On Kishori Amonkar

Her forays into the specialties of other Gharana-s & incorporating them into her 'gayaki', firmly divided her audience. While one group preferred the eclecticism that she brought into her singing (& fetched her lifelong fans...similar to Kumar Gandharv's), the other set of listeners (like me) preferred the blend of rigour, dexterity & classicism that formed the essence of the Jaipur Atrauli Gharana. Kishori Amonkar's 'swar lagaav', 'raag-vistaar', 'lay-kaari' &, of course, 'taan-kaari' were of the highest order & on days that she decided to stay faithful to her Gharana's 'khaasiyat'-s, her recitals became ethereal things of beauty. And why not? Her mother & guru, Mogubai Kurdikar, was considered by many experts to have imbibed the best traits of Ustad Alladiya Khan, the founder of Jaipur Atrauli Gharana.

In my opinion, her timbre itself had enough emotive content to win over an audience without the additional 'bhaav' that she sought to infuse into her recitals. The water-tight madhyalaya bandish of her Gharana (a brilliant distillate of the traditional dhrupads of our land), weaving in & out of the tranquil 'tin-s', dhin'-s & 'dha'-s of a madhyalaya 'theka' (teentaal, roopak, tilwada or jhaaptaal), tended to suffer at the altar of the Kirana-styled Meerkhandi 'badhat'-s.

I remember an early-morning concert in the late 90-s, at the Fine Arts Society in Chembur. At 8 am, she commenced with an elaborate Ahir Bhairav. After numerous interruptions (an uncomfortable larynx & ‘unsatisfactory’ microphone-settings), causing her considerable consternation, the raag was finally concluded after an hour of careful & sincere rendition. As she abruptly announced a 10 minute ‘tea-break’ I remember telling a friend of mine: "This seems like another one of those rough days of hers." After the customary 'chahaa aani batata vada' we crossed our fingers & reclaimed our seats. She strummed her sur-mandal & without any pretense of an 'alaap', launched into ‘baaje jhanana’... a 'Jaipur-special-Jaunpuri'...

It was as if a magic wand had been waved across the auditorium. The ‘swar'-s flowed out of her throat like rich, viscous honey. For the next 45 mins, I lost sense of time & space as Kishori-tai grabbed my soul by the scruff of its neck & scuba-dived into the magical coral reef of Jaunpuri. There was no melodrama in her ‘gayaki’, but a rich, robust & assertive ‘raag-daari’, that unfolded Jaunpuri’s contemplative majesty... Like wispy clouds making way for the radiant mid-morning sun. The entire essence of the century-old style of her Gharana, permeated the auditorium. An ancient raag, sung in a traditional style yet with an enunciation that was credibly contemporary. Geniuses have no difficulty in creating & exhibiting new facets of a structure without altering the existing edifice. Kishori-tai’s treatment of the raag was a text book case of this. It was only when she concluded ‘chhum chhana-na-na bichhua baaje’ (with a ‘tihaai’), that my trance was broken. I do not remember what she had sung after the Jaunpuri. Maybe a Bhairavi thumri, maybe an Abhang, but I, like many others in the auditorium that day, was completely satiated by then. As they say, "raag, rasoi aur pugree… kabhi kabhi ban jaaye…"

[No recording of this recital is available (to the best of my knowledge). Here is a studio recording of Jaunpuri, released in 1967.]

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On Dattatreya Vishnu Paluskar

It is difficult to think of a more telling body blow to our music than the untimely demise of this peerles artist (at an agonisingly young age of 34 yrs).

An iconic torchbearer of arguably the most traditional Gharana (Gwalior) of our sub-continent. That said, he had the open-minded maturity to infuse an intellectual elegance in his gayaki... a trait which made him utterly popular among all age-groups. Coupled with this, was the ability to leverage his divine vocal timbre in semi-classical bhajan-s which widened the canvas of his admirers even more. Even his appearance & demenour, while performing, were exemplary.

Pandit Dattatreya Vishnu Paluskar was indeed a shining beacon of our vocal music.

Pt. Bhimsen Joshi (just one year younger to Pt. D V Paluskar), has enriched our lives with some timeless LP recordings of the 60-s & 70-s.

The fact that Pt. Paluskar (who passed away in 1955), could have also gifted us with numerous studio LP recordings through the 60-s & 70-s (when he would have had been at his aesthetic & skilled best), is an agonisingly wistful regret, of Himalayan magnitude.

Perhaps the Paradise Managing Committe was missing his divine gayaki beyond tolerable levels.

His centenary went by last year, (28th May, 2021), as unobstusively as the nature of the artist. Today is his 67th death anniversary. Here is an article, written by the fine singer, musicologist, and an influential executive of HMV, Mr. G N Joshi. The article had appeared in Mr. Joshi's fascinating (and now, rare) book, Down Melody Lane (Orient Longman).

