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I feel the softness of warm silk through the cold night. Between cold
whispers and warm promises, I find a beautiful bird suspended in satin
mystery flitting between us, gentle and yet energetic in its pirouettes.
There is romance in the air tonight, albeit framed by the glitter of an
early summer drizzle. And yet there is comfort to this tryst in the
darkness. Fabric on the face, caressing and aromatic. Like a song rendered
with skilful gentleness; undisturbing, restrained and yet sculpted.
And gently,the snatch of such a song, somewhat distant. In a trice, I am
standing beside a doorway looking deep into the eyes of an old, bent lady
tending to a grown-up son, never once complaining. There is warmth in this
pathos. This is a song entitled Uyirum Neeye (You are Life), in raga Kamas,
from the film Pavithra. The composer is A R Rahman, and the singer is the
inimitable P Unnikrishnan.
I am not a statistician, but I can tell you that Unni has sung more songs
for films than most classical musicians I know. Somehow, I have found that
his connectivity has only grown as a consequence. Not that anyone outside
the classical music fraternity particularly cares about his choice of
musical outlets. And yet, I choose to address this particular aspect of
"classical crossover" simply because I have always been a skeptic myself.
I have heard Unnikrishnan render delicate phrasings and graciously curved
improvisations in raga Atana almost a decade back at a prominent sabha
during the December music festival. There was a gentleness to this serenade,
sweeping languorously but piercing the heart and the mind with studied
brilliance. In the years that ensued, I have seen a transitional Unni swerve
in and out of this initial vibration. In this incredibly prolific journey, I
have seen certain aspects of his music emerge. His ability to engage has
grown, as has his understanding of the context within which his music should
be framed.
Context often becomes confused with the term theme, and I use Unni's example
to illustrate the distinction. There is a certain vibration, a universal
"frequency" that pervades our life and times, at any given juncture. This is
not merely a "mood" but a certain framework that defines tastes, preferences
and a 'reason-to-believe'. In Chennai, I have seen this frequency change
with alarming regularity almost every year. And hence, the ubiquitous "this
year was a dull season" or "last year had more verve".
I believe this frequency to be the result of both the sociocultural template
within which we all operate and lead our lives, and the mood that pervades
the ambience around concert halls, that are affected by developments in the
classical music scenario ("So many musicians sang rare ragas this year as
compared to last year" being an exemplar of this phenomenon). Tuning into
this frequency is a part of the maturing process for any musician,
irrespective of genre. Not to say that everyone should toe the 'party line'
and stick to ideas that please the middle majority on the ever-changing bell
curve of musical preferences. But an understanding of 'how much is too much'
is perhaps closer to the point I am trying to make.
And to this, at least partially, I attribute Unni's "coming-of-age" to his
experiences in the realm without. The experience of films, seeing contexts
being stressed on an insistent basis seems to have had a glowingly positive
effect on his musical expression. I find his raga delineations having
acquired a sheen that reflects a tremendous understanding of the context.
And yet, the gentleness remains. Quiet, unassuming and almost self-effacing.
But unarguably brilliant.
To an ear trained to detect individual voices in multi-part orchestral
harmony and understand classical improvisation and its resident regulations,
Unni's voice has always carried a special place. Its dreamlike, soft quality
has the ability to reach spaces deep inside your consciouness without
seeming to be so intrusive. There is thought behind each inflection, and
there is a justice that pervades the treatment of each syllable. Heavy
ornamentation in some of his film songs notwithstanding, I find his voice
having the quality of quiet rain on cherished afternoons. Restorative.
For a large part of the last decade, I found Unni's engagement with film
music often worrisome. The skepticism was only marginally allayed during the
classical music festival. But in my own process of "growing up",
understanding some of the complexities that characterize modern living, and
too often, its disappointments, I have learnt to take solace in the
restorative power of this incredibly calm performer.
Musical expression is as plastic as the human mind. If understood well, it
has the ability to bend and flex in a way that gives it more definition. The
sculpture, once finished, retains all the properties of the original
substance and yet looks better as a consequence of all the movement. One
should look at the finished piece to understand the importance of the
process. The skill of bringing the outcome towards a unique, likeable and
mature conclusion lies entirely in the ability of the proponent to be
pliable and yet not lose musical integrity.
I have enjoyed Unni's rendering of Ennavale in Kadhalan, Narumugaye from
Iruvar progressing to more recent renditions in films such as 7G Rainbow
Colony. The rain always falls gently, coaxing an easy smile from a tired
face.
I remember listening to Katre En Vasal from Rhythm also sung by Unni. The
lyrics talk of the wind that opens the door gently and announce itself as
love. To me, this will always be the best characterization of Unni's voice,
riding in gently but remaining in your mind's eye long after it has gone
away.
--
regards,
Vithur
AIMING TO BE A TRUE RAHMANIAC
