ILaiyaraaja – The Blissful Musician

“Oh! What shall I do!!”

Does this sound like a plaintive cry of a helpless creature?

Or does it sound like a statement of a confused man who is all at sea?

Or is it just an ordinary statement of a person caught in the throes of Life?

It will surprise many if I say that it is a line from a poem and that the poet utters it out of ecstasy.

Ecstasy sounding like helplessness and despondency?

Let us look at the entire verse and then see if we can find the answer.

‘Oh my Lord! My Pure leader! One who rules me!!

One who can take any form at will! One who is the handsome Bull!

One who is laying down with the lotus like eyes closed in that magnificent place called Thirukkudanthai, which itself is like the red lotus on the water!

Oh, what shall I do!!’

 

எம்மானே! என் வெள்ளை மூர்த்தி! என்னை ஆள்வானே,

எம்மா உருவும் வேண்டும் ஆற்றல் ஆவாய் எழில் ஏறே,

செம்மா கமலம் செழு  நீர் மிசைக் கண் மலரும் திருக்குடந்தை

அம்மா மலர்க் கண் வளர்கின்றானே! என் நான் செய்கேனே!

Is it clear now- at least to a certain extent- as to why the poet Nammaazhwar sounds so ecstatic?

I will not do full justice if I fail to explain certain things hidden in this verse, like the pollens hidden inside a flower.

In the first line, the Lord is addressed as ‘White leader’(it is ‘veLLai’ which is symbolic of purity and for a moment, let us keep the racist view and interpretation, aside!), while in the very next line he calls him ‘Handsome Bull’. Needless to say, Bull represents black. So, contrasts?

But the phrases just before the ‘black bull’ appears, also needs a close look. ‘Capable of taking any form’. What does this suggest? To me, it suggests Life itself. We encounter many things in Life and if we realise that everything-good, bad, ugly- is part of life, then Life becomes magical. Life and Divine are inseparable. The reference to Lotus here also suggests the ‘drops on a lotus leaf’.

These are just some of the esoteric meanings.

But I would like to go back to the original statement and ask a couple of questions.

Can ecstasy be a sign of helplessness?

If we become very happy and reach that state, is that a delusion?

Most importantly, why do we cry when we reach that state- is it because we find it hard to believe or is it because of something else?

We shall probably find answers towards the end.

Ecstasy is of course a divine feeling. But does it mean that only devout people feel it like how Nammaazhwar did? That one reaches that state irrespective of his/her scholarship or status, is a fact known to some. It could happen during any instance. But it is an irrefutable fact that one reaches that state while listening to music. I must hasten to add that the quality of music plays a huge role though ‘quality’ is a subjective term.

Subjectivity or objectivity is immaterial at times. ‘Aanandam Pongida’ from ‘Sirai Paravai’(1987) is a classic example of this.

Is it the raga which makes the composition great? Let us first look at the raga. Kharaharapriya is one of the most ancient ragas. Dating back to the Sangam era, during which it was called ‘Kodi paalai’. In fact, it happens to be one of the basic melodies as per Tamizh music. This raga , or rather the set of notes, exists as Kaafi in Hindustani music. It is also existing in Western classical music as a minor scale and is called Dorian in the original classical system in Greece. But what makes the raga great is not just its history or its universality. Rendered with some specials gamakams(oscillations), the raga shines like the moon radiating energy which can be called spiritual depending on how one sees it or even feels it.

As I keep saying ad nauseam, it is not the raga alone which makes a song beautiful and it is the way the composer uses it, fully understanding the spirit of the raga.

With the graceful swaras emanating from that classic instrument called the veena, and with the percussion and the subtle ankle bells sounding ta ki ta constantly, ‘Aanandam Pongida’ has a happy beginning. The strings in higher- octave infuse vigour and sail like a boat while the flute moves with flourish with the melody floating in the air which is redolent with spiritual fragrance. The guitar gives the signature notes of the raga in a flash.

The Pallavi (Yesudas and Sunanda) canters on and drenches us with happiness with the sympathetic strings appearing between the lines in the beginning. What makes it even more joyful is the ‘laali laali’ by the chorus which after singing in the mid-octave, switches over to the higher-octave.

