Guetta out of the grounds I say.

We've finally done it. Learnt to go to bed like good children by 9, ie. Even David Guetta couldn't stop us. He tried, I hear. Flailed his arms about and even said endearing things like "India is... 'ow to say... ze best country I 'ave evair visited-uh", in a bid to make the audience stay on. But the audience wasn't convinced. "We love you David", they were heard muttering. "But no. My fother will scold because Monday I have 9th std supplementary exam. Her mother will beat because tomorrow morning-morning Satyanarayana pooje is there. Kindly understand our position. Good night."

That's the real story, but I believe there was an official story that was doing the rounds. It involves palace intrigue, 1412 luggage autos and teleportation. And this is the story that shall now be told for all the world to hear.

So when it was known that the Guetter was slated to perform from 7-11pm at the palace grounds last week (with full BBMP permission, mind it), the Party Machas squealed in delight and spiked their hair in anticipation. The Macha Parties rolled their eyes, rubbed their balding scalps ruefully and downed another pint. The former outnumbering the latter by a ratio of 47:1 thus launched into a mad scramble for tickets. Several tubes of Set Wet were used to distract potential ticket buyers, but not a hair was turned, I hear.

This excitement was not restricted to the macha fraternity. All of Bangalore wanted to be at the Palace Grounds that night. In fact, just so everyone had an international performer to admire, a famous liberal cleric from Pakistan was invited to conduct an Islamic discourse at the same venue.

Really? You ask. Really, I reply. The Bengaluru Polisu in its magnanimity had, in a pathbreaking populist move, approved both applications with its new "COMMAN FRIENDS YENJAAY" red stamp, reserved for such august occasions.

Both parties, unbeknownst to each other, shot off letters of thanks to the dept, expressing satisfaction at the prompt clearance of their applications. The organizers of the cleric's discourse mentioned that its 2 Lakh attendees had a feelin' that the night was gonna be a good good night. The Guetta ghetto sent a thank you e-card to the dept too, appreciating its prompt action and highlighting the various parts of the evening. It would contain a hair spiking segment, a shirt unbuttoning session and finally, a nice long disco-course.

A sleuth from the dept analysed these letters of commendation and put them away in a special drawer marked VIP, for future reference. That evening, when the agent drew the letters out of the said item of clothing for a closer look, he realised with a start that there might be a small issue at hand.

Both events were scheduled on the same night and at the same time. Not a very good idea, he realised. The discourse attendees might not take too kindly to the dulcet strains of 'I want to do the needful to you all night', emerging from 600m away. It wouldn't be fair to expect the Guetta group to Gel with their devout brethren and sisteren next door either.  They'd probably have exhausted a year's supply of product on their own hair already. 


An urgent meeting of both organizers was called. Applications were re-sent and re-stamped. After a civilized exchange of pehle-aaps, a decision was taken to stagger the events thus:

Guetta would do the aforementioned to you all evening only. From 5pm to 8:15pm. There would then be a respectable scramble for the exits, lasting precisely half an hour. The 3000 fans of the Guetta concert would then be teleported home, replaced by 200,000 equally enthusiastic fans from all over Islamic India. After which the benign cleric would take over until 11:30pm. Wishful thinking?

Apparently not. It worked. Like a charm. 203,000 happy people woke up the next day to a bright eyed and bushy tailed world. The newspaper offices wrung their hands in despair as they had reserved 3 columns each, to wail about unruly mob scenes at the venue. The columns were promptly filled up with detailed analyses on the importance of owning at least 6 pairs of aviator sunglasses and a manpurse.

So anybody who has anything to say about Blr Polisu's supreme event coordination techniquesu may kindly eat gobi manchuri.

And hello, what are you doing up so late? Go to bed instantly.

Sexy Bach

See boss, there's no point in being indignant about some things. Like what you're not supposed to do at western classical concerts for example. We're Indian, I agree, naturally effusive, demonstratively appreciative and all that sort of thing. But sorry, no go during Bachtime. So for your own protection and that of those around you, here is a comprehensive list of don'ts at a Western Classical concert.

Suspend all activity when the music starts. If you have your finger up your nose, leave it there. If a mosquito buzzes annoyingly around you, too bad. Try and bargain with it telepathically to leave you alone in exchange for the address of a carnatic concert in the same neighbourhood.

Don't clap. You'll get into trouble. Western classical musicians lose their mojo if there's applause between movements. Mimic a 1970s concrete water-maiden until the music stops. Look around for someone who seems knowledgeable. Rub your palms non-committally when this person applauds. If the artist acknowledges the applause, clap 3 times and smile wanly.

