Jottings - Slice of life - 438 ( The year 2020 for me - part 3)
Of all the arts, Music is the most mysterious, baffling, and therapeutic. It is still least understood how a column of air set to vibration by a mechanical instrument transforms itself into tones, harmonies, and melodies inside the human brain; and even more astounding is the subjective emotional states it gives rise to. Why an elongated stretch of tonal arrangement makes one sad, why do notes strung together in a certain alliterative sequence make us happy or meditative; or equally, why should some musical phrases seem cacophonous or irritating to the ears. Even Darwin couldn’t come up with a reasonable explanation of the purpose of music in the human species. In his epochal treatise the “the descent of man” he wrote in a resigned tone: “ As neither the enjoyment nor the capacity to produce musical notes are faculties of the least use to man…. they must be ranked among the most mysterious with which he is endowed”. Dr. Oliver sacks begins his wonderful book “Musicophilia” ( perhaps the best collection of essays for the educated reader on the physiological and therapeutic impact of music) with the statement “ What an odd thing to see an entire species ——billions of people — playing with, listening to, meaningless tonal patterns, occupied and preoccupied for much of their time by something called “music.” Yes, Nobody really understands why music works; yet, it is rare to find anyone who is not moved by it in their own unique way.
I confess I am not gifted with an innate musical acumen, in the sense, I cannot still effortlessly derive the constituent notes from a stream of music with alacrity and precision, nor can I spot the ‘raaga” of a composition within the first few bars, as many can. No, I am, what one would call, a cultivated and self-educated musical enthusiast. Music moves me, and I allow myself to be taken on its wings. I distinctly remember my first experience of classical Indian music as a teenager. I was bored within minutes. It didn’t make sense to me, and nobody, at that time, told me that it would take patience, and a certain amount of deliberate listening to start feeling the effects of this experience. Who has the time in his youth to spend time on something that is not instantly comprehensible, coupled with the arrogance that if one couldn’t understand something the fault must lie with the subject at hand, and not oneself? Obviously, this attitude changes with age. Of Western classical music, I had zero experience till the age of forty. The names and lives of the famous composers were familiar to me in the course of my reading, and I have listened to, in passing, the symphonic play of violins and flutes, but I don’t remember having ever sat down and listened to Beethoven’s Fifth, for instance - from beginning to the end to appreciate its power. It is only in the last ten years, I have taught myself the art of appreciating — and to an extent understanding - classical music in all its forms.
Though I am from southern India, I have always preferred to listen to Hindustani music more than classical Carnatic form of the South. I don’t know why. The only reason I can think of is I like my music without an excess of words, and in Hindustani, the lyrics willingly give way to the development of the mood through myriad musical improvisations of the basic notes, in contrast to Carnatic, in which, the lyrics tend to dominate the mood of the song. Since I spend a lot of time with words in my daily life, in my music, I look for a wordless experience, and therefore a Hindustani form of rendition suits my temperament. Let me clarify, this is not a judgment against one form or another, but just a personal preference — that’s all.
In 2020, for the first time, I heard Kishori Amonkar-the grand dame of Indian classical music who passed away in 2017. Until this year, Hindustani music for me — was all Bade Ghulam Ali Khan, Jasraj, Bhimsen Joshi, and Rashid Khan. I have elaborate playlists of each of them, both in youtube music and Spotify - sorted and diced into moods, ragas, and length of the song. Except for occasional forays into other musicians ( often thrown up as recommendation by machine-learning engines) music from these maestro’s seemed inexhaustible. And then on the 20th of January this year ( I distinctly remember the date) I heard Kishori thayi’s ( thayi means mother) Raag Bhoop. In fact, it was while listening to an interview by Ustad Zakir Hussain on the same day, I heard him casually mention a specific performance of Kishori thayi’s Bhoop that, in his opinion. may not be surpassed for a long time to come. This piqued my interest, and that very night, after my work, around 10 PM, I found the 1970 recording of thayi’s bhoop from her performance on the 8th October 1970 at Hari Mahadev Vaidya Hall, Mumbai on Youtube. The length of the rendition is an hour and 6 minutes. The first few notes were enough to arrest my attention, and from there on, all that I remember is her honeyed voice with hardly a crack, slowly and steadily unfolding the raaga, gliding up and down the micro-octaves with breathtaking ease, mastery, and purity. After an hour of listening, the experience that stood out was: purity. I felt bathed and cleansed. The cascade of notes emerging from Thayi’s austere performance held me in thrall. Raag bhoop evokes a sadness, not of a depressing variety, but a sadness that is luxuriant and healing. After the last note faded away, there remained a few pregnant moments of profound silence, before the cacophony of our thought-filled world rushes in. I felt deep within, a silent fullness like nothing I have experienced before in music, certainly not Hindustani music. Since then, I have listened to Kishori thayi almost every day. As I come down to the kitchen from my coffee, I would play Raag Nand ( Thayi sand this Raag with melting sweetness) on my Echo speakers, and the morning takes on captivating sweetness, setting the tone for the rest of the day. I plan to write a separate piece of Kishori Thayi soon, elaborating on her musical journey and genius.
Taste in music is generally conditioned by the cultural environment one is brought up in. Much of Western Classical music is alien to Indian ears. Indian film music does incorporate few elements of that style in its compositions, but, to listen to a full-length symphony or a concerto is a totally different experience altogether. One - we should understand the format of Western music and the diatonic scale in which most of the music is composed. Two - like Indian classical music, western compositions grow on the listener once the initial effort of paying attention is done. Three - it will be great if there is a teacher who can systematically teach us the art of listening to Western classical composition. In 2020, I found one in Leonard Bernstein, one of the greatest American conductors, composers, and expositors of the grammar and style in Western music. In 1973, Bernstein was invited to deliver the prestigious Norton Lectures at Harvard. A series of six talks titled — “The unanswered question”. Fortunately, all the six talks were recorded on tape and video, and now available on youtube. Bernstein is one of the greatest teachers, and his impeccable communication coupled with deep insights into the form of western music can provide anyone willing to learn the fundamentals of music appreciation. After listening to his lecture, I now follow the form and structure of classical music better. 2020 is the Semiquincentennial ( 250 years) of Beethoven's birthday. I invested in a 1970 (Bicentennial) recording of all the nine symphonies on Vinyl conducted by the redoubtable German Herbert von Karajan. It is a two-box set with twelve LP records. I have listened to the symphonies in the sequence that Beethoven composed them, and slowly and hesitatingly, I begin to see the design and overall structure threading across all the pieces, reaching its crescendo in the Fifth. The later symphonies were composed by Beethoven when he was practically deaf, but strangely, those symphonies are more haunting than the earlier ones.
There is one more day left to turn the calendar over to 2021. I plan to write one more essay tomorrow to conclude this series.
God bless…
yours in mortality,
Bala
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