[Quote]

D V Paluskar

I first saw Pandit D.V. Palukar as a little boy in the Shree Ram Mandir at Panchavati, Nasik in the year 1925. He was then about 5 or 6 years old and had come with his father, Sangeet Bhaskar Vishnu Digambar Paluskar. Vishnu Digambar was singing the bhajan Raghupati Raghav Rajaram. The atmosphere all around was intensely devotional. Looking at the boy who was staring at his father with rapt attention, I wondered whether the lad had inherited any of his father's gifts, and whether he would carry on the tradition of Vishnu Digambar. In due course he did become a very brilliant and accomplished singer in his own right; a worthy successor to his most illustrious father.

At the time of his father's death, D.V. was only 10 years old. He had studied music under the guidance of Pandit Vinayakrao Patwardhan and Pandit Narayanrao Vyas but he did not adopt or copy the peculiar gayaki of the Gandhrava Mahavidhyalaya. Instead he evolved and developed his own style. He had a clear and melodious voice, admirably suited to the type of music he favoured. His alap clearly outlined the raga he sang; then followed the bandish embellished by beautiful taans in an effortless enchanting style. Both Pandit Vinayakrao Patwardhan and Pandit Narayan Vyas probably connived at his spirit of independence because he was the son of their guru. This was a blessing in disguise as it encouraged the young D.V. to develop his own independent style.

D.V. Paluskar was very, very modest. He was known to his intimates as 'Bapurao'. He was fully aware of his talents but never boastful about them. He never spoke ill of anyone, was of a quiet disposition and completely free from any vice. He arrived for recordings punctually and fully prepared. Recording sessions with him were therefore most enjoyable and not in the least bothersome. He had complete mastery over his art and sang with perfection, ease and confidence, while we captured his magic artistry on our discs.

He cut his first disc in 1944. Like Pandit Narayanrao Vyas, Bapurao mastered the technique of presenting an attractive and complete picture of any raga in just 3 minutes and 15 seconds, for recording. For his first recording he chose to sing four khayals in the ragas Bahar, Tilak Kamod, Kedar and Bilaskhani Todi. He also rendered his father's favourite bhajan Raghupati Raghav Rajaram along with another one by Sant Surdas. I got him for recording again in 1947 when he recorded ragas Gaud Malhar, Ramkali, Hans Kinkini and Marwa. This time also he recorded two bhajans - Chalo mana Ganga Jamuna tir and Lachiman dhire chalo. At my request he recorded two Marathi songs also but unfortunately they failed to click commercially. On account of his melodious voice, chaste style and attractive renderings, all the recordings of his classical music became immensely popular and still continue to sell in large numbers.

A scene in jugalbandi form between Tansen and Baiju is enacted in the film Baiju Bawra. My friend Naushad Ali who wrote the music for this picture had requested me to suggest classical singers for this duet. I suggested the names of Bapurao Paluskar and Ustad Amir Khan. Bapurao had to be cajoled into accepting the assignment. He was afraid that by singing in films he would spoil his style. I however reasoned with him that he would have absolute freedom to expound and present the composition in his own style without any interference. Thus assured, he sang in the jugalbandi form with Ustad Amir Khan. The two great artists matched in every respect and therefore this jugalbandi performance proved to be the most interesting and the highlight of the film.

The discs used for recording purposes in those days had a serious drawback. After the recording they could not be played back even once. The tape recorders introduced later were improvements on this, as a recorded tape could be played back any number of times and unwanted parts could be erased. There was another advantage in the technique of tape recording. Previously all singers from the film companies had to come to our studio to record their film songs again. But with the invention of tape recording, we could transfer the songs to the tape from the soundtrack of the films. The duration of one side of an ordinary 78 rpm record is only 3(1/4) minutes whereas the songs in films were sometimes longer, upto 4 or 5 minutes. A music director therefore would edit and cut such songs to the required length. This gave me an idea. Most classical musicians complained that it was very difficult for them to give a perfectly satisfactory performance in just 3(1/4) minutes. I therefore felt that if allowed to perform unrestrained for 15 to 20 minutes, they could be taped and later an edited version of the performance could be used on a disc. The artists would be happy and give their best, and the listeners would enjoy the cream of their artistry. I therefore decided to conduct this interesting but very difficult experiment.

The experiment was undoubtedly a very complicated one. The operation required most skilful split second splicing and extremely careful editing to make a 3(1/4) minute piece out of a 15 to 20 minute performance. It was of the utmost importance that the edited version contained all the ingredients of a skilled and imaginative performance. The editing had to be done so perfectly as to defy detection. The consistency of the entire gayaki had to be preserved, the taans had to follow each other in their natural sequence and the layakari had to be scrupulously maintained in the perfect rhythmic cycle. All this had to be accomplished without upsetting the overall structure of the raga and the gayaki. For the experiment my chioce fell on Bapurao Paluskar. When approached he enthusiastically agreed to cooperate.

