imagination and creativity of poets.

Doesn’t the same happen in case of music and therefore with musicians as well?

That we cannot hear music in the absence of wind, is too well known a fact to be even mentioned. But the fact that some geniuses have used the different types of wind, musically is something which is known and yet has to be mentioned.

Here is a naayika, besotted completely with her lover and finds music as a form of expressing her desire and yes, viraha. The genius that he is, ILaiyaraaja uses a classical raga known more to invoke the feeling of devotion and certainly not associated with romance, unlike pentatonic ragas or even complete ragas like KalyaNi.

The raga Simhendramadhyamam is deep and unlike its Shuddha Madhyama counterpart KiravaNi, is not universal. It does take a lot of gumption to use this raga in a romantic set up. He has done this before as well in ‘Aananda Ragam’, a song I discussed here four years ago (ILaiyaraaja – The Prudent Musican- 14^th April 2019) . But this one is different, in fact it is a study in contrast.

If ‘Ananda Ragam’ is racy like the wind from the north, ‘Thaalaattum PoongaatRu Naanallava’ (Gopura Vaasalile- 1991) is like the wind from sea, soothing and yet deep with a degree of heat present innately.

The initial humming of Janaki is like the Kacchaan(wind from the west), soft, quiet and mild. In a matter of seconds, one sees the sketch of the raga. With the santoor interjecting with grace, the small flute moves elegantly. Two other flutes take over and play simultaneously with panache, one in higher-octave and the other in lower-octave, thus showing the contrasting emotions- joy and viraha. Like the wind which go up and down during the rain, the keys sound the ascending and the descending notes of the raga.

The Pallavi (vocals: Janaki) too has the ascending(rigamapa) and the descending swaras (magarisani.) in the first two phrases of the last two lines(oh nenjame/en nenjame).The third line (varuvaayo/ vaarayo) exudes with viraha with some closely packed swaras (padhamapagamapaga) in vaayo and raayo.

The strings in the beginning of the first interlude, move with ferocity like the KundRavaadai (wind from the North- East). Meanwhile, the flute moves with vibrancy like the Karunkondal (South-East) with the guitar passing like the cross wind, in between. One sees the two layers of the wind in the two sets of strings. While one is boisterous and vivacious, the other is delicate and subtle. The santoor and the keys sway like the branches of the trees.

The flute continues its wave of enthusiasm in the CharaNams as well, showing up between the lines again in ascending and descending fashion alternately. One also sees the sudden upward movement of the wind towards the end of the CharaNam with the penultimate line showing a steady climb to start with (sariga), a descent(risasa), a sudden jump(from the lower sa straight to the upper Sa), a slight descent(SaniniSa) and then an intense descent in the higher-octave (GaRisa). The last line is a mix of ascent and descent just like the wind blowing in the mountains.

Vaadaikachchaan (South-East) meets Kacchankodai (South-West) in the first half of the second interlude. This is how one can describe the flute melody and the santoor melody. If the former is plaintive and deep, the latter is jubilant and gentle. So captivating is this spectacle which is full of contrasts that even the percussion stops playing, absorbing itself in the beauty. Two sets of strings go in tandem, one in lower-octave and the other in higher-octave and this seems like the meeting of Vaadai and ThendRal.

Wind is poetic; Wind is musical..

..just like Life!  

ILaiyaraaja – The Quick-witted Musician

 

What defines a great piece of work?

It should pierce the heart straight, prise it open, go further deep, search for the soul and stir it!

To a certain extent, this can be called subjective as appreciation- and therefore the experience- varies from person to person. But beyond a point subjectivity and objectivity merge and this depends purely on the conditioning, the upbringing and the exposure to great works, which help the person separate the wheat from the chaff.

As an example, look at the following verse:

தலை மேல தாள்- இணைகள் தாமரைக் கண் என் அம்மான்

நிலைபேரான் என் நெஞ்சத்து, எப்பொழுதும் எம் பெருமான்,

மலை மாட த்து அரவு-அணைமேல் வாட்டாற்றான், மதமிக்க

கொலை யானை மருப்பு ஒசித்தான், குரை கழல்கள் குறுகினமே.

 

The great poet Nammaazhwar describes the Lord at a place called Thiruvattaru. Considered to be the longest Vishnu idol in the country, with a length of 22 feet, the idol also follows the katu-sarakara-yogam, an ancient method of idol-making following very strict norms, in terms of the material, the admixture of river sands, the paste and so on. Most importantly, the idol at that temple is made of 16,008 shAligrAmas, a feat which is monumental. Just for information, a shAligraama is found on the banks of Gandaki river in Nepal and supposedly bears symbols associated with Vishnu naturally without any human intervention.

