Raja Govindarajan has tagged me in this FB chain game of choosing 10 albums. Here is the seventh one.
If there was a voice that drew me into music – it was the one of Balasubramaniam. If you thought it was SPB or GNB – that would be a wrong guess. It was another Balasubramaniam – famously known as Pithukuli Murugadas – whose voice that made me go crazy.
I first heard him on radio. I remember the times when we didn’t have TV. News in the morning and in the evening were regularly played. when I grew up with my maternal grandfather he would start the radio at 7 AM and switch it off after ‘Indru oru thagaval’. However, he was glued to it when the cricket commentary was on. The whole family would sit around the radio and listen to ‘oli chithram’ or a drama. There weren’t any takers for music at my house – be it film or carnatic.
After TV had come in, radio was almost immediately forgotten.
It made a reentry into my life in the nineties. We had a tenant upstairs. There were twin brothers of my age in that family. One day, loud music was being played in their house. When I went in, I saw a self assembled speaker bleating out a latest film number. Someone had gifted them that speaker with a built in FM radio. It was the time DD2 was regularly playing latest numbers. It turned out that FM radio was playing those numbers more frequently. There were sponsored programs like ‘Select Direct Neram’ that played the latest songs. Inspired by my tenants, I started playing the FM radio on the ‘2 in 1’ cassette player in the evenings.
Although not regularly, my mother used to play devotional albums in the mornings. One time, when she switched on the system, before she could play the cassette she wanted to, the FM radio started singing. It was a program titled ‘Amudha Punal’, in which they played songs from devotional album. She not only let the radio continue but also made it a point to play it every day. Thus I was invariably listening to P.Susheela, S.Janaki, SPB, TMS, Sirkazi and others. It was in this program I first heard Murugadas.
I think the first song I heard him sing was ‘Swagatam Krishna’. The peppy tisra nadai in his captivating voice made me sit up! I used to wish every day that they played his song.
I was allowed to buy tapes from pocket money in 1995. I was looking for his tape with Murugadas’s rendition of Swagatam Krishna in the music shops nearby. There was only one shop that had his tape but that didn’t have this song. I nevertheless got the tape. Much later I realized that this recording had Vid. Karaikudi Mani on the mridangam and Vid. Vasudeva Rao on the Tabla. I never knew that was a big deal and all then!
As I write, I realize this is the centenary year of Murugadas. May be I’ll write a centenary tribute some day! But that is for another occasion – let me comeback to the recording. This recording was made in his fiftieth year. In these five decades, how many million hearts this recording would have filled with bliss? When Murugadas passed away a few years back, I released a video talking about him and I had quoted his rendition of ‘Pal Vadiyum Mugam’ in it. Till date, time and again that video gets popped up in someone’s timeline and I get a message on how that rendition kindles a special feeling even after all these years.
If there was an album that I can mentally recreate every micro second – that would be this. The songs usually will have a tangential start that leads to the main song. For example, the song ‘Aadadhu Asangadhu Vaa’ – a composition in madhyamavathi by Uthukadu Venkata Kavi – starts with a haunting prelude with the word ‘Kannaa’.
The voice of Murugadas is such that it produces breathtaking fast phrases in that deep yet sweet voice with great precision. But when he sings a sustained note there is a slight tremble. It trembles just enough that it actually adds a haunting element to the rendition without making it sound off-key. It can be felt in the first few phrases of ‘Kannaa’ that he sings.
He then moves onto a namavali – probably his own – ‘aadadhu asangaadhu vaa vaa kanna – in the tisra nadai. He then seamlessly connects the last word Kanna with the second line in the pallavi ‘un aadalail IrEzhu bhuvanamum’ and before you realize the transition the Uthukaadu Kriti takes over.
These transitions are absolutely spontaneous. Despite this being a recording, you can feel the spontaneity in the rendition.
I had met him twice in his twilight years at his house in VM Street. He was hardly audible when he spoke. But when he sang that metallic clang was back as a roar! His wife shared an interesting anecdote, during an AIR recording he renders a song in his typical way weaving many songs into a garland. Unfortunately, there is a technical glitch and he was asked to record all over again. This time he renders in way that was totally different from the first one. The AIR staff rush in and point out that he was singing something totally different. He starts all over again and this time he launches into something that wasn’t anything like the first or the second rendition. The AIR staff let him continue with a smile on their faces.
It is amazing that every nuance that Murugadas sings his fingers play the same. You might wonderwhat is special in that? There are singers across genres who could do that. What makes it special was that Murugadas was able to do that without any swara gnana. He had no idea of the gandharas and madhyamas that he was singing -yet his fingers were able to reproduce every nuance that he was singing.
What is even more amazing is the way Vid. Karaikudi Mani has accompanied to the pieces. One would expect a split second delay for the percussionist to respond when Murugadas launches into extempore rhythmic improvisations. Upon listening to it many times, you may discover, there are multiple occasions Vid. Mani had played as if the improvisation was a preplanned one. The give and take between Tabla and Mridangam is unbelievable as well. I have wondered how did the Tabla stop at the exact moment and Mridangam took over to create such an incredible impact.
Coming back to ‘Aadadhu asangadhu’, if you have heard the song rendered by any other artist – rest assured that this would be nothing like that. In the usual renditions, when the madhyama kaala sahityam (for example ‘aadhalinaal siRu yaadhavanE’) are rendered you get lost in the frenzy that is built. You will hardly have the time notice the lyrics and create a mental image of the meaning. Murugadas renders it in Vilamba Kaalam, providing a micro pause after word, allowing you to grasp the song and then in the second time around, when he renders the same lines in the madhyama kaalam – the effect of the climax is increased multi fold thanks to the picture that you already have in mind.
It is the drama that he creates with unusual pauses (example after ‘Chinnachiru Padangal – that are beautifully filled by the Mridangam) and dramatized vocalization (‘Sadai satrE’), apt lyrical improvisations (while Panniru kai iRaivan is the original sahithyam – he beautifully adds a sangati with ‘murugan’ adding to aesthetics) and the unexpected twists and turns in both gait (gatibedam to tisram ‘Kanaka maNi asaiyum’) and tempo (Padi varum azhaga in two speeds) that makes it possible for anyone to fall in love with his rendition in the first hearing.
I can possibly write an analysis on each and every song in that album. But I will save you the trouble and let form your own image by listening to it.
When someone told Ariyakudi, “Your rendition this year seemed better than last year’s”, he responded, “My rendition remains the same. It is possible that your cognition has gotten better”. Although tongue in cheek, there is an element of truth in it. In the journey as a sincere carnatic music rasika, there are only a few renditions that remain close to your heart throughout the journey.
I’m lucky that I found Murugadas early and could take him along for life.
Dedicating this post to Ranjani Kumar. Thank you Ranjani for making it possible for me to meet “Muruga” not once but twice!