A Magical Evening

 I have always believed that music is less something I listen to and more something I live with. There isn’t a single day that goes by without a playlist, often custom made for the mood, the moment, or simply the need to disappear into a certain soundscape. Over the years, I have written about the many genres that have found their way into my life and the many ways in which music has become such an integral part of it.

Lately, I have been drifting towards ghazals and songs of the yore, completely losing myself in the poetry, the textures, the voices and that inexplicable magic some eras of music seem to have. There is something about those songs that makes listening feel less like listening and more like slipping into another time.

So when Srikanth gifted me a ticket to a concert that brought together two very different musical worlds, it was a particularly welcome surprise.

On September 19, I found myself at Shilpakala Vedika for an evening with Sid Sriram and Purbayan Chatterjee.

A vocalist and a sitar coming together is hardly unheard of. Indian music has seen many such collaborations, and there have been some beautiful voice and sitar performances over the years. What intrigued me about this concert was not the combination itself, but what the two musicians would do with it.

Sid Sriram has a voice that is unmistakably his, rooted in Carnatic music yet very much at home in contemporary music. Purbayan Chatterjee, on the other hand, has taken the sitar far beyond the boundaries one might traditionally associate with it.

I found myself wondering what would happen when these two musical worlds met.

A little curiosity led me down a Purbayan rabbit hole before the concert. His collaborations and experiments span a remarkably wide musical landscape, which made the evening even more intriguing.

And then the concert day arrived.

Hyderabad welcomed it with rain.

The skies opened up, the roads slowed down, but none of that seemed to matter. There was a concert waiting at the other end, and I was quite happy to brave the rain for it.

I walked into Shilpakala Vedika, ticket in hand, with no particular expectations. I was simply there to listen. To surrender to the music. To revel in whatever unfolded.

There was, of course, some entertainment before the actual entertainment began.

Federal Bank had thoughtfully decided that a concert audience was also an excellent audience for financial education. Vidya Balan kept appearing on the screen, telling us about their schemes and plans.

It reminded me a little of Sterling Holidays. They lure you in with a discount and, before you know it, you are being given a detailed lecture on their holiday packages.

Thankfully, the financial literacy session eventually gave way to the reason we were all there.

Music.

Purbayan Chatterjee took the stage first.

And what a performer.

There is something fascinating about watching someone who has such complete command over an instrument. Purbayan made the sitar both intriguing and accessible. He spoke about the instrument, explained aspects of the music, interacted with the audience and then let the sitar do the talking.

And when he played, there was no mistaking who was in charge.

The precision, the speed, the ease, the sheer range of what he could coax out of the instrument. He managed to entertain and wow in equal measure.

And then came Sid Sriram.

There are singers one enjoys listening to. And then there are singers who make you wonder what the human voice is actually capable of.

Sid's range is extraordinary. And I don't mean just the literal range of his voice, although that itself is something to experience live. It is the range of his musical language too.

He moved effortlessly across genres and traditions.

Dolaayaam, Rangapura Vihara, Adiga Adiga, The Beatles, Inkem Inkem Kaavale.

All in the same evening. Sometimes it felt like he was moving between completely different musical worlds in the same breath.

He was in his element.

And what I love about Sid is that he sounds like Sid. Exactly as he does on a recording, except that live, you get to experience everything that a recording cannot quite capture.

His oneness with music.

He doesn't seem to perform music. He becomes one with it.

And somehow, he takes the audience there with him.

The voice, the nuances, the way the notes fall, the little shifts and inflections, the sudden movement into something unexpected. Watching it unfold live is an exhilarating experience.

After almost every song, came the inevitable chorus from the audience.

“I love you, Sid!”

Sid would acknowledge it with a smile, without missing a beat, without losing his focus, and then move seamlessly into the next song.

That smile somehow became part of the evening too.

Because one moment he is receiving an “I love you, Sid!” from the audience and the next he is singing a Carnatic piece with absolute discipline and concentration.

That kind of ease doesn't come from nowhere.

Years of practice give an artiste the freedom to make something extraordinarily difficult look effortless.

The highlight of the evening was the collaboration of the artists- the musical conversation.

This was not simply Sid singing while Purbayan played the sitar alongside him. It felt like a conversation between musicians.

One would play, the other would respond. A phrase would emerge, another would pick it up. There was listening, reacting, improvising and making space.

And that was perhaps the most beautiful part of watching them together.

The fusion did not feel like two separate musical identities being placed next to each other. It felt like all the musicians on stage were having a conversation through music.

A special shout-out to the other accompanying as well. They stood out for me through the evening and added a wonderful layer to the entire experience.

This is perhaps what live music does best.

You may know the songs. You may have listened to the voices countless times. You may even know what is coming next.

And then you hear it live.

Suddenly, you hear it differently.

The concert high is real.

And when the music is this good, the feeling doesn't necessarily end when the lights come on and everyone walks out.

Some performances stay with you.

This one will.

For a long time, I suspect, September 19 will remain one of those evenings I remember not simply as a concert I attended, but as an experience I lived.

Music.

Magic.

And a little bit of bliss.