I have heard people say with an air of having said something profound, that "music has no language." I don't really buy it. At least not fully. Yes, it is true that one can enjoy the instruments in the background and the melody without understanding the language, and one can occasionally understand the mood of the song, but that is only part of the enjoyment. The words add a great deal of depth to the feel of the song, and if the language is alien enough, even the mood of the song is difficult to fathom.
I was watching a dance performance by a group of middle eastern men at some cultural show, with a person of middle eastern descent next to me. The men on stage were dancing in a line, holding hands, and the song had some rough, guttural sounds that sounded more like slogans than melody to my ear. I thought the song was something with patriotic fervour and a bit of anger in it. Then the person next to me, enjoying it thoroughly, turned to me and said - "they are really having fun aren't they? This song is about friendship"! I have had similar experiences with Chinese music - I simply cannot follow it, and therefore cannot enjoy it very much, but obviously a billion Chinese people can and probably do.
Closer to home, listening to Hindi songs (or marathi lately, but I will stick to hindi for this discussion) gives me great pleasure, because the words mean something. When the lyrics are good, the songs have far greater power to touch me. There is also the element of nostalgia - songs that I grew up listening to are far more beautiful purely for that reason. I think a person who speaks no hindi cannot get the same enjoyment out of those songs, for, lacking a context and the understanding of the words, the focus is more on the melody and instrumentation, both of which may seem archaic to the modern ear.
There is also a cultural aspect to music - specifically, what a 'good' voice should sound like. Several American friends that heard some Hindi songs from the 60s/70s, told me that they liked the melodies, but the voices were not so good! These were Kishore, Rafi, Lata, Asha, and their ilk! It is possible to simply dismiss the the American friends as being ignorant, but I think it is simply a cultural expectation of what a singing voice ought to sound like.
Another important aspect of singing, also a part of the language, is the pronounciation. I think this can make or break a song, even if the rest of the elements are in place. I had teachers in high school who were native Telugu speakers that massacred Hindi songs when they sang them, despite knowing the meaning of the words, ability to sing in tune, and their obvious enjoyment of the music. What was lacking was the right pronounciation.
Finally, a subtler aspect of singing is the style, which I believe is also influenced by language and culture. A specific example is Mr. S. P. Balasubrahmaniam. I admire him as a singer, and having grown up in AP and having a reasonable ear for Telugu music, I must say he is an outstanding playback singer for Telugu songs. His musical ability is unquestioned. However, whatever songs he has sung in Hindi movies seemed to me like parodies. I examined some of the later songs of his closely and found that he had been coached well enough on the pronounciation, so that was not it. What was different was his style of taking a 'taan'. It was distinctly 'Telugu' to my ear, though I cannot explain what that means. The Germans call it 'Sprachgeful' , a feel for the language (Spelling note: I cannot make the German umlaut symbol on the blog). I believe the singer must actually think and feel like a native speaker of whatever language the song is in. Until then, something is missing.
Monday, December 14, 2009
Monday, December 7, 2009
Short Men
Research shows that short men earn less than tall ones on average, other things being equal. Women also find tall guys generally more attractive than short ones. This does not mean that we short guys are not good in bed, though. It just means we are self-taught :).
Sunday, December 6, 2009
Kaka
My father was always called 'Kaka' (uncle) by everyone as far as I know. Only his older brother ("dada") called him by his name Vishwanath, at least in my lifetime. Called kaka by his neices and nephew, the name stuck, and I suppose my brother, upon being able to speak, assumed that that was his name. I followed along, as did my sister, as little brothers and sisters tend to do.
Kaka died in 1992 at the age of 74. Born in 1918, though officially stated as 1920 for the typical reasons in India - to get into school, to graduate at the right time, or to delay retirement. Anyhow, 17 years have passed since he died. My son Nikhil has never known him. I wish he had - I worry that not seeing and being with people like him will leave Nikhil with insufficient role models. The combination of intelligence, good humor, serenity and simplicity is something I have not seen in very many people. Of course I am biased in this view. He had his flaws, I am sure, but they were hard to see from my perspective as a child.
I remember asking him, when I was about 5 or 6, "don't you ever get angry"? I was genuinely puzzled that he never even raised his voice in anger at me, far less raise a hand, when I knew that I had behaved like a brat, which I often did as a kid. And I had seen some of my friends get whacked by their dads for lesser misdeeds than mine. A man of few words, he was silent for a few seconds, then said, "what kind of a man is he that never gets angry?"
I do not recall a single lecture from him about anything. He never told me how to live my life, how to solve problems, how to anything. He would come home from work on his bicycle, give us screaming kids a mini ride on the bike if we happened to be in the vicinity and demanded it. Then a cup of tea, and he would be in the garden, digging, watering, or simply smoking a cigarette and gazing at the plants in silence. The plants thrived under his care, and so did we. Just knowing he was around somewhere was the greatest feeling I remember as a kid. Modern self-help books go on and on about unconditional love - I was lucky enough to have experienced it, and even the memory of it helps when I am feeling down.
