A CLASS ACT

MS, apropos nothing

By V Ramnarayan

It was said of Madurai Mani Iyer's music that it pleased not just the connoisseur, but even the man on the street. There's this charming story of a rickshaw puller outside Rasika Ranjani Sabha, Mylapore, who asked a customer to wait while he listened to his Eppo varuvaro (or was it his English note?) Perhaps, the only other Carnatic musicians with such a mass following have been those who first made their name as film singers.

MS Subbulakshmi had a similar impact on lay listeners when her songs in the film Meera took the country by storm. Audiences in the north equated her with the Rajasthani mystic herself, with hundreds of devotees falling at her feet during the shooting of the film on the streets of Rajasthan. Songs like Katrinile varum geetam (in Tamil Meera) and, decades later, Kurai onrum illai have also captured the imagination of millions of fans, affirming the power of emotion and language in making music accessible to common folk. (In the extraordinary reach of these songs lay a huge opportunity to take Carnatic music beyond the confines of elitist audiences, but we have made no effort to convert these fans into hard core Carnatic music rasikas). On the contrary, her immense popularity only gave critics the licence to dub her music as populist, allegedly lacking in the technical sophistication of so-called musicians' musicians, though genuine, unbiased followers of Carnatic music know otherwise.

The large number of mourners who thronged the MS home at Kotturpuram when she passed away in December 2004 came from all social classes. The visitors must have included every musician and every one connected with music, especially Carnatic music. As evening fell, and the cortege was about to begin its slow procession to the cremation ground at Besant Nagar, there was a surge of mourners anxious not to miss a last glimpse of the songstress who had added meaning to their lives. Many apparently poor men and women were part of this group of late visitors, possibly rushing from their labours at the end of the day. Their tears were quiet and dignified, not the kind of breast-beating we are so accustomed to at funerals. When will we see another like her, was the common lament.

These were obviously not her regular concert audiences. What was their connection with her, then? The answer perhaps lay in the devotional music they heard from her cassettes every day of their lives. I remembered the Vishnu Sahasranamam or Venkateswara Suprabhatam in a continuous stream of radio broadcast I heard as I daily crossed a long row of homes in a poor quarter of Tiruvanmiyur on  my way to the bus stop.  Though MS's charitable work reached vast numbers of people, the poor who came to pay her their last respects were probably not even aware of the extent of her munificence. Many of them were there that evening as a token of gratitude for the solace her devotional music brought them. No matter what their caste or creed, she had touched their lives with the sublime prayer of her songs in several languages.

''It took me a year of practice to get it right.'' This is what a veteran vocalist said at a recent programme that showcased the most striking examples of MS's classicism. Vijay Siva  had just been complimented for the majesty of the opening notes of the concert. His statement spoke volumes not only of the humility of this confident, accomplished musician, but also of the needle-sharp precision and resonant sruti suddham of his first phrases Namo namo raghukula nayaka that equalled MS's.

There, however, prevails a quite contrary view among some of the cognoscenti that MS's music was all about her majestic voice. The fact that some of her music appealed to common people not versed in the arts is what must have caused the less than fair high brow critiquing MS received.

Many of the articles the monthly Sruti published during her centenary year tried to right that wrong. They  stressed that MS was a consummate musician in the classical tradition, not just a possessor of a golden voice and purveyor of relatively light fare. They spoke of the assiduous practice and systematic preparation that ensured the maintenance of that golden voice in tip top condition all her life, the trouble she took over correct diction and perfection of emphasis on phrases long and short, her understanding of raga both cerebral and intuitive, her refusal to overdo or misuse sangatis, her melodic and rhythmic precision and her complete surrender to the music

Violinist RK Shriramkumar who accompanied  MS in many concerts remembers her special qualities as a teacher. "A stickler for perfection and meticulousness, she would grasp every nuance," he said in his Sruti article, and "she would impart with utmost detail and watchfulness, whether it was a special sangati in the kriti Sree Ganapatini she had learnt from T. Brinda, or the need to avoid an excessive gamaka in Todi, or a vallinam-mellinam in a bhajan, or even a silent pause between two phrases in a song."

Young vocalist Navaneet Krishnan, who described MS as an eternal student, marvelled at her breath control. According to him, '' it was almost impossible to hear her taking a breath while singing.'' He described her music as a rare amalgam of voice, veena and nagaswaram.

Author Indira Parthasarathi saw the highest form of spiritual bliss in her ''total identification with the Muse of Melody.''

