The Genius of Karaikurichi Arunachalam

MV Swaroop

Of all the adjectives that one could use to describe the tone of the Nagaswara, the least likely is ‘pleasant’. Yet, there is no word in the English language that describes the tone of Karukuruchi Arunachalam’s playing. There was never a twist more or a turn less. There was never any slip (given the Nagaswara’s moody nature, even the greatest of vidwans slipped, or at least slid over a note or two, from time to time), there was never anything even including slightest imperfections in pitch. You hardly heard the usual ‘pi-pi’ sound when the player changed his seevali. Even when you heard him inhale, ever-so-subtly between phrases, he seemed to inhale in the raga he was playing. His tone was even, but not flat. Flat was, in fact, an insulting word to his music. It had the entire range, from caressing, cajoling cuteness to sheer, searing strength. He could move you to tears with his music (especially his special renditions of ragas that were derived from folk music) or it could make you smile – I challenge you to listen to a Sadhinchene he has played without your foot tapping or your whole body swaying.

This pleasantness, you could argue, was because he had preternatural control over his breath.Yes, he did have that ability, but so did so many Nagaswara legends before and after him,including his teacher TN Rajarathinam Pillai. Can you even be a great Nagaswara playerwithout the highest level of breath control? What made his tone pure and distinct? Was it hismastery over that most elusive, underrated skill in Carnatic music i.e. phrasing? A musiciancould have the clearest voice, bowing, strokes or blowing and yet still fail to have a pleasant

Arunachalam with TN Rajarathnam Pillai during a concert

tone if the phrases are not clean. Clean phrases come from an uncluttered mind. By this, I am not talking about a mind that has eliminated clutter but I am referring to that kind of a mind that cannot hold clutter in the first place. His music was all never like that of a torrential downpour, but it was like like a bracing drizzle that gently turns into a heavy rain.

It did not matter what he was playing. It could be a short fragment to introduce a raga, orlong breathless passages traversing octaves at blinding speed. It did not matter if it were akriti or swarakalpana, Arunachalam’s phrases were pristine. His phrases had clarity.

There is a recording of him playing Ela Ni Dayaradu in Atana that demonstrates the philosophy of his music. It starts with the most time worn phrase MPRS, signalling to the listener that this is Atana. Two or three short phrases that are very traditional follow this. There is a break, the Tavil vidhwan fills in the gap with a jati. Arunachalam starts again, this time focusing his attention on the source of Atana’s life, the tarasthayi R. Again, he rolls out a couple of beautiful phrases, and after the briefest pause, plays a very unusual gamaka

Arunachalam with wives and children. Also seen are his sister and her children.

on the R. If you had to notate it, you would probably write R S,RGM, R but the G isn’t really there or is it? You rewind it, hear the phrase again. You are still not sure, you are back to thinking that this is a gamaka and not a swara of its own. This G is a little secret that Arunachalam has discovered in Atana. He employs it again and this time the G stands on its own. When you hear it you are startled. Even if you are an ardent traditionalist, you cannot quarrel with the fact that this gamaka is Atana’s property. This is not an invention, this is a discovery, and Arunachalam presents this discovery in a manner that makes it easy for us to appreciate.

There are many such stamps in his renditions of other ragas. Arunachalam’s Huseni is the last word on the raga. There’s something interesting to notice in the raga alapana: every time he reaches the main S, he suffixes it with a little inflection-phrase S,R N D. The R in this phrase is Hamletian – is it there, is it not – because he mutes his blowing to such an extent as to create an illusion. What this little quirk does to the alapana itself is that it gives it a flowing, swinging quality; it has never settled on a tonic note. What it also does is that it marks Huseni’s territory. This phrase is definitely notAnandabhairavi, Mukhari, Kharaharapriya or anyother raga that shares Huseni’s borders.

A mention must be made of Arunachalam’s special Yadukula Kambhoji. While handling this raga, he plays the stock phrases as dovetailed into larger phrases. These are the phrases that scream Yadukula Kambhoji and don’t become (in GNB’s words) ‘Shankarabharanamic’ or ‘Kambhojical’. Most musicians, even the great ones, who handle this raga like to go through some of these phrases to get themselves and the listeners into the raga but Arunachalam does not need that.

Arunachalam’s Shanmukhapriya is a genre of its own. Like his teacher, he was adept at playing the alapana for this raga. Both teacher and student locate the heart of the raga in that ambiguous space between P, D and N. Sometimes these swaras are handled plain, sometimes the gamakas are exaggerated, sometimes they are imperceptible oscillations, and sometimes you know that what is being explored is merely a sound on a sliding scale between these notes that defy any definition. Even though they both use the R as the landing note or even G as a note to hold during phrases, you can tell that it’s the P, D and N that they want to explore the most. The difference between teacher and student is that Arunachalam has a modicum of restraint. Rajarathinam Pillai bombards you with ideas. The next idea is unleashed even before the previous one has landed. But Arunachalam takes his time. It’s almost as if he wanted the listener to understand those phrases and see the enigma that Nagaswara players can explore in Shanmukhapriya. He repeats the phrases and gives a dramatic pause after them, as if to ask, ‘I hope you processed that?’.

Many years ago, I used to listen to Rajarathinam Pillai day and night. During this time my guru, N Ramani, mentioned that I must listen to Arunachalam. While I took that advice and became an Arunachalam fan, often listening to recordings along with my guru on car journeys to and from concerts, it is extensive listening that made me understand that advice.

My friend Lalitha Ram shared a recording of Karukuruchi Arunachalam playing the raga Vachaspati. It was a mistake on his part. I listened to it repeatedly. I listened to it while driving, while sitting around in office and even while waiting for my cases to be taken up in the virtual court. Every morning, I would wake up and put on that recording on my phone, put my phone in my pocket and walk around the house. I was so astonished by the Vachaspati that I thought no words I ever write would do justice to Arunachalam’s music. For a whole week, I heard only Arunachalam’s music from whatever sources I could find. Every time I set aside time to write about this, I would end up just listening for an hour or so and not write a word. Of course, like all assignments, I finally write this under the pressure of a deadline, for if there weren’t one, I’d spend the next few months listening and re-listening to recordings wondering where to start. Also, just to clarify, I will still not write about that Vachaspati – it has to be heard to be believed.

About the author

MV Swaroop is a flautist and lawyer based in Madras.