During the Ganapati festival of 1955 he had a number of singing assignments, the last one being at Vile Parle. He promised to come immediately after the last engagement and accordingly he came but he was very tires after the exertions of the successful programme. He wanted to postpone the experiment to a later date, but I told hin that it did not matter very much if his voice was not in good shape because the recording was intended to be for experimental purposes alone and not for issue. It was about 2.30 pm when we went to the studio and made arrangements for the session. He was to leave for Pune at 5.00 pm by the Deccan Queen. I persuaded him to record a 20 minute long exposition of a raga which could cover the full length of our tape. Thereupon he sang and recorded Raga Shri.

After the recording I rushed him off to the station in my car and waved him off. That was the last I saw of him. Hardly 3 weeks later he was suddenly taken ill with a mysterious illness and died on 26th October 1955. It was the Dassera day and the news gave the entire music world a stunning shock. The recording made by me three weeks earlier proved to be his last.

From this 20 minute experimental tape of Raga Shri, I had to reconstruct a homogenous performance of the raga to fit ona 78 rpm record. I achieved this intricate task after listening to the tape repeatedly for over 18 hours. I dissected the tape into details of artistic presentation and while joining and reassembling the selected passages I had to be very alert and meticulous to ensure that the result sounded like one complete unbroken performance. Taana and boltaans had to come in their proper order, and the unformity of laya and correctness of rhythmic accompaniment had to be maintained throughout. Mr. Madgaonkar, our recording engineer, performed the surgical operation of cutting and joining the pieces under my direction, and the entire operation was carried out successfully. When I played this 6(1/2) recording to the late Pandit S.N. Ratanjankar (who was then considered to be the greatest authority on Indian classical music) he never even suspected that it was in fact an abridged edition of a 20 minute performance. He congratulated me and our recording engineer and expressed his desire that we should record his performance in the same way. Accordingly we recorded Raga Yamani Bilawal sung by him, with V.G. Jog accompanying on the violin. Both edited versions - Bapurao Paluskar's and Ratanjankar's - when put in the market kept selling for years without a single person discovering that they were edited. This disc actually consisted of more than 10 pieces of Bapurao's performance joined together.

After the advent of the LP records this method was not necesarry as an artist now had a much longer recording time than on the original 78 rpm records. Ususally after a record was issued the original was sent to our factory in Dumdum. I had kept a copy of the tape of the Raga Shri since this experiment had been my own. Bapurao died before LP records were introduced. I therefore thought of issuing the 20 minute performance of Raga Shri on an LP. The recording was just long enough for one side of an LP disc. As the maestro was no more I chose 6 pieces from his earlier 78 rpm recordings for the other side. However this proposal of mine was rejected by the technical department in our factory on the ground that the recording of Raga Shri was technically faulty. Since the recording was only meant as an experiment, I had ignored the fact that Bapurao's voice sounded husky and tired. The performance was quite up to the standard in other respects. A tough controversy ensued between me and the technical department over this. I pleaded for the release of this record, pointing out the circumstances under which the recording was done. The popularity of the artist who was no more was still very great, as the sales of his other recordings indicated. Therefore the issue of this record, though technically imperfect, was justifiable. After a two-year battle of words my viewpoint was accepted and the LP disc is, even today, on our prestige repertoire.

 

When I bade goodbye to Bapurao at V.T. station, he had promised to come back for recording within a month, but alas, that was not to be. Cruel destiny snatched him away suddenly and prematurely, when he was only 34 and at the height of his career.

From the archives of the All India Radio in Delhi, years later, I was able to obtain just enough tapes of his radio broadcasts for one more LP. This contains Ragas Kamod and Bageshri Kanhra. The two LPs and the few earlier recordings are the only legacies this inimitable maestro has left behind as specimens of his scholarship and proficiency as a classical singer.

[Unquote]

In the 78 rpm recordings of his, the chhota khayal-s are rendered in the finest tradition of his venerated Gwalior Gharana. They are text book cases of how a raag can be encapsulated elegantly within a duration of 200-odd seconds.

As for his bhajan-s, it is diffucult to envisage a more qualified artist, to carry the legacy of his illustrous father, Vishnu Digambar Paluskar... who conceptualised & propagated the beautiful blend of raag-sangeet & popular devotional poems, (of the famous poet-saints of India... Tulsidas, Meerabai, Soordas, etc), via simple & pleasant melodies.

Dattatreya Vishnu Paluskar's pleasant countenance, devoid of any ungainly mannerisms, while performimg, made him immensely popular among a wider audience base (who preferred bhakti-sangeet over raag-sangeet. Despite being steeped in tradition, his outlook was modern.)

Even in the early 50-s, he had decided to sing for movies. He could manage to record only two... Baiju Bawra (1952) & Shaapmochan (Bengali - 1954) 

Here is a clip of Naushad Ali (the music director of Baiju Bawra), recounting the events that led to D V Paluskar lending his voice for the movie.

(Naushad's commentary is followed by the riveting jugalbandi.)

What I really like in Naushad's recounting is the revelation of the meticulous nature of the artist. Despite being a famous exponent of the most highly regarded Gharana of our land, he understood the essence of rehearsing a time-bound recording & hence wrote down notations of the taan-s & sargam-s of that song.