It is always hard to do justice to someone's life writing about it through one's limited perspective, so I will not try. My intent is to merely share some random thoughts about my own experiences with people as they occur to me. More about my memories of Kaka later, whenever I find the time to write about them.
Kaka died in 1992 at the age of 74. Born in 1918, though officially stated as 1920 for the typical reasons in India - to get into school, to graduate at the right time, or to delay retirement. Anyhow, 17 years have passed since he died. My son Nikhil has never known him. I wish he had - I worry that not seeing and being with people like him will leave Nikhil with insufficient role models. The combination of intelligence, good humor, serenity and simplicity is something I have not seen in very many people. Of course I am biased in this view. He had his flaws, I am sure, but they were hard to see from my perspective as a child.
I remember asking him, when I was about 5 or 6, "don't you ever get angry"? I was genuinely puzzled that he never even raised his voice in anger at me, far less raise a hand, when I knew that I had behaved like a brat, which I often did as a kid. And I had seen some of my friends get whacked by their dads for lesser misdeeds than mine. A man of few words, he was silent for a few seconds, then said, "what kind of a man is he that never gets angry?"
I do not recall a single lecture from him about anything. He never told me how to live my life, how to solve problems, how to anything. He would come home from work on his bicycle, give us screaming kids a mini ride on the bike if we happened to be in the vicinity and demanded it. Then a cup of tea, and he would be in the garden, digging, watering, or simply smoking a cigarette and gazing at the plants in silence. The plants thrived under his care, and so did we. Just knowing he was around somewhere was the greatest feeling I remember as a kid. Modern self-help books go on and on about unconditional love - I was lucky enough to have experienced it, and even the memory of it helps when I am feeling down.
It is always hard to do justice to someone's life writing about it through one's limited perspective, so I will not try. My intent is to merely share some random thoughts about my own experiences with people as they occur to me. More about my memories of Kaka later, whenever I find the time to write about them.
Jackets with Needles on the Inside
My friend Sunnie gets the credit for this wonderful analogy. We were discussing how some people in conversations seem to always play the role of victim, ready to interpret every statement, whether neutral or even complimentary, as an attack. He said, "it is as if they are wearing jackets with needles on the inside." Even a hug pricks them.
Fashion
The latest trend in men's fashion, if the Wall Street Journal is to be believed, is V-neck shirts to show male cleavage, now dubbed "Heavage". I suppose they will next put cleavage in the back of pants in an homage to plumbers, and call it "Sewage." Just a random thought :)
Conversations - "Look at Me!"
I have noticed that most conversations among friends tend to have just one theme - "Look at me!" Children will say it simply and directly, adults say it with varying degrees of sophistication, but it generally boils down to that - and yes, even the motive of this blog is suspect.
I find it fascinating, sometimes irritating, sometimes sad, when people in a group try to hijack the conversation with a louder "look at me" than someone else. One person could be telling a story, some interesting experience they had, and another will pipe up with "that's nothing, here is what happened to me", or "my story is even worse than yours". That latter one is more common, for there is a pride that people take in recounting how horrible they have it in their lives. In other words, "look at me, I'm more pathetic than you are!"
P.G. Wodehouse of course summed it up as only he can in his story about medical retreats - how a class system develops based on how bad one's illness is.
The more sophisticated variety of this is of course the person who is smart enough to tell jokes, recount wonderful stories, and generally be the life of the party. People are attracted to this variety of a person, though the underlying message is still "look at me!" I guess the difference is simply that here the reasoning is "look at me because I'm so funny/smart/sexy etc." This blog I suppose falls into that category - "look at me for being so smart and observing this phenomenon."
I find it fascinating, sometimes irritating, sometimes sad, when people in a group try to hijack the conversation with a louder "look at me" than someone else. One person could be telling a story, some interesting experience they had, and another will pipe up with "that's nothing, here is what happened to me", or "my story is even worse than yours". That latter one is more common, for there is a pride that people take in recounting how horrible they have it in their lives. In other words, "look at me, I'm more pathetic than you are!"
P.G. Wodehouse of course summed it up as only he can in his story about medical retreats - how a class system develops based on how bad one's illness is.
The more sophisticated variety of this is of course the person who is smart enough to tell jokes, recount wonderful stories, and generally be the life of the party. People are attracted to this variety of a person, though the underlying message is still "look at me!" I guess the difference is simply that here the reasoning is "look at me because I'm so funny/smart/sexy etc." This blog I suppose falls into that category - "look at me for being so smart and observing this phenomenon."
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