How glorious it is to have been born in an era where I could watch Palghat Raghu create magic on his mridangam! To watch a legend I’ve heard mentioned in reverential whispers all through childhood was, and will
continue to be, an education. But this article is not intended to be a mere
tribute to a phenomenally gifted percussionist who passed away recently. It is a celebration of his contribution, and our own humble way of acknowledging his redefinition of what an accompanist ought to be.
As a musician, I find that the accompanist’s role is somewhat underestimated. Somewhere along the wide-open continuum that links the human soul’s deliverance and ultimate absolution with the divine, the accompanist plays the part of the gentle teacher, mentor and friend. He guides the lilt of the heart homewards, using the pulse of the heart as the basis for his rhythm.
What does it take to accompany? I have often wondered if there is one perfect explanation to this question. Sometimes, I feel that the accompanist is like a doting parent, while the vocal/instrumental performer leading the melody is a child waiting to be nurtured.
This is a delicate balance, and often times, one finds that a quintessential dose of affection for the art, a reminder of the discipline it takes to achieve perfection and a drawing up of the rules of the game does the trick. An accompanist has to be a master at all of these in order to elevate the concert to the highest levels while still allowing the “child” to achieve his/her potential. And Raghu Sir, as he continues to be referred, did this all the time!
Sometimes, when I sit in the accompanist’s seat on stage, I wonder if I will ever learn to imbibe the humility that it takes to keep the mind in check, work at perfecting the concert and not worry so much about whether my solo prowess is coming through. This is tough. I suppose parenting always is, which explains why each parent adopts a set of “best practices”.
In Raghu Sir’s case, I am not sure if it was restricted to his brilliant technique, mastery of laya (or intrinsic rhythm), delicate fingering and use of the left side (toppi) of the mridangam, or his ability to modify his playing to suit the lyric and bhava (or mood) of the composition. I believe he was a
superb parent, fostering his children with a grace and an understanding of their craft that have given them a great edge over the lesser fortunate among us who did not share the privilege.
U Srinivas recollects his memorable trip with Raghu to the States in the early 1990s, when the mandolin wizard was just into his twenties. “I think, that in my many interactions with him, I probably felt like a student sitting with a guru rather than as a performer with an accompanist,” he says.
“To me,” Srinivas adds, “the ability to keep up with Raghu Sir on stage was a challenge that I looked forward to. When I think about these beautiful concerts, I feel a surge of joy rushing through me. Everything boils down to the sheer joy of the music itself, and the triumph I felt each time the concert came to an end. His grip over laya and his ability to make the mridangam sing is known to everyone. When he was with me on stage, I felt my art sing out in a way that I find difficult to articulate. He was extremely fond of me.”
Chitravina maestro N Ravikiran concurs with Srinivas in his recollections and fondly recalls the chemistry he intuitively felt whenever the mridangam legend accompanied him. His instantaneous word associations with Raghu are sparkle, effervescence and brilliance. Further, he adds that this ability to absorb his master’s (the legendary Palghat Mani Iyer) schooling and the hallmarks of the Thanjavur Vaidyanatha Iyer school alongwith his ability to adapt to different performers and their handling of a recital will be remembered with awe and deep respect by all lovers of classical music.
Vocalist Vijay Siva adds, “Raghu sir will always be remembered as an outstanding example of how to absorb the core elements of his teacher while not mimicking them in toto. If one were to take away a single most powerful insight from his life and his art, it probably is to try and become one with the music. This is going to be his legacy and it is going to be necessary though difficult to remember this.”
How then do we remember these great musicians? For the awards they got? If so, Raghu was a recipient of several, including the Sangeetha Kalanidhi and the Padma Shri. Do we remember them for the number of concerts they played? I don’t think anyone has a count of these for this particular musician.
As the curtains close on yet another incredible chapter in the annals of South Indian classical music, I believe that it is the ability of this brilliant
musician to understand the true import of the term “pulse”. He understood it as easily as a parent would when examining a child for illness.
Perhaps, more importantly, he understood it the way it existed in nature, and used his magical talent to frame the music of his lifetime. We continue marching to his beat.