Hailed by Pandit Ravi Shankar as the ‘princes’ of Mysore, Nagaraj and Manjunath, popularly known as the Mysore Brothers, have metamorphosed their prodigious talent to blossom into brand ambassadors of Indian classical music. Initiated and trained assiduously by their father, Professor Mahadevappa, they have entertained audiences with their style of playing the violin, a fine blend of technical mastery, adherence to classicism and intelligent innovation. From Sydney Opera House to Federation Square in Melbourne to halls and universities in Tehran, Slovakia and several other corners of the globe, this celebrated violin duo has etched their name enduringly. They have regaled audiences with their concerts, fusion programmes, jugalbandi and also as accompanists to legendary musicians.
In a freewheeling interview with FridayReview , Nagaraj and Manjunath talk about their music, fears, motivations and views on life. Edited excerpts:
What is the hardest part of being a musician?
Manjunath: That’s a tough one right at the start! [As he speaks, his hands and fingers move, almost as if he is in a concert, trying to pick the right words instead of notes] Once you are successful, endless travel, sleepless nights and being away from the family become the norm. Then there is the constant endeavour to rise up to the expectations of the audience every time you are on stage.
Nagaraj: See, tastes are so diverse and to cater to all of them means making regular modifications to our style. This can be challenging.
And the best part of being successful musicians?
M: This is easier… It must be the pleasing sounds of success, meeting people who tell you they were overwhelmed by our music and some who tell us where we need to improve. The best part is in realising and soaking in the power of music. Let me explain this with our experience in Tehran last year. We were scared when we saw a huge crowd and were sceptical about our ability to communicate. We finished our concert to thunderous applause and a request to play on for some more time. I remember we were talking to them about our own classical kritis, explaining their meaning and about the Hindu gods and they seemed to enjoy it. The next day, at a music academy, we taught students ‘Raghupati Raghava Rajaram’… and listened to them play the same.
Your views on the state of Carnatic music today?
M: We are fortunate to have a system of music that is so advanced and, perhaps, the only one of its kind in the world. But we feel there is so much left unexplored. Carnatic music is centred on historical compositions, written in specific lyrical forms — the kritis. Their themes are overwhelmingly religious. It is, after all these years, still rooted in sahitya or the song composition. Even instrumentalists strive only to pronounce the words of these kritis when they play. With language thus playing such an important role, we feel this music has its limitations. Someone in Jodhpur, for example, may not understand the sahitya, which is either in Telugu, Tamil or Kannada. This becomes a bigger challenge for the musician when performing abroad.
However, the instrumentalist has an advantage. With song compositions remaining static, instrumental repertory needs to move from being a direct copy of the vocal repertory. As violinists, we are not bound heavily by the compositions but rather rely more on the melody or the ragas. A slight shift from sahitya to melody or raga, we feel, is what Carnatic music needs to do today. Competing with a plethora of entertainers ranging from jazz, rock, folk, film, politics, football and cricket, we need to make subtle changes.
What does interpretation and innovation in music mean to you?
M: As musicians, we have many roles to play. We know that we are watched closely and hence cannot afford to be repetitive. In our concerts, we stick to our traditional roots but with dashes of innovation. Playing the same compositions in the same style can become tedious to the listener. In our art, without sacrificing the traditional, we blend innovative styles. So you’ll see flashes of Hindustani or Western in our approach but only within a prescribed limit.
N: It’s like physical boundaries are all around. We can touch them or even transgress them for a brief while. But we must return to the origin, to the roots without ever messing with the traditional.
M: Interpretation depends a lot on emotions and how we are able to transcribe them into our music. We feel that the audience wants to hear our perspective about, say, a popular Tyagaraja kriti, than a mere resounding of the same words in the age-old style in a recognisable way.
Is it true that people have to be educated about classical music before they can appreciate it?
M: Ideally, yes, for it would be easy if they knew a little about the grammar and syntax of music. It would enhance their musical experience for sure. However, practically, this need not happen. In our opinion, being musically illiterate is fine provided one has a musical sensibility.
Have you both ever tried playing another musical instrument?
N: Manju [as he calls his younger brother] tried his hand at the mridangam and was quite good too. But when my father came to know about it, he asked him to stop for he felt it would make his hands rough.
M: I would love to play the piano and the bansuri. The piano has such an incredible, dynamic range and it has such a unique sounding... it’s so soothing.
N: If I’m in a situation where I cannot play the violin and forced to play some other instrument to save my life, I would choose the shehnai.
Your biggest motivating factor?
M: Our father has been the greatest motivator in our lives. He was a taskmaster. He made us work so hard, paid attention to every small detail, always showing us how we could improve. Let me confess that many a time I have cursed him for the strict routine he made me go through. Today, a year after his death, we feel the loss. That was the darkest moment in our lives and I was inconsolable. It was only then that we realised how attached we were to him. We also realised how much he had helped deserving students, finding them jobs, assisting them to keep their music going and the work he had done to popularise Carnatic music in Mysore. Now we are trying to keep that legacy alive, continuing the work he had begun.
And your biggest fears?
N: That we have no one to assess the quality of our music, guide us in life, with our father gone.
M: Then as musicians, there is the fear that we might stagnate at some point of our career, fail to be inspired by anything.
The role of Mysore in your art...
N: The city has played a huge role in shaping our career. Mysore is a sruthi shudh city in all respects. We are at peace when we reach Mysore. That tranquillity is reflected in everything we do, in our behaviour, in our music...
M: Many great musicians had asked my father to send us to Chennai where all the music is. But he refused, saying that our music should have a different flavour. For us, Mysore is not just part of our name, it means so much more. It is a tradition, memories, a long legacy and a rich culture.