A very 'western' mindset.... and a telling deviation from (and augmentation of) the sruti-smriti (hear & memorise) tradition of our land.

Had he lived a full life, he would have been the driving force behind sustaining / reviving the pristinity of khayal-gayaki of our land.

The tragedy of his premature demise, can never be over-stated.

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P.S.

Here is the 2nd movie-song of his... From the Bengali movie, Shaapmochan (1954).

Music director: Hemanta Mukherjee.

A sample, each, from his beautiful recordings of chhota khayal-s & bhajan-s.

Raag Bilaskhani (1944):

A bhajan of Tulsidas (based on Manj Khamaj)

A Gandharv, in the truest sense

A rare documentary:

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On Lata Mangeshkar (A Song From Halaku - 1956)

A scene from Halaku (1956). The lead actress, Meena Kumari and a group of ladies are bound by ropes, at a palm-tree-laden oasis within a desert. The distraught heroine is questioning the Almighty about the veracity of His verdict.

bol mere maalik tera kya yahin hai insaaf
jo karte hain laakh sitam unko tu karta maaf
bol mere maalik tera kya yahin hai insaaf…

(Tell me o Lord whether this is your justice... That you would just pardon those committing such myriad crimes!)

It is human tendency to let emotions overcome our senses when questioning the Judge. When treated unfairly, we tend to start off on a high pitch and then, as the entire weight of emotions bear us down, we step down from the emotional crescendo. While doing so, we cannot help but stifle a sob or betray a ‘choke of the voice’.

This kind of muted yet assertive emoting was right up Lata Mangeshkar’s alley. Her tonal quality paints an image of a quintessentially petite and coy lady and yet, her enunciation, diction and general way of singing has *assertion* written all over it… something that one identifies with the ‘pucca’ classical singers of our subcontinent.

This delightful dichotomy is what, in my opinion, makes Lata Mangeshkar the immensely successful singer that she was (during her heydays, which spanned across at least two and a half decades) and 'bol mere maalik' is one shining example of this trait.

After an elaborate 90-second prelude (a situational requirement in the movie), Lata starts off on a high pitch, beseeching the Almighty. Once the rhythm starts, the line ‘bol mere maalik…’ is repeated thrice…  Twice, around the ‘Sa’ of the higher octave. Then, when the line is sung for the third time, the notes descend to the main tonic (‘Sa’) of the song. The protest is made in a raised voice, and the emotional deluge is indicated by the scaling down of the notes, thereafter.

It is here that Lata has resisted the temptation of slipping in a melodramatic quiver of her voice, or a sob, to convey this. All that she does is to constrict her articulation of the word ‘insaaf’ for a small instant to convey ‘choking with emotion’. This is executed so subtly and beautifully, that one can only marvel at the intellectual refinement that she brought in her singing, despite the situational temptation of ‘over-emoting’.

Peerles aesthetics.

She does it on two more occasions, during the two ‘antara’-s: first in ‘daaman mere habeeb ka haathon se chhut gaya’.. (on the word ‘gaya’) and later in ‘apni zubaan pe naam bhi teraa naa laayenge’… (on the word ‘laayenge’)

A memorable song from a memorable soundtrack.

Shankar Jaikishen, in the epicenter of their purple patch, used their Midas touch to craft this song on the soulful words of Hasrat Jaipuri. And, in typical ‘SJ-style’ they have internalized the phrases of raag Madhuwanti to leave their indelible stamp of class on this song.

Raag Madhuwanti’s introspective nature has mostly manifested itself in slow and contemplative songs like ‘rasm-e-ulfat ko nibhaaye to nibhaaye kaise’ (‘Dil Ki Raahein’ – 1973 – Madan Mohan) or ‘chukchukali paal ek’ (Marathi Non Film – 1968 – Shrinivas Khale).

Shankar Jaikishan’s collaboration with Lata Mangeshkar is arguaby one of the most radiant outputs in the history of light music of our subcontinent... especially in the decade of the 50-s. They brought forth an hitheto unheard flamboyance & flourish in their songs, which the frail lady from Mangeshi, Goa executed with elan.

The glorious use of cellos accentuates the poignancy of raag Madhuwanti and also gives a ‘symphonic’ feel to the orchestration. Then the chorus, hums in a subdued manner to lend a magical touch to this song.

Fusion of music at its very best... thanks to the two utterly talented music arrangers, Sebastial D'Souza & Dattaram Wadkar.

Sebastian D'Souza & Dattaram Wadkar

Here is the song:

bol mere maalik
Halaku (1956)
Shankar Jaikishan - Hasrat Jaipuri

A speculative thought... Lata Mangeshkar's brother Hridaynath, was a young and impressionable boy whe this song was recorded. It is said that he used to accompany his sister for several recordings in the mid-50-s.

I cannot help but feel that Hridaynath Mangeshkar’s use of the humming chorus for the Madhuwanti-based song of Lata Mangeshkar, ‘ko birahini ko dukh jaane ho…’ (Non Film – ‘Chala Wahi Des’ – 1974) is almost like a tribute to this magnificent composing duo.