Low, mid or high- happiness is eternal.

The guitar skitters. The strings scoot. As if enamoured by this spectacle, the veena enters and smiles with its swaras. The strings, meanwhile go on their own trip, somewhat different from the original trip. But it is the electric guitar, a rather unusual instrument for a classical raga, which steals the heart by playing a bewitching melody, even touching the descending notes of the raga with consummate ease. Just towards the end, the strings play in western classical style, proving for the n’th time that music is universal after all.

The lines in the CharaNams are soaked in classicism. The first two lines ooze the beauty of Kharaharapriya. However, the second line does require a special mention because of the glide from the higher notes to the lower notes in a jiffy. It is simply a definition of creative innovation.

The second half picks up momentum with the tisram beats in the next kaalam, taking us probably to the next level of happiness. Happiness anyway is a timeless experience.

As if to provide contrast, the entire second interlude has no percussion, though it follows the tisram pattern. The bells sound from the keys and the veena have a friendly banter to start with. What is unique about this banter is the way both play with relentless assiduity. What follows is tantalisingly beautiful. The strings play an alluring melody backed by another group of strings. The flute follows it up with a bewitching melody. This romance between the two sets of instruments makes us visualise flickers of light. Not to be left behind, the keys play the descending notes first and the signature notes next, lifting the spirits.The strings slow down, move like waves and the keys play the ascending notes in sets of 3- sa ri ga/ri ga ma/ ga ma pa.

And we cry- Oh what shall I do now?

Can ecstasy be a sign of helplessness?

If we become very happy and reach that state, is that a delusion?

Most importantly, why do we cry when we reach that state- is it because we find it hard to believe or is it because of something else?

 Don’t we see the divine smile of Nammaazhwar in the background?

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 Free-spirited Musician

 

What are conventions?

A set of beliefs? Things which are followed traditionally?

First of all, how do we know if the beliefs are true or false?

Rather than making you confounded with a flurry of questions, let me explain the context.

Traditionally, it is believed that those days women were confined to their homes and were immersed only in activities related to their families, were not educated and therefore did not have independent thinking, leave alone expressing themselves.

Nothing can be far from truth than this if we consider the tamizh sangam age. There were many women poets who not just had a flair for the language, who not just had a natural ability to compose poems, but were also not hesitant to express themselves using simile from nature. Most importantly, topics which even now are considered taboo were touched upon by these poets with consummate ease.

Here is an example.

The lady is awaiting the return of her beloved who had promised to be back by monsoon. She sees a stag(male deer) who keeps looking for his pair-a doe. In short, the pair is separated. Instantly, she fears if her beloved too will witness such a sequence. Then, as if to console herself, she tells her friend that he will not see this. On the other hand, he will see the signs of monsoon- by sighting a pair which is together- think of me and come back to me immediately.

 

சென்ற நாட்ட கொன்றை அம் பசு வீ

நம் போல் பசக்கும் காலை, தம் போல்

சிறு தலைப் பிணையின் தீர்த்த நெறி கோட்டு

இரலை மானையும் காண்பர்கொல் நமரே?

புல்லென் காயாப் பூக்கெழு பெருஞ்சினை

மென் மயில் எருத்தின் தோன்றும்

புன் புல வைப்பிற் கானத்தானே.

 

The kondrai flowers are as pale as the complexion of my body now. The place he has gone to now has the long branches of kaaya trees which are full of dry flowers resembling the delicate neck of a peacock. Will he also spot the stag with twisted antlers(horns) which keeps searching for the small headed-doe(which is his pair)? No, I don’t think so. He will look at the signs of the monsoon and come back to me immediately.

This poem was written by Avvaiyaar, one of the women poets in the sangam era. I am not getting into the myths surrounding this name as it is beyond the scope of the discussion now.

What makes this poem unique is that the state of the mind of a woman is described by a woman and not by a man, which usually is the case(even now). Secondly, the kind of symbolism in the poem, makes it even more special.

Kondrai flowers- the pallor because of separation.

Dried Kaaaya flowers- his state of mind again because of separation.

Deer and Doe- He and She.

Peacock- Monsoon.

