Slow down

Whatever Malcolm Gladwell might have intended, his book has been reduced to a simplistic notion that any bloke can become an expert by practicing, practicing, and practicing for 10,000 hours.  The character Sharad in the movie The Disciple appears to have arrived at that Gladwellian framework on his own and devotes his time, energy, and money to practicing classical music with the hopes and dreams of becoming a maestro.

It does not take long for a viewer to figure out that Sharad will not succeed.  The movie then is about when and how he would realize this on his own, and what he would do as a result.

What a pleasure it was to watch the movie!

In a cinematic world of fast action, cuts and edits, loud noise, and closeups, this movie stands out in contrast.  Long and wide takes in which the camera slowly movies in allow us to absorb the moment and feel the events and the emotions that the director presents to us.  

They rarely make movies like this anymore.  Not that they made such movies in plenty in the past, and definitely not in India.  I wonder if even among the audience, there are fewer numbers now eager to watch storytelling that is at a slow pace.  The shorter and shorter attention spans that people of all ages seem to have means that movies like The Disciple will appeal only to a few of us who long for the longform in text, music, and movies.

As a kid, I gravitated towards classical musicians who rendered music at a slow and deliberate pace that presented a raaga in all its richness.  One of my favorites was M.D. Ramanathan.  He performed at the auditorium in Neyveli, and I was immediately drawn to his style.  I was so much a fan of his that I could not understand why a music critic like Subbudu was merciless in his comments about Ramanathan to the extreme of outright insults like calling Ramanathan a water buffalo!

One of my greatest disappointments with Carnatic musicians was their abandonment of the longform presentation of a raaga.  Instead, they chose what appealed to the audience and which, thereby, brought them money and fame.  The Disciple presents the tension between purity of music and the market dynamics, and does it well without taking sides. Sharad is committed to the purity of classical music and, towards the end of the movie, watches with a mix of horror and awe a female musician gaining money and fame in popular music.

A couple of months ago, after listening to a NPR segment, I immediately placed an order for a twin-CD set of recordings of a live performance in 1970 by Ali Akbar Khan, accompanied by Zakir Hussain.  In one of the CDs, Khan Sahib performs Sindhu Bhairavi for 75 minutes.  One raaga in all its glories for more than an hour.  Do musicians even attempt something like this in contemporary India, I wonder.

Bageshri is one raaga that features prominently in The Disciple.  I will end this long post with a favorite of mine--but from the world of movies.

All about music

Arts and Letters Daily has vastly contributed to my intellectual life (before you sneer, yes, there is more to it than mere mashed potatoes!) ... for years I have been a faithful daily visitor there.  Today's experience there is all about music. 

I would not have known otherwise that "Monday, Feb. 22, is Frédéric Chopin's 200th birthday. That is, it's Fryderyk Chopin's birthday; the Polish-born, Paris-dwelling composer's name is more commonly spelled these days with Ys. And that's his birth date according to a baptismal certificate"

The music-challenged person that I am, the technical terms like "rubato" makes me wonder all the more whether I know anything at all.  It feels great to walk like an ignoramus.  But, I could understand this much: "Although Chopin himself was said to shrink away from too-loud playing, there's plenty in it that thunders and plenty that's assertive. It's also strikingly original. Chopin, unlike many composers of his day, wasn't under the sway of Beethoven. He abhorred, for instance, the start of the last movement of the Fifth Symphony; his primary influences were earlier, particularly Johann Sebastian Bach."  Really?  Chopin abhorred the Fifth Symphony? 

So, why music in the first place?  Why do we value it so much?  Apparently science cannot quite explain this!

We do not love music because it exercises our brains or makes us more attractive to members of the opposite sex, but because we have lived with it since we came into being: it is entwined in our common and individual consciousness to the extent that, simply put, we would not be ourselves without it. In contemplating the mysteries of music we are also thereby contemplating the mystery of ourselves.

Clap? Or no clap? Or whatever?

I grew up in a household and cultural context where South Indian classical music (Carnatic Music) reigned supreme. Being an avid listener meant knowing where the musician excelled enough in order to applaud the artiste. Like at a jazz concert. Of course, people also nod their heads in strange ways, and keep up with the beat (taal) in even stranger ways. It has been at least half my life time since I have been to one :-)

Western classical music is way too stiff. No sounds in between, and it is generally considered inappropriate to express one's appreciation of the music unless and until the piece is over and done with. Of course, if one does not know that there are different movements within, which is why there is a lull albeit temporary, then that member of the audience (yes, that is me!) could easily be fooled into thinking that it is time to applaud. Very regimented.

But, apparently it was not always like that.

"I'm a specialist in 18th and 19th Century music. It was customary to not only applaud but to stop and do other things between movements in concerts.

"At the premieres of Haydn and Beethoven they would do two movements and then have a ballet or a singer. Often they would have refreshments. And they didn't listen to everything in complete silence."

Martin Cullingford, deputy editor of Gramophone magazine, also admits things have changed.

"Up until the beginning of the 20th Century applause between movements was normal. Mozart certainly appreciated it. That changed - now it's not the thing that's expected to happen. When people do it's always slightly embarrassing."