The great poet who was an erudite scholar. composed the verse(in fact, there are 11 verses composed on this deity and these are part of ThiruvAimozhi which in turn is part of the Naalayira Divya Prabandham!) in keeping with the esoteric elements in the idol.

The meaning of the verse goes something like this:

The lotus feet are on my head; the lotus-eyed one will never leave my heart. He is the One who reclines on the snake at this place which has huge buildings like mountains, the One who broke the tusk of the elephant which had gone mad. I worship his feat.

On the face of it, this looks like a normal verse which extols the virtues of the Lord. But scratch the surface and you will experience a scimitar breaking open your heart.

First and foremost, it talks about strength by talking about the fight with the elephant. Recall that the idol is made of 16,008 small stones bound by thick pastes.

Next, it talks about the lotus feet and the lotus eyes. Beautiful contrast- strength and softness!

Now, lotus is also the mind, symbolically. Mad elephant is the symbol of bad thoughts. Contrasts of course, but it suggests that to take bad thoughts away from your mind, you need to meditate. But the clincher is the connection between the first and the last line- His feet on my head and I surrender to His feet.

Life cycle- Starts with feet and ends with feet.

Visishtasdwaita philosophy in a nut shell!

Read the verse again and you will know why I said it will pierce one’s heart. Perhaps you might end up discovering more too in the process. After all, experience is subjective- or is it?

One gets a similar experience while listening to music in general and ILaiyaraaja’s music in particular. Raaga Deepam YetRum Neram from PayaNangaL Mudivathillai(1982) is a classic example.

In fact, it is a classical example too as it is purely based on a classical raga called Hamsaanandi. This popular raga is a shaadava raga with 6 swaras in the arohaNa and avarohaNa. The reason for my saying that this pierces the heart has to do not only with the tune and the orchestration but also with a hidden magic. This magic is too subtle and yet very powerful. We shall see this as we go along.

One should also understand the background. As per the sequence in the movie, an aspiring singer gets an opportunity to sing in a temple and as he starts singing, clouds gather and the crowd disperse. He does not give up and continues singing and the clouds relent by moving away. The crowd is back and that is the beginning. A beginning in terms of his career as a singer.

The composition starts with the akaaram of SPB. What starts as a free flowing akaaram starts following the chatushram pattern as the percussion joins. The akaaram itself is vibrant and vivacious, drawing the sketch of Hamsaanandi in a matter of seconds. The strings move in higher-octave with a ferocity matching the intensity of the rain.

The first line is conceived meaningfully. It starts with the descending notes and then goes to the ascending notes, indicating the travails of the aspiring singer in particular and also of any human in general. In fact, it defines Life itself.

The lines that follow touches the higher-octave swaras like the upper Sa, Ri and Ga, making it a plaintive cry.

The jalatarangam and the tabla tarang move with a sprightly gait in the beginning of the first interlude, perhaps to show the momentum- the rain and the fluttering of the singer’s heart – contrasting elements. The strings play a flood of melody in Hamsaanandi while the flute depicts the angst of the singer by sliding and gliding. The sitar which responds to the flute initially, moves independently after a while, playing a litany of swaras with ebullience.

The first CharaNam is structured beautifully and like the Pallavi, this too shows the genius of the composer. The first two lines touch the higher-octave swaras, with the second line even touching the upper ‘Ma’, a rarity even in normal classical concerts. The sound of the bell in the background makes it auspicious. It is clairvoyant too, a fact we will see in a bit!

The last two lines have the mid-octave swaras going up and down, with the last line ending with the ascending notes- the mark of a genius yet again!

The second interlude conveys myriad expressions. The strings bellow out feelings with impeccable precision. Suddenly, there is magic. The solo-violin plays rather happily. What makes us feel the happiness is the raga, whose name is Mohanam.

How did the raga change?

Hamsaanandi is one of the ragas from where the pentatonic ragas like Suddha Dhanyasi, Suddha Saveri, Hindolam, Madhyamavati and Mohanam can be obtained by keeping one of the swaras as the base. This technique is called Gruha Bhedam, a fact known to people who follow my posts here.

The Master keeps the swara ‘dha’ as the base here and it shifts to Mohanam. The reason for this has to do more with the sequence and less to show one’s capability. The rain stops and gradually the crowd starts gathering again. Mohanam is considered to be a happy raga and is there any better way of showing emotions and feelings?

The backing of the keys carries meaning too as it symbolises the rain drops!

The sitar plays Hamsaanandi now and the feeling of joy is ineluctable.

The second CharaNam is structured differently with the third and fourth line touching the lower-octave ni, the line that follows showing the arohana(ascent) and the following line reaching a crescendo with the dominant upper Sa.

Piercingly beautiful..

As beautiful as the little stones found on the banks of the Gandaki river and as magnificent as the 22 feet idol which reclines with inherent meaning!!

