Article
Ve ˉda and Popular Music: ˉ A Cultural Analysis
Journal of Creative Communications 7(3) 227–241 © 2012 Mudra Institute of Communications SAGE Publications Los Angeles, London, New Delhi, Singapore, Washington DC DOI: 10.1177/0973258613512436 http://crc.sagepub.com
Subroto Roy
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The author is an Indian classical and light music vocalist and earned his doctorate in 2008 in the area of Indian classical music from the Centre for Performing Arts, University of Pune and now is a post-doctoral fellow at the Centre for Advanced Studies in Sanskrit, University of Pune. He belongs to the ancient Sama Veˉdic oral-aural tradition. His area of interest is cultural musicology with reference to all forms of Indianˉmusic.
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Abstract Veˉda is considered as the ultimate source of knowledge and the value of the Veˉdic oral tradition is ˉ ˉ reason for it being termed as masterpiece of oral and intangible heritage of humanity. This value of Veˉdic music is comprised in its antiquity as well as its continuity in the applicability of some common ˉ principles instantiated in music and language. Mankind’s earliest ideas of music and methods of protecting mantras found in Veˉdic literature are reflected even in Indian popular music; especially in catch lines of jingles sometimes ˉunconscious of its base in Veˉda. They are instantiated due mainly to underlying ˉ linguistic commonality in Indian and other related languages. Present is an analysis, with instances, of the manner in which principles of Veˉdic music have survived the vagaries of time and manifested in different popular Indian music genres today.ˉ In fact, these principles that have dealt with tonal, temporal, metrical, and linguistic aspects, to name a few, in Veˉdic enunciations have helped not only Indian music but also musics of the world. This universalizationˉ stems from biological, scientific, spiritual, and linguistic observations made by the Veˉdic people. Continuity is evidenced thanks to preservation techniques ˉ and formulae based on these observations. This article is a cultural study of music in Veˉdas and Indian ˉ popular music and how change and universalization have not happened at the cost of continuity in Veˉdic ˉ musical principles intertwined with linguistics. Keywords Veˉdic Music, Saˉma Veˉda (SV)culture, universals, flamenco, rondo, co-cultures, normative cultural values, core cultural symbols.ˉ1,2
Introduction At the outset, since this is a cultural analysis of music, we shall delve into some evolutionary aspects. In this case it begins with my hypothesis that the conduct of Indian popular music from the earliest times to
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even this day are dictated by core cultural symbols, labels, and norms such as rāgas, the cyclic time concept, svaras, and lyrics which form a nexus with the Saṁskriṯ language and Vēḏic world view over millennia being at its root. If we can establish that these core symbols of popular Indian music could be found in Vēḏic music and its exegetic literature, then we can say that Vēḏas in general and Sāma Vēḏic (SVic) music in particular are echoed in popular Indian popular music, albeit in varying degrees. In effect, popular musicians are enacting their Vēḏic cultural identities in varying degrees depending on awareness of their knowledge of Saṁskriṯ and its cognates, and of Vēḏic music. The corollary that follows is that if language contributes to music and the earliest conception of Vēḏic music lies partially in language then all popular vocal music that use Saṁskriṯ or its cognates have partially taken forward Vēḏic music and serve as examples of continuity in change. This may be seen in the context of change as an issue. Meer (1975, p. 49) informs us inter alia that change is related to continuity. This conceptual framework forms a strong premise. It must be noted here that the above does not automatically argue that popular music has no borrowings from sources other than Vēḏa. We’re all aware how, for instance, Hindi popular music has seen changes mainly with the help of cultures of Asia, Africa, Europe, and America.
