Some musicians command a devoted following in their lifetimes. For others, true recognition comes only after their passing. Carnatic doyen M D Ramanathan, aka MDR, belonged to the latter category.
Keeping such legacies alive falls to students and admirers who carry the music forward. R Krishnamoorthy of Tripunithura is one such devotee.
For 23 years, the retired art teacher has been observing ‘MDR Day’ to keep alive the legacy of the nonconformist musician through talks, discussions and kacheris.
The 23rd edition was held on Sunday at NM Food World in Tripunithura, bringing together old-timers and young music explorers, including schoolchildren.
“I have been organising it every year in Tripunithura for the past two decades. Only once did I take the event to Kozhikode when some fans there requested it,” says Krishnamoorthy.
MDR, who hailed from Palakkad, divided the Carnatic music world with his unconventional style — slow-paced, sometimes seemingly incoherent, and unmistakably individual. Yet, over the years, he cultivated a niche but devoted following.
Krishnamoorthy has admired MDR since childhood. He first heard the musician when he was in Class 7. One afternoon, after returning from school, he switched on the radio around 4pm. A concert was on, and he found himself drawn into the music.
“I got immersed in it. It was only when it ended that I heard the name M D Ramanathan,” he recalls.
The recital stayed with him long after the broadcast ended. What captivated the young listener was the depth of MDR’s voice.
“That voice was unlike the softer, more delicate voices often associated with Carnatic music,” he notes.
“MDR had a heavy, bass-like voice, and he did not appear particularly interested in the showmanship of the concert stage. He took his time. His music unfolded slowly, with an emphasis on bhava.”
Krishnamoorthy chose to pursue higher studies at the College of Fine Arts in Thiruvananthapuram, primarily to hear the musician perform at the Navarathri Mandapam.
“MDR rarely performed for large public audiences. This was one venue where I was informed I could definitely listen to him sing,” he recalls.
Krishnamoorthy draws a parallel between MDR’s singing and Kathakali padams, in which emotion and the meaning of the lyrics take precedence.
“Combined with the musician’s commanding physical presence, this made his performances particularly striking. He was a tall man, around six feet. He emoted the lyrics as he sang,” he adds.
“A song about anger would bring anger to his face; sadness could bring him close to tears. His expression, or roopam, seemed to change with the mood of the song. This is probably what rubbed certain sections of the audience the wrong way, as people would comment that he was ‘dancing’ instead of singing.”
MDR’s individuality extended beyond his singing to his compositions, which continue to intrigue musicians and scholars.
Carnatic music exponent Prince Rama Varma is one of them. “Two voices are among my earliest memories: Kishore Kumar and MDR,” he says.
“Even at four or five, I could sit through an entire six-hour MDR concert without moving. Perhaps it was his low-pitched voice that kept one entranced.”
Varma vividly remembers how MDR placed his microphone near his feet rather than his face. “His arms moved with the lyrics and music, and a microphone in front of him would probably have been knocked over,” he smiles.
“He was one of the rare artists who truly understood the meaning of the kritis of composers like Thyagaraja. Most musicians, even during MDR’s time, had only a limited grasp of Thyagaraja’s Telugu or Sanskrit. They would randomly split words to fit the rhythm, without understanding their meaning. This incorrect usage became so widespread that when someone like MDR sang the compositions correctly, he was considered wrong!”
Carnatic vocalist Dr Shanthala Raju, who has published a book titled ‘Varadadaasyam’ on his compositions, says documenting his music was quite challenging because much of it survived only in audio recordings.
His distinctive approach also meant that the compositions were complex. “They sound simple lyrically. But when we look at them technically, they have many layers.”
Shanthala points to his use of ‘prasams’ — rhyming words — and the incorporation of raga names into his compositions. His music, she says, was deeply emotional.
Even the way he introduced a raga could set him apart from convention. “He would choose phrases to begin his compositions. That was his craziness,” she smiles.
For Krishnamoorthy, this ‘craziness’ became the starting point of a lifelong mission to preserve MDR’s music while exploring the wider world of Carnatic music.
Over the years, several people helped him build a collection of recorded concerts. One among them was Rajamani Iyer, son of legendary mridangam vidwan Palghat Mani Iyer.
“He encouraged me to listen to a wide range of musicians to understand what made MDR different,” says Krishnamoorthy.
His collection now comprises more than 10,000 cassettes, including recordings of around 300 MDR concerts.
The rest feature Carnatic stalwarts such as Semmangudi Srinivasa Iyer, Ariyakudi Ramanuja Iyengar, Palghat K V Narayanaswamy, G N Balasubramaniam, D K Pattammal, M L Vasanthakumari, T Brinda, T Muktha, M S Subbulakshmi, T R Mahalingam and T K Rangachari.
“Some of these are rare recordings that are not available elsewhere. A single concert often occupies two or three cassettes,” says Krishnamoorthy.
The collection is gradually moving beyond the cassette shelf. Krishnamoorthy has been digitising the recordings and sharing them on his YouTube channel, making the music accessible to a wider audience.
He has also chronicled the musician’s life in Kedaram, a book that traces MDR’s life and career through the eyes of a disciple finding his way towards his maestro.
Krishnamoorthy’s efforts continue, as does MDR Day, which began in 2003.
“Even during the pandemic, I organised the programme in my home and broadcast it on YouTube,” he beams.
“Each performance is more than a tribute. It is a way of bringing MDR back into the room, even if only for an evening. People still want to listen to him, understand his genius.”