 

 

ILaiyaraaja – The Heterogeneous Musician

 

Similar and Dissimilar!

Similarly Dissimilar!!

Can opposites co-exist?

Though this might sound absurd to some, it is this coexistence which gives that beauty to Nature and Life. When I say Nature and Life, does this not mean Poetry and Music or for that matter, any art form? Doesn’t this factor known better as ‘contrast’ give that sense of aesthetics? Doesn’t it give us feelings so profound that we search for words or even fall quiet, with this state itself elevating us to a level which at best can be called ‘spiritual’?

One of the classic example is this verse:

புள்ளது ஆகி வேதம் நான்கும் ஓதினாய், அது அன்றியும்

புள்ளின் வாய் பிளந்து புட்கொடிப் பிடித்த பின்னரும்,

புள்ளை ஊர்தி; ஆதலால் அது என் கொல் மின் கொள் நேமியாய்

புள்ளின் மெய்ப் பகைக் கடல் கிட த்தல் காதலித்ததே?

Raja4376 · Thirucchanda Viruttham

Taken from a work called ‘Thirucchanda Viruttam’ which is part of the Magnum Opus -Naalaayira Divya Prabandham-, this verse composed by Thirumazhisai Aazhwar talks about birds.

Just birds?

Let us get deeper. Addressed to Vishnu, the poet says – You took the form of a bird (swan) and recited the 4 vedas. You tore open the beak of a bird(crane) and killed a demon. You made a bird (Eagle/Garuda) to be part of Your flag and also made him Your Vaahana. But how is it that You are lying down quietly on a snake(Adisesha), a sworn enemy of the bird (Garuda) which is Your vahana?

We get to see three different species of birds- swan, crane, eagle- with each one being part of a single or multiple acts. The bird as an entity takes three different forms and indulges in positive and negative acts. Here we have similarities and dissimilarities. But the clincher is the last line which makes a mention of two sworn enemies.

What does this indicate?

Same, but different?

Same, same, different?

Different, Different?

Keep thinking and you will find an answer, well not the same answer but different answers!

Take this composition – Sangatamizh kaviye from Manadil Urudi VeNdum(1987). It is a composition in three different ragas. Is that the only attribute of the composition?

The veena sounds once. The bells respond. The veena sounds again. The subtle bells respond yet again. It seems like the lighting of the lamp with the spark gleaming and glittering. The veena continues its journey weaving simple and intricate patterns in Abheri. The melody from the flute which follows the veena, floats around and surrounds us like a gentle breeze.

In between, just before the journey of the veena begins, the tabla sounds ‘ta ka dhi mi/ta ki ta/ ta ki ta’-a count of 10. However, the composition is set in Tisram, which has a cycle of 3 counts. Is there a fallacy here?

Not really. There are 2 micro- beats before ‘ta ka dhi mi’, which are left as kaarvai, giving a total of 12 micro-beats which is divisible by 3.

The Pallavi starts in the voice of Yesudass, giving clear shades of Abheri. While the sketch of the raga is shown in just one line with descending and ascending notes, the brilliance and the aesthetic sense of the composer is revealed in the sudden appearance of lower-octave swaras -pa.ni.- in daagam, which in a way also reflects the thirst of the composer and in the interjection of flute between the lines -sung first by Yesudass and then by Chitra.

The violins move softly in the beginning of the first interlude, but there is a catch here. These play in Bageshri, a different raga, but using the same swaras. Let me explain a bit.

Ragas in the Indian system of music are formed by different sets of swaras which follow some set patterns while ascending and descending. The swaras may be the same but the way these are used are different. For example, the structure of Abheri is -sa ga2 ma1 pa ni2 Sa/Sa ni2 dha2 pa ma1 ga2 ri2 sa, the first one being the ascending notes and the second half being the descending notes. The structure of Bageshri is – sa ga2 ma1 dha2 ni2 Sa/ Sa ni2 dha2 ma1 pa dha2 ga2 ma1 ga2 ri2 Sa. The numbers against each swara denotes the variant and as you can see the variants of the swaras in both the ragas are the same, as both are derived from the same parent raga. Yet,  these sound different from each other!

Going back to the interlude, the veena sways as it responds to the violins and then moves majestically after the stream-like melody from violins. The flute which is reposeful as if responds to the veena after each line, gathers momentum when the energetic strings appear. The strings, flute and the flute combine together with pulsating vibrancy and play the tisram beats – ta ki ta/ta ki ta/taam- thrice, a la Carnatic concert.

The CharaNam continues in Bageshri with the lines encapsulating the beauty of the raga. What is of specific interest is the line ‘oru puram naan aNaikka’ for varied reasons, the foremost being the sangati after that line in the voice of Yesudass which lasts for 12 tisram cycles. The melodic charm, the sweetness and the softness, elevate us to reach vertiginous heights. As if this is not enough, the phrases in the lines that follow touch higher-octave swaras-even going up to ‘Ma’- which is a rarity.