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Here is an attempt to trace the roots of popular Indian (in our case Hinḏī) film songs. The research falls well within the domain of Cultural Musicology as it includes not only musicological aspects, but also the issues like continuity and change, language and music, inter-cultural communication and co-cultures etc. On the bases of literary sources it is an attempt to show that a considerable number of cultural core symbols is common to popular music and the Vēḏa, especially the SV implying that the hypothesis is true. In that, we will need to set some records straight regarding the history of the Vēḏic culture. According to Chakraborty, ‘Culture is the legacy of the human past’ (2012, p. 6). And this past is from the time immemorial. He adds that that the people of Mehergarh (Balućisṯān, Pakisṯān) during 6500 BCE, ‘had some arrangement for copper ore procurement,’ and hence prehistoric activity there included science and technology. I make an early conjecture here that if copper was available, is it not plausible that they manufactured stringed musical instruments using copper strings and exported them, considering that there were trading links between Mehergarh, Near East, and Central Asia? Jayanṯ V. Nārḷikar (2003, p. 1) while writing about Indian science and scientists with respect to the Vēḏas, says, ‘Many myths about the Vēḏa and Vēḏic tradition have formed that must be dispelled before we can get an accurate picture of its origins.’ He terms as ‘myths’ theories like the Aryan Invasion Theory, Indo-European, and the proto-Indo-European language theories with reasoned arguments. He confirms that Vēḏic Saṁskriṯ is indeed the root of many European and Indian languages while saying that ‘Anthropologists today find all evidence points to an origin of the Vēḏic tradition that is indigenous to northern India’ (p. 5). Debunking many historical linguists, computer linguistics, and theoreticians reasonably, Nārḷikar defends (p. 12) the hypothesis that the roots of the so-called proto-Indo-European languages lie in the northern parts of India, especially in the Himalayan region and Tibet rather than near the Black Sea. Although he settles for the dates of the Indus, Sarasvaṯi, and Vēḏic Civilization to be between 2500 BC and 1900 BC civilization, he does not put this as the date when Vēḏas were ‘cognized’. The simple reason that one cannot hazard this guess is because the culture has been transmitted aurally Journal of Creative Communications, 7, 3 (2012): 227–241
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and orally (roughly Śruṯi and Smriṯi, respectively), and one cannot fix a date of such heritage material. Gaṇapaṯy (1982, Introduction) puts the date of the SV at an inter-glacial period, which predates the hitherto believed oldest civilizations by millennia. Recent excavations of Vēḏic villages along the Sarasvaṯi basin establish the fact that Vēḏic civilization predates the Harrappan civilization. Therefore, we can safely presume that what appears in SV in terms of music, predates all other civilizations. SVic music is the blue print with the help of which several music cultures have developed. Archaeological evidence through French SPOT Satellite and Indo French field study shows that the Rg Vēḏa is much earlier than 3500 BCE as opposed to German missionary and scholar Max Muller’s guesses and therefore before Egypt, Harrappa, and Mesopotamia. But thermoluminescene studies of pottery found in one of the sites of Mohen-jo-Daro prove that the pottery is 3530 years old. Maurice Winternitz, a German scholar and author of History of Indian Literature has estimated that the Vēḏas and its exegetic literature took a minimum of 1900 years to develop. Mahābhāraṯa happened at the end of the Vēḏic period. If Mahābhāraṯa is traced to 3000 BCE as David Frawly and N S Rājārām say, then the RV to period started at least in around 4900 BCE. But Gaṇapaṯi (1982, Introduction) shows that SV, the Vēḏa of music is much older than the RV especially because we find the mention of SV several times in RV and that the language of SV is older than that of RV. Nārḷikar suggests that Vēḏic Saṁskriṯ may not be of proto-Indo-European desecent at all. Instead he does not rule out the possibility of Vēḏic Saṁskriṯ travelling to the Black Sea area and ‘mutated to Anatolean, Armenian, Celtic, and Greek’ (2003, p. 14). If we allow that music has a universal language, then this language is formed due to cross-cultural exchange. Then we can allow that this universal language is a result of shared knowledge of several cultures. On the basis of the above discussion here is an attempt to argue that a considerable outflow of cultural material from India happened to enrich popular music of the world. This is based on the fact that the Aryan Invasion Theory has been now convincingly felled. Nārḷikar (2003, p. 12) has, apart from giving this a shot in the arm has argued convincingly that if there is any truth in the theory of a so-called