The sisters Ranjani and Gayatri would have likely been just priming up their first alapana when, just a few miles down in Delhi, the frontline classical vocalist T.M. Krishna was hitting a few complex notes of his own. Juxtaposed, they would have made a picture of meaningful contrasts. If the sisters offer a joyous, untroubled conformity바카라entirely in line with the tradition바카라s self-image바카라Krishna is the soft-spoken mutineer. Or perhaps the one who loves to open doors long shut in the Carnatic imagination.
Last year and this time, Krishna chose to skip the Margazhi season. And going by his Facebook post in December 2015, he perhaps won바카라t sing there anymore. The strongest veto can sometimes be made by silence. But why? In the basement of a modest hall this evening, as he warmed to a different kind of exposition바카라a socio-historical look at the Deccani system, initially systematised by composer Purandara Dasa five centuries ago바카라one could see the outlines of the task he has set for himself.
In musical practice, he바카라s a cultured extension of the canon바카라though beginning to experiment with format and aesthetic elements. But at the level of thought, he바카라s the insider who would rather rebel바카라one of its freest minds, who has the bandwidth to tease out the problematics (and politics) at the heart of the tradition. His polished hereticism may appear to the uninitiated to have no direct relation with aesthetics, but for him it obviously matters.
For one, Carnatic music is perceived by the public and practitioner alike as steeped in 바카라divinity바카라. It바카라s a baggage, he believes, the system better shed. Carnatic바카라s so-called zone of 바카라purity바카라, he says, always had elements from outside its science of beauty. As a sample, he hummed the opening of a Todi, and said how the 바카라quintessential Carnatic raga바카라 traced its origins to Turkey before peninsular India wrought its frills on it.
The genre was shaped by circumstances entirely non-spiritual, yet 바카라we have this notion that classical musicians levitate seven feet above the earth바카라. That바카라s why 바카라we have a (venerated) vocalist walking (to perform) with his hands held aloft바카라바카라almost blessing the audience like a godman. By contrast, what he himself feels is, 바카라15 minutes after a concert, however sublime, we바카라re the same rubbish we always were.바카라
His childhood in a well-to-do Iyengar family, who sent him to a top Chennai school, seldom let him feel the existence of oppression around. 바카라I always thought caste was a faraway thing,바카라 recalled the 40-year-old, hinting at a Brahmin hegemony in Carnatic. 바카라Eventually, I realised most social things I thought were 바카라normal바카라 weren바카라t so. The fact exploded.바카라
Krishna바카라whose 2013 book, A Southern Music: The Karnatik Story, takes an unconventional look at the evolution of the art he mastered바카라is not chary of taking his non-conformity to a wider canvas. The other day in Mumbai, the organisers of a concert came to him and said he바카라d have to wait briefly. The show was to be preceded by an unscheduled rendition of the national anthem바카라바카라ironically바카라 at the Veer Savarkar auditorium. As Jana Gana Mana rent the air, Krishna 바카라sat바카라 in the greenroom, protesting the 바카라imposed patriotism바카라. Nationalism, for Krishna, is a 바카라bogus바카라 concept that 바카라only perpetrates violence바카라.
His co-panelist and fellow Magsaysay awardee, activist Bezwada Wilson, ribbed him with a friendly pun. 바카라TM is very famous these days across our country바카라Paytm!바카라 In response, Krishna said it was Wilson who was humming a tune before they reached the stage. Quite like him to notice.
A shorter, edited version of this appears in print