Here is the song. An amazing rendition.

Shankar Jaikishan have been role models for an entire generation of composers and even Hridaynath Mangeshkar was surely impacted.

And when one has an artist of the stature of Lata Mangeshkar as one's elder sister, the possibilities of excellence are immense.

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Post script: 

Here are the links of the other two songs of Lata Mangeshkar, which are based on raag Madhuwanti. Both are laced with poignancy. It takes the genius of Shankar Jaikishan & his talented arrangers to infuse a touch of symphony in the song from Halaku

This is what the beauty of our cine-sangeet is all about... Clever and innovative fusion.

1. Rasm-e-ulfat (Dil Ki Raahein -1973)
Composer - Madan Mohan

2. Chukchukali paal ek (Marathi Non Film -1967)
Composer - Shrinivas Khale

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The four Bengali 'e-Songs' of Asha Bhosle.

In 1977, HMV released a compilation LP record of a dozen songs of Asha Bhosle. All the songs were composed by Rahul Dev Burman and the original recording dates of these songs ranged from 1968 to 1976.

The LP record was such a raging hit that I can scarcely recall a Puja Pandal that did not play those dozen beauties, with monotonous regularity.

The outcome of this vinyl disc's monstrous popularity was that common listeners, assumed that this was the complete set of solos that Asha Bhosle had sung for R.D. Burman since 1968.

It was not so. R.D. Burman, from the very first disc of his collaboration with Asha Bhosle, started to experiment with melodies that revealed his deep love for western musc (especially jazz, pop, blues, etc.)

Four such solos were left out from the LP. One each from 1968, 1969, 1972 & 1973.

Asha Bhosle & R D Burman continued to record songs regulary, from the late 70-s all through the 80-s. Hence, the subsequent LP compilations had the more recent songs and these four old gems were relegated to relative obsurity.

Interestingly, all the four songs start with the same Bengali letter 'এ' ... the phonetic equivalent of the English letter 'E'

That was the phase when the composer was at his creative best & the singer could render just about every type of song, composed by any composer of the sub-continent.

These four lesser heard 'E'-songs are:

• Ei... edikey esho (1968)
• Elomelo katha (1969)
• Ekti katha... aami je shudhu (1972)
• Ekti katha... haay shey toh (1973)

Across these four songs, the singer displays the matchless sassy sensuousness of her singing style. All the four tunes were utilised in Hindi movies by R D Burman in the subsequent years.

Song # 1:

Ei... edikey esho (1968)

Music: R D Burman     Lyrics: Gauriprasanna Majumdar

Equivalent Hindi film song: 'aye dekho toh yahaan'

Asha Bhosle - Raaton Ka Raja (1970).

Song # 2:

Elomeo katha (1969)

Music: R D Burman     Lyrics: Gauriprasanna Majumdar

Equivalent Hindi film song: 'dekho mujhe dekho'

Asha Bhosle - Humshakal (1974). 

Song # 3:

Ekti katha aami je shudhu jaani (1972)

Music: R D Burman     Lyrics: Gauriprasanna Majumdar

Equivalent Hindi film song: 'tum toh kya ho ji'

Kishore Kumar & Asha Bhosle - Raakhi Aur Hathkadi (1972)

(This melody of the mukhda is a very deft adaptation of a popular Cuban song, Guantanamera. The antara-s are nicely crafted to match with the melody of the opening lines.) 

Song # 4:

Ekti katha... haay shey toh (1973)

Music: R D Burman     Lyrics: Gauriprasanna Majumdar

Equivalent Hindi film song: 'ruk meri jaan kidhar jaata hai'

Kishore Kumar - Bundalbaaz (1976).

This genre of singing was virtually an exclusive domain for her. While it suited Hindi movies, where the storylines demanded 'dance-club' situations, the Bengali audience was probably a bit startled to hear such unbridled oomph in non-film songs, specially during the late 60-s & early 70-s. :)

Interestingly my mother, despite having a conservative upbringing, was overtly fond of these songs.., just for the singing ability of this colossal artist.

'Ignore what she sings... just admire how beautifully she sings' used to be her comment about these four songs.

I ended up loving both the 'what' & the 'how'. :)

As the Durga Puja Season starts off, these songs cause a rush of nostagia. :)

A 'once in a lifetime' artist.

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An anecdote about my father

 

Tusar Kanti Mozumder

Being the eldest among five brothers & one sister (and several cousins in a joint family), my father, during his teenage years, was entrusted with the responsibility of purchasing one 78 rpm record, every month (from the famous music store named 'The Melody' at Rashbehari Junction in South Calcutta).

The monthly choices had to be judicious as funds were tight during those stark days of the mid 40-s. The safe staples were Bengali songs of Pankaj Mullick, K L Saigal, Sachin Dev Burman & Kanan Devi.

One particular month, as he stepped inside 'The Melody', he heard a 'different type of a song'. It sounded riveting enough... and he purchased that Columbia label disc on an impulse.

