ILaiyaraaja – The Colourful Musician

 

How romantic is romance?

Though the question seems tricky and even weird, a smart answer would be ‘as romantic as romance’.

Supposing the question was ‘how romantic is devotion?’, even smart people would start blinking. Some ‘right’ people (though invariably they are always wrong), would even take offence and start a vituperative campaign against the person who ask such questions. It would be still worse if the question was ‘how erotic is devotion?’.

But the fact of the matter is that people who take exception to such questions are either ignorant or ‘prefer’ to be ignorant. Like an ostrich, they refuse to look up. After all, reality sucks!

Leaving aside the fact that there is no ancient temple in India without sculptures in erotic postures, it must be understood and accepted that the Bhakti poets used romance and eroticism as a form of devotion, a form called ‘Madhura Bhakti’. Their poems exude with eroticism and romance. One of the classic examples is Jeyadeva’s Geeta Govindam, in Radha and Krishna are depicted as human lovers.

Almost all Bhakti poets in Tamizh literature (and this predates Geeta Govindam which was composed in the 12^th century), assumed the ‘nayaki bhava’, with the Divine being the Nayaka. I am not getting into the inner meaning which is esoteric and therefore beyond the scope of this post. But what I am going to do is to look at one poem as a sample.

Kulasekhara Azhwar, one of the 12 Vaishnavite saints whose collection of verses, goes by the name ‘Naalayira Divya Prabhandam’ (4,000 sacred verses) assumes the role of a Gopika. As per mythology, Gopikas were cowherd women who were in awe of Krishna, and danced with Krishna. Yet again, I refrain from getting into the inner meanings. Going back to the Azhwar, his 10 verses as one of the Gopikas, ooze with romance and eroticism. As I said, I am quoting just one such poem:

கருமலர்க் கூந்தல் ஒருத்தி தன்னைக் கடைக்கணித்து, ஆங்கே ஒருத்திதன் பால்

மருவி மனம் வைத்து, மற்றொருத்திக்கு உரைத்து, ஒரு பேதைக்குப் பொய் குறித்துப்

புரிகுழல் மங்கை ஒருத்தி தன்னைப் புணர்தி: அவளுக்கும் மெய்யன் அல்லை;

மருதி இறுத்தாய்!உன் வளர்த்தியூடே வளர்கின்றதால் உந்தன் மாயை தானே.

Rajendra Kumar · Kulasekhara Azhwar

“You gave a sidelong glance at a woman whose dark hair was adorned with flowers, at the same time letting your heart to another woman, told another woman that ‘I am yours’, misled another woman by giving a false promise of meeting at a place which is non-existent and finally embraced another woman. But you were not loyal even to her. Oh, the one who broke the Maruda trees! Your deceit and trickery grow along with You!”

While the humour cannot be missed, so is the poetic beauty.

It is this aspect that makes Bhakti literature shimmer like the full moon.

And that invariably brings us to music. What make a composition shimmer are the tune, and the rhythm. But, is that all? Aren’t there hidden meanings in the tune and the rhythm? Well, this time rather than calling these ‘esoteric’ and taking an escape route, I am going to focus on those inner meanings, aka nuances and intricacies.

If I say that Raasa Leela VeLa from Aditya- 369 (1991) is a classic song, will I not be stating the obvious? At times, stating the obvious is never tiring even if it is stated ad nauseam. For starters, it is based on the Hindustani raag Madhukauns, which is the prati madhyama counterpart of Shuddha Dhanyasi. To make the terminology clearer, Shuddha Dhanyasi has one variant of ‘ma’, while this one has the other variant, with the rest of the swaras being the same. More on what these swaras are, in a bit.

I wouldn’t call it pure Madhukans as there are traces of the other ma and even a couple of alien swaras, albeit sparingly. Anyway, this is beside the point.

Let me first go to the beginning. The differently sounding guitar plays ta ka dhi mi/ ta – first and then ta – dhi mi/ ta –. People who are regular followers of this blog, will be able to decipher this as the micro-beats of Tisram. For the benefit of others, let me tell you that Tisram is the 3-beat cycle – ta ki ta – and when it is expanded, the micro-beats are generally ta ka dhi mi ta ka, that is 6. In this particular instance, not all the micro-beats are played and therefore the gaps are called ‘karvai’.

Going back to the rhythm, the same pattern is repeated twice. Then there is that magic. The guitar now sounds ta ka dhi mi, which is the 4 - beat cycle, called Chatushram. A manual count indicates that it is sounded 15 times, which makes it 15x4, which is equal to 60, which is divisible by both 3 and 4!

In between, during the 7^th ta ka dhi mi, the strings enter and play in higher-octave. It is like a sudden downpour from the heavens. Yet another guitar responds to the strings now and then. Note that there is no percussion until now, though the taaLa pattern is as clear as the crystal.

The percussion enters and plays ta ka dhi mi/ ta ka dhi mi/ - - - -. Wait ! Ta ka dhi mi is four. But did I not say the composition is in tisram (3)?

