People who came to the World Music Hall on Saturday expecting to simply see the flute concert found themselves actually joining the flutist’s musical troupe.
T.R. Moorthy, a renowned flutist from South India, performed at the last week’s Navaratri Festival, introducing the audience to the artistic and religious realms of South Indian classical music.
Described as “a fine musician” and “very good person” by B. Balasubrahmaniyan (Balu), Adjunct Instructor in Music, Moorthy did not hesitate to disclose his masterful skill or to bring the audience into his creative process. Most of all, he was humble.
Accompanied by drummer David Nelson and violinist Anantha Krishnan, Moorthy exchanged a few doleful phrases with the violin. After playing the scales, he put down his flute to bow toward the painting of T. Viswanathan (Viswa), whose presence was palpable beyond his seated portrait on the right side of the stage. His gesture, joining his hands together before his chest, signaled the beginning of the concert and roused the audience, who had already bent their bodies half toward the stage. They were already drawn to the dreamy rhythms, which in fact, turned out to be a prologue for the purpose of tuning.
Moorthy is the only flutist in India performing in the inimitable style of Viswa, co-founder and the former professor of Wesleyan’s South Indian music program. He began his discipleship with Viswa in 1962 and performed with him throughout India and the U.S. for two decades. Viswa also founded the Navaratri festival at Wesleyan in 1975.
Moorthy’s interpretation of the classical South Indian musical melody was influenced by Viswa’s family legacy, while his interpretation of the text came from Viswa, who preserved the textual element of the original songs.
“Traditional music of South India was initially a song,” said Douglas Knight, director of Bala Music and Dance, who has accompanied South Indian dance and artists including Viswa. “Viswa kept the text unlike other instrumentalists. [It is an] articulation of poetic text on the flute. Instead of hearing notes, you hear the inflection of languages.”
Although some notes played by Moorthy were traceable, he treated each note like a water drop in a stream. Maintaining the subtle distinction between two successive notes, he expanded the range of each pitch by trying to bring out the unexpressive tone in-between two keys. As a result, only the resonating tremor or a sense of motion was delivered to the audience, who were less impressed by the melodies than by the artistic and religious images Moorthy evoked.
“He brought the emotion of singing and most of the emotion was dedication to a deity,” said Sagaree Sengupta, who teaches writing at Bates College in Lewiston, Maine. “But rather than awe, it [inspired] tender devotion.”
“When a person is singing you get more cues [from lyrics], but he brought that feeling of imitating voice,” she said.
Moorthy’s experience performing the traditional repertoire of Bharata Natyam as an accompanist for T. Balasaraswati, Viswa’s sister, was apparent in his use of space. Seated with his legs crossed, he occasionally lifted his knee to tap the rhythm or to notify to the rhythmic turn in the music. His shoulder unexpectedly moved at times with his flawless fingering. While he readily controlled his breath even in the highest octave, he seemed to be less aware of his spontaneous physical reaction.
“Performance music for dance is different from music on stage,” Knight said. “[In performance music] musician learns to fill the space of slow dancing. That changes the approach of music, make it more three dimensional.”
The sensation he created with the skillful technique and the artless movement transformed the concert hall into an interactive and transmittable environment. The audience as well as the artists creatively participated in the music. As the first piece played, some people began to tap the rhythm by gently striking their palms on their knees, so their identical up-and-down motions shaped a visible flow. Moorthy’s eyes were mostly fixed on the audience. He appeared to be coordinating their movement and at the same time adjusting his sound to their reaction, by beckoning them with his jaw. Even the drone and mystical sound of Tambura, an instrument providing background beats, produced a visual effect, like an invisible beam sprinkled magically on the stage.
When the vivacious sixth piece ended, Nelson, struck by the beauty of Moorthy’s music, raised his hand to the flutist, who, in response, turned his body toward the portrait of his mentor and sent homage to him. His humble acknowledgement of his mentor and his simple manner were a few human signs in his otherwise spiritual concert.
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