ILaiyaraaja – The Adoring Musician

 

Looking at that figure, he cried ‘Ayyo!’

Who? What figure? Was it so scary and horrific to look at?

Before I attempt to answer these questions, I want to ask a series of questions:

What happens to us when we are in awe of something? What happens to us when we are filled with joy? What happens to us when we are ecstatic?

The answer is simple – We forget totally forget ourselves and utter something which others might consider offensive.

This is what happened to that gentleman. Yet, there is a difference between ordinary (us) and extraordinary (geniuses). While we would just stop with meaningless sounds or words (at times even expletives), the latter give an aesthetic form to it.

Here, the name of the genius is ThiruppaaNaazhwar. He looks at the magnificent figure of Ranganatha in Srirangam and his thoughts veer to one of His earlier forms – Krishna as an infant just before the end of the Dwaapara yuga. It may be noted that as per mythology, it is believed that before any Yuga ended, there would be a cataclysmic event. I do not want to expand this now as it is out of syllabus. But what I am going to tell you is the gist of the entire verse where that expression quoted in the beginning appears.

He swallowed the seven worlds and lay on a small fig leaf. Now, He is lying on the gigantic snake, wearing a garland of gems, and a pearl necklace. Oh! My heart is full now.

 

 

ஆல மா மரத்தின் இலைமேல் ஒரு பாலகனாய்

ஞாலம் ஏழும் உண்டான் அரங்கத்து அரவின் அணையான்

கோல மா மணி ஆரமும் முத்துத் தாமமும் முடிவு இல்லது ஓர் எழில்

நீல மேனி, ஐயோ! நிறை கொண்டது என் நெஞ்சினையே!

Rajendra Kumar · ThiruppaaNazhwar

Can one even define or explain that ecstatic ‘ayyo’?

On the other hand, awe-stuck by the poetic beauty, we exclaim – Ayyo! We cannot go beyond that. But geniuses are different. They are aesthetic in their approach and in their expressions.

After having seen that Azhwar and his expressions, let us see a Raaja and his expressions.

The composition is about a couple who discover that they have fallen in love just then. Isn’t this a normal sequence in an Indian movie? But geniuses make ordinary seem extraordinary with their approach. And at the surface level, it looks pretty simple. Scratch the surface and you will find many layers.

Om Namaha from Geetanjali (1989) is a composition based on a raga called Hamsanaadam- a pentatonic raga, which once upon a time had six swaras, but that again is out of syllabus here. It is a very pleasing melody without a doubt, set in the 7-beat cycle, Mishram. But, is that all?

The percussion- rhythm pads- mimics our heartbeats. Love from the point of view of a connoisseur. But what is amazing and astonishing is the fact that one hears these heart beats throughout the song, a rarity for a composer known for changing the patterns in a jiffy. Again, that is not all.

Mishram is – ta ki ta/ ta ka dhi mi (1 2 3/ 1 2 3 4). Rather than playing all the seven beats, the percussion plays just the first, second, fourth and fifth with another melodic instrument playing the sixth and the seventh. Time now to scratch the surface.

One hears the sound of the rhythm guitar in the background and this plays all the seven beats. This is subtle while the other one is prominent. Doesn’t this convey the philosophy of life itself? The heart is at the superficial level but depends totally on the soul.

Heart – Rhythm pads.

Soul – Rhythm guitar.

Possible only by geniuses who are also connoisseurs of life!

There is yet another ‘ayyo’ moment which we shall see at the end. But before that, let us look at the interludes which too showcases the connoisseur of music.

With a haunting charm, the mandolin unfolds the beauty of the raga. The strings glide in quietly and spread the fragrance. The keys coo like a bird with the guitar giving that touch of mellowness.

With musical elegance the lines in the CharaNams, show us the unique melody of the raga, with that mandra staayei nishadam giving that Raaja muttirai!

We shall see the CharaNam again in a bit.

Beginning with the sound of the bells, the second interlude sways gently and makes us sway as well. With winsome variations, the flute shows different hues of the raga with the strings making the glow of the raga enter our consciousness.