Proto-Indo European language being the mother of Vēḏic Saṁskriṯ, then it originated somewhere in the Himalayas because the animals mentioned in the Vēḏa are found there and not so much near the Black Sea area. For this I take cases from Bollywood, Spain, Europe, and Ireland and argue that there is considerable evidence to show that Vēḏic and ancient Indian core cultural symbols have considerably contributed to the conduct of musics of the world. However, this is not to say that no other culture has contributed. In order to establish links of Vēḏic music and ancient Indian music with popular music it is urgent to first bring in some clarity about the expression ‘poplar music’. A definition of popular music as given by The International Association of Sound and Audiovisual Archives is as follows (I agree with this view): ‘The term popular music is extremely vague, covers a wide field of musical endeavour and ranges over a long period of time; there has been ‘popular music’ ever since man made music for his own pleasure. The difficulty is to draw a distinction between serious or, less accurately, classical music and the other forms in existence, especially as much of the material in the popular field is taken quite seriously by many people. It might be preferable to call this type of music, light music. This term would effectively cover music of a more transient nature, which would not be expected to have a lasting appeal except to the most diehard adherents of a particular style or form. This is not to denigrate such music or to detract from its worth, for it is certainly as valuable in its own way as any other sphere of musical creativity. The area covered by the term light music is enormous, ranging as it does from folk music to heavy metal rock, operetta to jazz, country and western to big band dance
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music and film and Broadway musicals to current chart pops. It is difficult to place all these varying styles and numerous forms into any sort of comprehensible collection, and one that is retrievable and makes any sort of sense to library staff, researchers or users of any kind.’
Accordingly, I refer to Vēḏic music as classical and other forms like folk, bollywood etc as light music. However, while making distinctions between musicality as evidenced in RV, YV, and SV I cite the specific occurrence. I shall deal with vocal music in relation with linguistics and instrumental music more superficially.
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In the present paper I am looking at the linguistic roots of vocal popular music and exposing how change happened without losing continuity over millennia. Of course, I also present my reflections on how Vēḏic core cultural symbols, labels, and norms as in those which express cultural identities are encountered in popular music. Let’s look at some basic definitions of these ideas (Collier 1997, p. 41):
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‘Core symbols tell us about definitions, premises, and propositions regarding the universe and the place of humans in the universe that are held by members of the cultural group. . . . The symbols point us to the central ideas and concepts and the everyday behaviors that characterize membership in that group . . . Sometimes these core symbols can be summarized into a set of fundamental beliefs; sometimes a particular mode of dress, gesture, or phrase captures the essence of a cultural identity.’
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In the present context they indirectly reinforce theories that many so-called historical facts about the Vēḏic civilization are, in reality, myths. As such a strong need to look back was not unreasonable. Saint-Exupery’s observation ‘to grasp the meaning of the world of today we use a language created to express the world of yesterday’ (Fong 1997, p. 207) exposes an important reality. It informs us that the relationship of language with human endeavour and nexuses that are thus formed despite change, consolidate continuity of cultural identities. A discussion on currently popular music situated in a changing, but continuing ancient culture is not a far-fetched project. It is therefore felt necessary to look at Vēḏic music and Indian art music on the one hand and Indian pop and Western systems of music on the other. In order to do this comparison, it was useful to understand how Indian classical musics find echoes in Western music traditions since popular Indian music borrows considerably from the West while retaining what is originally Indian. The current Indian music environment is a classic case of two or more cultures living together and gaining from one another. In this universe there does not seem to be considerable conflict of cultures as I shall show with the help of a specific linguistic element as an example which appears in the English as well as the Saṁskriṯ languages. I show that since English is a close cognate of Saṁskriṯ, when English popular songs are sung, there is a strong inter-cultural communication with Hinḏī popular music. But this comes via the linguistic route since English draws significantly from Saṁskriṯ pronunciation rules. Going by what Hymes (1974, p. 212 in Fong) said inter alia that ‘. . . Speaking is itself a form of cultural behavior, and language, like any other part of culture, partially shapes the whole . . . ’ (p. 127). We see here an anthropological approach to issues related to the culture around music, therefore taking the present research right into the domain of cultural musicology. Journal of Creative Communications, 7, 3 (2012): 227–241