Athough unthinkable before, it is now considered polite and modern to whistle and hoot while applauding at a classical concert. However, be warned that it is not you that should be doing it. YOU - are supposed to continue resembling a frozen coelacanth. The polite whistles should emerge from experienced polite whistlers.

Do not say Sabhash, Aaaaan and Bhale in the middle of a complex aria. Do not waggle your head and say mchxl-mchxl when the soprano hits a high C.

Do not say silly things like "Actually all weshtran musics are in Shankarabharana raaga only." Multiple carnatic music buffs in the audience will jump up immediately and say "Yes yes". They will then proceed to bore everyone senseless with comparisons to Yedhukula Kambhoji and Kiravani and there will be no end to it.

If you're bored, do not make things worse by looking at the artist's music score to see how many pages they have left to play. Chances are that the artist will play till the last page, flip the music over and play it all over again from the top. These classical musicians I tell you.

Try not to focus on the conductor's bottom, though it is the most visible part of the concert. The music does not come from there, though the rhythm does.

Your babies are cute. Leave them AT HOME. Do not inflict a stuffy adult concert on them. They are not interested. The rest of the audience isn't interested in listening to them wail through one either.

If your cell phone rings in the middle of the concert, commit hara-kiri immediately. Yes I realize it takes two people to do it. Don't worry, I will help you.

You are not allowed to arrive or leave in the middle of a piece unless you're dying. Even if you are, you'll probably live through the piece anyway, thanks to the preservative effect of your state of suspended animation.

Do not request an old hindi number at a Bach concert. Well I suppose you could, actually. Go ahead, enjoy ma.

However, do not, at the end of the request, say, "Oh what is there, anybody can play piano ting ting ping ping." I realize Shammi Kapoor has convinced you that you can produce excellent western classical by kneading imaginary chappati dough over a Baby Grand. What you don't realize is that this technique will not work unless there is a heavily mascaraed weeping woman with a bun as big as her head, a disapproving father in a dressing gown AND a grand staircase for him to hobble down.

Linger around after the concert with a polite smile on your face. Chances are you'll be photographed and captioned: "All smiles - Syamanthakamani and Selvaganapathy" on page 3 the next day.

And finally, do remember to take the program list home. You can mug up the names of the pieces and rattle them off at the unsuspecting people you have incarcerated in your basement for this purpose.

Aargh-apella!

Friday, the 20th could well have been the 13th.

"Hey, let's go listen to Stanford University's acapella group perform today", said a friend. "Aye thu come ya, It will be fun, and besides how bad can it be? They're only performing for 45 minutes." "Oh them?", I said, googling furiously. They were called Raagapella, I discovered. Stanford university's South Asian focussed all-male acapella group. Oho. They'd been selected as part of Stanford's eight acapella groups through a gruellingly intense audition process. Achacha. They only got 3 hours of sleep a night, because of all the practices, the article said. Mchxl mchxl. "Uyyo cammaaan I say" I hollered back into the phone at the friend, and off we went.

We reached the Alliance Française half an hour early, hoping to catch seats in what we thought would be a packed house. The group was performing as part of the Fête de la Musique, a free music evening showcasing musical talent from all over the country and beyond.

The show was running about an hour late as usual. Which was cool because it gave us time to check out the group that was playing before them: a talented but fairly pedestrian jazz-fusion group, with a cherubic dude on the western drums, a slightly apologetic looking Indian percussionist and a lost bass-guitarist. My brain switched off the moment the apologetic percussionist switched on his laptop and played an ersatz background score for them to drum over. A couple of well executed, intricate konnukol interludes and bland guitar riffs (all at an earsplittingly high decibel level) later, they left. Hopefully straight to the shower that they'd forgotten to take before coming on stage.

A hush fell over the audience. About ten men, identically clad in red zari-kurtas walked in and took their positions on stage. "Ah, there they are", sighed the friend and settled into her seat, looking forward to a fabulous hour ahead. The lead kurta fluttered down from on stage. "Hi how are you guys doin'?" (Oooerr. Ah well they've been in the US for a while, I suppose the NRI twang is forgiveable.) "We're Raaegapeylla", he said, launching into a long winded explanation of the type of music they were into. A few "raaeguhs" and "taaeluhs" into his speech, and I had zoned out. I even missed the part where he explained why girls in particular were supposed to like their music. I was taking bites out of the seat in front of me by then.

Finally, they began. Lead kurta blew into a pitch pipe, pumped his arm up and down with the skill of a Saidapet housewife at 4am, and the group began to hum a low 3-note chord. The pitch pipe hadn't helped. They were flat. Kurta after kurta fluttered down to the mike and sang a line each (flat), before taking their places back with the red mass of gyrating hips on stage, still on the same chord (flat). We looked at each other. "Probably not warmed up", we reassured each other, and waited for the next song.