And now for that moment. Just before the 5^th line, the Master keeps the panchamam (pa) of the raga as the base Shadja (sa) and shifts it to Gambhira naattai. It returns to Hamsanaadam in the next line.

Is it done to show the majestic quality of love?

Or is it just the connoisseur in action?

We don’t know. All we know is to say ‘Ayyo!’

 

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 Sempiternal Musician

 

Time stood still.

Time froze.

It is timeless.

Time rolls on.

Time moves.

Long time ago.

These are just some of the statements about Time. Do you see a paradox between the first three and the last three? It typifies Time. After all, Time itself is a paradox.

Rather than analysing this and questioning this, let us move on and focus on the topic. For, Time never waits for anyone!

Here is a lady who has not heard from her man for quite a while. Rather than call Time on her Love, she waits. Her friend spots the pallor and is worried. But the lady is unperturbed.

She says, “Do not worry about my pallor. It is surely not because of him, that man from that country where peacocks squawk even as they sway their long plumes, on the banks of the forest river which swells because of the heavy rains”.

கலி மழை கெழீஇய கான் யாற்று இகுகரை

ஒலி நெடும் பீலி துயல்வர இயலி,

ஆடு மயில் அகவும் நாடன் நம்மொடு

நயந்தனன் கொண்ட கேண்மை

பயந்தக்காலும் பயப்பு ஒல்லாதே.

(KuRunthogai – 264- Kapilar)

 

Rajendra Kumar · Kurunthogai 264

While the fact that she compares herself to the happily dancing peacocks cannot be missed, what should not be missed is her firm conviction – Whatever happens, my love for him will be the same!

Whether it is the 2500-year-old KuRunthogai or a 40-year-old musical piece, certain things remain the same.

Take this composition Kaalam Maaralaam from Vaazhkkai (1984). Does it not sound as fresh as a daisy after so many years and does it not make us yearn for more?

Is the reason the melody or is there something else as well? Well, it could be both.

Sounding as soft as possible, the guitar plays ‘ta ka dhi mi’ four times and one clearly hears a few swaras of Hamsadhwani. Just as the fourth ‘ta ka dhi mi’ starts, SPB enters and sings the akaaram. After one cycle, we see the entry of VaNi Jayaram, who sings the akaaram, but a melody different from that of SPB’s. Both move together and it is a counter-point in Hamsadwani. The lilting akaarams keep going around us in two concentric circles.

After a while, SPB just hums in Hamsadhwani and VaNi Jayaram responds with the same humming. What is sandwiched in between is that sound of the veeNa, subtle and nuanced! It sounds again after the humming of VaNi Jayaram, and then we are in for a surprise!

Did I say ‘surprise’? Well, can anything be a surprise if one knows this composer well?

The electric guitar plays in Hamsadhwani, but don’t we hear an alien note?

Hamsadhwani has sa ri2 ga3 pa ni3, both in ascending and descending, but there is a clear sound of the dhaivatam (dha1) too. Raga texts define this scale/raga as ‘TaraLam’, derived from the 27^th meLa, Sarasangi. Has any other composer used it? I am not sure. But this composer had used it before. Keep thinking about that song, which some people still think is based on Latangi.

In a way, TaraLam sounds like Latangi but the absence of the swara ‘ma’, gives it a uniqueness. The fact that the dhaivatam gives it a poignant flavour cannot be denied.

What cannot be denied is also the fact that there is a kind of freshness in this raga/scale.

The prelude ends with the guitar playing ‘ta ka dhi mi’ four times again in Hamsadhwani, making it a circle.

Isn’t life itself a circle?

SPB starts the Pallavi. The Master of varieties, whose other name is ILaiyaraaja, gives rest to the percussion and makes rhythm guitar the backing instrument when the first line is rendered the first time. And he also starts the composition with the descending notes (Sa ni pa ga) and then goes to the ascending notes (sa ri ga pa). If the mandra staayi (lower- octave notes) in the beginning of the next two lines, is not a surprise, the last line (after which the Pallavi starts again) is not a surprise at all. It goes ri ga pa ni (ini varum) and then Sa ni ni pa ga- ascending and descending.