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Discussion
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Present is a picture that connects the dotted and often blurred lines between the conduct of popular music and the ancient knowledge of primarily vocal music that Indians deliberately or otherwise shared with the world. This is not to say that instrumental music has not been a cultural material in this process. Sauceda (1997, p. 424) considers Pop/rock and Jazz as ‘decidedly multicultural’. Here we see East-West collaborations and prominently Indian musicians collaborating with bands of all denominations that produce Pop/rock and Jazz. In fact, it is common to find improvisation in Jazz as it is found in Flamenco and in Indian classical music. In the Indian film industry this collaboration is just 100 years old while it borrowed from Arabic, Persian, as well as the Western forms of music, it has given these forms of music very fundamental things. But that Indian classical and light musics have influenced musics of the world is as old a phenomenon as civilization itself. For instance, the violin has been one of the commonest so-called western instruments used as an independent solo instrument initially by Carnatic musicians, and later by music directors of Bollywood and other regional Indian film industries. The use of Symphony and other forms of classical and pop music elements of the West is common. The reverse has also happened. Grammy Award winning American percussionist Mickey Hart has a longstanding collaboration with Ustad Zakir Hussein. In 2007, he with Zakir Hussain, Sikiru Adepoju, and Giovanni Hidalgo, did the Planet Drum Project for which the coveted Grammy for Best Contemporary World Music Album was awarded (Hart 2013). Even Ravindranath Tagore composed the Ćhañḏa song āmi ćīnī go ćīnī ṯomārē in the Waltz beat. Yet it would be simplistic to say that all that is seen as Western originated in the West, because many of such things travelled from India. For instance, India has had violin-like instruments for ages as I will present here in the ‘Evidence’ section soon. Among several other such collaborations we see from the late nineties that Sauceda says is the ‘fascinating arena of music (that) involves artists producing what may be called ‘soul quests’. This is music reflecting cross-cultural ritual and religious or spiritual incarnations. The musicians bring ancient and modern musical traditions together’ (p. 424). Therefore it is not far-etched to imagine that Indian classical music may have influenced light musics of the world. These are, I say, enactments of cultural identity. The above also vindicates my stand that it is plausible that light and classical music do form a nexus. In fact, the present paper says, even before these explicit deliberate experiments were conducted, a natural nexus existed between light music and Vēḏa, consciously or otherwise. I say this with justifications drawn from latest alternative theories of our history and the study of Vēḏas; specifically the SV.3 The nexus begins from the Vēḏas simply because it belongs to the oldest human civlisation which is known by the same name. ‘Vēḏa is ultimate source of knowledge . . . masterpiece of oral and intangible heritage of humanity’ stated the United Nations Educational Scientific Cultural Organization (UNESCO) in November 8, 2003, commenting on the value of the Vēḏic oral tradition (n.a, May 2012). The then director-general Koichiro Matsuura and president Juan Goytisolo at UNESCO headquarters in Paris UNESCO declared the following: ‘Although Vēḏic texts were recorded in writing 15 centuries ago, their principal means of transmission remains oral. The outstanding value lies not only in the rich content of its oral literature but also in the unique and ingenious techniques employed by the Brāhmaṇa priests in preserving the texts intact over three and half millennia. The complex recitation technique, requiring rigorous training from childhood, is based on a specific
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pronunciation of each letter and specific speech combinations to ensure that the sound of each word remains unchanged . . . The Vēḏas also provide an extraordinary historical panorama of Hinduism and offer insight into the early development of several fundamental artistic and scientific notions, such as the concept of zero.’
