One of the earliest “intrusions” to the traditional stage was the electronic tambura, which replaces the real instrument in many contexts. It is certainly far less aesthetic than the graceful tambura, but again few concert stages in our country worry about aesthetics. It’s a foreign word that few are concerned about. The ubiquitous striped carpet that serves in other places as floor mats invariably adorns the stage. And importantly, hides the ups and downs of the many-benches-put-together stage - oh so very comfortable for the artistes sitting on it! Sitting on stage, I have often felt I was indeed at a different level than all the rest of the world in every sense ! Vases and bouquets of plastic flowers also have a pride of place.
On the stage, the performers sit on and around a maze of multi-coloured wires that run from anywhere to everywhere. There are huge monitors and speakers and what not, quite next to the performers, sometimes even in front of them, blocking view. And when the mikes that screech, scratch, grunt, the all-important mike man is summoned. He benevolently fiddles with the buttons on his mysterious multi-button apparatus. And grins triumphantly when the banshee wails of the mikes subside; only to restart at poignant moments of the concert.
Then, there are the comperes. Usually, these are the organisers themselves, so we don’t look for any professional, glazed speeches. All we could look for is a neat, crisp introduction. South Indian musicians have, as everyone knows, longish names, which include native towns, villages. Not only their own, but those of their gurus too. But often one is treated to an entertainment show of sorts with endless introductions, loyally read out of the printed bio-data and names regally bungled. The introductions are usually in English. Pronunciation and diction fall apart. Full stops replace commas, dashes are ignored. Artistes on stage must definitely be feted for camouflaging their amusement and keeping a dignified expression, as if they didn’t hear a word of all this oratorial spree.
When my daughter was little, she drew a series of sketches on concerts. One of them was particularly evocative. The singer eyes all closed, was lost in rhapsody. The accompanists too. And in the middle of this tableau of ecstasy, there’s a ‘drink man’ swinging Bisleri water bottles. I love the picture, I still have it safely. Somewhere mid-way through the concert the drink wala comes in. His job is primarily to supply hot drinks to the singer or the main performer and cold drinks, or bottles of water to the accompanying artistes. When the musician is lost in intense concentration and the audience too, the man walks to the stage, balancing bottles on either hand, places one leg on the stage in true athletic fashion, swings forward, placing them on the stage. Perhaps freshers in the audience would be holding their breath till the bottles are placed and the coffee too - what if the not-to- happen, happened? I wouldn’t even dare to think of it... But he’s a well experienced acrobat, so frayed nerves needn’t worry.
Often there are other mid-concert intervals. Information about ‘tomorrow’s programme’, or ‘next month’s schedule’, ‘blood-donation drive’ and what not. The concentration, momentum and flow of the artistes on stage, suffers a cruel blow. And they have to resume minutes later, like a clockwork mechanism.
Then I must come to one very important element of our music today - sponsors. In the past, they were unheard of. But today, one never hears of unsponsored concerts. Small or big, sponsors are there. And very much there everywhere. The average concert hall sports banners, lest the rasikas and the artistes forget to remain indebted. These banners could hang anywhere. Near the aisles, on the stage, just everywhere. Pins and hanging strings giving way, sagging ends, are also part of the visual treat. Worse is when they take over the stage backdrop, engulf the performers and create an eerie ambience. I will never forget the day when I sang with Bril Ink hanging like Damocles’ sword above my head, attached by yellowed white ropes. I felt like a page out of a worn-out memoir, presenting its sad autobiography, rather than a musician on stage. It was a temple concert and the ambiance of the ancient stone walls was enchanting to say the least. Could’nt they have just left it that way?
Dr Vasumathi Badrianthan is an eminent vocalist based in Mumbai . She can be contacted on vasu@vasumathi.met