More than anything else, one feels the emotions even as one reads the lines. It also shatters the assumptions about the state of women and also goes to show how iconoclastic women were during that era in the Tamizh land.

The lady in the song of the day is as independent and as unconventional as the heroine in that verse and the poet who wrote the verse.

While listening to ‘Maanada kodi’ from ‘Mudal Vasantam’(1986), what strikes us the most is the feeling of unbounded joy in the voice(Janaki). This is because of the way the entire composition has been conceived, structured and executed.

For starters, the composition is based on a raga called Suddha Saveri. This very fact itself is interesting and intriguing at the same time. Suddha Saveri is a pure classical raga not generally used in film music. I must hasten to add that ILaiyaraaja has used it more prolifically than anybody else, though a couple of composers have made an attempt to use this raga. Branding any particular raga as ‘classical’ does by no stretch of imagination means that other ragas are not classical. But the fact is some ragas are more classical and the reasons are many though I would refrain from touching upon these now considering the fact that this discussion revolves around other factors and that the relevance will get lost if I start drowning myself into serious technical aspects.

The composition starts with the akaaram which is backed by the very subtle sound of the bells. This piece itself is enough to impact our full sensorium. It in fact even goes beyond that and gives an illusion of floating in the air. As if to give a contrasting feeling, the keys enter with a bang, ably buttressed by the bass guitar and the percussion-which is resounding along with the ankle bells, sounding just the first syllable ‘ta’ of tisram. The flute takes over and playing with finesse, expands the melody with the strings sounding ‘ta ka dhi mi ta ka’ in pure Suddha Saveri. The keys bend gracefully and as if charmed by this sound, the birds chirp.

What makes the Pallavi stand out is the podi sangati in the third line(thottaththu pookkaL). It is bewitchingly beautiful. What is exquisite about the entire Pallavi is the melody from the keys between the lines. This melody can also be called the leitmotif, as it keeps occurring now and then.

The strings in the beginning of the first interlude seem as if they are climbing up a hill, albeit effortlessly. The santoor interjects briefly before that magical instrument called flute enters. An instrument which is already magical assumes greatness and reaches gargantuan proportions in the hands of a true magician. And this is what happens here. Straddling between pure classicism and folk, the flute moves tantalisingly close to our heart showing us the visions of nature in its pristine form. This indeed is a surreal experience, accentuated by the strings which play in the higher-octave and the call and response between the flute and the santoor towards the end.

Balance between subtlety and grandeur. This is how one can describe the lines in the CharaNams which move softly and with flourish, bespattering droplets of honey and revealing the beauty of the raga called Suddha Saveri, with the initial akaaram - 4 cycles of tisram- and the ending humming- 2 cycles of tisram- looking like the raisins on an Indian sweet.

The flute does it again in the second interlude. But as one would expect from this composer, this time it is different. First, it plays an alluring melody. The strings respond with sobriety. This happens twice and the third time when it plays, the guitar-which had been silent all along- shows up and what a moment it is!

Known for its beguile and its fluidity, the guitar gives an incredible smile which even makes the flute bow down in appreciation. The keys follow with reverence and the strings move with ardour, symbolising the entire theme. The flute enters again and plays with translucence. The strings follow, but what happens now towards the end, is something which is indescribable. The flute, which until then was playing in higher octave, plays in the lower- octave which almost sounds like a whisper.

A whisper which gives us the meaning of ‘unconventional’.

A whisper which makes us feel nature.

A whisper which shatters all myths..

…about music and about women!

ILaiyaraaja – The Simple Labyrinthine

 

Things which appear easy, tend to become complex. Things which seem to be complex, turn out to be uncomplicated.

Are things really simple? Or are they seriously complex?

How do we then define anything? Are things definite or indefinite?

As if to give an answer to these complex questions, a poet composed this verse nearly 13 centuries ago:

  நின்றனர் இருந்தனர் கிடந்தனர் திரிந்தனர்,

நின்றிலர் இருந்திலர் கிடந்திலர் திரிந்திலர்,

என்றும் ஓர் இயல்வினர் என நினைவு அரியவர்;

என்றும் ஓர் இயல்வொடு நின்ற எம் திடரே.

