Ace of bash

ONE MOMENT he was gunning for the battle with that take-me-on-if- you-can stare, the eyes burning with passion. The next, he was ecstatic - sweat dripping down the face - listening to vibrations of the drum roll still ringing loud.

On anyone else, the look could well mean brazen chest-thumping, but on ace percussionist Sivamani this is self-confidence nonpareil; one stemming from the triumph of percussion as an art.

What promised to be a musical war between the country's best percussionist, Sivamani, and the reigning DJ champion, Nasha, turned out to be a battle of wits in which none refused to call it quits. As they teased and turned on the heat on one another, it was the ingenuity of Sivamani which eventually saw DJ Nasha throw up his hands in the air at Treasure Island. Meanwhile, dusk gave way to dawn - almost - and it was the sizable crowd that walked out ecstatic.

And the music? It pounded the heart and even whispered into the brain as a ceiling of smoke hung above the dancing men and women. It was spontaneous, explosive, boisterous and playful -- all rolled into one with an incredible drive and yes, a burning passion. While Nasha scratched the console at a lightning speed, the man in black, Sivamani, tore away with an exhilarating and searing invention. Vessels, whistles, wires... it seemed he could produce music out of anything and everything.

The frenzied crowd decided to plant themselves right in front of the man meeting his steely gaze and not looking away, even for an instant. After all, a momentary lapse of concentration could make one miss the mercurial movements of a passionate Sivamani.

And when passion becomes a prison, the only way to break free is to pour it out. And music flowed. Beneath the respiratory rustlings, the churning of music had everyone galvanised and breathing out fatigue. And the ripples were felt in the pool, literally, as couples swayed on the floating platforms and made a big blue splash.

"You are brilliant", an overwhelmed Sivamani complimented DJ Nasha who reciprocated shaking hands with him warmly. Not the pulse-pounding music, not the dancing spree, not even the pool grind with two musicians locked in a bind, this was the true moment of the evening. Art complementing itself!

By K.V.S. Madhav

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Section  : Southern States
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