Circle of life again!

Note that the entire Pallavi is in pure Hamsadhwani.

So is the first half of the first interlude. The strings sound ta ka dhi mi in mid-octave Hamsadhwani thrice with a new set of strings joining in during the third ta ka dhi mi and sounding the same in higher-octave. The last part is sounded by the keys. Vivifying the atmosphere, a set of different keys moves with agility and the veeNa responds in its own style. The electric guitar enters now and brings in the dhaivatam, transforming Hamsadhwani to TaraLam.

Gracefully transiting to the western classical style, the strings play in the higher-octave intercepted now and then by a couple of instruments that play different sets of notes (mainly descending). But it is the flute that steals the show by showing a sudden flash of light, towards the end, aided by the stringed instrument.

Don’t we see such sudden flashes of light in our life as well?

TaraLam is in full flow in the first half of the CharaNams in which the tabla sounds just the first and the third syllables (ta, dhi) with intensity and with a very subtle percussion sounding just the first syllable in the next half. It goes thus – ta – dhi - / ta - - -.

Hamsadhwani returns in the second half and a close observation suggests that the lines are the same as that of the second and third lines of the Pallavi, except that these are in the next octave.

Laya Raaja does it again in the second interlude. The Pallavi is sung again first by Vani Jayaram and then by SPB. When he finishes ‘MaaRuma’, the taLa cycle is on the third beat. The bass strings take over and play ‘ta ki ta’ for each beat and this happens seven times. The eighth time is the samam and it plays just ‘ta ki ta’ and moves away. Note that 3x8 = 24, which is divisible both by 3 and 4.

With finesse the flute goes on, interjected now and then by the electric guitar. The banter between the two is tantalisingly beautiful. The strings take over and like a clear stream, move on..

Time rolls on.

Time stands still.

Paradox? There lies the beauty of Life!

P.S. This post is written on the occasion of the 11th anniversary of the Group, 'ILaiyaraaja - The Master' on Facebook.

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 Contrarian

 

How appropriate is appropriateness in Life?

But isn’t appropriateness itself subjective? Or is it?

At the same time, aren’t there norms and rules and doesn’t one have to strictly follow these and wouldn’t failure to follow these make one ‘appropriately inappropriate’?

Take music, Indian music, in particular. Each raga has ascending and descending notes and if an alien note enters the raga, it is against grammar rules.

For that matter, any work of art(and this includes poems) should follow the grammar without which it becomes meaningless and also cannot be termed as a work of art. But if one goes strictly by the rule book, the work also seems staid, mechanical, monotonous and even unenterprising, thus defeating the very purpose of art.

Any work of art attains a status not only if it is as per rules but also when it breaks certain rules.

Does this sound conflicting and paradoxical?

At the face of it, yes. But scratch the surface and you will see the real meaning; in fact, layers of meanings.

There is something called innovation; there is something called improvisation. Both these are offshoots of creativity. When the artform is kept as the base and new ideas are added to it by stretching the boundary without in anyway crossing the border, it acquires a special beauty. But here too, there should be a broad rule: the thin line distinguishing the border from the boundary should be very clear and not confusing.

And therein lies the hallmark of a genius.

Here is a sample of work from one of the geniuses who preferred to call himself as a ‘servant of the servants’(thoNdaradi podi), and yet was exalted to the status of an aazhwar.

Describing the beauty of the Universe is not uncommon in a poem, even if it is a verse dedicated to the Divine. However here, the poet looks at it in a different way. Let us see the verse first:

 

கதிரவன் குணதிசைச் சிகரம் வந்து அணைந்தான்;

கன இருள் அகன்றது காலை அம்பொழுதாய்;

மது விரிந்து ஒழுகின மா மலர் எல்லாம்;

வானவர்கள் அரசர்கள் வந்து வந்து ஈண்டி,

எதிர்திசை நிறைந்தனர்;இவரொடும் புகுந்த

இருள் களிற்று ஈட்டமும் பிடியொடு முரசும்

அதிர்தலில் அலைகடல் போன்றுளது எங்கும்;

அரங்கத்தம்மா! பள்ளி எழுந்தருளாயே!