 

He stood; He sat; He lay down; He wandered.

He does not stand; He does not sit; He does not lie down; He does not roam around.

Forever unstable; Forever stable.

 

Confusing? Contradictory?

Probably, yes; Probably, no. ‘Yes’ because it does sound complex. ‘No’, because this is how the Divine is.

Composed by Nammaazhwar, the four-lines define Life itself. Does this mean that Life cannot be defined? While I would prefer to answer this a little later, say towards the end, at the same time I would like to say that all great things have that duality and that once we see the duality, decipher it, comprehend it and assimilate it, Life gets beautiful. In fact, to put it the other way, we see the beauty in Life. After all, it is the way we see which matters.

These thoughts came to me while listening to ‘Nannu Nannuga’ from his most recent ‘Rangamarthaanda’.

For starters, it is based on a raga called Hamsanandi, a raga known for its classical contours. Secondly, it is fast paced, a quality not usually associated with that raga. Thirdly, the orchestration is totally in western style. There is a fourth factor too, but it is better that we see this a little later, not without a reason.

With bass guitar starting the proceedings, the akaaram in the voice of Gayathri starts on the third beat of the chatushram cycle. Generally akaaram does not follow time signature, but there are exceptions, this one being a perfect example. There is a touch of nonchalance in the way the bass guitar sounds and it adds to the experience. The drums join now and then even as the colours in Hamsanandi glow in the akaaram like a luminous light brightening as it charts a path.

With melody wrapped by the alluring swaras that are woven with silken threads, the Pallavi starts after 16 cycles of Chatushram. Rather unusually long, it sails like a ship on azure blue waters with the waves moving like the cradle and the silvery reflection of the full moon glistening on them. The ‘nidhamagari’ phrase in the end gives the quintessence of Hamsanandi, proving the fact that complexities are after all simple.

The enticing bass guitar takes over in the first interlude. It is beguilingly beautiful as the drums sound intensely and with an intent. The synth instruments enter even as the bass guitar sounds in the background and plays a tantalising melody. The bass guitar and the drums interject and does it seem tenebrous? Well, not at all. It seems like a bright light passing through a tunnel. Like a sudden lightning, the electric guitars glimmer and disappear. The keys play a soft melody. But there is more to this than meets the eye.

Remember the fourth factor mentioned in the beginning?

The keys play in Mohanam, a raga not usually related to/with Hamsanandi, but the key word here is ‘usually’.

The concept of Gruha Bhedam is complex. If one takes a raga like Hamsanandi, considers just the swaras- ni ri ga ma dha- and keep each swara as the ‘sa’, one gets the five popular pentatonic ragas- Madhyamavati, Hindolam, Suddha Saveri, Suddha Dhanyasi and Mohanam respectively.

So here the Master takes the ‘dha’ of Hamsanandi as the base and the raga gets transformed to Mohanam in a jiffy. The keys sound in Mohanam and this continues in the CharaNam. The third line reverts to Hamsanandi and this happens when the ‘ga’ of Mohanam is kept as the base. It is Hamsanandi all around till the end of the CharaNam even as the phrases follow the ‘ta ki ta/ta ki ta/ ta ka’ pattern.

Subtle and powerful. This is how one can define the electric guitar in the beginning of the second interlude. Covering the entire gamut of the raga, it bespatters nectar in its inimitable way. But here too, the fourth factor comes into play. Keeping the ‘ri’ of Hamsanandi as the base, the raga shifts to Hindolam- when its sounds the melody the second time. The synth guitar gets back to Hamsanandi and skitters through with a flourish.

With the Gruha bhedam just before the end of the second interlude, the second CharaNam straddles between Mohanam and Hamsanandi, the former in the first four lines and the latter in the second-half, but there is more to come..

Drenching us in a quick shower, the synth instrument plays a melody in Hamsanandi ending it in the swara ‘ri’. Keeping this as the base, Gayathri sings the swaras, and needless to say, it is in Hindolam. The swaras swing and rock touching the ecstatic realms of music. Just towards the end, it gets back to Hamsanandi, but this time without the swara ‘ri’, which as per Carnatic music, is a raga called Sunaadavinodini.