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India’s contribution to linguistics quite automatically becomes its contribution to music as we will see in the next section on evidences. In temporal matters too pace of chanting RV mañṯras and those of SV is of pre-historic origin. Again, no Vēḏic chant is possible wihtout the ćhañḏa which is not only the metrical aspect of mañṯra, but also its preservative tool. The idea of sound in general and musical sound in particular can be seen in Indian Vēḏic literature. Therefore, all these formative elements of music have roots in the Vēḏas. The SV is more replete with musical elements as compared to the other Vēḏas, especially with the help of apparently nonsensical syllables called sṯōbhākṣaras. The compounds of these words form words like Auhovā, Ēhiā, hiā, Au, Aum, etc. However, the journey of these musical elements from Vēḏa to light music involves tracing a few prominent light music genres and examining whether classical music content as core cultural symbols are present and if present to what extent.
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Evidences
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Svara: Sound, vowel, degree of a scale (Howard 1988, p. 63), tone Svara, āvarṯan, ćhañḏa, ṯāl, etc are a set of core musical symbols that are common with Indian classical as well as light musics. Earliest ideas of Vēḏic accent like the three svaras uḏaṯṯa, anuḏaṯṯa, and svariṯa have been seen at the root of Indian linguistics in the context of accentuation as well as that of music because the unit of SVic chant is māṯrā; the duration of hrasva or short vowel (Intro). In the SVic context, tempo is commensurate with the duration of the māṯrā which the chanter selects (p. 63). So we see that svara, māṯrā and tempo are interrelated in the Vēḏic context. The same holds in any music even today. Howard informs that ‘Vowels are carriers of musical sound and named svaras as a result’ (p. 63). Although the svara of classical Indian music is not the same as Vēḏic svara, the idea of vocal svara of the latter is indeed rooted in the former as is evident from the above discussion and we will now see. The instantiation of svara as in ‘vowel’ and svara as in roughly ‘tone’ have only apparently different contexts. Now if we look at the tonal aspect, for at least vocal sound to become melodious it must contain ‘rava’ according to Vēḏamūrṯy Vāsuḏēvśāsṯry Parāñzpē [Personal discussion, Dec, 23, 24, 25, 2011, Mysore]. In order to create rava one needs to hold a sound at a certain pitch for a time period. The principle of extending a svara upto three times its basic length is recommended for SV singing. This is the basic requirement for a vowel to become melodious. According to RV, rava is ‘song’ or ‘singing of birds’ and according to Rāmāyaṇa, it is ‘humming’ or ‘hummig of bees’, but the word ‘ravaṇa’ as per Bhaṭṭi Kāvya it is ‘sonorous’(Williams 2002, p. 868). The word is also sometimes just translated as any ‘sound’. The conception of sound in music is beautifully given by Brihaḏḏeśi (BD 1.2.18) a musical work by 7th century musicologist Matang. He says: ‘There is no gīta (song, music) without nāda, there are no svaras (musical notes) without nāda, there is no nritta (dance) without nāda, hence the world is of the essence of nāda.’ (Martinez, 1997, p. 84)
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Nada is sound and sound has been first understood philosophically in India as ‘permeating both personal and transpersonal consciousnesses’ writes Rowell (1992, p. 41 [as cited in Martinez, 1997, p. 85]). Therefore, the universal appeal of sound and of svara in music has been thought in the Indian context very early. This method was necessary when written communication was considered degenerating and the oral-aural tradition was strengthened. In fact, the earliest method of learning in SVic context is explained in NS 1.6.21. While studying, mañṯras must be sung fast, while reciting they must be sung at a modereate tempo, and while teaching it should be sung slowly. Even to this day, in the classical music context the same practice is found. The ideas of slow, medium, and fast paces in the Vēḏic context is obviously ancient, but its analysis is presumed reasonably by Parpola (1968, p. 28, 89; 1969, pp. 242–243 [as cited in Howard, 1988, p. 63, n. 11]) to have been done between 400 and 300 BCE. This the NS mentions as vriṯṯi from which the word āvarṯan has been derived (Roy 2011–2012, pp. 71–94).