 

Raja4376 · Paasuram

The sun has come to the east; No more darkness and it is the dawn; Honey oozes out from the flowers; Devas, Kings, male elephants, female elephants- have lined up; The drums sound with resonance; It seems like the sound of the ocean. Oh! Ranganatha!! Please wake up.

What is different here?

It is believed that it is the Divine which is responsible for the Universe, the actions, the activities and the beauty. Here, the poet describes the beauty to the One who is responsible for that and most importantly, has the audacity to ask that ‘One’ to wake up as if the Divine sleeps.

Is this appropriate or inappropriate?

Rather than trying to figure out an appropriate answer, let us all understand that at times there is beauty in inappropriateness and that it is this beauty which makes any work aesthetic and immortal.

And yes, this does not exclude musical works.

Take this particular song – Paadu Nilaave from Udaya Geetam(1985). For starters, it is based on a raga called Mohanam. Note the word –‘based’. As I have mentioned in many of my posts, it is not the raga alone which matters.

Now, Mohanam has just 5 swaras- sa ri2 ga3 pa dha2- with the numbers below each note referring to the variant of that note. ILaiyaraaja as such has composed many songs in this raga, with some being in its ‘purest’ form and others with a mix of alien notes. Generally, the alien notes would be the notes non-existent in the raga, say – the swaras, ma and ni. At times, it would also be the other variant of the 3 notes – ri, ga, dha-, but these would be sparingly used.

‘Paadu Nilaave’ is different and in more than one way.

The composition starts with the akaaram of Janaki which is graceful and bewitching at the same time. The strings reply with equal grace and with a sense of awe. As soon as the akaaram gets over, the strings take over and how? There are three sets with one set playing a tantalising melody and the other two sets playing a repeat melody alternating with each other. Even as this is on, the feeling of poignancy is ineluctable. This itself is somewhat unusual because Mohanam is a raga known for creating a happy mood. Now, read my line on ‘raga’ in one of the paragraphs!

The bells sound softly leading to the Pallavi which again has that sense of melancholy, not least because of the entry of the other variants of ‘ga’ and ‘dha’ with the former going on a procession along with its brother(ga3) and the latter combining once with its brother(dha2) in the end, giving that chromatic effect.

The procession continues in the first interlude with the strings sounding gingerly in the beginning. The next set of strings continue like a chain-link along with the subtle guitar. The chain-link is maintained by the piped instruments even as the strings back them like the wispy thread. As if not to be shown to be someone who is left behind, the flute enters and plays plaintively even as the two sets of strings back it, with one being dominant and the other, subtle. All these join together towards the end, making pensive glides and evoking a mélange of feelings.

The musical procession continues in the CharaNams with the first line alone in Mohanam and the following lines filled with the other ga. The other dha too appears now and then towards the end. This of course is just the technical side. But the feelings and emotions evoked by the lines and the flute ‘between the lines’ which billows a lugubrious and yet sweet melody, take us to empyrean heights.

The entry of SPB after the first CharaNam, vivifies the atmosphere and makes us expect more.

Our expectations are not belied. In fact, what happens is even beyond one’s expectations.

The second interlude is vivacious to start with. The strings and a phalanx of instruments play in Mohanam with vibrancy and catapults us to a sea of happiness. It is a flood of melody with the electric guitar trotting up and down with the strings backing it assiduously and different sounds ( 4 to be precise) going up like the Diwali crackers.

And then something happens…

A group of strings play in higher-octave with precision. Another set of strings supports it like a balustrade. Keys sound the notes like an incantation. But all these in a totally different raga called Pantuvarali.

Let me now touch upon something technical. Ragas like Pantuvarali are so flexible that if one takes out ‘sa’ and ‘pa’ and does gruha bhedam, one can get the popular pentatonic ragas like Mohanam, Hindolam, Suddha Dhanyasi, Suddha Saaveri and Madhyamavati. So, if the swara ‘ga’ of Pantuvarali is kept as the ‘sa’, it gives Mohanam. ILaiyaraaja has done this in the ‘Violin concerto’ in ‘Rajapaarvai’. But what he has done here is something unthinkable. He has done what can be called a ‘reverse gruha bhedam’. Honestly how he did it remains a mystery at least to me. He shifts from Mohanam to Pantuvarali in a jiffy and gets back to Mohanam towards the end of the interlude, which of course can be deciphered rather easily, as the ‘ga’ of Pantuvarali is kept as the ‘sa’.

