I'm getting to the point where I do not go to most classical concerts. The last one that I attended in full without walking out mid concert was a santoor recital by Pt. Shiv Kumar Sharma and Rahul Sharma over 2 years ago. Since then, I've either not gone to concerts or have walked out at the first available opportunity, as I've found the music pedestrian and uninspiring. In one recent case, I was dying to get out because of the heinous violence being unleashed upon that grand old raaga - Raga Darbari by a leading member of the Sham Chaurasi gharana (which counts Ustads Nazakat and Salamat Ali as members). Never have I seen such musical violence on stage, with the venerable raaga literally being torn to shreds systematically. To add to that, the singer kept increasing the volume to the point where it was comparable to a rock concert's decibel level.
It reminded me of a conversation between Dr. Rajendra Prasad, the first President of India and Ustad Hafiz Ali Khan, in which Ud Hafiz Ali wanted a law passed to ban people from taking liberties with Darbari. I fully support such legislation, given my traumatic experience. I had to listen to Ustad Amir Khan's Darbari to clear the pollution from my ears that night.
The concerts are becoming routine, and pretty much everyone tends to play the same raagas: Bageshri, Puriya Kalyan, Yaman etc.
Other gripes include the gradual electrification of music - the sight of musicians walking on stage with pick up leads hanging off their instruments, over the top tabla playing and long winded stories of how the musician goes back 200 generations.
Young musicians are also caught up in this and most of them are clones - there's nothing new in their performance which I haven't heard before. Listened to new comers such as Anuradha Kuber and Manjari Kelkar - all good, but no spark, no charisma - simply regurgitating what they've learnt from their teacher. No emotion in the music - nothing to touch the heart.
Reminds me when I first heard Rashid Khan at the Dover Lane festival in the late nineties. I had not heard of him and he came on stage at 1 am. I was looking to go outside and get some tea, as the announcements were being made introducing the musician. I left my seat and as I was walking to the exit, I heard the opening notes of Malkauns -and I was transfixed. I turned around and went back to my seat, such was the power of the voice.
I witnessed the same effect he has on overseas audiences. At the Melbourne Arts Centre, the worry was that this was the first time a Hindustani vocalist was being invited, in contrast to instrumentalists, who seem to be more popular with overseas audiences. Rashid Khan opened with Puriya Kalyan, and you could hear the power of his voice take over the hall. When he finished, there was thunderous applause. He did not say a word, did not even mention the raga he was going to sing - yet the sheer power of that voice said it all. Shubhanker Banerjee provided excellent tabla accompaniment. I was told that he had performed earlier at Womadelaide, and at the second performance, over three thousand people stood in the rain to hear him sing. That's the power of music - that's what I'm missing.
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