A scientist type slithered down to the mike next, his longish hair in straggly wisps around a standard issue wide-eyed NRI leer. "Hope you guys are doin' just fab tonight. We're now gonna do a modal (dai!) piece for you guys in a Raega and its based on a shlogum." (Ah. Tamil-ABCD. Hmm.) "We've also tried to mix in a John Denver number" (Aiyo! Poor fellow what he did to you I say?). "But first, Im gonna do you an aalaa-banai" (Uh huh, definitely Tamil).

The visions in red went "Pum-pum-pum-PUMMM" for about 40 seconds, which I later figured was supposed to have been the sound of a tanpura (left out in the rain for 40 days and 40 nights presumably). A billy goat bleated out from somewhere. The Alliance caretaker jumped up with his stick to chase it away, but sat down suspiciously when he realized that the sound was coming from on stage. It was long haired scientist type. He had closed his eyes and was doing his aalaa-banai. It was - ooh, you guessed? Flat. He'd suddenly shudder from head to toe and go a-a-a-a-a-a-a, presumably to placate the djinn that had jumped into his pajamas before the concert. Finally, he left. The Chinese (north-east-indian?) member of the group came down to sing his line: A deep bass growl emerged from his dimunitive figure. Not half bad! Pretty darned good even. Unfortunately his elaborate churidar had slid down over his feet and made him look like a handsomish Yoda. "Song sung, I nicely have", I thought I heard him murmur before he flapped back upstage.

Long-haired scientist type came back down and went "tae kit ta tah, ta laengu takka tah." for 2 minutes, accompanied by a voice-percussionist member of the group. I had finished chewing the chair in front of me, and was gnawing pensively on my friend's obligingly offered shoulder by then. My cell phone buzzed. It was a distress message from Missy M, whom I had also invited to watch the spectacle: "Headache. Pain. Must go. Will talk. Later. Water. Room service."

I couldn't take any more either. I left quietly after the song was over, and cried into my pillow all night.

Stanford Raagapella. I have two words to say to you: "What the...?!!"
OK three: "Fbbbthhhbbpp".

Acknowledgements: Mem (for offering gnawable shoulder), Subz (for scarring us for life), Apps (for being long suffering and stoic)

Placatory disclaimer: Don't get all hot under the collar boys, you weren't so bad. Just tune up a bit and you'll be fine.

Hungry kya? Carols ga!

The terrible part of last week was that I had to do the million-mile schlep to E-City for a training programme.

The bad part of last week, was that the training programme had a homework assignment! I pleaded with the taciturn trainer to let old men like me off the hook, but my passionate entreaties fell on deaf ears. I was left with no option but to drum out a jargon-filled prez, dressed up with my infamous technical diagrams. Since the trainer didnt die laughing or make me stand in a corner after he saw it, I assumed he'd just eaten bisi bele bhath, or was just plain stupid. Not that I was complaining.

The good part of last week, was a chi-chi-pooh-pooh concert at the Park Hotel dahling, attended by Bangalore's insufferable who's-who. What was I doing there? Well, aside from showcasing my natural talent at being insufferable, I was also playing sound engineer for the evening's performance: A Christmas concert by my music group.

The choir had been rehearsing 3-4 times a week to get this concert together. The first half consisted of excerpts from Handel's well loved Messiah. (You know, the one where the conductor runs 440V up everybody's spines and they go "Haaaaaa-le-lujah! Haaaaa-le-lujah!" in perfect 4/4 time.) Being on a break from singing and all, I was deputed to perform the supremely arduous task of hitting the play and pause buttons between soundtracks. Blonde Swedish counter-tenor, sweet brunette German soprano, and the extremely talented Girl 1 (Mallu soprano, choir director) were in full form, as always. The choir was tight, well rehearsed and comfortable. The mood lightened up considerably in the second half, though the music remained just as tough to perform. Swedish and german carols, jazzed up versions of popular christmas songs, Girl 1 going slightly nuts on "I'll be home for Christmas", and finally, the quick paced, but light-as-air Carol of the Bells.

The wonderful part of last week however, were the free cocktails and hors d'oeuvres after the concert. Yes, I use this word specifically, as I ate like a hors till they were all oeuvre. While wine and cocktails flowed like water, the ardors of my crazy-ass week melted away happily into nothingness.