Is it confusing again? While discussing compositions like this (remember ‘esoteric’), I will not do full justice if I leave out such aspects. So, let me explain. What is 4x3? 12? Does it not have both ‘4’ and ‘3’? Therefore, it is 4 tisrams, played as 3 chatushrams!

This particular pattern appears throughout the Pallavi and the CharaNams.

Let me now take you through the raga aspect. The prelude is a mix of Shuddha Dhanyasi and Madhukauns, but enter the Pallavi (Vocals : SPB) and it is pure Madhukauns. Wait for a few seconds before I unveil the structure and along with it, something else.

Beguiling and Bewitching! This is how I can call the sound of a very different flute in the beginning of the first interlude. Even as it plays sans percussion, the feeling of poignancy cannot be missed. The percussion- in the same pattern described sometime ago- enters and along with it enters the strings vivifying the atmosphere. The flute continues its journey for a while and when it retires, the strings take over and now that ‘something else’ appears.

The structure of Madhukauns is – sa ga2 ma2 pa ni2 Sa. If that ‘pa’ is taken as ‘sa’, it becomes Chadrakauns, another raag known to evoke very deep emotions. And yes, its structure is – sa ga2 ma1 dha2 ni3 Sa.

The technique quoted above is called Gruha Bhedam and let me repeat – people familiar with this blog and the posts here, should be familiar with this term.

This happens when the strings sound the second time. The flute - this time, it is the most familiar one- coos like a bird in Chadrakauns and gives a plaintive cry when Janaki takes over the CharaNam.

The lines in the CharaNam(s) move with grace in that beautiful raga called Chadrakauns until it goes back to Madhukauns just towards the end.

It is flute’s day out in the first half of the second interlude as it bespatters different hues of Madhukauns. Mesmerised by this, the guitar starts dancing like the Gopika. The strings take over in the higher-octave and in the blink of an eye, shifts to Chandrakauns. Finally, the keys sound ta ka dhi mi/ta ka dhi mi/ta ka dhi mi twice in Chandrakauns.

Isn’t this musical leela? Kulasekhara Azhwar will vouch for this/, wherever he is now!

 

 

ILaiyaraaja – The Polymath

 How do we define genius?

Can we say unusually brilliant?

It is rather tough to determine if it is natural or if is it acquired over a period of time. There are some born geniuses. There are also people who by virtue of their sheer hard work and dedication, become experts. We see their genius in their works much later.

In some cases, there is a divine intervention and all of a sudden, a very normal person becomes a genius. This is what happened in the case of KaaLidasa, who was an illiterate and with the blessings of KaaLi, became a poet composing some immortal works in Sanskrit. How far the story of him being a dumb is true, nobody knows.

There is also the story of AruNagirinthar, who after leading a nauseas life attempted to take his life, and just at that moment, was blessed by Muruga. He went on to compose many verses (‘many’ is an understatement) and created a niche for himself in Tamizh literature (and in music as far as the taaLas are concerned).

While KaaLidasa is believed to have lived around the 4^th and the 5^th century, AruNagirinthar lived in the 14^th century. But more recently too, there have been some geniuses in whose life the Divine played an indirect role. A person who was born Muthiah, who had little formal education and who was an atheist because of the influence of an ideology, read the works of AaNdaaL one night, became KaNNadasan and changed the paradigm of tamizh film songs.

Then there was somebody by name Rangarajan who went to Madras with the dream of becoming a lyricist, faced rejection and dejection which led him to the brink of life. With thoughts of ending his life lingering in his mind, a song came floating in the air, and this turned around his life. This gentleman who is better known by the name Vaali, went on to pen many songs, songs that still float in the air if one happens to tune in to the Radio/TV or even the other music related applications in the digital gadgets.

Guess whose song changed his life?

Yes, it was one of the songs of KaNNadasan.

Apart from film songs, Vaali ( like KaNNadasan) also authored some books, that include ‘PaaNdavar Bhoomi’ (Mahabharata) and ‘Avataara Purushan’ (RamayaNa) in the Pudukkavitai format.

Needless to say, Vaali was inspired by KaNNadasan who in turn was inspired by AaNdaaL.

Let me just produce a couple of lines written by KaNNadasan first and Vaali next, and you will know the reason after a while.

KaNNadasan once wrote – உண்டென்று சொல்வதுந்தன் கண்ணல்லவா/ இல்லையென்று சொல்வதுந்தன் இடையல்லவா.

Loosely translated (in fact, it is next to impossible to translate this), it would mean -Your eyes make one believe that ‘it is there’, while your waist makes on feel that ‘it is not there’. Going a little deep, one can interpret this as ‘huge eyes’ and ‘slim waist’. Well, there is more to it than meets the eye!

Generally, a sculptor draws a sketch of the sculpture he plans to sculp. When he goes to the eyes, he puts tick marks on both sides and when he goes to the waist, he puts cross marks. So, a ‘Yes’ for ‘eyes’ and a ‘No’ for the waist!

Now you can see the meaning of genius.

Vaali, the protégé , takes a different take. While describing the beauty of Kunti in PaaNdavar Bhoomi, he says the waist is like the Divine. Why? Don’t some people believe the existence of God, and don’t some deny the same? So, her waist is ‘there’ and ‘not there’!