At home, after the record was played, the entire family of seniors, peers & juniors berated him for wasting money on a record where the singer 'sang unintelligible words in a wailingly high-pitched voice'.

By then, my father was completely smitten by the emotive impact of the voice & the flawless application of notes, replete with beautiful vocal ornamentation.

Also, the raag being the 'easy to enjoy' Bhairavi, made a telling impact.

Jamuna Ke Teer, by that high priest of Kirana Gharana... Abdul Karim Khan, transformed my father into a first-generation lover of Hindustani classical music, in his extended family (with absolutely no previous listening initiation from his elders or peers or his teachers). This serendipitous experience also enabled him to appreciate other classical artists, across Gharana-s, without any agenda or bias.

Correction... He had an unabashed bias towards Abdul Karim Khan.

Just a first few seconds of the recordings of Abhogi, Shudhh Kalyan, Sindhi Kafi, Devgandhar, Jhinjhoti, Basant, Gara Shuddh Pilu or Anand Bhairavi made him drop everything & listen with undivided attention.

Since Sept 6th, 2022, my father now has the special privilege of hearing Abdul Karim Khan, live, in a celestial, music-laden land.

(Here is the timeless Bhairavi of Abdul Karim Khan, recorded in 1934.)

A mellow Bengali song of Kishore Kumar

 

When Kishore Kumar released an LP of 12 Rabindrasangeet-s (in 1981), the record elicited mixed reactions. The purists felt that his enunciation of the words & his asserive throw of voice were a bit unsuitable for the style of rendering a Rabindrasangeet.

On the other hand, his fans, who liked the way he sang his Hindi & Bengali (both film & non film) songs, argued that Kishore Kumar was never a conformist. He charted new paths with his unconventional & spontaneous gayaki... and his bouquet of Rabindrasangeet-s was jus that.

These fans were not just ordinary fans. It included a certain movie director, Satyajit Ray, for whom Kishore Kumar sang a Rabindrasangeet for his globally acclaimed movie, Charulata (1964).

The western melodic progression of this tune, suited Kishore Kumar's style nicely (as did the ebullient on-screen persona of Soumitra Chatterjee)

Song: aami chini go chini tomaare (Charulata - 1964)

A year later, he sang a Rabindrasangeet as the title song of the movie, Ektuku Chhoaan Laage' (1965). The music director was Hemanta Mukherjee, who must have provided some valuable inputs to the singer. Kishore Kumar rendered this melodious, Pilu-based song, very very capably. He even managed to pay a quick tribute to his idol Kundanlal Saigal, by applying a gentle khaTka on the word 'laage' in the same way as Saigal did in his popular recording of the early 40-s.

Song: ektuku chhoaan laage (Title Song -1965)

K L Saigal's version (Movie: Parichay - 1941):

Kishore Kumar sang this song again, in the 80-s, in the set of songs, referred at the start of this post. For those set of songs too, it was Hemanta Mukherjee, who mentored Kishore Kumar. (These songs are easily available on YouTube)

Now for Kishore Kumar's very first Rabindrasangeet. This was released in 1958, for his self-produced Bengali movie, Lookochuri (with him playing a double role). This duet with Ruma Guha-Thakurta (his first wife and Amit Kumar's mother), is based on a blend of Bihag & Kalyan (something that Tagore was quite fond of) & showcases the mellow diction of Kishore Kumar.

Song: maayabono-bihaarini horini (Lukochuri -1958)

Once again, Hemanta Mukherjee, the music director Lukochuri, must have guided him appropriately.

Finally, after references of several Rabindrasangeet-s & Hemanta Mukherjee's name, I would like to dwell on the song of my choice.

This is not a Rabindrasangeet but a composition of Hemanta Mukherjee, who, as a legendary vocal exponent of this genre of songs, was an amazingly talented composer too. It is a song from the same movie as the last example (Lukochuri - 1958) & with the same co-singer (Ruma Guhathakurka).

The composition has a distinct touch of Rabindrasangeet.

Personally, it is this tonal quality of Kishore Kumar (during the cusp of the 50-s & 60-s)  which is very close to my heart. It had the perfect mix of melody, lilt, pliancy & robustness.

Fans of Kishore Kumar deserved to have heard many more songs of this period (during which he was professionally de-focussed due to personal reasons).

This dulcet duet (an 'indoor song' in the movie) gently travels through the notes which are mostly in the first segment of the mid-octave. Kishore Kumar's resplendent rendition (that displays a beautiful vibrato in his voice as he holds on to the long notes) makes it an utter favourite of mine. He also negotiates the few low notes (down to the pancham of the mandra-saptak) with grace & aplomb.

Song: ei to hethaay kunjochhaayay

Artists: Kishore Kumar & Ruma Guhathakurta

Movie: Lukochuri (Bengali) (1958)

Music: Hemanta Mukherjee

Lyrics: Gauriprasanna Majumdar

The song's video (it has some gaps & jumps)

A tribute to Kishore Kumar on his 93rd birthday.