When the Pallavi is rendered again, it is in Bageshri with the lower-octave swaras dha. and ni. Commingling with the mid-octave swaras giving that contrasting shades again!

The tabla sounds ‘ta tai tai taa’ thrice and the mrudangam responds with ‘ta ri ki ta taam taam’ thrice. With depth and crispness, the strings play Madhukauns, a totally different sounding raag which has the same ga and ni as Abheri and Bageshri but a different ‘ma’(prati madhyamam). This one swara makes a huge difference to the sound, the emotions and the feelings. The veena and the flute move sprightly in the same raag sketching some unforgettable musical images. These alternate. It is vibrant, vivacious and at the same time pensive.

The sounds coalesce finally spreading radiance.

The CharaNam continues in Madhukauns with the flute appearing between the lines oozing musical droplets and the higher- octave swaras making it a heavenly experience.

Three ragas, two with same swaras, one with almost the same swaras and with a different swara.

Similar and Dissimilar...

Birds and Snake..

Poetry..Music..Life..Contrast!

 

 

 

 

 

 

ILaiyaraaja – Musician with an aura

 
How beautiful is light?

Not an easy question to answer. In fact the question itself is ambiguous and the difficulty in answering lies as much in that ambiguity. There are certain things which are beyond beauty and even the concept of beauty. Surely, Light is beyond everything.

Everything begins with light. Everything began with light. But everything does not end with light, because there is no end to light.

It is not surprising at all that scholars who understood the divine nature of light, have composed verses which show the different dimensions of light. AruNagirinathar was one of those.

He starts one of the verses saying ‘Standing at the peak of the mountain of Wisdom which was formed by the effulgent light’. Imagine a huge mountain formed from the light! He continues- ‘You made me realise the absolute bliss, a state of non-existence in that boundless open space’.

 

ஒளியில் விளைந்த உயர் ஞான பூதரத்து உச்சியின் மேல்

அளியில் விளைந்த து ஓர் ஆன ந்தத் தேனை அனாதியிலே

வெளியில் விளைந்த வெறும் பாழைப் பெற்ற வெறும் தனியைத்

தெளிய விளம்பியவா! முகம் ஆறுடைத் தேசிகனே!!

Light has value. Light has no value. It is beyond value. It is infinite.

This applies as much to music; Music composed by great people; people for whom music is not a way of life; for whom music is life itself.

‘Malaikovil vaasalil ‘ from ‘Veera’(1994) is an example of thousands of compositions which glow like light. So powerful is the effulgence that one even forgets that it is a romantic duet. All one feels is that divinity and needless to say, it is because of the way the entire composition has been composed.

It starts with the percussion alone. ‘ta ka dhi mi/ ta ka dhi mi’ plays the percussion, with an additional stress on the ‘dhi’ in the second half and this itself is enough to give that special feeling. In fact, this pattern continues in the Pallavi and the ChraraNam and therefore is the leitmotif of the composition itself.

But apart from this, what runs as the undercurrent is that primordial sound -AUM- a sound which is full of vibrations, a sound which gives vibrations, a sound which has no religion, caste, class and creed.

We first hear the sound in the higher-octave from the chorus after five cycles of ‘ta ka dhi mi/ta ka dhi mi’ by the percussion. Another set of chorus sings in the lower-octave and by now if you do not feel the divine fragrance, you may have to get tested for anosmia.

There is a sudden shift. The tanpura which enters with grace plays in a different shruti. The bells sound in that shruti and the Pallavi continues in the new shruti.

There are songs which changes shruti in between but I cannot think of any song which changes shruti in the Pallavi itself. So seamless is the change that one does not even notice it. Imperceptibly perceptible or perceptibly imperceptible!

Does the first line which takes the ascending swaras (sa ri ga ma pa) of Nata Bhairavi, indicate the climb up the hill?

Does the special instrument which follows the vocals signify the sparks?

Does the resonant folk percussion which plays ‘ta’, ‘ta dhi’ ‘ta’ for every alternate line symbolise the heart?

Does the harmony of the chorus- with one set singing in mid-octave and the other set singing in the higher-octave, show us Life itself?

As if to make us find an answer-or the futility in finding answers- the chorus sings the primordial sound again in the lower-octave. With the resonant percussion sounding ‘ta’ ‘dhi’ ‘ta’ in its inimitable style, the bamboo flute tantalises, while a special sounding instrument moves with relentless assiduity. Playing in two different octaves, the two sets of strings trot up and down showing the lambent light. The leitmotif (percussion) returns now backing a new set of strings which plays in the higher-octave, even as it is dappled in flickering light.

