Those who began following Thodur Madausi Krishna (TMK) in the 90’s would vouch for the fact that he along with Sanjay Subrahmanian, heralded the coming in of the next generation in music. They were both young, bursting with energy, and brought an incredible freshness to the Carnatic music circuit. If Carnatic music today has managed to keep the young crowds trooping in, it definitely owes a significant amount of the credit to TMK and Sanjay, and their meteoric rise.
Krishna also redefined the image of the Carnatic musician. While not diluting the gravitas and depth of the old tradition, he showed young people that a musician can have multiple dimensions to him. Unlike the earlier generation of classical musicians who would resolve to be heard only in notes and not in words, in TMK we saw the man who was not ashamed to have an opinion, and who fearlessly voiced it, unmindful of the repercussions. He seemed to represent a new breed of young people – the post 90’s generation – who would gladly initiate themselves into a tradition for the depth and value they saw in it, but not so blindly that they would stop analysing and examining its larger impact on society.
Krishna, in a sense, was also the person who brought the debates within the classical music circles into the mainstream. His articles and essays on a range of issues, varying from the suitability of western instruments to Carnatic music to the very relevance of the concert format, were out there for everyone to chew on, absorb, and discuss.
To his credit, these were not random statements of opinion made in the confines of homes and Sabha canteens, which no one would pursue or follow through. He put himself out there, inviting both praise and rebuke.
As far as his music was concerned, it seemed that once he was on stage and rendering that soulful composition in Raga Kaapi, everything else ceased to matter. I have heard music aficionadas and young musicians themselves tell me how overwhelmed they were with the emotional content of Krishna’s music. With him, it seemed, that delivering an overall ‘excellent concert’, was not as important as immersing one’s self in the music. Every concert was therefore, an experience in itself, and not orchestrated.
People lapped it up, albeit with a fair share of criticism and cynical disbelief. It was as if they couldn’t quite understand what the man’s game was all about, but could not stop listening and watching. It was only a matter of time before the politics spilled on to the concert stage.
Krishna, in one December season, vouched to not perform, but instead attended various concerts, making a point of the fact that he was commuting by the ‘cycle’. In another non-season concert, listeners waited with bated breath for their favourite artist they were no longer listening to regularly on the usual platforms. To the disappointment and frustration of many, half an hour through the concert, he announced he was not in the frame of mind to finish.
The Magasaysay award, somewhat controversial for provocative choice of the heads of subjects under which the awardees are recognised, brought the debate on TMK the musician and TMK the social reformist to a head.
Needless to say, the award was not universally popular – not with the esoteric Brahmin-dominated system of classical Carnatic music of the most formal variety as in music and dance Sabhas which made the December festival the biggest celebration of the performing arts, nor with the dispossessed, whose cause he championed by holding concerts on the Elliot’s Beach and who were thrilled with the lofty patronage of a famous entertainer but, perhaps, wanted much more from society.
To his credit, Krishna has stuck to his guns, never veering from his principles of shunning the formal stage for the all-inclusive venues out there in the open.
They trolled him for being casteist even in his egalitarian push to find an inclusive space for music, which is perhaps a comment on society as much as it is on the Sabha system. He has the mien of a pioneer who likes to push on with his own agenda, saying much like General Smuts of South Africa – “The dogs may bark but the caravan rolls on.”
He is determined to stay on the path he has chosen and which leads on to space in the wide world out there reaching out to whoever has an ear for music. Many in the charmed inner circle of classical Carnatic music can see the relevance of his point of view, of the importance of social reform, the time for which has never ended, not after Saint Thyagaraja initiated it in a different age and era long ago, Subramania Bharathi espoused it at a time of an India national consciousness and TMK tries to take it forward in a most modern setting. The zeal of the reformer is never truly extinguished.