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Case of Svara in Popular Music
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Take the song sung by Laṯā Maṅgēśkar ‘Khāi Hai Rē Hamnē Qasam’ from O.P. Ralhan’s 1969 Hinḏī blockbuster of Talāś. The song is originally a ćhañḏa folk song ‘śōnō gō ḏokhinō hāwā’ in terms of its musical composition. ‘śōnō gō’ features vowels at the end of each of the four words of the song which also a signature of S. D. Burman. Similarly, the Hinḏī version all the four words end with vowels. Majrūh Sultānpuri uses the Urdu word Qasam in this predominantly folk song. The beauty spot of the song is the gamak type of vocal movement on the word rēhnēki in which Maṅgēśkar recalls all her classical training to bring it out following the brief that the sound ‘nē’ of ‘rēhnēki’ must be extended. This is the language-music overlap of the term ‘svara’. I see this as an enactment of cultural identity; conscious or unconscious. Without this, the song would lose its folk as well as classical music touch. We see that the extension of the vowel more often than not brings the beauty in any song. This is a classic case of folk and classical cultures communicating with each other because culture is dynamic, and yet it is ‘selective’ (Samovar & Porter 1997, p. 13). But the bases of these selections are in SV. S.D. Burman had classical music training, yet his first love was folk music and he would walk the length and breadth of Tripurā and Bengal to listen and imbibe folk music in his compositions. When he came to Kōlkātā, he brought this composite music in the form of numerous songs, many of which were written by his wife Mīrā. Many of these tunes later would travel to Bollywood wearing Hinḏī words. While doing all this Burman did not lose his identity as a classical singer and constantly enacted this cultural identity through the singer or through his leads, background music, and interludes. He also sang folk songs that required tremendous classical music training. Today, technology has taken this music everywhere. It is S.D. Burman’s competence and adaptability of his folk and classical tunes to different contexts within India, from Tripura to Bengal to Mumbai and then to the rest of the world has brought about this intercultural communication. What is it that is essentially being communicated? This question can be answered only of we assume that ‘facets of culture are interrelated’(Samovar & Porter 1997, p. 13)? Therefore, language, linguistics, music, and other things are all interconnected being essentially core symbols. This can be drawn from the three prominent elements of cultural communication; perceptual processes, verbal processes, and nonverbal Journal of Creative Communications, 7, 3 (2012): 227–241
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processes (p. 15). Extesnion of vowel, svara (tonal aspect), ṯāl (metrical structure as per beats), rāga (mode), lay (cycles per second), and importantly āvarṯan (temporal cycle), rasa, upaj (extempore improvisation), voice range, and effective and correct pronunciation of words, among other things represent our culture and are taught to us. And these are the parameters have stuck to all Indian forms of music for several millennia. They have also become normative cultural values which ‘express themselves within a culture as rules that prescribe the behaviors that members of the culture are expected to perform’ (p. 16). These are inseparable from our cultural experience whichever form they manifest into our environment. Popular Indian music was predominantly directed by people well-trained in rāga music and keen ear for folk and western musics upto the beginning of the last decade. Even today, we have a flood of folk songs like nimboda nimboda (Māṅgniār music of Rājasṯhān) from the 1999 hit film Hum Dil De Ćukē Sanam and Gulzār’s hit number ‘kajrārē kajrārē’ (Folk song of Braj in UP, set to a Quavvāli format approximating Rāga Bhūp-Kalyāṇ/Śuḏḏha Kalyāṇ) from 2005 block-buster Bunty Aur Babli composed