And the best part of last week was the "order whatever you want on the menu" dinner for the performers, after the concert! Haha! If the poor Park Hotel staff was expecting a bunch of air-kissing, food-picking socialites for light dinner and polite banter, weren't they in for a surprise! Especially when they had to reckon with Bikerdude, the lean (err), mean (uh-huh, oh yeah!) eating machine! Muhuhahaha.

Moral: Never offer free dinner to a hungry choir.

Carnatic contortionism

Where have all the quirky artists of yesteryear gone, I hear you ask? OMG I knew we were related! I often ask this myself!

Artist vakras (idiosyncracies) at a concert have been a dying art form for several years now. They have been almost completely obliterated by the new breed of rigid necked, poker faced, young artists of today. Whaaat is this I say?

All these self-righteous, modern music teachers are to blame for this, I tell you. I have personally seen them correcting the facial ticks and grimaces of young impressionable pupils right from their childhood. I myself have been a victim of this modern brainwashing. My beloved and late Shakunthala Teacher, a well meaning and very talented Trivandrum AIR artist, would always tell me after an inspired grimace during a difficult varnam passage: "Kondhaai, moonji-geenji elaam pannapdaadhu kaettiyo? Yellaarum un paattu kaekarthukku bathila, un moonjiyai paapaaLaakkum." (My child, don't make face-gees. People will look at your face instead of listening to your song. Ok? Ok.)

This post, however, is dedicated to those few, far between (and usually immensely talented) artists, who have managed to stick to their old school ways, and continue to grimace, gesticulate, cough, and slice their way into the hearts of their rasikas. Presented below is my humble attempt at documenting artistic vakras at a lively carnatic kacheri, in the hope that it may be used in the future to rejuvenate this wonderful lost art:

Varaaha Vaidyanathan: For the uninitiated, this is the delicate art of piggyface making. Especially prominent while executing delicate sangathis during a raga: "Thu dhu rin na nu....uuiiium", or during a long phrase in a Thyagaraja Krithi involving words like "munu ju joochuchumu".

Self Appreciater : Breaks into a hearty "aaaan" and "sabhaash" after executing a complicated gamaka. The usually timid violinist is forced to smile weakly and agree, while producing a mouse-like answer to the same phrase.

Audience-confusing thaalam putter: A master of thaalam who never needs to keep time with the music, but will suddenly slap his/her thigh 27 times in the middle of an avartana, and confuse the entire audience.

Exorcist VI: While the usually talented artist sings with abject devotion to various gods and goddesses, all the demons of the netherworld surface on his/her face. "Mah-hwaaaaaaa(scary face) Guh-Na-pa-thiyiwwwwwwum (scowl)"

Roti mandir: Usually found in the North, this artist will begin the concert by kneading some imaginary dough, pounding and pummelling it, stretching it out, and finally rolling it into imaginary chappatis. Needless to say the audience leaves disappointedly hungry after 2 hours of tempting chappati making.

Bronchitis Bhatrachar: The artist who thinks nothing of going "harrrghgthghgmph" in the middle of a subtle sangathi, instantly popping a spell-bound audience back into the real world.

Uh-uh, nope, not possible: The negative percussionist that shakes his head in hopeless despair throughout the concert. If the audience had any intension of sacrificing a bonda-bajji break during the thani, it is promptly pre-empted by an extra bout of intense head waggling during the first mohra.

Shanta Idly Grinder: Goes into raptures while singing "Maadu mekkura kanne nee poga vendaam munne". Sits on an imaginary arisi-paruppu (rice and dal) mixture and grinds away by swaying body in a clockwise motion, now and then tamping down the imaginary batter with a thrust of her closed fist.

Karate Kid IV: The Black belt master at a hindustani concert, who aims expert air-slices at imaginary bearded chinese masters. Most of these singers also have a secret ambition of substituting the percussion accompaniment with a big brass gong.

Comedy Chakrapani: Usually a violinist or a ghatamist with a humungous vibhuti, pottu and fantastic wardrobe, who drives the audience (esp the kids) insane with laughter with all manner of quirky faces, grins, eyebrow waggles, and funny screechy notes, with an "I didn't do that" expression.

Agathi Alamelammal: The consumptive looking "pretty girl" playing the tanpura. Either bored senseless with the concert or completley hypnotized by the buzz of the tanpura she is playing. Nevertheless a good nirvana-esque place to be in.

The lotus eater: An over-humble artist who will anounce all his kritis with hand in lotus bud formation held close to his mouth in a gesture of humility: "This is my wown hummmmble caamposition. Please feel free to kick and spit all over it because I am your wown hummmble servant". An instant cue for various maama-maamis to leave, or catch up with the weekly gossip.