If the ending of the first two lines in the lower- octave swaras, shows us the descent, the bevy of swaras in the second half of the CharaNams, shows us our life can be complex as well. The wispy sound of the small flute towards the end, along with the vocals, show us the incandescent light.

Veda mantras in veena and guitar.. Primordial sound in chorus ..Graceful and beguiling stream of music from the flute..

How beautiful is the light?

Light has value. Light has no value. It is beyond value. It is infinite…

 

 

 

ILaiyaraaja – The Ageless Musician

 

What makes anything everlasting, perpetual, immortal and even beyond time? Do these have some special powers or have these been granted boons? Or is it that ‘it just happens’ without any reason?

By now many are aware that the Tamizh Changam poetry is more than 2500 years old and yet these are alive and kicking(in the tongues of scholars and in the minds of the literati) despite so many things having changed in two millennium. How and Why?

Allow me to quote a poem from one of these works, before I attempt to answer that question:

 

தொடி நெகிழ்ந்தனவே, தோள் சாயினவே,

விடும் நாண் உண்டோ தோழி விடர் முகைச்

சிலம்புடன் கமழும் அலங்கு குலைக் காந்தள்

நறும் தாது ஊதும் குறுன்சிறைத் தும்பி

பாம்பு உமிழ் மணியின் தோன்றும்

முந்தூர் மேனிய மழைக் கிழவோற்கே.

Raja4376 · Kurunthogai - Recited By Raj

Says she:

My bangles are slipping; My arms are getting leaner by the second.

Do I still have any modesty left(to lose)?

The bees spread the fragrance of the Malabar Blue lilies

That resemble the gems spat by the snake

Oh! My man who rules the mountain surrounded by the thorny bamboo fence.

What does this convey to you? The angst of the girl who pines for his man? Her ecstatic reminiscence on the time spent together? Her helplessness?

Forget all these for the time being and look at the way the poem is structured with focus on simile and contrasts. The little bees and the pollen here indicate the union while the snake and the gems(contrasts) depict the separation.

Bees spread the fragrance. Likewise, her man spread good things about her. Or put simply, fragrance here symbolises Love.

‘Bangles are coming off the hands’ – shows her angst.

‘I have no modesty even to lose’- does this need any elaboration at all?

Coming to think of it, each line is a small poem by itself and doesn’t this explain the reason for its immortality? By the way, this poem written by Aasiriyar PerunkaNNanaar, is part of KuRunthogai, which is part of Ettuththogai which is part Tamizh Changam literature, which, as per history and research dates back to BC 500.

Talking about immortality, this composer’s works too will fall under that category though sceptics would jump and comment that it is too early to say and ask ‘where is 2500 and where is 48’? Though they are partly correct, I have my own reasons for my presumption and the collection of posts here would list out that reasons though not in a specific order. But more than anything else, the fact that the compositions sound fresh even after decades at a time when what is considered a ‘hit’, disappears even before one bats an eyelid, is proof enough to suggest that the presumption might turn out to be a reality.

Today, I am taking up ‘EnnuLLe EnnuLLe’ from VaLLi(1993) as one of the examples. A song well-known to many, it is also packed with intricacies, not known to many.

First and foremost, it would disappoint people who look for ragas in each and every song, it I said that the composition cannot be classified under a particular raga. It just follows the minor scale of Western Classical Music. More on this, in a while.

Secondly, there is not a single percussion instrument in the song throughout the Pallavi, interludes and the CharaNams. There is a rider here. The composition starts with the percussion ruling the roost for 1 minute and 45 seconds, but the moment the melodic instruments start playing, the percussion retires. In fact, this segment (percussion) is not part of the normal audio one gets to listen, though it is part of the OST of the movie.

Let us get going and experience the Laya from the Raaja to start with:

Dheem - - ta/dheem - - ta

ta ki ta ta ki ta dheem -/- ta ka ta ki ta dheem (twice)

Dheem dheem ta -(twicw)/ ta ki ta ta ki ta dheem -/- ta ka ta ki ta dheem

Ta ka dhi mi/ta ka jhanu(8 times)

Dheem dheem ta ka ta ka/ki ta ta ka ta ka ta ri ki ta ta ka

Dheem dheem dheem dheem/ ta ka ta ri ki ta ta ka

Ta ka dhi mi/ta ka jhunu(3 times)/ ta ka dhi taangida ta ka ta ri ki ta ta ka

Ta ka dhi mi/ta ka jhunu/ ta ka dhi taangida ta ka ta ri ki ta ta ka (mel kaalam) – twice

Ta- ta – dheem/ ta ki ta dheem/ta ka dhi mi dheem/ ta dhinginnaththom/ta dhinginnaththom/ta dhinginnaththom

Ta – dhi -/ta taangu/ ta – dhi /ta taangu/ta – dhi/ta taangu

Ta-dhi – ta

Ta- ta – dheem/ ta ki ta dheem/ta ka dhi mi dheem/ ta dhinginnaththom/ta dhinginnaththom/ta dhinginnaththom

Ta – dhi -/ta taangu/ ta – dhi /ta taangu/ta – dhi/ta taangu

Ta-dhi – ta

Ta ka dhi mi/ ta ka jhunu(12 times)

Ta - ki ta ta ka/dhi- ki ta ta ka/ta - ki ta ka/dhi – ki ta ka

Ta - - -/ta - - -.