Hamsanandi, Mohanam, Hindolam, Sunadavinodini..

Same swaras, but different ragas..

Same colours, but different complexions..

Complex?

Nammaazhwar gives the answer!

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 Natural Spring

 

Certain things happen by itself. One doesn’t plan nor does one even think. Yet such things come out perfectly and are even more perfect and precise than things which are executed as per plan.

How do these happen?

Before answering this or even trying to answer this, let us see a verse:

தீரப் பயோததி திக்கும் ஆகாயமும்
செகதலமும் நின்று சுழலத்

திகழ்கின்ற முடி மவுலி சிதறி விழ வெம் சிகைத்
தீக்கொப்புளிக்க வெருளும்

பாரப் பணாமுடி அநந்தன் முதல் அரவெலாம்
பதைபதைத்தே நடுங்கப்

படர் சக்ரவாளகிரி துகள் பட வையாளி வரு
பச்சை ப்ரவாள மயிலாம். 

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This poem describes the dance of the peacock. Generally, the dance of the peacock is associated with grace, elegance and subtleness. But here it is the contrast.

Great Seas and Oceans, Eight directions (Dishas), the sky, and the earth (bhooloka) rotate with force; Thousand locks fall from the heavy, fire-spewing hot hoods of the fear stuck Adisesha and the other serpents as they tremble with fear; The huge ChakravaaLa mountain breaks into pieces; All these happen when the peacock-with the green and coral hued feathers- takes its beautiful flight and dances.

 

Peacock and aggression? Peacock and anger? Peacock and temper?

Well, why not? - says AruNagirinathar, the 15^th Century poet who lived in that divine place called ThiruvaNNamalai and whose works are as vast as the Indian Ocean.

Why does this peacock dance?

Is it to tell the world that at times aggression is needed? Is it to show the world that even gracefulness can turn into aggression when the need arises? Or is to just say that things happen by itself and one just needs to admire it rather than questioning it?

I would say-all the three- though I would go with the last mentioned because of my propensity to take and view things as they are.

Certain things just happen.

Poetry happened to AruNagirinathar. Music happened to ILaiyaraaja.

When we see a magnificent waterfalls, do we ask ‘Oh, why is this falling?’

When we see a bird fly, do we ask, ‘Oh, why is it flying?’

When we feel the breeze, do we wonder, ‘Oh, why is it blowing?’

Likewise, poetry happens; Art happens; Music happens.

Take this song –  Maanami idi idikka from Unnai Nenaicchen Paattu Padicchen (1992). Based purely on Mayamalavagowla, a raga known for its classicism and divinity, the composition flows like a river from the mountain.

The beginning itself suggests this. The violins gush in higher octave and move with vigour. Even the keys which interject the violins, seem to have been awe-struck by the force. It just gives a mystic smile and disappears. The percussion too moves with the same momentum in Tisram. After a while, the chorus hums in its own inimitable way with the flute entering like a lightning in between and disappearing before we bat our eyelids. The percussion plays Tisram in mel kalam and guides us to the Pallavi.

If we saw the lightning in the prelude, we see the thunder in the Pallavi. Only difference is that this thunder is melodious in the voice of SPB and Janaki. The bass guitar is as subtle as ever and at the same time is resonant. Can subtle and resonance go together? If thunder and lightning can go together, why not these two as well- says the flute towards the end of the Pallavi.

The flute continues its journey calling out like a cuckoo in the beginning of the first interlude. After a pause, it responds to its own call and then starts going around showing us some myriad hues of the great raga. The strings back the flute now and then, but this backing is a little different. It is done imperceptibly and with precision, sounding as if ‘Ok, I am here too, but I give major space to you’. The sound from the keys too seems to suggest appreciation for the camaraderie between the two.

The chorus continues in Mayamalavagowla and the strings decorate it, showing flashes of brilliance towards the end.

The first segment of the CharaNam sees a mix of higher-octave swaras and the mid-octave swaras while the second segment sees the ascending and the descending notes. The third segment moves with fluidity touching the corners of the raga with finesse.

