<p>For over two centuries, Carnatic music has had a glorious association with temples. Today, we have a large array of secular performance venues. And yet, the relationship that Carnatic music has with temples remains unbroken, and major music festivals are still folded into temple festivals. </p>.<p>Carnatic music in Bengaluru owes its efflorescence to temples. For over 100 years, temples across the city have been home to various kinds of music, including Carnatic music. Old shrines in the city such as the Kote Venkataramana temple near K R Market, the Karanji Anjaneya temple in Basavanagudi, the Someshwara temple in Ulsoor, and the Rama Mandir and the Venugopala Swamy temple in Malleswaram have been integral to Bengaluru’s cultural landscape as prestigious venues for Carnatic music performances. In recent years, newly built temples too have continued to play this role with great enthusiasm. There is perhaps no student of Carnatic music who has not begun their career within the precincts of temples. </p>.<p>While it is incredible that we continue the tradition of temple performances, it is perhaps crucial for us to pause and reflect on this relationship between Carnatic music and temples in the present. The city’s surging decibel levels, modern temple architecture, and a rapidly transforming urbanscape have had deep ramifications on the manner in which Carnatic music is produced and consumed today. </p>.<p>Temples in the present-day context pose a unique challenge for Carnatic music. On the one hand, most older temples (that used to have good acoustics and dedicated performance areas), in the older neighbourhoods of Bengaluru, are deluged by traffic and other noises. Maintenance, involving painting, whitewashing, and internal electrification, are not necessarily mindful of the structure’s original acoustic properties. Therefore, performing in these spaces can be quite a struggle. On the other hand, modern temples, some of which compete with the city’s corporate glass facades, hardly have even the basic acoustic features conducive to the Carnatic form. And, with spaces for public congregations drastically shrinking in the city, temples continue to be used more frequently by sabhas (music organisations) as venues for Carnatic recitals. Some sabhas choose temples simply because these have been hallowed venues for over half a century; and others use temples as venues since they are most often available free of cost. Even temple adjuncts like marriage halls and eating areas can turn into venues for Carnatic music performances. </p>.<p>Now let us imagine a typical temple environment. There is loud chanting; the air is frequently punctuated by the ringing of temple bells in pitches invariably in conflict with the shruti of the concert; there are fumes from burning incense; there is a sustained clamour and uninhibited movement of people. Undoubtedly, this can be a rich sensory experience. But it certainly changes the quality of the music that is being made. Often, even the most seasoned vocalists can go into fits of coughing from sudden choking caused by the fumes, or trying hard to remain aligned to the shruti in the midst of the din, or closing their eyes to cut the distraction (often mistaken for an expression of piety!). Additionally, musicians can be instructed to abruptly stop every 10-15 minutes when temple rituals take precedence. There can be rickety platforms, rain-soaked carpets, leaking ceilings… </p>.<p>To add to all these, most often temple concerts provide the least technical support. There are situations where there are fewer microphones than the number of artistes. Artistes are left in the lurch with dysfunctional — possibly corroded — equipment, with no proper amplification or feedback; and then, a technician who considers it a privilege to meddle with the knobs on the mixer — that is if there is a console at all. </p>.<p>In other words, musicians have little to no agency in these spaces. And an environment such as this has a far-reaching impact on the ‘sound’ of Carnatic music. What we seem to have forgotten is that a Carnatic performance is, in fact, a set of distinct sounds, timbres and tonalities of the voice/s and instrument/s that must holistically come together. This is quite different from devotional music forms, such as bhajan singing, which are congregational in nature. Their purpose essentially is to blur the lines between the listener and artiste, and prioritise devotion over everything else. Carnatic music, however, is essentially art music where musicality reigns supreme. With extraneous sounds looming large, Carnatic musicians are forced to compromise on the musicality. They tend to compete with co-artistes to be heard louder. In the end, the music they produce is jeopardised by high volume and a tragic loss of delicate musical expressions. </p>.<p>It is time we rethought how Carnatic music is made in these spaces. Rather than considering such infrastructure as normal or drifting away into believing that in temples bhakti alone is paramount, it is important for us to turn our allegiance to the music itself and build an enabling ecology where artistes can perform with freedom and dignity.</p>.<p>This would require us as a community to think about music making and its relation to acoustics, design, architecture and technology with reference to the socio-cultural practices of this city. By doing so, we could chart a new trajectory for Carnatic music with an aesthetic that truly belongs in Bengaluru. </p>.<p><em><span class="italic">(The author is a well-known ghatam player)</span></em></p>
