Sanjay Subrahmanyan seems content. The calm is evident on his face and reflected in the unhurried pace of his performances.
The Carnatic music maestro says he has nearly halved his concerts and is now focused on the ‘Sanjay Sabhas’, which he organises independently. His social media presence has diminished, although his Instagram handle continues to announce his engagements.
His passion for cricket, too, has given way to a liking for football, though his vocabulary still betrays his childhood love of the game.
Sanjay seems relaxed in Thiruvananthapuram, where he opened a music festival with a Swathi Thirunal kriti in Shankarabharanam raga at the heritage-rich Navaratri Mandapam on Monday.
This equanimity, however, comes after decades of living with Carnatic music. Born into a family steeped in the arts, Sanjay began learning the violin before turning to vocal music under his aunt Sukanya Swaminathan, Rukmini Rajagopalan and later Calcutta K S Krishnamoorthi. He eventually gave up a career as a chartered accountant to become a full-time musician.
Known for his distinctive style, often compared with that of the legendary G N Balasubramaniam (GNB), Sanjay was among the youngest musicians to receive the Sangeeta Kalanidhi.
He has also ventured beyond convention, introducing rare Tamil compositions into his concerts and embracing technology to hone his craft and connect with audiences.
Sanjay continues to sing within the system, yet remains distinctly outside it. Excerpts from an interaction:
You have cut down considerably on concerts. Why?
There was a time when I did 120 concerts a year. Now, I choose to do only 50 to 60, as I want to be more focused. Time is also a factor. I cannot keep running around as I did 20 years ago.
I now make time to travel, read and watch films. I have watched most of the Malayalam and Tamil films released recently. Rajinikanth and Kamal Haasan films have always been a mainstay.
You seem to have arrived. What is it that you want to do now?
There is actually nowhere to arrive. You merely live in the present, enjoy what life gives you and do what you feel you can to the best of your ability. I don’t think much about the future. I want to keep singing, and I will figure out my own way, as I have always done.
You are known to be tech-savvy and were once active on social media, with a popular blog and YouTube channel. Why the silence now?
I brought out a book [‘On That Note: Memoirs of a Life in Music’], in which I communicated whatever I wanted to. I may end up repeating myself if I speak more. So, I use Instagram to promote my concerts, and that’s it (smiles).
Also, the social media landscape has changed over the past 10 years. It is difficult to get people to listen to you amid all the noise.
But younger musicians could benefit from your experience if you offered online mentoring…
The new generation is quite smart. They do not need my counsel.
How has the relationship between maestro and disciple changed?
There is less distance now between mentors and those who seek their guidance. Earlier, when we approached senior musicians, their inaccessibility meant we would not talk about anything but music. If I met M S Subbulakshmi or M L Vasanthakumari, our conversation would revolve largely around a raga or music.
Social media has reduced that distance, making everyone accessible. People are more casual in their interactions with mentors. In my case, if someone wants to have a conversation with me about music, I am more than happy to oblige.
You have been a regular at the Navaratri festival. Do its stipulations restrict your creativity?
Not at all. Carnatic music has kalpita sangeetam (composed music) and kalpana sangeetam (improvised music). Every concert offers scope for both. Beyond the keerthanam, I sing raga alapana, swaram and tanam. ‘Devi Jagad Janani’ may be the kriti I have been asked to sing, but beyond that, I am not told to sing in any particular way.
Every time I sing at the Navaratri Mandapam, the exhilaration is consistent. It is also very intimate, which lends a different dimension to what I sing. Over the years, I may sing the same Shankarabharanam, but some notes or phrases sound different.
I am opening the festival in Thiruvananthapuram after a gap of eight years. I maintain a database recording what I sing and where, so I know I last performed this song here in 2018. It is just for my reference. I am a live performer, and the Navaratri festival is an annual fixture for me.
Swathi Thirunal does not seem to receive his due in Chennai…
In Chennai, the Trinity of Carnatic music (Tyagaraja, Muthuswami Dikshitar and Syama Sastri) overshadows everybody else, and even among the three, Tyagaraja rules. Whether that is changing, I don’t know. I sing and leave.
I can say that Swathi Thirunal, Purandaradasa and Annamacharya do not receive the same importance as the Trinity, but whether that is changing is not something I can assess.
Carnatic music will not end with anyone. Things move on, and you never know who will be the flavour of a particular season. Swathi Thirunal’s legacy, however, has been kept alive through these festivals.
You gave up chartered accountancy for music, but ventured into film music only in 2023. Was that restraint part of a plan?
Nothing is as per any plan. Concerts were my primary source of income, so I concentrated on them, constantly working to improve my performances. I was strict about how I wanted to approach the profession, and hence did not sing in films or at marriage functions for a long time.
That only made me work harder. Every concert was like the final of a tournament that could create or destroy further opportunities. Whether there were 100 people or 10, I had to prepare to give my best. The moment I gave up my CA career, I began working harder. That single-minded focus came, and my choices aligned
with it.
You have since explored film songs, fusion and collaborative projects. What changed?
Along the way, I started doing several things I thought I would never do: singing in films, such as the 2023 Tamil movie Lucky Man; collaborative tracks for Coke Studio Tamil; fusion; and musical albums, including a reimagining of the 19th-century saint Vallalar’s poetry with Sean Roldan.
I also took up thematic concert projects featuring pure Tamil Carnatic compositions and regional literature. The time Covid gave me forced a lot of introspection, which led me to these projects. I wanted to document this process because, after 10 years, I might not remember everything. Hence, the book.
You have achieved recognition at a relatively young age, established a distinctive style and published your memoir. Do you follow trends among young musicians?
I don’t track trends because what ultimately matters is whether people come to your concerts. And they seem to be doing fine.
I don’t perform much at sabhas now. It is mostly the ‘Sanjay Sabha’ (smiles). I started it online during the pandemic and have since taken it offline. We produce our own events, and I collaborate with a few musicians on projects.
This is my only source of livelihood. The need to make a living drove me to work hard when I was young, and it continues to drive me to sing. I am more concerned with the music itself, so I don’t analyse what others do. But, yes, I enjoy what youngsters are doing.
Will the next generation carry forward the legacy of hard work?
I am no one to predict. Our generation had to fight for basic courtesies, whereas our seniors were taken for granted. We insisted on decent travel arrangements to concert venues and decent pay, while our seniors were willing to travel in second-class to perform.
The next generation will have its own challenges. Just as we found and fought our way through, they too will have to find their way. It is a different generation, where some haven’t even seen a landline.
Your love for cricket was well-known. Have you lost interest in the game?
I am not very fond of the T20 format. Even one-day cricket was only just palatable. Test cricket, with its flamboyance and expansive canvas, was something else.
Sachin Tendulkar later became another reason to follow the game. After that, everything moved too fast. Sixes off almost every ball take away the patient build-up of the game.
I now enjoy football, particularly league matches, although it is just a liking and nowhere near as passionate as my interest in cricket was.
You have often spoken about finding one’s own path. What advice would you give young musicians trying to establish themselves?
I have heard old-timers advise youngsters on nuances, but such advice may not work on the ground. What matters is a pragmatic approach. If Mammootty tells you to do this or that, it is worth listening to him because, at 75, he is still drawing audiences.
Ultimately, what matters is how many people come to listen to you, whether you are young or old.