With satin like smoothness, the bells sound the swaras of the raga in ‘ta ka dhi mi/ta ka, in the beginning of the second interlude. Even as it plays, the chorus sings the akaaram and it sounds like a lullaby. The akaaram continues with richness as the percussion joins now. It seems like an undulating terrain with the bells entering now and then. We reach the summit along with the strings and are enveloped by the quiet stillness.

Stillness after ebullience? How did it happen?

Certain things just happen.. like the dance of the peacock!

 

 

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ILaiyaraaja- The Dazzling Musician

 

What makes a poem beautiful?

Is it the words used? Is it the way these are used? Is it the description? Or is there anything beyond all these?

Here is a poem from Kalitthogai, which is part of the Cangam literature:

ஒரு குழை ஒருவன் போல், இணர் சேர்ந்த மராஅமும்

பருதி அம் செல்வன் போல், நனை ஊழ்த்த செருந்தியும்

மீன் ஏற்றுக் கொடியோன் போல், மிஞிறு ஆர்க்கும் காஞ்சியும்

ஏனோன் போல், நிறம் கிளர்பு கஞலிய ஞாழலும்

தீது தீர் சிறப்பின் ஐவர்கள் நிலை போல

போது அவிழ் மரத்தொடு பொருகரை கவின் பெற

நோ தக வந்தறால், இளவேனில்

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The Kadamba(Oak) tree with clusters of flowers resembles Balarama with a single ear ring, the Cherunthi (Golden blossom) tree with its red buds resembles the Sun, with the bees humming, the Kanchi(Portia) tree resembles the one with the fish flag(Manmatha), the gnaazhal tress resembles Saama, the brother of Manmatha, the ilavam (Silk cotton) resembles the one whose flag has the bull(Shiva). With these 5 trees resembling the faultless 5 Gods, the shore looks beautiful. But alas! The shore is attacked by the waves. Early summer has set in.

The heroine who is filled with love and therefore filled with thoughts about her man, describes the different trees and compares each tree with a God(note that Balarama and even Saama, who is little known and who is supposedly the brother of Kaama, are considered as Gods here!). But unable to bear the separation, she says that the summer has set in just to trouble her.

While the beauty of the trees reminds her of the days when she was with him, the waves and the summer show the reality, that is the separation. Moreover, Manmatha and his brother are soft while the other three are aggressive. Can contrasts get any better than this?

What makes the poem beautiful- words, their usage, the description, the similes or the contrasts?

The answer is - all of the above plus that ‘something’ which cannot be described but which can be felt by the reader.

It is this ‘something’ which makes a work exceptional and matchless.

On this special day, let us look at one such work which though is not a poem, has that remarkable beauty. After all, isn’t great music, poetic and great poem, musical?

Without a trace of doubt, ‘Meenkodi theril Manmatha raajan’ from ‘Karumbu Vil’(1980) is musically poetic. It is a romantic song of course, but the very mention of Kaama’s name gives it a special complexion and must have made the composer tune it in Mohanam, a raga which is happy, romantic and classical. It also has an hidden poignancy which can be felt only by people who are ultra-sensitive.

Mohanam has always attained a very special status in the hands of the Maestro and this song is no exception.

The very beginning of the song is different. It starts with a thunder like sound as if to welcome the Kaamadeva. The bass percussion sounds ‘ta ka dhi’ leaving the last syllable ‘mi’ out. The chorus starts with flourish with an humming which sounds like tribal folk. In fact, this humming itself is the leitmotif of the song. Even as the humming reaches a crescendo with the percussion sounding the pattern seen in the beginning, the shehnai takes over and imperceptibly gives a perceptible auspicious feeling. The percussion now sounds ‘ta – dhi mi’ giving kaarvai between the first and the third syllable. The santoor follows and gives the sketch of Mohanam in a trice.

The Pallavi in the voice of Yesudas sounds alluringly beautiful with only two swaras -ri and ga- appearing in the major part of the first line and the individual swaras repeating themselves- gagagagaga/papapapapa/dhadhadhadha/ giving it a special sheen. The last line shows the brilliance of the composer with three swaras joining together and going in a descent-Sadhapa/dhapaga/pagari/garisa.