<p>For over two centuries, Carnatic music has had a glorious association with temples. Today, we have a large array of secular performance venues. And yet, the relationship that Carnatic music has with temples remains unbroken, and major music festivals are still folded into temple festivals. </p>.<p>Carnatic music in Bengaluru owes its efflorescence to temples. For over 100 years, temples across the city have been home to various kinds of music, including Carnatic music. Old shrines in the city such as the Kote Venkataramana temple near K R Market, the Karanji Anjaneya temple in Basavanagudi, the Someshwara temple in Ulsoor, and the Rama Mandir and the Venugopala Swamy temple in Malleswaram have been integral to Bengaluru’s cultural landscape as prestigious venues for Carnatic music performances. In recent years, newly built temples too have continued to play this role with great enthusiasm. There is perhaps no student of Carnatic music who has not begun their career within the precincts of temples. </p>.<p>While it is incredible that we continue the tradition of temple performances, it is perhaps crucial for us to pause and reflect on this relationship between Carnatic music and temples in the present. The city’s surging decibel levels, modern temple architecture, and a rapidly transforming urbanscape have had deep ramifications on the manner in which Carnatic music is produced and consumed today. </p>.<p>Temples in the present-day context pose a unique challenge for Carnatic music. On the one hand, most older temples (that used to have good acoustics and dedicated performance areas), in the older neighbourhoods of Bengaluru, are deluged by traffic and other noises. Maintenance, involving painting, whitewashing, and internal electrification, are not necessarily mindful of the structure’s original acoustic properties. Therefore, performing in these spaces can be quite a struggle. On the other hand, modern temples, some of which compete with the city’s corporate glass facades, hardly have even the basic acoustic features conducive to the Carnatic form. And, with spaces for public congregations drastically shrinking in the city, temples continue to be used more frequently by sabhas (music organisations) as venues for Carnatic recitals. Some sabhas choose temples simply because these have been hallowed venues for over half a century; and others use temples as venues since they are most often available free of cost. Even temple adjuncts like marriage halls and eating areas can turn into venues for Carnatic music performances. </p>.<p>Now let us imagine a typical temple environment. There is loud chanting; the air is frequently punctuated by the ringing of temple bells in pitches invariably in conflict with the shruti of the concert; there are fumes from burning incense; there is a sustained clamour and uninhibited movement of people. Undoubtedly, this can be a rich sensory experience. But it certainly changes the quality of the music that is being made. Often, even the most seasoned vocalists can go into fits of coughing from sudden choking caused by the fumes, or trying hard to remain aligned to the shruti in the midst of the din, or closing their eyes to cut the distraction (often mistaken for an expression of piety!). Additionally, musicians can be instructed to abruptly stop every 10-15 minutes when temple rituals take precedence. There can be rickety platforms, rain-soaked carpets, leaking ceilings… </p>.<p>To add to all these, most often temple concerts provide the least technical support. There are situations where there are fewer microphones than the number of artistes. Artistes are left in the lurch with dysfunctional — possibly corroded — equipment, with no proper amplification or feedback; and then, a technician who considers it a privilege to meddle with the knobs on the mixer — that is if there is a console at all. </p>.<p>In other words, musicians have little to no agency in these spaces. And an environment such as this has a far-reaching impact on the ‘sound’ of Carnatic music. What we seem to have forgotten is that a Carnatic performance is, in fact, a set of distinct sounds, timbres and tonalities of the voice/s and instrument/s that must holistically come together. This is quite different from devotional music forms, such as bhajan singing, which are congregational in nature. Their purpose essentially is to blur the lines between the listener and artiste, and prioritise devotion over everything else. Carnatic music, however, is essentially art music where musicality reigns supreme. With extraneous sounds looming large, Carnatic musicians are forced to compromise on the musicality. They tend to compete with co-artistes to be heard louder. In the end, the music they produce is jeopardised by high volume and a tragic loss of delicate musical expressions. </p>.<p>It is time we rethought how Carnatic music is made in these spaces. Rather than considering such infrastructure as normal or drifting away into believing that in temples bhakti alone is paramount, it is important for us to turn our allegiance to the music itself and build an enabling ecology where artistes can perform with freedom and dignity.</p>.<p>This would require us as a community to think about music making and its relation to acoustics, design, architecture and technology with reference to the socio-cultural practices of this city. By doing so, we could chart a new trajectory for Carnatic music with an aesthetic that truly belongs in Bengaluru. </p>.<p><em><span class="italic">(The author is a well-known ghatam player)</span></em></p>