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A song of Mohammad Rafi

Mohammad Rafi was a genteel person. Every musician, researcher, film-personality, whom I've had the privilege of meeting, says the same thing.

Every photo of this singer shows him smiling shyly. Every video-footage of his reveals a body-language of unobtrusiveness. Every sound-byte of his (there aren't many) makes the listener infer that he was exceedingly unassuming... almost to a fault.

Often, singer's 'gayaki' is a reflection of his/her personality. When Mohammad Rafi croons in some songs, one can correlate the self-effacing enunciation with his personality (just as Talat Mahmoods's soft style of singing mirrored his elegant Lakhnavi tehzeeb).

There are, however, songs in which Mohammad Rafi's vocal throw has such a beautiful blend of tunefulness & assertion, that it takes one's breath away... and makes one marvel at the magical transformation from the shy & reticent personality to a 'champion' in front of the microphone.

I had the privilege of meeting Shailendra Singh at a friend's place (the music enthusiast, Anand Desai). In that relaxed ambience, he had a similar story to narrate.

"Rafi-saab was standing about six feet away from Asha-ji & me & was singing into his microphone. On several occasions I had to turn my head to check if Rafi-saab was singing, because he was barely audible.

Then, as we gathered around the console to hear the final output of 'teri rab ne banaa do jodi'  (the boisterous dance song from Suhaag), Rafi-saab's voice wafted across, rich & clear. itnaa soft-spoken insaan... aur aisi zordaar gayaki!..."

Shailendra Singh' admiration was for a recording during a period when Mohammad Rafi's  singing abilities were not at par with his luminiscent form of the mid 50-s to the mid 60-s (my favourite phase of his career).

Here is a song of Mohammad Rafi from a movie of 1965 to underline my viewpoint. (The tonal quality indicates that the song may have been recorded a few years earlier).

The melody has phrases of Raag Hameer. Since this raag is uttaraang-pradhaan (i.e, most of its notes dwell in the upper half of the octave), the singer has to ensure that the voice does not appear strained due the sustained use of high notes. Mohammad Rafi's rendition is amazingly restrained & yet carries that magical punch which impresses the listener from the very first note.

As the song progresses into the antara, the melody reposes on the upper tonic (the 'sa' of the upper register). Then, for the cross-over line, it touches the upper gandhar ('ga') and eases back in the mukhda with Mohammad Rafi effortlessly transitioning into his silken timbre.

A brilliantly executed song. Small wonder that a technically accomplished singer like Manna Dey thought so highly of his atristry.

The composers, Lala-Assar-Sattar were probably the first music director triumvirate of the industry. (Lala Gangawane, Assar Mohammad Khan and Sattar Khan). Lala & Sattar were musicians while Assar was an assistant to some composers.

As in several other songs, Mohammad Rafi's innate benevolence was always evident when he sang for rookie composers.

Song: main to tere haseen khayaalon mein

Movie: Sangram (1965)

Music: Lala-Assar-Sattar

Lyrics: Aish Kanwal

This note is a humble tribute to this seminal singer on his 42nd punyatithi...

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P.S. I have used the phrase 'shy & reticent personality' for this singer. Here is a short video-clip to substantiate my hunch. :)

The clip starts with composer O.P. Nayyar crafting the song 'mohabbat ka haat jawaani ka palla' with lyricist Qamar Jalalabadi. Then the singers, Mohammad Rafi and Asha Bhosle are rehearsing.

The video cuts to another song-recording. Probably the 'final take' of 'aaye hai door se' (Tumsa Nahin Dekha), with the same combination of composer and singers. (Lyrics by Majrooh Sultanpuri in this song)

In both the situations, Mohd. Rafi's body-language is the epitome of affability. :)

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On Nirmalendu Chowdhury (and some Bengali folk / folk-based songs)

Ustad Vilayat Khan's fine biography, by Namita Devidayal, has a very interesting anecdote.

The anecdote is about the legendary folk singer of Bengal, Nirmalendu Chowdhury.

[Quote]

In 1955 Pandit Jawaharlal Nehru, the Prime Minister of India, visited Russia, and an Indian Cultural delegation accompanied him where Ustad Vilayat Khan was a member. Since then many years passed. Sometime during 1990s Khan Sahib called his friend in Kolkata and asked about a song which he heard in Russia in 1955, a song sung by an Indian folk singer, who was none other than Nirmaendu Chowdhury.

"As the lights dimmed in the grand Bolshoi Theatre in Moscow, and the Russian sopranos’ voices soared divinely, the young Vilayat Khan started worrying about how the Indian performers could match this beauty. That was when one of the delegates, a Bengali folk singer called Nirmalendu Chowdhury, went on stage and sang the startlingly beautiful song that Khansahib was now haunted by.

Like many magical memories that get eroded in the flow of life, the words of the song had gone. What remained was the emotion. Now, so many years later, he wanted to sing the song. The folk singer had long since died, but his son Utpalendu Chowdhury was singing the same songs. Jayanta-da managed to get in touch with him. He called him that very day and said that Vilayat Khan wanted to meet him. The surprised singer agreed to come across...