Shruthi sodhapper: The avant-garde flautist/singer who is never satisfied with the tuning of the tanpura. Will repeatedly adjust the strings right in the middle of the song. Worse still is the electronic tanpura adjuster, who will unhesitatingly make shruti adjustments in full volume, making the entire audience tut-tut in irritation.

Mridanga Manikyam: The artist who smiles brightly at the mridangist after every phrase of a manodharma swara. By the end of the concert, the mridangist's polite return-smile gets sealed permanently onto his face.

The overcompensator: A native tamil speaker, unaccustomed to the heavy plosive consonants of other languages, especially Sanskrit. Will overcompensate by converting all consonants to their heavier versions, in the hope of pronouncing foreign words correclty: "YenDhara nee Dhana, Ghendha BhoNi, JhinDha viDhuva Jhaa Rhaa, Kshreeee Raaahaahaamaa". Usually eliciting sniggers from the audience when performing outside chennai.

Blind Fury III: An artist who has cleverly convinced the audience for years that s/he is visually challenged, by screwing eyes shut throughout the concert. The eyes will pop open occasionally during a thani, but close instantly, before the audience catches on.

Witty Waradachar: Makes quips in mid-phrase about the faulty sound system, or the concert organizer, eliciting polite laughter from the audience.

The Devaranama/Meera Bhajan destroyer: The sort that is clearly convinced of the superiority of music over poetry, and the irrelevance of the actual words being sung. Hence if Meera sang:"Maii thwo kirithara ge ranku raaaajee", Krishna would still appear, albeit scraching his nails on a blackboard. This artist is also convinced that all devarnamas are composed using the two imaginary kannada words "Hothle and Hidhlu" and will sing an entire purandara dasa kriti using them.

Nostril Nalini: Eyes permanently fixed at indeterminate spot on ceiling of hall. While Yashoda had the privilege of seeing the world in her son's mouth, the audience now has the dubious one of seeing asteroids and other formations in the artist's nostrils.

Footnote: For all those die hard fans of the artists lampooned here, freeya vidunga (leave off I say). I love 'em as much as you do.

Duruflé the organ?

6:30am today found 17 of us at the beautiful St. Marks cathedral for a rehearsal, shivering our timbers in the morning draft . A few minutes later, the young organist climbed nervously into his seat, high up above us. He's good. A little shy and perhaps not used to the exacting standards of the choir director (aka Girl 1), who chewed him to bits during the first run through, but he survived. The sombre acoustics of the cathedral seem to suit the choir's voices exceedingly well though, especially that of Blonde Counter-Tenor (baritone this time) who sounds clear as an elven bell.

Those of you that have never heard a pipe organ in a church must rectify this immediately. It is the only instrument that can fill you with awe, fear, calm, sorrow, joy and peace all in the span of a few minutes. You can easily imagine it to be a huge living breathing being, capable of bursting into a thousand booming voices that occupy every corner of your brain. The recently restored pipe organ at St Mark's (MG Road, Bangalore) with its huge flues and reeds almost a storey high each, is the only one in Bangalore that is in concert condition.

The organ accompaniment to Duruflé's requiem, a tough 20th century piece that we are performing this weekend, is melancholy, disconnected at times, and breathtakingly beautiful at others. When the organist pressed his foot tentatively down on a deep d, we all went silent for a couple of seconds, savouring the funny quiver that aimed itself exactly at the middle of our chests and set the entire requiem alight.

Practice was gruelling. The organist has his back to the conductor, and the music is tough as nails. We might have to resort to using the cathedral's fine electric organ- almost indiscernable to the untrained ear from the original, so that we can co-ordinate better. But I'm hoping against all hope that we might be able to use the living breathing goliath with some practice. To hear the wind rush in and out of its great throat as it sings to accompany us.

Modern classical music is free from the traditional mores of composition. Varying time signatures, crazy passages and bizzarely beautiful chords make it a treat to listen to, provided your mind is open to it. It is madness to perform, but completely worth the effort.

Here's what we're doing, among others:
Duruflé's Requiem - A haunting, sombre, yet tender modern requiem by Maurice Duruflé, a famous French composer.
Agnus Dei - by Samuel Barber, originally an adagio for strings, re-written for voice and organ. You might have heard the strings version in the movie Platoon.
Rejoice in the Lamb - A modern composition by Benjamin Britten, a brilliant English composer, set to lyrics written by Christopher Smart, a delightfully mad 18th century poet, who actually wrote from a lunatic asylum.

