Yesterday I went to a concert.
It .featured the songs of a Hindi film-music composer well- known for his mono-rhythmic style. He kept it simple and all his songs were set to the clip-clop rhythm of a horse on trot. Some of you could and probably would take issues with me on this, but the distinct equine influence is a matter of fact, not of opinion. The compere, who was a very knowledgeable film buff in general and an expert in film music in particular, called it Horse-carriage music ("godha-gaadi music") at the very outset, perhaps to dampen down expectations. It was at the same venue where I had decades ago seen Peter Shaffer's Equus, a play about the love of a young man for horses. An ironic coincidence.
Equine coincidences apart, the evening of music was eye-opening. The audience was mostly over sixty with the exception of a young man from Europe (if you were that dandy-bordering-on-gay you have to be European, most likely German) who was probably in his twenties. He had, it seems, come along for the ride with his hosts who looked well into their sixties. The audience was mostly Guajarathis and Sindhis. Well known for their astute financial acumen, these communities are generally not credited with finer sensibilities associated with appreciation of fine arts.
The "oldies", as my 66 year old friend kept referring to them, were evidently enjoying themselves, leading the hand-clapping which is easy when the beat is an equine clip-clop. Even the young European fop was was seen moving to the beat which was presumably the only thing he could relate to. The strange melodies and incomprehensible language did not seem to bother him overly. I liked that spirit. He took what he could and did not moan about the rest.
I recalled a performance at this venue of Viennese waltzes by a chamber orchestra many summers ago. It was memorable as much for the orchestra's valiant efforts as for their music. Dressed formally, the Austrian orchestra was trying to do its best in the sweltering conditions. Some in the audience drifted in and out at will. Some were trying to joke audibly about how much "fiddling" was going on. Yesterday too people were drifting in as late as an hour after the concert began. The Indian film music may have attracted a bigger audience than Viennese waltzes, but it didn't improve audience's respect for the performers.
The oldies were on fire. It was music from their youth, perhaps when they were in college, vying for the attention of the pretty girls. The popular stratagem in such instances was to fashion themselves after popular matinee idols, complete with drain pipe trousers and puffed out hairstyles. Smoking was considered uber-cool. The West had Elvis and we had our Dev Anand, Dilip Kumar, Raaj Kumar and the likes. Singing popular songs within earshot of the objects of one's desires was the preferred means of communicating one's amorous intentions. This is where the old film music still finds strong echoes in the hearts of that generation. Perhaps they found their love thus and even married them. If they were not successful in their amorous endeavours, there were even songs for such sad outcomes, accompanied by piano-playing and much scotch drinking.
The music last evening was, well, equestrian. The singers were not even born when these pieces were originally performed. But they gave it a good shot and in my view did an acceptable job. All that did not matter for the oldies. For them it was not just about the music. It was a long-forgotten time of their lives being brought back. It was time-travel to a period in their lives without responsibilities, sales, loans, profits taxes or losses or any of those myriad concerns that occupy their days now. The music hall was a a time-travel capsule which took them back, albeit for only two hours, to a happier time in their lives. The audience didn't care who saw them swaying, clapping or singing along. It was 1950's and it was their time!
The most appreciated aspect of the concert was the fidelity to the originals from all those years ago. After all we are a culture that prefers faithful reproductions to original interpretations, be it music or art or even examinations.
It .featured the songs of a Hindi film-music composer well- known for his mono-rhythmic style. He kept it simple and all his songs were set to the clip-clop rhythm of a horse on trot. Some of you could and probably would take issues with me on this, but the distinct equine influence is a matter of fact, not of opinion. The compere, who was a very knowledgeable film buff in general and an expert in film music in particular, called it Horse-carriage music ("godha-gaadi music") at the very outset, perhaps to dampen down expectations. It was at the same venue where I had decades ago seen Peter Shaffer's Equus, a play about the love of a young man for horses. An ironic coincidence.
Equine coincidences apart, the evening of music was eye-opening. The audience was mostly over sixty with the exception of a young man from Europe (if you were that dandy-bordering-on-gay you have to be European, most likely German) who was probably in his twenties. He had, it seems, come along for the ride with his hosts who looked well into their sixties. The audience was mostly Guajarathis and Sindhis. Well known for their astute financial acumen, these communities are generally not credited with finer sensibilities associated with appreciation of fine arts.
The "oldies", as my 66 year old friend kept referring to them, were evidently enjoying themselves, leading the hand-clapping which is easy when the beat is an equine clip-clop. Even the young European fop was was seen moving to the beat which was presumably the only thing he could relate to. The strange melodies and incomprehensible language did not seem to bother him overly. I liked that spirit. He took what he could and did not moan about the rest.
I recalled a performance at this venue of Viennese waltzes by a chamber orchestra many summers ago. It was memorable as much for the orchestra's valiant efforts as for their music. Dressed formally, the Austrian orchestra was trying to do its best in the sweltering conditions. Some in the audience drifted in and out at will. Some were trying to joke audibly about how much "fiddling" was going on. Yesterday too people were drifting in as late as an hour after the concert began. The Indian film music may have attracted a bigger audience than Viennese waltzes, but it didn't improve audience's respect for the performers.
The oldies were on fire. It was music from their youth, perhaps when they were in college, vying for the attention of the pretty girls. The popular stratagem in such instances was to fashion themselves after popular matinee idols, complete with drain pipe trousers and puffed out hairstyles. Smoking was considered uber-cool. The West had Elvis and we had our Dev Anand, Dilip Kumar, Raaj Kumar and the likes. Singing popular songs within earshot of the objects of one's desires was the preferred means of communicating one's amorous intentions. This is where the old film music still finds strong echoes in the hearts of that generation. Perhaps they found their love thus and even married them. If they were not successful in their amorous endeavours, there were even songs for such sad outcomes, accompanied by piano-playing and much scotch drinking.
The music last evening was, well, equestrian. The singers were not even born when these pieces were originally performed. But they gave it a good shot and in my view did an acceptable job. All that did not matter for the oldies. For them it was not just about the music. It was a long-forgotten time of their lives being brought back. It was time-travel to a period in their lives without responsibilities, sales, loans, profits taxes or losses or any of those myriad concerns that occupy their days now. The music hall was a a time-travel capsule which took them back, albeit for only two hours, to a happier time in their lives. The audience didn't care who saw them swaying, clapping or singing along. It was 1950's and it was their time!
The most appreciated aspect of the concert was the fidelity to the originals from all those years ago. After all we are a culture that prefers faithful reproductions to original interpretations, be it music or art or even examinations.
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