I went to a concert by Anoushka Shankar a few evenings ago. It was a much hyped event, and the tickets, priced unusually high, were sold out within hours of the first day.
I’d like to share my thoughts on it with you.
It was reported as a concert featuring Ms Shankar’s Grammy-nominated album RISE. I hadn’t heard it, nor any of her other work, so didn’t know what to expect. Naively, I thought her work might resonate of her father’s.
Well.
The show started a half-four late. We were told the “star” wanted to start at a particular time. Astrology? Tarot cards? I only know it irritated me as I had taken the trouble to get there (at the far end of Bangalore) well on time, as always.
The musicians trooped onstage. A Japanese tanpura player, a Bengali tabalchi, a flautist. Also a Spaniard who was reported as playing the piano in the traditional flamenco style (not a genre I had ever heard of before), a Tambourine man and a Jazz Bass player from Delhi. That collection of srange bedfellows put me on alert immediately. Wd the result be fish or fowl - or a hybrid of the two?
When Ms Shankar arrived, she was surprisingly thin and very gauche. Her opening comments - as untutored as any amateur local performer - encouraged the impression that no one had trained her in stagecraft. They were as ‘cute’ as any I’ve heard from amateur local performers, and cute is not what one expects of internationally-celebrated stars.
The music? Sweet, but going nowhere. Little direction, easy melodies that were less than a single step removed from standard muzak. One was called “Naked”. I suppose you need all the help you can get, including from the song title, when what you are putting on display is about as meaningful as a Parish Talent Contest. The Spanish piano player was Richard Clayderman without the flowing tresses. Flamenco musicians must be impaling themselves on the nearest bull’s horns all over Spain.
That said, there were a few standout moments. A woman singer trained in the North Indian Classical genre was fantastic. And the Japanese fellow on the Tanpura, easily the prettiest thing onstage, had all the po-faced serenity of a samurai’s mistress.
I had a stifling cold and fever, so wasn’t in the most convivial mood. The operators of the Hall had decided not to use the air-conditioning, so pretty soon I was feeling the effects of the Carbon Dioxide swirling about me. Some people, in the traditional Indian style, arrived 15-30 minutes AFTER the performance started. A few, including an old fart seated behind me, left their mobiles on, so they obligingly rang a few times. A half-hour into the concert, I decided I’d heard enough. On the way out, I suggested to the old boy with the mobile that he might wish to keep it out of reach and hearing in his nethermost orifice. He wasn’t amused but the folk around him applauded.
On the long drive home, I listened on my car CD to a recording of Ravi Shankar in a concert with the London Symphony Orchestra, Andre Previn conducting. The Apple has indeed fallen pretty far away from the Tree.
Perhaps Ms Shankar has some knowledge of the music she performs. But she certainly lacked the Imagination to make magic with it, and, as Albert Einstein said . Imagination is more important than Knowledge.
Stanley Pinto
I’d like to share my thoughts on it with you.
It was reported as a concert featuring Ms Shankar’s Grammy-nominated album RISE. I hadn’t heard it, nor any of her other work, so didn’t know what to expect. Naively, I thought her work might resonate of her father’s.
Well.
The show started a half-four late. We were told the “star” wanted to start at a particular time. Astrology? Tarot cards? I only know it irritated me as I had taken the trouble to get there (at the far end of Bangalore) well on time, as always.
The musicians trooped onstage. A Japanese tanpura player, a Bengali tabalchi, a flautist. Also a Spaniard who was reported as playing the piano in the traditional flamenco style (not a genre I had ever heard of before), a Tambourine man and a Jazz Bass player from Delhi. That collection of srange bedfellows put me on alert immediately. Wd the result be fish or fowl - or a hybrid of the two?
When Ms Shankar arrived, she was surprisingly thin and very gauche. Her opening comments - as untutored as any amateur local performer - encouraged the impression that no one had trained her in stagecraft. They were as ‘cute’ as any I’ve heard from amateur local performers, and cute is not what one expects of internationally-celebrated stars.
The music? Sweet, but going nowhere. Little direction, easy melodies that were less than a single step removed from standard muzak. One was called “Naked”. I suppose you need all the help you can get, including from the song title, when what you are putting on display is about as meaningful as a Parish Talent Contest. The Spanish piano player was Richard Clayderman without the flowing tresses. Flamenco musicians must be impaling themselves on the nearest bull’s horns all over Spain.
That said, there were a few standout moments. A woman singer trained in the North Indian Classical genre was fantastic. And the Japanese fellow on the Tanpura, easily the prettiest thing onstage, had all the po-faced serenity of a samurai’s mistress.
I had a stifling cold and fever, so wasn’t in the most convivial mood. The operators of the Hall had decided not to use the air-conditioning, so pretty soon I was feeling the effects of the Carbon Dioxide swirling about me. Some people, in the traditional Indian style, arrived 15-30 minutes AFTER the performance started. A few, including an old fart seated behind me, left their mobiles on, so they obligingly rang a few times. A half-hour into the concert, I decided I’d heard enough. On the way out, I suggested to the old boy with the mobile that he might wish to keep it out of reach and hearing in his nethermost orifice. He wasn’t amused but the folk around him applauded.
On the long drive home, I listened on my car CD to a recording of Ravi Shankar in a concert with the London Symphony Orchestra, Andre Previn conducting. The Apple has indeed fallen pretty far away from the Tree.
Perhaps Ms Shankar has some knowledge of the music she performs. But she certainly lacked the Imagination to make magic with it, and, as Albert Einstein said . Imagination is more important than Knowledge.
Stanley Pinto
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