Legend has it that when Kanaka Dasa, composer of one of the best-known Carnatic pieces, ‘Krishna Nee Begane Baro’, was kept out of Karnataka’s Udupi Krishna Temple because he was a non-Brahmin, the idol itself turned around to face him as he sang his heart out.
Traditionally, Carnatic musicians, who revere the 16th century philosopher as a vaggeyakara or a composer, have viewed this story through the lens of bhakti or devotion. For vocalist T M Krishna, however, the story is also an illustration of caste-based discrimination.
It is this perspective that makes Krishna a controversial figure to some in the Carnatic music community. He is spoken of as someone who “stomped over the sentiments of this community,” to quote singers Ranjani and Gayatri’s message to the Madras Music Academy, when they objected to him being honoured with the Sangita Kalanidhi.
For years now, Krishna has made music a tool to question norms — both inside and outside the art form. Detaching his art from spirituality, Krishna tries to find the meaning that his art will convey to his current-day audience, formulating his politics through the process.
A Southern Music: The Karnatik Story, his first book, highlights the socio-political questions in the world of Carnatic music, built on a foundation of caste-based othering and, sometimes, appropriation. His latest, Sebastian & Sons: A Brief History of Mrdangam Makers, talks about the unseen Dalit craftspeople behind one of Carnatic music’s indispensable instruments.
Krishna has drawn ire in the past for experimenting with the format of a traditional Carnatic concert, which he says does not “reflect music”. Rearranging the traditional order of placing songs, and breaking the hierarchical seating positions of artists in the concert made him a target for criticism, although there was applause from those who valued innovation.
More than the concert format, Krishna experiments with the relationship between raga (the scale), tāla or laya (rhythm or the tempo), and the lyrics. It is these experiments that led him to perform the Arabic poem ‘Salat al-Badriyya’ by Shaykh Ali Mansur Siddiq Basha Iban, an attempt pioneered by National Award-winning veteran musician K J Yesudas.
The expanse of this experiment was vast. The ‘Chennai Poromboke Paadal’, an attempt to bring together classical music and environmental activism, blended the nuances of Carnatic music with a version of Tamil otherwise heard in folk performances. ‘Poromboke’ refers to a community’s commons — and is often used as a derogatory word. The composition, sung in ragas Ananda Bhairavi or Devagandhari, went beyond the usual spiritual themes to bring to the listener something real and tangible.
Krishna collaborated with Tamil writer Perumal Murugan, who has similarly sparked traditionalist anger with his writing, to compose songs in Tamil, exploring poetics through different dialects of Tamil, far from the refined Tamil of Carnatic kritis.
But what provokes the traditionalists the most is how Krishna pushes the boundaries of the artform to break its invisible walls, to free the art from its “holding community”, a phrase that he uses often. Bringing verses composed by Kerala’s social reformer-ascetic Narayana Guru into Carnatic music was more an emphasis on the anti-caste politics of empathy and concern. Similarly, the song he composed to commemorate “Thanthai Periyar” E V Ramasamy stressed on the anti-caste struggle and rationalism.
While remaining grounded in the aesthetic of the art form, Krishna travels through a range of philosophies. His engagements with caste, gender and the ideas of equality and freedom reflect in his body of work, creating fans and haters alike. This again could be the “obvious reasons” that Trichur Brothers mentioned in their Instagram post, expressing displeasure over the prospect of Krishna presiding over their concert and saying that his value system is “diametrically opposite to our core values”.
akhil.pj@expressindia.com