 

After these labyrinthine alleys, what we see and hear is something totally different.

There are three layers- one with the lead guitar, second with the rhythm guitar and third with the bass guitar. If the third layer shows the first layer in a different form, the second layer just backs the two layers. If you are confused and even bewildered by this line, let me try and explain.

The lead guitar plays a melody (which very soon we learn, is the melody of the Pallavi) in the minor scale. Interpreted in Carnatic language, this is Nata Bhairavi scale, but there is a catch here too. The entire bit eschews the note ‘ni’, the variant of which differentiates this scale with that of the Gowrimanohari scale, with the former being known by the name Diatonic minor and the latter going by the name Melodic minor.

Now, the bass guitar just plays the notes played by the lead guitar in the lower-octave. This is somewhat strange because generally in his compositions, the bass guitar plays a totally different sets of notes either while backing the lead instruments or while playing along with the vocals. Next, the rhythm guitar keeps playing ta ka dhi mi/ta ka dhi mi throughout. Hope the layers are understood now.

The chorus joins and hums the melody of the lead guitar even as the instruments continue to play. Can we call this a fourth layer?

More layers are seen in the Pallavi when the lead singer-Swarnalatha- takes over. The chorus sings in a different octave(lower) giving that effect of Harmony. But what is amazing is that the three different guitars continue in the background, albeit in a subdued tone.

Once layered, will it be possible for these to disappear on their own? Surely not especially if the layering is done by a master composer. We have three layers again the first segment of the first interlude. One set of strings is beguiling. The second set is enticing and the third set, soft and supple.

The double bass joins the set now and there is the fourth layer again. The brass flute interjects vivifying the atmosphere and one sees the different dimensions of the minor scale. The strings play sustained melody now and then even as the flute trots up and down assiduously. It is time for harmony again and as the chorus sings in harmony, the rhythm guitar backs it with continuous 1 2 3 4 with grace.

The layering continues in the CharaNams with the alluring flute and the translucent strings charting their own course with unique melodies, playing along and in between, to make it grandiloquent.

As mentioned, the lines in the CharaNams straddle between the Diatonic minor (Nata Bhairavi) and Melodic minor (Gowrimanohari) with the last two lines following the latter and the first two lines following the former.

The strings play a movement twice. Does it sound pensive? Or does it sound mystical?

If this occurrence in the beginning of the second interlude, what follows leaves us spell bound. The strings go in higher-octave; another set just backs it with sustained melody; the double bass plays with a touch of nonchalance; the chorus sings in harmony with the strings in the background; the cello just follows up with a very subtle touch.

We see the light. Is it the Light of Eternity?

 

 

 

ILaiyaraaja – The Concordant Musician

 

There is rhythm in life. There is rhythm is nature. There is rhythm is every living being. There is rhythm in every art form. There is rhythm is poetry.

Yes, I have stated the obvious and surely not something which is not known to a connoisseur. But what is rhythm? Is it a pattern? Is it what is called ‘beats’? Is it the TaaLa?

Rhythm is all these and also much more than all these.

Look at this verse:

 

கண்ணொடு கண்ணிணை நோக்கொக்கின் வாய்ச்சொற்கள்

என்ன பயனும் இல.

 

It simply means – When two pairs of eyes meet in unison, is there any need for words?

What is rhythmic about this?

Let me try deciphering the syllables in music parlance:

Ta ka dhi mi/ ta ka dhi mi/ ta ka ta ki ta/ ta ki ta/ta ka/ta ka/ta ka.

Raja4376 · ThirukkuraL - recited by Raj(me)

Am I talking about this rhythm alone? Not really.

As mentioned in the beginning, rhythm is not just the beats or the count, though these too are part of it. It is the inner meaning, the subtler one.

One pair of eyes meets the other pair; Silence.

Visualise the above-mentioned line. You will feel the rhythm, the rhythm of love.

And this is what immortal works do for us- make us see the unknown through the known. And that is why, ThurkkuRaL is still popular even after 2000 years.

What I am going to discuss now is on yet another work, which though is not that old-compared to ThirukkuraL- will surely fall under the category of ‘immortal works’, a fact which will be known 2000 years from now. Needless to say, whose works are being referred to here and so let us move on and look at one of the compositions under this category.

