For the sheer size of its crew and the length of their performance, there is something curious about the traditional percussion concerts of Kerala. It is a core slice of truth that only connoisseurs largely know: the four-hour melam, as it is called in the coastal state, with performers typically totalling around 125, is actually anchored by a small, slender wind instrument. That is, by the artiste playing the Kurumkuzhal in the centre of the row featuring the 15-odd pipers in the band. In short, it is not the chief drummer of the ethnic instrument called chenda who really runs the show — though the overwhelming presence and high-decibel sound of beats and rolls from it can give you such an impression.
It is in this context that melam buffs will hugely miss Kombathu Kuttan Panicker. Till old age caught up with him and he died last week at 81, the Kurumkuzhal maestro had been an overwhelming and reassuring presence in his state’s temples that mostly played venue to the ancient drum ensembles. And it was not just by authentically leading the concerts — usually melams either called Panchari (with pendulum beats counting six and their multiplications) or Pandi (comprising seven-beat cycles) — that Kuttan Panicker gained awesome an reputation. He would, ahead of such events, render pipe concerts of fairly long durations (say, 45 minutes to sometimes almost double that time). Such performances called Kuzhalpattu, where he would be mostly giving solo renditions in front of a row of caparisoned elephants in the dead of night, would light up the musical ideas in the mind of the maestro.
Panicker’s little pipe would look more like the Hindustani shehnai which is played upcountry in concert circuits besides on auspicious occasions, but it is Carnatic ragas (melody types) that the Kurumkuzhal would take up and delineate in a big way — what with the instrument’s origin in peninsular India. Sankarabharanam used to be one of his favourite tunes. Essaying that as the main suite, Kuttan Panicker’s freewheeling and gurgling alapanam would unveil not just the beauty of the raga, but his own propensity to rub shoulders with a professional nagaswaram maestro on the dais — if one were to convene a jugalbandi of sorts.
Even when it comes to leading the massive chenda melams, Kuttan Panicker would ensure that the tone of the Kurumkuzhal was in tune with the general pitch of the percussion ensemble. It was a delight to watch that bit of dramatics, where the maestro, bending his bare-chested body a bit downward, would swirl the pipe in a small and crisp circle ahead of kalaasams — rhythmic passages that indicated a change of chapter ahead. And, once the next set of beats resumed, Kuttan Panicker would sway his head sideways with dynamic, one-second-long grace in sync with each beat you heard.
It isn’t that Kuttan Panicker was just reproducing what gurus taught him as a young man. In fact, if the small Kerala pipe has attained an identity of its own, it is basically through the strenuous efforts of Kuttan Panicker — and some of his contemporaries, like the late Pozhankandathu Rama Panicker and Kodakara Parameswaran Nair. Not surprisingly, when Kuttan Panicker chose to essay, say, Naattakurinji and Kalyani, the often-heard ragas lent an entirely different feeling to the listeners. In peak-form nights, he would pep up the show with racy numbers like Himagiri Thanaye, a composition in Suddha Dhanyasi raga that would sound more East Asian. Overall, more than as a ritualistic prelude, Kuzhalpattu, when performed by Kuttan Panicker, effectively seemed to set the basic tone for the melam that would succeed it.
The vitality of his contribution to the art is accentuated also, considering that Kuttan Panicker presented his art form at various temples in Kerala — and rarely in venues outside — for more than half a century.
There were quite a few prestigious melams that Kuttan Panicker led across his native central Kerala. Since he was a native of Perumbilissery off Thrissur, the state’s cultural capital, he grew up by participating and then leading prominent ensembles in temples like Peruvanam, Oorakam and Cherpu in the neighbourhood — besides, a little away, in the vast post-harvest fields of Arattupuzha and compact precincts of Ollur’s Edakunni shrine. He was a much sought after impresario at the festivals in Irinjalakuda (south of Thrissur) and Tripunithura (off Kochi).
Then, of course, he was the chief piper for the under-the-tree afternoon-time ensemble called Elanjithara melam, which was famous for being an integral part of Thrissur Pooram — Kerala’s biggest traditional festival even in contemporary times. Kuttan Panicker had won the gold medal from Paramekkavu Devaswam that organises the famous Elanjithara melam. A more prestigious laurel came for the seasoned piper last year when the state government conferred him with the Pallavur Appu Marar Puraskaram.
As chenda maestro Peruvanam Kuttan Marar notes, “Kuttan Panicker has performed with my grandfather Narayana Marar, my father Appu Marar and then me.” One only wishes the spirit of Kuttan Panicker will enthuse future generations.
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