Seetha Ravi marvelled at her total commitment to her art that made her insist on recording the Vishnu Sahasranamam in one go, the way it ought to be chanted, not over numerous sessions.

Kanniks Kannikeswaran speculated if MS's Vishnu Sahasranamam was heard at any given time in some part of the world, much like the British empire where the sun never set!  He spoke of Subbulakshmi's ability to sculpt a soundscape that subconsciously became part of our collective memory.

Gowri Ramnarayan learnt from her that music should eschew excess regardless of the musician's particular gifts, which must be underplayed. She gave a detailed account of MS's role in the Tamil Isai movement.

Sangita Kalanidhi R Vedavalli who called her the polestar of Carnatic music, described her preferred kalapramanam as well-toned madhya laya. Revelling in the major ragas led by her favourite Sankarabharanam, MS did not favour vivadi ragas with the possible exception of Varali, Vedavalli said, while praising the viruttams MS sang before songs like O Rangasayee, or the Kamalamba navavaranam Dakshinamurte.

The late Thangam Ananthanarayanan, a relative, had once recalled how MS's mastery of briga and alukkal sangatis impressed Hindustani vocalist Siddheswari Devi with whom she repeated each phrase 108 times every morning during akara sadhakam in a variety of ragas.

Manohar Parnerkar reminded us that it was also the centenary year of another female icon, Shanta Apte, who appeared with Subbulakshmi in the film Savitri, and did not know a word of Tamil, but in true MS style, learnt the language "assiduously and enthusiastically" to be able to render both dialogue and songs in the film. Apte was a liberated woman in the Germaine Greer mould, he said, almost antithetical to MS, but both had several things in common, both smashed the gender barrier, and both sang in several languages, handling Rabindra Sangeet with elan, for instance, "as if to the manner born."

Musician and innovator Ramesh Vinayakam applauded her perfect kalapramanam among other things. "She maintained the same pace, right from the start of the pallavi through the niraval, through the kalpanaswaras until the very end." He was citing her rendering of Pakkala nilabadi in Kharaharapriya in a Music Academy concert.

Vocalist Vijay Siva recalled a rare instance of outrage on MS's part, when she let loose a shower of invective against Osama Bin Laden while speaking to a foreign visitor. While listing her numerous musical attributes, he stressed how she demonstrated the importance of full throated vocalisation from the diaphragm.

"Can we emulate her in generosity?" asked Sruti's US correspondent Shankar Ramachandran, who proposed that rasikas at MS centenary concerts be asked to donate to some of her favourite charities.

Music lover S.M. Sivakumar related the story of a concert in Ernakulam he had helped organise as a sabha secretary in 1976. MS was of course reputed for the many charities she supported in a big way through her concerts, but the proceeds of this concert went to discharge the debts of the family of a young musician who had played the tambura for MS.

To add a personal touch to this tribute, I had the good fortune of listening to her up close, at home--both hers and ours-- many times. The occasions when she and her guru Semmangudi Srinivasier sang together impromptu or more formally during a wedding for a small family audience were unforgettable. We all know that the tape of one such "jamming" session at KR Sundaram Iyer's residence was remastered years later with violin (RK Shriramkumar) and mridangam (KV Prasad) added and made available commercially. "Divine Unison", the result of that collaboration is a collector's favourite today.

MS also sang in the company of family members--daughters Radha Viswanathan and Vijaya Rajendran, Anandhi Ramachandran, Gowri Ramnarayan and others, and these were very special experiences for whoever happened to be around. Of course, there was nothing casual about any of these song sessions. They were always in perfect sruti and rhythm, with the tambura drone virtually mesmerising the listeners. Whether it was a brief song at a cradle ceremony or the swing ritual at a wedding, the MS stamp was never missing. It had class writ large over it. One of the most memorable oonjal songs by MS has been a composition of Pillai Perumal Iyengar, which was first rendered at the wedding of Vijaya and Kalki Rajendran's daughter. Tuned by Kadaiyanallur Venkatraman, the song was unfurled after rehearsals by the many women from the family who participated. The song was recorded by MS and Radha for All India Radio as well, and is available on youtube and the portal msstribute.org as well.

A personal favourite among all these informal singing sessions was when MS walked up over a rough flight of stairs yet unguarded by a banister, stood by a temporary alcove with pictures of gods and goddesses in a still unplastered house, and sang a few songs in an act of blessing for the griha pravesam ceremony in late 1992. I had lost my father a couple of months earlier, and the sheer beauty and power of her singing brought me memories of him in a flood of emotion. It was a moment of sublimation.