Without a doubt, ‘Kalise prati sandhyalo’ from ‘Aalapana’(1985) is rhythmic in the literal sense because of the role played by the rhythm. But beyond the obvious rhythm, there is something subtle as well.

Based purely on Mayamalavagowla, the composition starts directly without a prelude. SPB sings the first phrase just at samam(the first beat of the taaLa cycle) and leaves a gap for 3 beats. What happens during the 3 beats?

The mridangam sounds the four syllables-ta ka dhi mi- during the second and the third beats subtly and sounds the first and the third micro-beats during the fourth beats. Alongside, the flute plays the ascending swaras of Mayamalavagowla with finesse. When the next phrase is rendered, one sees the same pattern, except that now the flute plays the descending swaras(Sa ni dha pa). The same pattern gets repeated during the next two cycles, but here one also gets to hear the subtle sound of the bell.

The next two phrases witness subtle overtones, first from the violin which plays along with the vocals ever so subtly and from the keys which give some special sound, making us also see some different shades of the raga.

The same pattern is seen when Janaki joins, but this time it is just half as she sings only the first four phrases.

The first interlude starts with a catena of rhythmic phrases in Chatushram with the tabla and the mridangam involved in a healthy competition. With flourish and buoyancy, the twin-veeNa gives some beautiful shades of Mayamalavagowla. The flute swirls with unobtrusive energy unmindful of the interjections of the sympathetic strings followed by the veeNa. The rhythm in the melody of the twin-veeNa and the flute, cannot be missed if one observes with perceptive ears and the heart.

What happens then is a cascading progression.

In Classical music, there is something called yati. Rather than delving into it, this being a deep subject and would require a lot of explanation, let me just say that it is an arrangement in a particular pattern. There are 5 different yatis. What we hear in this composition now is what is called a Srothovaka yati with the syllables moving in ascending numbers:

1 2

1 2 3

1 2 3 4

1 2 3 4 5

1 2 3 4 5 6

1 2 3 4 5 6 7

Once this is completed, there are three beats and this is followed by ta ka ta ki ta( 1 2 3 4 5) 6 times, to make the total count 60.

Note that the yati stops at 1 2 3 4 5 6 7.

The CharaNams have four segments. In the first segment, SPB sings for one and half avartanams(cycles) with the akaaram of Janaki occupying the next two beats. In the next segment, the flute sparkles for the two beats with the first six beats(one and half cycles) being sung by SPB. The third segment goes plain. Or does it? Don’t we hear the subtle strings and the bell along with the vocals?

The fourth segment is a rhapsody of sorts. Janaki sings the akaaram reminiscent of the janta varisai and SPB who joins in the next cycle sings along but in a different octave.

Harmony and rhythm flow like a bright stream in the second interlude. The veena plays a melody with the ankle bells backing it. Just after one cycle, the sitar interjects giving a quiet glow. With rounded mellowness, the flute plays the same melody as that of the veena even as this is on. The santoor takes a meandering stroll and plays the melody played by the sitar. This concatenation and the blending of delicate and sonorous sounds, seem like paradise on earth.

The group of veena and the flute glide through with deftly interwoven swaras in Mayamalavagowla. The veena plays the ascending swaras and as if to show that beautiful things never end, the veena and the flute weave a small ‘korvai’ a la Carnatic music concert.

There is rhythm in life. There is rhythm is nature. There is rhythm is every living being. There is rhythm in every art form. There is rhythm is poetry.

What is that rhythm?

 

ILaiyaraaja – The Maayaavi

 

What is Magic?

Is it an art or is it science or is it esoteric?

Of all the definitions on Magic, this one – having a special quality that makes something seem wonderful – appeals to me the most not least because it completely ignores the second question. Magic is an experience and therefore the debate on what exactly it is – art, science, history, geography, maths- is unwarranted. We feel good when something magical happens and this is more than enough.

Now, imagine this scenario. The young prince along with his brother and a rishi, steps into a city. The moment he steps in, the creepers by the side of the road, get up and sway vigorously. It seems as if they extend their hands and welcome the prince with a smile and say ‘That great lady who was once sitting on the lotus, came here because of our penance. Come fast’.

On the face of it, this would seem like a normal poem because after all aren’t poets known for their imagination which mostly borders on exaggeration? Scratch the surface and you will see that M word.

First of all, the prince went by the name Rama. The city he entered went by the name Mythila. The lady is Sita. The last mentioned is supposedly an avatar of Lakshmi, the consort of VishNu, while the first mentioned is considered one of the avatars of VishNu, as per mythology. With this introduction, let us see the full poem in its original form:

மையறு மலரின் நீங்கி, யான் செய் மாதவத்தின் வந்து

செய்யவள் இருந்தாள்!’ என்று செழுமணிக் கொடிகள் என்னும்

கைகளை நீட்டி அந்தக் கடிநகர், கமலச் செங்கண்

ஐயனை ‘ஒல்லை வா!’ என்று அழைப்பது போன்றதம்மா!