The eclectic electric guitar gives some ornate images of Mohanam in the beginning of the first interlude. The chorus follows and sings the tribal humming which covers Mohanam exhaustively with the tapering at the end, making it more enticing.

It is the translucent melody from the flute which gives a kind of tantalising effect, in keeping with the quality of Manmatha. How this has mesmerised even the other instruments is obvious from the way the guitar sounds towards the end.

The lines in the CharaNams are beguilingly beautiful and what gives this quality is the way the swaras are aligned with the higher-octave Ri and Ga making their appearance. Added to this is the bewitching melody from the santoor after the first line. The fact that the first two phrases in the beginning(and this includes the Pallavi as well) go without percussion cannot be missed.

The shehnai is the beginning of the second interlude takes us to empyrean heights and this is not just because it plays in higher-octave but also because of the softness and suppleness in the sound. The long flute which appears for the first time, is coruscating and spreads a divine light. There is that subtle sense of poignancy too which shows the contrast of life.

The chorus continues the journey in higher-octave with the santoor sounding with a sense of aesthetics.

What makes a piece of music beautiful?

Swaras? The way these are used? The instruments? The way these are used? The raga? The way it is used?

Or is there anything beyond all these?

Perhaps the five different trees might give an answer. Perhaps, they may not.

Beauty has to be felt.

When words fail, there is feeling. When words fail, there is Music!

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ILaiyaraaja – Musician with a light-hearted spirit

Sense of humour is a virtue.

People with a sense of humour are generally more creative though the reverse may not be true. Any speech or writing peppered with humour, has more chances of being etched in the minds of audience/readers. Examples galore, but I am not getting into that now. Suffice to say that any work which has implicit or explicit humour has more longevity.

There was somebody called Marimutta PiLLai( 18^th century), who along with Muttu Thandavar and Arunachala Kavi, is considered as part of the trinity of Tamizh Music. Just for information, the second mentioned (16^th Century) is known for composing padams, many of which are still performed by Bharatanatyam artistes now and the last mentioned is known for ‘Rama Nataka kritis’- entire RamayaNa in the form of different kritis- which are performed by Carnatic musicians in the concerts now.

What distinguishes Marimutta PiLLai from the other two, is that aspect which has been mentioned in the beginning. He sang mainly on Nataraja, the presiding deity at Chidambaram, but his songs bordered on sarcasm albeit in a positive way.

In Sanskrit, there is a concept called ‘Ninda stuti’ where the person(mainly God) on whom the song is sung is eulogised though it would seem as if He is being made fun of. Many songs of this composer border on this, but with a difference. While one cannot see the God ‘being pulled down’, one can see ‘the leg pulling’.

Let us look at a song where one sees this ‘leg pulling’ of the Lord who dances lifting one leg:

எந்நேரமும் ஒரு காலைத் தூக்கிக் கொண்டிருக்க வகை ஏதய்யா!

பொன்னாடர் போற்றும் தோலை, நன்னாடர் ஏற்றும் தில்லை பொன்னம்பல வாணரே!!

எக்கிய நெருப்பவிக்க தக்கன் வீட்டில் நடந்ததோ

யமனை உதைத்தபோது எதிர்ச்சுளுக்கேறி நொந்தோ

சிக்கெனவே பிடித்து சந்திரனை நிலத்தினில் தேய்த்த போதினில் உரைந்தோ

உக்ர சாமுண்டியுடன் வாதுக்காடி அசந்தோ

உண்ட நஞ்சு உடம்பெங்கும் உரிக் கால் வழி வந்தோ

தக்க புலி பாம்பு இருவருக்கும் கூத்தாடி ஆடி

சலித்துத்தானோ பொற்பாதம் வலித்துத்தானோ தேவரீர்!

 

Amused by the single-leg posture, the composer says – Why do you always keep one of your feet lifted?

He then comes up with his own reasons and starts bombarding the Lord with questions.

Is it because you walked on the fire to destroy the yaga of Daksha?

Or is it because when you kicked Yama(to save Markandeya), you sprained your ankle?

Or is it because you took the moon and crushed him under your feet and unable to bear the cold your foot was frozen?

