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The December throat syndrome
SEMMANGUDI SRINIVASIER can sound perfectly credible as he expresses contradictory views on different occasions — "Purusha sangitam is no sangitam at all. Only women's voices have the sweetness to make music" — "Stri sangitam is no sangitam at all. Only we men can draw fire from flintstone''(Araniyai kadaindu agginiyai eduppom).
However, with the first round of concerts this season, rasikas know that vocalists, male and female, are equal in one respect: both prey to the mysterious condition called the December Throat. For some, this December is permanent others are affected in differing degrees.
In the Kartik Fine Arts series, Vijay Siva's splutterings caused a mild scare before the recital peaked in a fine Bhairavi. Sowmya's recital lost ground in skirmishes with a sulking throat. After a serene, resonant Hamsadhvani, T. N. Seshagopalan displayed sangfroid on the vocal battlefield, unbothered about hits and misses in sruti. The inventiveness came through though, applauded five times in the Subhapantuvarali alapana bout.
Ask musicians if they have any special training, vocal exercises, diet plans, concert strategies and you meet blank looks. So how do the top rankers manage 15-20 concerts within a single month? One vidwan disclosed that it was simmering for small venues and full steam for the big. Another said she left it to God.
Our vidwans know that Throat Recalcitrance is part of the hoary heritage, a badge of distinction. Musiri Subramania Iyer was fond of narrating how once, when he requested his small-town hostess to make some hot water for throat clearing operations before his concert, the dour lady sniffed audibly, ``He thinks he is M.S.Subbulakshmi!'' We know that when Tiger Varadachariar regretted that he growled like a karadi (bear), Veenai Dhanammal handed him a bowl full of candy and said, ``No, kalkandu!''(sugar)
A present day vidwan's passion for heritage has not stopped with anecdotage collection. Sanjay Subramanian and friend Sriram (who runs a music website with him) have meandered through Mylapore and Georgetown in search of music history, identifying forgotten, derelict buildings once haunted by yesteryear greats. Result? Two tours during the season through places associated with music, so overbooked that they begged NOT to be written about the venture in advance!
My preview was kick-started by Sriram before the statue of the British emperor in Flower Bazaar with ``Jayajaya sarvabhouma, George nama", a mangalam on George V. Our giggles were stifled by the stench in Bandar Street, where Tyagaraja was a weeklong guest in the palace of Kovur Sundaresa Mudaliar, now a crumbling warren with new bound books drying on the parapet. A faded Ravi Varma print of Tyagaraja singing away, unaware of Rama's arrival, hesitant wife watching from inner chamber, is all that remains of the musicologist Sambamoorthy's occupancy of the same room in more recent times.
We pay homage to Maha Vaidyanatha Iyer at the spot where he sang the rare Narayanagowlai to triumph over Madras vidwan Venu. Tiruvotriyur Tyagayyar's locked home with a tinnai behind a kacha wall is a reminder that he visited Dhanammal ostensibly to play chokkattan, but really to test the merit of his compositions by persuading her to sing them.
She bathed in rose water and played under a jasmine canopy, but the sewage-seeped street where Dhanammal once lived makes you recoil. The poignant javali ``Sakhiprana'' may have been composed by Dharmapuri Subbarayar right here, grief-stricken at his inability to save her from bankruptcy. The narrow stairs are haunted by the shadows of some of the most eminent citizens of Madras, awed by her music as well as her picky fastidiousness!
A hexagonal platform is all that remains of the vasanta mandapam of Manali Muthukrishna Mudaliar's mansion, which must have hosted little Muthuswami and Baluswami along with their father Ramaswami Dikshitar. While here, they were introduced to Western music in Fort St.George, and the violin became a Carnatic instrument!
Our walk ends with a new find: the house of Jalatarangam Ramaniah Chettiar, whose gentle granddaughter remembers little Balasaraswati dancing in their home.
He is known for his interiors, clothes design and advertisements. But V.V.Ramani's seasonal avatar is with the paint and brush. ``Why not from live models?'' was the reaction to his gallery of portraits of stars in the Madras performing arts scene (Vinyasa, Music Academy). Drawn from photographs, some had acquired a life of their own. Look at silvery Chandralekha, spot lit for a photo session (so you thought but the ``camera'' turned out to be a modern sculpture on closer inspection) and you know just why she is the darling of lensmen.
The pictures of the musicians breathed intimacy, making you realise once again that Carnatic music is for the chamber, not the big hall, as at the SAFE series in Sastri Hall. Atrocious acoustics and ambient clamour (squealing street orchestra) do not clog the current charge. The listeners' energy evoked perfect teamwork in voice (Sanjay Subramanian), violin (R.K. Shriramkumar), mridangam (Mannargudi Eshwaran) and kanjira (Harishankar). The tani avartanam was one of the best, a continuation of a tender-exuberant Bhairavi, no gimmicks at all, but piercing in subtle turns. Meanwhile, overheard at the Narada Gana Sabha canteen:
Mama: Did you hear the waiter sing Swami Haridasgiri's bhajanai along with the tape as he served us keerai vadai? The waiter at the next table was humming a good Kalyani.
Mami: (sniffing) So, now you want me to sing in the kitchen?
Mama: Ennamma, you have been doing it every morning for thirty years now! Namavali for the milkman, alapanai for the maid, tanam for daughters-in-law, swaraprastara for sons, tukkadas for grandchildren... I get the best, tani avartanam crackling into Tadhinginatom! Tadhinginatom!! TADHINGINATOM!
Want to see a woman draw fire from flintstone?
GOWRI RAMNARAYAN
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