by Śaṅkar-Ēhsān-Loy and sung by Aliśā Ćinoy, Śaṅkar Mahādēvan, and Jāvēd Ali. Music directors like Śaṅkar Mahādēvan, who are well trained in various forms of classical and light musics are carrying ahead the legacy of the old-timers in some way. They’re enriching their music with some very sensitive Western pop and other genres. Coming back to Ćhañḏa music directors, for instance, they not only reused their own tunes they gave in Ćhañḏa films, but also would borrow from various genres of Tagore, Nazrul Islam, Ōṯulprōśāḏ, Rajanikāñṯa, D.L. Roy, and others. In most of these songs there is vocalism born out of extension of vowels, ideas of folk culture, and rāga music which are again normative cultural values. Ćhañḏa folk genres that have often been a source for Hinḏī pop include folk forms of ćhañḏa songs like ‘bāul’, ‘bhāṭiāli’, ‘sāri’, ‘ḏhamail’, ‘jhumur’, and ‘paḏābali kīrṯan’ (Liddle 2013). The interrelation of the Bollywood Hinḏī songs with any Indian folk music and classical music lies in Indian languages and their partial roots in Saṁskriṯ. It is not that only one culture uses the tunes and rāgas from another culture. In this case it is diffusion of some of very fundamental values of the mother language into regional languages of India. This diffusion brings about change, but also leaves behind a trail of continuity. Now since ‘culture defines the boundaries of various groups’ (Samovar & Porter 1997, p. 14), we see differences between musics created by Bollywood, in the folk culture, in classical music, and in the Vēḏas. Having said this, I set the stage to trace the contribution of verbal Saṁskriṯ language and linguistics to the development of SVic and of course popular Indian music.
ˉ Avartan: (Time cycle, metre, ordering principle, resulting in taˉ l) ˉ ˉ Regarding āvarṯan, Roy (2011–2012, p. 74) points out that āvarṯan was a unifying factor in such (composite of singing, dancing, and instrumental music) performances. He also shows (p. 90) that ‘āvarṯan is present wherever creativity is’. Therefore, all improvisation and change retained this core musical symbol. We cannot imagine of any Indian music whether light of classical genre without the symbols mentioned. Again a majority or popular music items cannot be conceived without them. We see the reflection of this concept in Rondo and even in Flamenco, apart from almost all Bollywood songs which use the Indian talas. Roy (2011–2012: 72–94) shows āvarṯan is the formal cause for creativity. Journal of Creative Communications, 7, 3 (2012): 227–241
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Case of ˉ Avarrt an in Popular Music ˉ
Take the case of the rondo explained by Hughes (1912, p. 256) as: ‘1. In classic music a principal subject preceding and interleaving two episodes, with much variation of key and many bridge-passages. 2. The more modern form consists of three themes with the first recurrent, thus A-B-AC-A-B’.
This is nothing but āvarṯan, and creativity based on it. The Encyclopaedia Britannica informs us the following about Rondo:
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‘The Classical rondo seems to have developed from the keyboard rondeau of the French Baroque, where a refrain of 8 or 16 measures is played in alternation with a succession of couplets (episodes) so as to form a chainlike structure of variable length: abacad, etc. A favourite example of rondeau is François Couperin’s Les baricades mistérieuses, from his Pièces de clavecin, Book 2 (1716–17; ‘Harpsichord Pieces’). This form in turn is related to the rondeauform in medieval poetry.’ (Devoto, n.d.)
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We clearly see here the nexus āvarṯan and rondo. Roy (2011–2012, p. 79) points out that, ‘the French avoir du retentissment (ӑ-vwӓr-dǔ-tӓn-tēs-mān) which means to be repeated and echoed (Hughes 1912, p. 77)’, is also a close cognate of āvarṯan, both etymologically and in meaning. An important core symbol is therefore proved to have travelled from Vēḏic culture into European music.