Or is it because of the exhaustion after dancing with KaaLi?

Or is it the effect of the poison (you consumed during the churning of the ocean), with the poison being spread all over Your body affecting your feet in the process?

Or is it your continuous dancing as requested by Vyaghrapada(in the form of a tiger) and Patanjali(in the form of a snake) made you too tired that Your feet started hurting (and you had no other option but to keep one lifted to ease the pain)?

Why?

The song is best listened to in the original form to get the import, but I feel people who know mythology can still appreciate the humour even while reading the translation.

Unlike what is popularly believed, ILaiyaraaja is a person with a great sense of humour. One can see and feel his humour while listening to the background score in comedy scenes or even comedy movies. There are also many songs which can be quoted. People who follow my posts will remember the song and the post of ‘Bangalore Geetanjali’.

The song of the day is just one of the examples of his comical sense. As per the sequence, the son wants to teach a lesson to his father who is a Casanova. There is a ‘in-house classical dance performance’ in front of a guest.

So, the factors here are ‘classical dance’ and ‘sarcasm’, the former being staged to entertain a guest and the latter to teach the Casanova a lesson. The Genius that he is, the Master comes up with a composition in a pure traditional classical raga, with sarcasm running as the undercurrent. The lyrics of KaNNadasan do take care of the second mentioned , but the Maestro decides to tune it and orchestrate in such a way that even people who do not watch the movie(that is, the fortunate ones) are also left in splits.

Thus was born ‘MaappiLLaikku Maaman Manasu’(NetrikkaN- 1981). Based purely on Kharaharapriya- which in fact has been in existence right from the Tamizh Sangam period, being one of the ‘Paalais’ from which ‘PaNs’ were born. In Hindustani music, this raga is called ‘Kaafi’. Not surprisingly, this scale is Dorian mode in ancient Greek music and is part of the minor scale in Western Classical Music.

The composition starts with a free flowing akaaram of Suseela. The brief delineation itself is enough to firmly establish the raga. In fact, it gives the sketch of the raga in no time. The percussion which joins after 5 seconds sounds not in Indian classical style and not without any reason.

The Indian percussion starts now and it is a fusillade of sorts. The mandolin plays in Kharaharapriya, ably followed by the VeeNa and VeNu which repeat the same melody but in their own style. The percussion backs the melody with glee.

The Pallavi in the voice of Suseela is finely etched. But what brings a smile on our faces is the accompaniment of the western percussion throughout. The guitar repeats the second line making us simper. Technically speaking, the song starts with the descending notes- Sa ni da pa- not a regular occurrence. But it is the last line where one cannot but appreciate the brilliance of the composer. It goes like -pa ni dha/ma dha pa/ ga pa ma/ri ma ga- just a transposition of notes from their normal position and more than anything else, doesn’t this give us a different feeling?

The guitar in the beginning of the first interlude is powerful and yet soft. There is even a trace of nonchalance in the way it goes around. The Indian and Western percussion back the following melody from the bass guitar which even sounds as if it is tittering. The VeeNa enters with a sense of calm and plays a classic Kharaharapriya with panache.

Contrasts make a poem or a musical composition more beautiful. Here we see how contrasts make us giggle. This is because of the melody from the keys which responds to the VeeNa. Undeterred, the VeeNa plays yet again but a different melody this time with the keys following again.

It is a classical laugh riot!

The first part of the CharaNam moves smoothly and sedately in the voice of Suseela with the higher-octave notes peeping in now and then. The entry of Malaysia Vasudevan changes the complexion with the akaaram which touches the nooks and crannies of Kharaharapriya in a flash. The last line, yet again shows the Classical Raaja at his best with the swaras climbing up- rigama/ gamapa/mapadha/padhani/padhaniRi. The subtle synth in the background towards the end, does make one chuckle.

The synth in fact, plays a major role in the second interlude where the jatis are rendered. Though the fact that the way the jatis are constructed and rendered itself, makes one smile, the synth that follows the jatis, make one chortle, guffaw and cackle.

After all, sense of humour is a virtue. Sense of humour is musical. Sense of humour is rhythmic.

If you have any doubt, ask the one who dances with one foot lifted..

 

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