So, how appropriate is the prolific use of the other variants in Mohanam?

How appropriate is the reverse gruha bhedam leading to a totally different raga?

Do we need answers or do we just need to see the beauty in being ‘inappropriate’ like ThoNdaradipodiyaazhwar who had the audacity to describe the beauty to the Creator and asked him to ‘open his eyes’?

Being inappropriate is appropriate, at times.

Being inappropriate is aesthetic, at times.

Being inappropriate makes our life beautiful, at times.

Do you agree?

 

 

ILaiyaraaja- The Ineffable Musician

 

Can somebody or something go beyond what is generally seen or believed? If this happens, will it happen in real or only in imagination?

While coming across certain works, one can’t help wondering at the beauty of the works and the genius mind behind the creation of the works. ‘Are such things possible?’, we wonder.

One such work is Kamba RamayaNam. Though there are just 4 lines in each verse, it is impossible not to be enamoured of the use of the words and the way these are arrayed to convey not just meanings but something beyond meanings.

Take this particular verse which appears almost in the beginning of the work even before Rama is born. The poet extols Dasharatha, the father of Rama.

People familiar with the story, know that this gentleman was an Emperor respected by one equally for his compassion as for his valour.

The poet wants to show both the qualities in one verse and begins by saying  'Since there is no need for him to use the arrows’. Now, the reader keeps wondering the reason. In no time he/she gets the answer- ‘because he has no enemies’. Why no enemies? It is because he has conquered the world. Fine then. ‘He must have become lazy now and therefore must have lost his strength as there is nobody’, the cynic inside us says this with a tinge of sarcasm. The mind reader that he is, the Emperor of poetry describes Dasharatha immediately be saying ‘ the one with the strongest shoulders’. We are zapped! So now that he does not have to prove himself as a warrior, does he rest on his laurels and whiles away his time in all vices?

The poet continues- Like a farmer whose only asset is a piece of land, and who works very hard to make that land the best, this Emperor too protects his land (his kingdom) and protects his people with utmost care and compassion.

எய்யென எழுபகை எங்கும் இன்மையால்,

மெய்பொரு தினவுறு முழவுத் தோளினான்

வையக முழுவதும் வரிஞன் ஓம்பும் ஓர்

செய்யெனக் காத்து இனிது அரசு செய்கின்றான்.

Not only was the mythological character called Dasharatha was great, but also the poet who uses his imagination to enthral the aesthetes, the connoisseurs, the cognoscenti, and the common man, great. Needless to say, no word can do justice to his greatness.

Coming to think of it, such geniuses do not ‘think’ and it just happens to them.

How this applies to the composer who has been ruling the roost for the last 47 years, is known to many. The fact that his compositions appeal to the erudite as much to the layman, speaks volumes of his greatness, which for all practical purposes cannot be put in words.

Take ‘Koottattile Kovil PuRa’(Idaya Kovil- 1985) as one of the examples. At the surface, it is just a song sung by an untrained singer with a mellifluous voice in a village. But what has the composer done here which has made the song sound as fresh as a daisy after so many decades?

For starters, it is based on a raga called ‘Karnataka Khamas’, which strangely enough has not been used by any classical composer despite being a very simple raga and despite being very close to some very popular ragas-Khamas and Harikambhoji being some examples. Take out the swara ‘ri’ from both arohana(ascending) and the avarohana(descending) from the latter and we get this raga. Likewise, instead of the devious ‘sa ma ga ma pa dha ni Sa’, make it straight- sa ga ma pa dha ni Sa-in the arohaNa and have the same sets of swaras in the avarohaNa instead of all the seven swaras, and you can make out how different it is from Khamas.

Surprisingly enough, ILaiyaraaja has composed many songs in this raga while many others have not even gone near that.