 

Raja4376 · Verse of Kamban - Recited by me

Why, creepers and not trees? Creepers coil around something and this itself is a great sight. To me, this symbolises love. It also symbolises Time. It is just to ‘remind’ the man that there is somebody who has been waiting for you. But beyond all this, it is one word in the third line which adds that extra power to make this poem extraordinary. 

கமலச் செங்கண்  (kamala cheNgaN) – the one with the lotus eye.

Note that the verse starts by saying ‘the one who was sitting on the lotus flower’. By bringing in that lotus here again, doesn’t it say that she has always been part of you?

This is what we call magic. And yes, the magician here goes by the name Kamban.

 Time now to see magic in music.

Before I start describing the song, I must say a few things which might help in understanding some of the technicalities in classical music. It is a well-known fact that there are 7 notes in music, with each note, except the first one and the fifth one having two variants(and I am not going to talk about the third variant here for a reason!). Indian classical music has the concept of a raga which is defined as a set of notes which go ascending and descending(a raga is something more than a set of notes and yet again I am not getting into this now!).

It is not necessary to have all the 7 notes for a raga to be complete. There are ragas which have 6 notes, 5 notes and in different combinations. The swaras(Indian name for notes) are defined by the shruti. There are many techniques as well, and one of these is ‘Gruha bhedam’, which is the shifting of the tonic. Since I have elaborated on this in some of my earlier posts, I am not delving into this now. Suffice to say that if one of the swaras is made the ‘sa’, it becomes some other raga following the principle of Gruha Bhedam(‘Gruha’ – House; Bhedam – Shift). At times when a song is composed in a particular shruti, it becomes tough for a listener to exactly place the raga(which in a way is good!).

‘Vaa Vaa Anbe Anbe’ from ‘Agni Nakshatram’(1988) is one such song. Many say this song is based on Shivaranjani. But yours truly feels it is based on Sunaadavinodini. Is it an illusion? Or is it real? Is this the only magic in the song?

Let us strive to find answers..

The guitar sounds subtly. The piano responds with grace. The strings move like waves. The bass guitar, which generally is a silent participant, observes all this quietly and joins the celebration. Meanwhile, the drums enter as well making their presence felt now and then.

The guitar sounds the same melody repeatedly while the piano expands on its melody. The bass guitar goes around with its task unmindful of everything around it. The brass flute vivifies the atmosphere and trots up and down playing staccato notes even as the strings play in higher-octave, making a nuanced statement in the process.

How does this prelude sound?

Poignant? Romantic? Peppy?

And what scale does it follow?

At least I get an answer to the second question in the Pallavi itself. It starts with the lower octave kaakali nishadam and touches the antara gandharam, and though this does not suggest any specific raga, if one juxtaposes this with the prelude, the puzzle is solved because these swaras are non- existent in Shivaranjani. The last line in the Pallavi goes on the descent(Sa ni dha ma ga) confirming the fact that it is Sunaadavinodini. The last phrase probably has the rishabham but it occurs just once and can be called an accidental note.

Keeping all these technical details aside, taken as a musical piece the Pallavi excels in the voice of Yesudass and Chitra with the strings playing a melody along with the vocals, which is in the same scale but is different from that of the vocals in terms of the combination of notes.

With relentless assiduity, the guitar moves in the beginning of the first interlude bespattering droplets of melody. The piano gets drenched and gives a brief repartee with coy. The flute allures us with its melody which also has a tinge of poignancy. The strings continue from where they left(in the prelude) and draws a wavy pattern, which seems like the high tide.

The first two lines in the CharaNam move with sobriety as if to give us a hint about the magic that is likely to follow. And yes, it happens..

There is a sudden tonal shift and the scale suggests Shivaranjani. How did this happen?

As mentioned earlier, Sunaadavinodini and Shivaranjani are in the same Gruha Bhedam group. If the note ‘dha’ of Sunaadavinodini is kept as the ‘sa’, it transform to Shivaranjani and this is what happens here. It gets back to the original raga(scale) after two lines. Just for academic interest, if the ‘ga’ of Shivaranjani is kept as the base, it becomes Sunaadavinodini.

There is now a knock on the door. And it opens…Then there is a conversation. This is how one can describe the second interlude. The keys knock. The guitar responds. The drums move. The strings flow. The flute surrounds. It seems as if this conversation will never end. And we don’t want it to end as well.

It seems like the creepers, the lotus and the eyes converse with each other.

After all, it is a spell cast by a magician.. rather two magicians from two different eras.