The folk singer arrived in the morning. Vilayat spoke to him about the cultural delegation to Moscow and the lovely time he had with his father. Then he got straight to the point. He brought up the boat and the trees and hummed the tune.

‘Can you teach it to me?’

Utpalendu looked aghast. ‘Sure,’ he mumbled...

Vilayat Khan sat on the floor next to him.

‘What are you doing, Khansahib? You can’t sit there. Please sit on the couch.’

‘No, I am fine here. Today, I am the student and you are the teacher.’

Utpalendu smiled. He shut his eyes and sweetly sang the song for Vilayat Khan. Khansahib smiled as well as he wrote the words on a piece of paper in Urdu. About a month later, Vilayat Khan was performing at the Ramakrishna Mission outside Calcutta. He announced, ‘I want you to hear this folk tune which I had heard Nirmalendu Chowdhury sing many many years ago. It is an ode to all the boatmen who drift along the rivers of Bengal ...’.

He sang it beautifully, and the audience found themselves immersed in all the beauty and sadness of their land...

[Unquote] [The passage is a bit more elaborate & has been truncated to focus on the essence of the topic]

Here is the song. It was commercially recorded by Nirmalendu Chowdhury, later, in 1965 (not in good sound fidelity, though].

His sonorous voice seems to emanate from the very depths of the mystic rivers of Bengal.

The term Bhaatiyali comes from the term bhaaTa or low tide. The songs are serene & philosophical in nature beacuse the boat drifts slowly & the largely inactive boatman mulls over (his) life.

Nirmalendu Chowdhury's voice also displayed a majestic joie de vivre, in brisk boatman-songs as well. Here is one such example.

 

Outside of Bengal, admirers of Salil Chowdhury, know him as a composer who had a strong fondness for western music. However, he was an avid lover of folk music too, as his involvements with IPTA & Youth Choirs (of Bombay and Calcutta) indicate.

Salil Chowdhury was a close friend & admirer of Nirmalendu Chowdhury and had used his compelling vocals in the critically acclaimed Bengali movie, Ganga (1960).

This type of a brisk boat-song is called 'saari' & is sung when all the oarsmen are rowing in unision across a river in high tide. Nirmalendu Chowdhury's voice soars on the high notes like a powerful bird of prey.

Nirmalendu Chowdhury worked very closely with Salil Chowdhury for crafting all the songs of Ganga. Small wonder that Manna Dey felt so comfortable while recording this immortal song from the movie.

[For the sake of completeness, Salil Chowdhury used the same tune in the Hindi movie, Kabuliwala, sung by Hemanta Mukherjee / Hemant Kumar]:

Ramu Kariat, the movie director of Kerala must have been impressed by the musical score of Ganga. It led him to entrust Salil Chowdhury with the responsibility of composing music for the critically acclaimed Malayali movie, Chemmeen (1965). All the songs were hugely popular... not least, a solo in the young & vibrant vocals of K J Yesudas:

The above-mentioned tune has its genesis in this lovely song of Nirmalendu Chowdhury. (The similarity between the songs can be discerned in the antara-s).

To wrap up this discussion on Nirmalendu Chowdhury, here is folk song with a reference to Lord Krishna.

While the 'keertan'-s of Bengal are primarily about Lord Krishna. there are a few folk songs that also refer to the Lord & his 'leela'.

This vibrant boat-song' talks of the saga of the cowherd-ladies wanting to cross the river on a boat, navigated by Kanai (Kanhaiya).

The exuberence in Nirmalendu Chowdhury's voice, coupled with his effortless & tuneful singing across the high notes (with the chorus), has made this song, immortal.

Naushad Ali must have had the song in his subconscious mind while composing this solo of Lata Mangeshkar from the popular Hindi movie, Ganga Jumna:

Today is Nirmalendu Chowdhury's 100th birth anniversary. This post is a respectful tribute to this colossal artist.

There is hardly a Bengali of my generation (or my previous one), who has not heard this compilation of songs by him via this immortal Long Playing record.

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Post Script:

Ustad Vilayat Khan's love for Nirmalendu Chowdhury & his voice should surprise no one as he was born in Gouripur (in modern-day Bangaldesh) and was exposed to the folk music music of Bengal. He used to play delectable sitar passages to conclude his recitals used the nomenclature of Bhatiyaali for these (relatively) short expositions.

Here is an early 78 rpm recording which became his signature for concluding his performances in virtually every concert in the eastern part of our subcontinent.

Readers who are familiar with Bengali music will recognize this tune as the folk song 'dekhechhi roop-shaagore moner maanush kaancha shona'.

The derivative, a Rabindrasangeet, 'bhenge mor gharer chaabi niye jaabi ke aamaare':

Those who are familiar with Hindi cine-sangeet of the 1970-s, will recognise the tune as the mukhda 'nanha sa panchhi re tu bahot bada pinjaa tera', composed by Bappi Lahiri & sung by Kishore Kumar for Toote Khilone (1978)

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