Well, the beauty of/in ‘Koottattila..’ does not stop just with this.

The drone of the Tanpura followed by the sound of the ankle bells, create an electable divine atmosphere in the beginning itself. The fact that the first few phrases of the Pallavi are rendered without percussion and the silence after the first couple of phrases, spread a unique fragrance making the experience mystical.

With just the mid-octave swaras(except for the odd upper Sa in the first line) in the Pallavi, the raga is sketched on the canvas with a dark pencil. The continuous stream of the lower ‘sa’ in the second and the third line(towards the end), makes one see the canvas fluttering in the air with remarkable assiduity.

The wind blows with musical grace. The percussion sounds in Tisram with zeal. Backed by very subtle instruments, the chorus hums. Dappled with the flickers of light, the flute responds. Don’t we see a rustic atmosphere here?

That is why, I choose to call the first interlude bewitchingly beautiful!

A series of mid-octave swaras move with finesse in the first two lines of the CharaNams, but with the sudden entry of the higher-octave swaras like the 'Ga’ and ‘Ma’ in the third line, the complexion changes. The accidental note ‘Ri’ too enters in a flash and disappears like a lightning. But what follows is more than interesting.

First, it is the sangati in the line that follows in the inimitable voice of SPB, which shows us the beauty of Karnataka Khamas in a trice. Next, is Laya Raaja.

As mentioned earlier, the composition is set in Tisram, the 3-beat cycle. The last line goes in sets of four-

ta ka dhi mi/ta ka dhi mi/ta ka dhi mi/ ta ka dhi mi/ta ka dhi mi/ ta ka dhi mi/ ta - - -.

That is, 7 sets of 4 with the ‘-‘ in the last segment denoting the ‘kaarvai’ or gap.

7x4 = 28.

Is this divisible by 3?

I shall park this for a while and see the number of tisrams. The number comes to 3 tisrams in keezh kaalam(slower speed). But the ‘ta ka dhi mi’ stops just after one syllable count in the third tisram, resulting in a count of 7. As the ‘ta ka dhi mi’s move in ati mel kaalam(super fast speed), it is 4 times the tisram count. So, now we get that answer to the puzzle but only partially.

What happens to the two remaining count- ki ta?

The song as such starts in ateeta eduppu - that is the Pallavi starting before the taaLam cycle. So the balance 2 accounts for this. Now, 2x4 = 8 and 28+8= 36 which is 9x4.

If all this is confusing, it is perfectly fine. Read it again, do the calculation and if you don’t get it, ask me. Or otherwise, just leave it. I shall come to this again towards the end.

The second interlude has a bevy of jatis in the beginning. Woven around this, the flute and the clarinet move alluringly and shimmer like a lambent of light. The humming of the chorus and the brief swara segment, are subtle, nuanced, and enticing.

Can somebody or something go beyond what is generally seen or believed? If this happens, will it happen in real or only in imagination?

The last line of the CharaNams, answers the question. Well, even if it doesn’t seem to answer, remember this-

Certain class of people and therefore their works are beyond greatness.

Do we then need answers?

 

 

https://music.youtube.com/watch?v=hVjgm5PB0Pc&list=MLPT

ILaiyaraaja - The Harmonious Musician

What happens when all the five senses combine together? Is there a fallacy in this statement? Is it not a fact that all the senses operate all the time for all humans?

 Yes, but these operate independently doing their respective duties as and when required. But my question is different. When all these combine together at the same time, what one senses will be different and is a unique experience difficult to describe. In fact, one even loses the sense of each organ. This happens during deep meditation. 

 One of the great poets in Tamizh, Appar-a.k.a. Thirunaavukkarasar, says something about the senses and let us see how it makes sense: 

 ஓசை ஒலி எலாம் ஆனாய் நீயே 

உலகுக்கு ஒருவனாய் நின்றாய் நீயே 

வாச மலரெலாம் ஆனாய் நீயே 

மலையான் மருகனாய் நின்றாய் நீயே 

பேசப் பெரிதும் இனியாய் நீயே 

பிரானாய் அடி என்மேல் வைத்தாய் நீயே 

தேச விளக்கு எலாம் ஆனாய் நீயே 

திருவையாறு அகலாத செம்பொன் சோதீ. 