How exactly a monsoon audience on a plateau in South India is going to react to it remains to be seen :) If youd like to react too, stroll over to St marks Cathedral, MG Road Bangalore, on Saturday 22nd Sep at 6:45pm for an evening of contemporary sacred music accompanied by the beautiful organ at St Marks.

It's in a church, and it's free, so be nice :)

Mad gals in Madras

What do two sweet Malayalee sopranos, one blond Swedish counter-tenor and a jolly green Tambrahm bass do when they get together?

Open a nursing college cum online matrimonial agency with inexpensive designer furniture?

No.

Well then?

Elementary, my dear Bhaktavatsalam Seetharam Kumar Korraguntla. They take a deep collective breath and sing 15th century European music.

Hmm. That sounds like err.. fun. 15th century eh? Did Europe have oxygen bars yet? Chicken teeka masolla? Rock shows? Oh wait, they wore afros and shiny costumes, didn't they?

Yes. Life in the 15th century was one big oxygen bar. But since there were only 27 people around, rock show infrastructure was limited to medium sized dining tables around which they gathered, sporting trendy page-boy cuts and linen tunics.

To eat mutton biriyani and butter chicken boneless full?

Yes. And to sing songs and play on lutes.

Ah, dinner music, is it aano? Then sallright. What was it called? Bleat and eat?

Close. They were called Madrigals. Usually 4 voices, two high, one medium and one low, singing complicated music. Usually acapella

Who is Acapella? Is she cute? Single? Available?

All of the above. Acapella is also the word for music that is sung with no instrumental accompaniment. Which makes it harder to perform because there are no instruments to cover up wonky notes, and tougher to sustain the attention of a 2007 Adyar Audience.

Wait, you're performing in Chennai? Two sweet Mallu sopranos, one blonde Swede counter-tenor and one jolly green Tambrahm Bass?

No.

Then?

Two sweet Mallu sopranos, one blonde Swede counter-tenor and one slightly tense Tambrahm bass who has to set his tail on fire after the show and rush off to join his relatives at a jolly green wedding in Mahabalipuram yay.

Oh fun. So no instruments eh?

No instruments for the Madrigals, but lute and harpsichord accompaniments for the lighter songs about unrequited love, death and stuff.

Fool. They stopped making such things in the late Baroque period. Where you will get such instruments at such short notice in Madras. From your grandfather's anjanapotti or what?

In Madras, anything is possible. However, to be safe, we have cleverly transcribed the harpsichord and lute scores into music for piano and classical guitar, which are still in production, so there.

And it sounds the same?

No.

Oh. Because the instruments are different.

Correct. And because voices brought up on a diet of nadan kozhi curry and morkozhambu performing European music on a sultry Chennai evening 500 years after it was composed, are bound to sound different. Cooler, but different.

Can't 'ardly wait luv.

Then come over to The Unwind Center's Acoustic Music Fest at KRMM college hall (Behind Adyar Ladies Club), 3rd Cross, Gandhinagar, Chennai at 6:45pm on Sat, Sep 1, to hear us. Four voices, piano and classical guitar (played by a random jolly green tambrahm). We perform for half an hour or so, after which all manner of contemporary sorts will take over the stage. Don't be late ok?

No.

The diary of a mad brown concert-goer

Saturday Jun 2, 10am:

zzzz
11am:

beep beep.

"Wha...? Glug.

"Cmg 4 asmth cncrt? "

Bloody nonsense I refuse to read smses without vowels.

zzzz
12pm:

Aiyaaaaaa. Aiyo, aiyo. Ticket, ticket. What to do, how to do. Aaaa.
1pm:

It's useless men. Mad I am not to have bought. Anyway I'm sure they'll sound terrible in their old age. Humph.
3pm:

Waiiiiiil I want to go!! Everyone is going!!
5:20pm:

Rinnnnng.

"Hello?"

"Aan hello. KeLilli. Extra ticket ide, barthya?"

"OMG Yes!!"

"OK We'll meet you there at 6".

"Gasp ok" (click)
5:40pm :

Snarl, Grrr, kaf kaf (gridlocked traffic outside vasanth nagar entrance)
5:43pm:

Suiiiiinnnn (Reva parking between flower pot and gutter of irate house owner on Palace Road.)

"Saaaaar, pleaaase saaar."

"Seee.. police comes means I am not response."

"Sir they will not say anything sir."

"Very difficult I say. When you will come back?"

"Sir very soon sir." (Muhahaha.)

5:45pm:

(Stares incredulously at 1.5km queue to get in)

"Err, excuse please, is this the line to get in?"

"Yes."

"Err even for the expensive section?"

"Dooooood, yeah da."