Meaning of genius yet again?

Let us look at that verse:

நடைக்கு உவமை – நதி;

சடைக்கு உவமை – சாரை;

துடைக்கு உவமை – தூண்;

இடைக்கு உவமை – இறை!

ஏனெனில் ..

இதைப் பற்றித்தான்

‘இலது’ ‘உளது’

என-

இரைகிறது உலகு!

Gait like a river/ Hair like a snake/Thighs like a pillar/Waist like the Divine.

Rajendra Kumar · KaNNadasan and Vaali

I spoke about the genius of some masters. How can I leave out the genius who was born in a village in a remote corner, and rose to not just compose tunes that sounded fresh and different then (and now and forever), but also brought in a totally different perspective to the orchestration and the background score.

The song we are going to see today is no doubt a classic composition in terms of the melody, but I am going to focus more on the TaaLa part. Isn’t Laya Raaja, my favourite?

KaaLidasan KaNNadasan Kavitai Nee from Soorkkottai Singakkutti (1983) is set in Mishram (7/8).

It starts with the akaaram and for two cycles, goes without the backing of the percussion. The percussion joins at the third cycle and plays ta ki ta/ ta ka dhi mi (1 2 3/ 1 2 3 4) with precision. In the next cycle, it is ta ki ta when the male sings and ta ka dhi mi when the female chorus sings. After 2 cycles, it is ta ki ta/ ta ka dhi mi in the male akaaram followed by the female chorus for the entire cycle, while the male continues the akaaram even during the chorus segment. After 2 cycles, the instruments take over.

The dazzling strings play ta ki ta/ ta ka dhi mi/ ta ka dhi mi. Is it not 10 then? Not really. The first ta ki ta is played in the normal speed while the two ta ka dhi mi-s are played in the faster mode. So here, 8 = 4.

After two cycles, the violins play ta ka dhi mi/ta ka/ ta ka dhi mi/ta ka dhi mi.

What is this? Should it not be just 7 (ta ki ta/ ta ka dhi mi)? And yet again, arithmetic plays a role. 7 is further broken into 14 and is played in the faster mode. These 14 beats are the micro-beats.

This goes on for 3 cycles until the ebullient violins decide to give way to the sedate santoor for one cycle with the latter playing just ta ki ta/ta ka dhi mi in the normal speed. The violins join in and as if influenced by the santoor, plays the mishram with sobriety along with the santoor.

I am sure it is understood that the percussion keeps playing all the seven beats of mishram in the background throughout and that I have focussed on the melodic instruments playing the beats – not common in others’ compositions, while not uncommon in many of his compositions.

The lines in the Pallavi (vocals- Jayachandran and Suseela) shimmer with beauty. For academic interest, the composition is loosely based on Abheri, with a dash of alien notes creeping in later. There are 3 sets of percussion and all the 3 play ta - -/ ta – dhi -. The ‘-‘ are gaps where the percussion keeps quiet and some of you familiar with my posts here know that this is called kaarvai.

The beginning of the first interlude glistens with the sound of the santoor, which plays ‘ta ka dhi mi/ ta ka/ ta ka dhi mi/ta ka dhi mi’ followed by the ineluctable flute which plays the same but in its own way.

After two cycles, the violins play ‘ta ka dhi mi/ ta ka’ with the santoor completing ‘ta ka dhi mi/ ta ka dhi mi’ exquisitely. The doughty violins are in full swing then and continue to play the same pattern for 3 cycles. Just towards the end of the third cycle, the flute joins in and plays along. Note that the percussion takes a break during the first cycle, adding that effect of silence.

The special effect continues in a different way when the violins play ta ka dhi mi/ ta ka/ ta ka dhi mi and stop, giving space to the flute which plays just two syllables and pauses. The percussion keeps quiet yet again when the flute plays.

The violins then continue with the santoor pitching in. The chorus continues ta ki ta/ ta ka dhi mi in akaaram with the backing of the bass guitar. Finally, the violins play ta ki ta/ ta ka with the santoor playing ta ka dhi mi in faster mode, which in effect is 2 and not 4.

The lines in the CharaNam are graceful with alien notes peeping in rather liberally. In the first half, the tabla plays mishram giving kaarvai now and then while in the second half, the mrudangam plays all the 7 beats.

Ta - dhi mi /ta ka/ ta – dhi mi /ta – dhi mi says the acoustic guitar twice, appearing out of the blue, along with the rhythm guitar. The violins play mishram in higher-octave with kaarvai ( ta – ta / ta – dhi mi) twice.

It takes a folksy turn with the male voice which appeared in the prelude humming tantaane ta ne in mishram leaving gaps for a cycle now and then and the female chorus joining in in the second half. The flute follows and plays ta ka dhi mi / ta ka/ ta ka dhi mi/ta ka dhi mi twice with the backing of bass guitar. Finally, the enticing santoor plays ta ki ta in the normal speed with the ebullient violins playing ta ka dhi mi/ ta ka dhi mi in the faster mode.

‘It is there’ and ‘It is not there’.

‘Yes’ and ‘No’.

Isn’t this the meaning of Genius?