  You are the sound, You are the Only one. 

You are the fragrant flowers(or the fragrance in the flowers). 

You are the son-in-law of the King of the Mountains.

 You are the sweetest(uttering Your name makes the words sweet). 

And you kept Your feet on my head. 

You are the radiance in everything. You are the eternal flame at Thiruvaiyaaru.

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 What I have given is the literal translation. But there is more to this than meets the eye and I shall deal with just some aspects. The very first line says ‘Osai’ followed by ‘Oli’. Don’t both mean the same? Superficially speaking, yes. Scratch the surface and you will find something more. In Tamizh, there are just a few letters which give meanings as stand-alone letters. For example- Aa, Poo, Maa- the first one meaning the cow, the second one the flower and the third one the mango. All other letters don’t give meanings on their own. And this is what the king of tongue(Naavukkarasar) means when he says ‘Osai’. ‘Oli’ is produced when the letters combine together. The esoteric meaning is that any sound-meaningless noise or meaningful sound- is You. 

 Moreover, in the temple at Thiruvaiyaaru( Shiva whose name is Panchanadeeswara), the western side at the third praakaara is called the ‘Sabda oli praakaraa’ and there is a small hole at the north west corner. It is said that if one places his/her mouth into that small hole and say something, the sound echoes and reverberates. Moving on, it can be clearly seen that the verse talks about hearing, smell, taste, touch and seeing- the five senses in our body. I shall stop here as the verse is deeper requiring further elucidation which in a way is beyond the scope of this forum. The bottom line- Five senses join together in a spiritual experience.

 Needless to say, Music is a spiritual experience as well, especially in the hands of geniuses. One such spiritual experience is the composition ‘Shiva Pujaku’ from Swarna Kamalam (1988). 

 The drone of the tanpura fills the ears, the heart and surrounds us. The bells sound twice in Tisram. The mrudangam sounds 'ta ka dhi mi ta –' four times(3 broken into 6 with the kaarvai at the end). Isn’t this enough to cast a spell? SPB sings the first line, first without percussion and then with percussion. The raga called Valaji gets sketched in the hands of the artiste now. SPB sings a line and the chorus renders ‘Siri siri muvva’(the bell on the anklet). The percussion which backed SPB remains quiet during the chorus section as if to suggest that after all, the anklets are as spiritual as silence.

 It is the turn of Suseela now and in a trice the complexion changes. This has to do with two things. First, the percussion instruments change though the time signature and the pattern remain the same. There are two sets of percussion, one sounding ‘ta ka dhi –‘ and the other sounding ‘ta ka’. As Suseela renders each line, the sitar sounds two notes in the gap and this seems like the crescent of top of Shiva’s matted hair.

 The second thing is interesting and it has to do with the meaning of the lines and in fact even the theme of the song. People who have watched the movie know that the protagonist (a.k.a. Hero) spots the beautiful dancer in the lady(a.k.a. Heroine). However, the lady does not want to be confined to anything and wants to be a free bird. In the Pallavi, the male voice hails the anklet, which he says blossomed like a flower for ‘Shiva Puja’, the female voice talks about the ‘ship of imagination’ which should not bow its head to the waves.

 Same raga; same tune; yet the mood is different!

 The violin plays with grace. The sitar responds with finesse. The violin plays again, this time a more nuanced melody. The sitar responds again, exquisitely but with a slight change of notes. This exchange of melody in the first interlude, gives some ornate and yet simple images of Valaji. Like the Godavari, the group of violins moves with elegance. The river then flows with ebullience finally playing the descending notes of the raga in a flash. 

 The lines in the CharaNams talk about the stars in the west which twinkle in the night and the brightness in the east, imploring the dancer in the lady to mould her heartbeats to make it sound like the Omkara. 

 The complexion changes yet again with the instruments led by the Shehnai and buttressed by the violins, turning folksy. What is to be noted is that the crux of Valaji is retained despite the improvisation.

 Beguilingly beautiful! 