"Err ok"
6:00pm:

"Yaar thiz line is nod like, matlab, move hi nahin kar raha".

"Yeah wonder why. Must be some reason." (Long live Bangalore complacency :) )
6:05pm:

Rinnnnng.

"Hi."

"Aye where are you? Im in the queue already."

"Oh. We're in jaynagar da."

"SHRIEK!! When are you coming?"

"We'll come no, why you worried? Ha ha you are in queue and you don't have ticket only. Haha."

"Yaii! Come soon I say you nonsense people."

"Aan ok coming." (click)
6:15pm:

beep beep

(Msg from Vikster - already inside) "Wr r u??? Its awesm in hr. Golden fountains r spraying champagne and beautiful ppl from 6 continents r fding me grapes as i snd u ths."

WAIIIIIIIIILLLLL.

6:20 pm:

Queue motionless. Watch punju bunch in front get progressively drunker, and paavam type Naga crowd behind me chatter nervously pointing at the gleaming palace walls 1 km away.
6:30pm:

Rinnnng

"Aan heLu."

"Where are you boss?"

"Jaynagar, I told you no?"

"WHAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAT!!!! Wheeeeeeeze."

"Coming coming twennnnnty minutes thats all."

"YAAARGH." (click)
6:50pm:

Rinnng

"What?"

"AAAAAAAAAA".

"Chill, We're in Vasanth Nagar da, another 10 mins thats all. But listen, my brother has the tickets and he hasnt come yet."

"YOWWWWWWWL". (click)
7:15pm:

(Line has progressed somewhat. Friends saunter in and blend themselves into queue. Too tired to pelt them senseless with all manner of stones.)

"Have you called your brother? Where is brother? Why he is late? Where are they? Give me minute by minute update on their itinerary"

"Chill daaaaaa. They'll come no."

"What come no. Concert started 15 mins ago. Whats this."

"Lei!! Theppak ninthko silentaagi."

"Bu..bu..but..."

"Shu."

"Sob!!"
7:55pm:

(Queue has progressed to the gate. We start letting people get in ahead of us)

"Err you guys can go ahead. We're waiting for our friends." (Simper simper)

"Thanks man".

"GRAARGH where ARE they boss??? EEYAARGH."

"Coming coming. Mwah. Relax relax. You go ahead ma Naga girl. You also go pa Coimbatore boys"
8:05pm:

"Boss lets go home. This is madness. Yeah dreadlocks, go on ahead. Stamp on my head only and go. " (Sob inconsolably)
8:07pm:

(friend's brother and gang saunter up and join queue)

"Oh hi. Cool, so youre at the front uh? Cool man. Here, take ticket."

"AAAAAAAAAAAAAIIIIEEEEEEEEEEE" (grab ticket and disappear screaming through gates)
8:10pm:

(Arrive at second gates after 1 km jog) "Gasp gasp wheeeze."

(To frisker) "Boss I dont have dope, ciggies, alco, nothing. Please! Just grab my ass quick and let me through or I will do all manner of unmentionable things to you here only."
8:15pm:

(burst into concert) "Aiyo, aiyo, everything must be over."

8:15pm: "GOOOOOOOOD EVENING BANGALORE!!!!"

YAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAYYYYYYYYYY!!!

Moral 1: Aerosmith waits for good people.
Moral 2: The rest of you who waited from 1:30pm to see an elderly gentleman hawk spit burp and call you names from a stage in exchange for money - are silly fellows.
Moral 3: Never miss an aerosmith convert. EVER. Even if your mother tells you to.

Moral 4: Thank you dear friends for extra ticket, and thank ME dear friends for putting towel for you in queue! Nonnnnsense.

Yay Ro Smith

Things to do before Aerosmith concert in Bangalore:

1. Curse DNA networks for obscene ticket prices.
2. Curse Aerosmith for coming to India at age 107.
3. Curse fate for being the only freak who didnt get free tickets.

4. Call all the cool people you know for free tickets.
5. Call semi-cool people for free tickets.
6. Call mortal enemies for free tickets.
7. Call gardener's wife for free tickets.
8. Call the single person you know who works for DNA 150 times, take out to drinks, press foot and watch them walk away saying "I left DNA last year, but listen, we must hang out again." with smirk on face.
9. Enter every single "Win a free ticket" concert on Radio Indigo.
10. Give up translating "Jaded" into malayalam in order to win "sing Aerosmith in any language" competition.

11. Buy Aerosmith double CD with every song composed by them and their extended families.
12. Practice making gaspy catfish faces in the mirror while singing "Crazy".
13. Spend a frantic night mugging up lyrics to look cool at concert.
14. Plan clothes that look better wet than dry (its raining, men, in Bangalore).
15. Rush to Palace Grounds in sheer desperation an hour before concert to buy tickets which in all probability will be sold out.

Glaaaaa.

ANYBODY has tickets? I will do foot massaging for 1 month.

Sabhash!

I am a leading authority on carnatic music. Having attended 7 concerts in my life and bribed Deccan Herald to quote me on all manner of carnatic things, I now feel that I have contributed sufficiently towards the cause of carnatic music appreciation. You follow? I have therefore decided to dedicate the remainder of my time to the philanthropic art of documenting rasika(audience) stereotypes at a karnatic kacheri:

The ragam-guesser-and-zoner-outer: Springs into action at the beginning of every new song, frantically trying to identify the ragam. Stagewhispers the names of the most exotic ragams s/he can think of ("Bhinna shadjamaa?" ), to impress everyone around. When a consensus on the ragam is reached, sinks back into a blissful stupor, uncaring of the elaborate alapana, kriti, neraval and swaram that lie ahead.

Notebook Narayananaswamy: Comes armed with a tiny dog-eared cross referenced notebook with songs and ragams. Furiously scribbles in it for the first 20 seconds of a song after consulting his neighbours about the ragam, taalam and composer. Is usually wrong, which is why he never shows his book to anyone.

The Perpetual Critic: A very angst ridden jaded being that has attended kacheris since 1947. Sighs in disgust when the artist attempts an avant-garde kriti or ragam. Gets up and leaves dramatically during a meera bhajan. Makes nasty remarks before and after a kacheri about the shallowness and lack of talent of the artist. Usually upholds one privileged artist as the pillar of carnatic music, just to stave off any allegations about him being a complete cynic.

The Music Academy Maami: Grandly decked in a gorgeous kanjeevaram with jet black dyed hair, diamond encrusted heirloom jewellery and bizarrely mismatched blue rubber chappals. Usually has a season pass for the expensive see-and-be-seen section of the sabha. Very well behaved and appreciative of the music, but secretly only interested in impressing people about the simple life she leads. Chicago le irundhu yen paiyyan, peran, peththi, yellaarum vandhirukkaa. Kozhandhaigal ellaam shaerndhu diet, giet nnu praanana vaanga aarambichudthugal. Naan safe-aa aalukku oru vaai morshaadhaamaa ooti vuttu vandhutain. (silvery laughter)

The Paradise Flycatcher: The old biddy in the front row, usually an invitee, who enthusiastically plucks imaginary insects out of the air in time to the music. Screams bhale, and sabhaash at random moments in an alapana, and throws the musician completely off sync by loudly clapping out an aadi taalam to a mishra chaapu krithi. The musicians, too polite to fling their silver chombus full of dubious liquid at the rasika’s head, usually screw their eyes tightly shut and sing louder.

The Bodhi Tree: The religious nut who sits cross-legged on a chair – an amazing feat by itself, and appears to be at a higher spiritual plane than anyone else in the audience. Sways precariously from side to side with eyes rolled up in head and causes mass decapitations by suddenly lifting arms heavenwards in a namaskaram whenever a mudra or a god’s name is mentioned.

Giggling Gayatri: Usually seen huddled in a corner with a bunch of cousins and friends, passing comments about everyone and sniggering throughout the concert. Neighbours who object to the noise are instantly made a part of the giggle club and soon a whole section of the audience is giggling uncontrollably.

Sing-along Subbalakshmi: Usually a maami who sings at dasara kolus with a lisp and an appalaathu maavu kural (a voice similar to that achieved by coating your throat with papad batter): "Tharatha thaama dhaana, bheda danda thathura.." Insistently sings along with every song in the kacheri to prove that she knows them all. Is also the most glared and hissed at phenomenon in a kacheri, apart from Giggling Gayatri and gang.

The small-fry musician: Highly fidgety, mind always racing ahead of the performer to the end of the song. Nauseatingly irritating to fellow rasikas with a non-stop commentary about other artists’ (including their own) renditions of the same song. Will abruptly ask rasikas to accompany them to the canteen for bonda in mid-song, and irritate them further by prolonging the canteen experience with anecdotes about their various performances.

The Carnatic wannabe: The sort that will do anything to belong to the crowd. First in line at Jesudas and Aruna Sayeeram concerts and usually in possession of a large collection of Unnikrishnan and Nityashree albums containing synth, tabla and veena interludes between stanzas. Highly embarrassing to more serious listeners and artists, especially with requests for a Tulsidas ragamalika before the main ghana ragam.

All other stereotypes, maami-types, comments and insights are most welcome.