 The CharaNam continues in the same melody in the voice of Suseela and it explores the wonders of nature and therefore the beauty of freedom. 

 ‘With the breeze of happiness guiding you, keep sailing. Let a new song and a melody wake you up everyday and let the moonlight drift alongside’. 

 The mrudangam and the ankle bells weave intricate jati patterns in two cycles of Adi taaLam. Five senses combine together. 

 You are the Sound.. You are the Fragrance..You are the Taste..You are the Feeling.. You are the Vision..

 It is the blossoming of the thousand petalled Golden Lotus!

PS: This post was written as part of the 8th Anniversary celebrations of 'ILaiyaraaja- The Master' Group on Facebook.

 
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ILaiyaraaja – The Exotic Musician

 

Tender than the sprouts and having the fragrance of the white glory lily blossoms and water lilies is this young woman’s body. And isn’t it so enthralling to embrace her?

Awestruck by the beauty of the young woman, the man mutters these words to himself.

கோடல் எதிர் முகைப் பசு வீ முல்லை

நாறு இதழ்க் குவளையொடு இடையிடுபு விரைஇ

ஐது தொடை மாண்ட கோதை போல

நறிய நல்லோள் மேனி        

முறியினும் வாய்வது, முயங்கற்கும் இனிதே.

Written by a poet called SiRaikkudi Aandaiyaar, this is part of KuRunthogai, one of the works belonging to the Sangam Era. There is an inextricable link between literature and romance, and it is a known fact that poetry and love go together.

And yes, music and romance go together as well.

One can keep giving examples and this will fill reams and reams of pages. Due to lack of space, let me take up just one now.

Thaana Vandha Sandaname from Ooru Vittu Ooru Vanddhu(1990) is based on a very classical raga called Kharaharapriya. One of the most ancient ragas, this raga is also one of the basic PaNs in Tamizh music and is known by the name ‘Kodippaalai’.

The composition has an unusual start. The guitar sounds with exuberance and continues playing a short melody. The flute ambles and moves with poetic intensity. There is also a very different sound which even sounds eerie. The Jaalra and the very subtle bass guitar combine with all these and the experience is unmatchable.

SPB starts the Pallavi and one cannot miss the sangati even in the very first phrase which goes like nidhapadhaSa. The Master now makes a subtle variation of this sangati and makes the phrase that follows as – nidhapanidhapa.

Subtleties do matter when it comes to music, love and life!

The Master now shows the avarohaNam of the raga towards the end of the next line, but it is the third line which beautifully defines the raga with the typical phrase-rigamagari. The sudden entry of the lower - octave swaras- dha. ni. and sa.- in this line and in the line which follows this shows the classical Raaja at his best.

Sound of the thunder- This is how one can describe the beginning of the first interlude. If there is thunder, how can one stop the rain? It is a rain of melody. The brass instruments move vigorously and melodiously with the strings playing the second fiddle. It gathers momentum with the entry of the guitar and the keys which give a flowery musical expression. The two sets of strings take over now with one set roaring in the higher - octave and the second set moving with disciplined smoothness. What is to be noted is the fact that the two sets play two different melodies parallelly without sounding cacophonic.

The lines in the CharaNams show the classical Raaja yet again in the voices of SPB and Janaki. It starts with the avarohaNam in the beginning of the first line which even goes on to touches the upper Sa.Not stopping with this, it also touches the upper Ri and Ga. But there is more to come. The third and fourth lines see a sudden spurt with the upper Ri following the mid-ri and this goes upper and upper until it reaches the upper Ma, a rarity even in a normal classical composition.

It is the sound of the thunder yet again in the second interlude. But here, for a change the lightning appears after the thunder and most importantly, lasts longer. The keys illuminate the sky with the string of guitar backing it in tisram. The strings now brighten the sky more playing in the higher - octave with the flute moving like a group of twinkling stars now and then. The second set of strings play subtly with elegance. The flute moves up and down with the guitar looking at it with glee and this spectacle takes one to empyrean heights.

Exhilarating experience not dissimilar to the one experienced by that man who felt the fragrance of the lilies..

 

 

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