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If we talk of ćhanda as a cultural core symbol, then it played the role of preservation of the Vēḏic culture. Vēḏic people thought that the oral-aural tradition was more dependable, efficient, and safe because it was intangible. The relocating tendency the Vipras (those who study the Vēḏas) is also serves as a protective measure which is why they spread all over India, perhaps all over the world. Vipras according to Parpola (2000, p. 10) are the most relocating groups of people in India. There is a very solid, clear, and scientific relationship between metrical aspects of words that appear in mañṯras of SV and their musicality. The metrical aspect is roughly embedded in the ćhandas primarily related to the pronunciation of mañṯra with respect to its length. Main among the ćañḏas are the Gāyaṯri, Uṣṇika, Anuṣṭupa, Pañkṯi, Brihaṯi Ūṣṇika, Ṯriṣṭubha, and Jagaṯi (Dalai 207, p. 743). Although the etymology of ‘ćhañḏa’ traces it to ‘ćhāḏayaṯi’ or protecting the mañṯras like a ćhaṯrī (umbrella) protects us from rain and sunlight, in the musical sense ćhañḏa helps keeping a mañṯra/song protected in our memory. This is especially relevant or critical to a culture that is communicated primarily by the oral-aural route from one generation to the other and for thousands of years. However, Bagchee (1998, p. 127) defines ćhanda for music students as ‘a metrical pattern used to denote the characteristic meter of a particular ṯāl. Actually this metrical pattern or ćhañḏa is also an āvarṯan or a cyclic which Roy (2011–2012, p. 75) has shown to be the cause of creativity in khayāl and ḏhrupaḏ forms of music and hence the carrier of rāga from one generation to the other. This freedom of creativity makes rāga and compositions to be culturally communicated. Journal of Creative Communications, 7, 3 (2012): 227–241
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St obhas: Extra-textual ˉ
SV is a separate set of mañṯras based on an additional set of syllables called sṯōbhākṣaras which were found necessary for this mode of cultural communication. ‘Sṯōbhas not only set the pace of SG, serve as ālāpa meant to communicate its content’ (Roy 2013). However, these are extra-textual according to Howard (1988, Introduction). These kind of musical interjections like Sṯōbhas are therefore new to our music, albeit in Vēḏic exegetic literature these are based on linguistic considerations. However Sṯōbhas are much more than meets the eye in the Vēḏic context than they appear to be (Roy 2013).
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Regarding the other aspect of rāga in music the Sāmrahasya Upaniśaḏ describes a girl with several qualities as rāgaraṅgasugañḏharasavīṇāvēnupraṇālikā. This ‘rāga’ obviously is the musical ‘rāga’ and not ‘anger’ because both, the words in this adjective and the context point clearly to music; the words ‘raṅg’ (colour), sugañḏha (odour), rasa (flavour), vīṇā (the ancient stringed instrument), and vēṇu (flute) and the fact that this Upaniśaḏ refers to SV. This is a vindication of what I have theorized in earlier paragraphs. Among the Vēḏic, Persian, Arabic, and Greek where conduct of music has in the past revolved around rāga-like music. Since Vēḏic music has been shown to be the oldest among these, it is obvious that this cultural material travelled out of India into these cultures and got absorbed into their music environments, which may not necessarily be classical.
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Wherever Indians have gone, due to their long history, they have maintained a cultural continuum. Take the case of the Flameco folk that took shape among the poor and suppressed class of Spain’s Andalusians and passed by the oral route from generation to generation (Faucher 1999). Interestingly, the author of this article author says that the individual artists use the traditional forms ‘as the basis of her own variations’. The performance included singing, dancing, and instrument (guitar). Compare these three things with Indian classical music and even the Sama Vēḏa. Both are passed down by the oral route, there is scope for improvisation in both based on the traditional tunes, and both fall under the art called Sangeet which necessitates the inclusion of gāna (singing), vāḏya (instrument playing), and nriṯṯa (dance). All these three are identical in Flamenco. Further, the Flamenco music has developed from the music of different communities namely the ‘Gypsies, Moors or Arabs, Jews, and indigenous Andalusians of Spain’ writes Faucher. And according to the author the Flameco of the so-called Gypsies is called Cantes Gitano. Cantes comes very close to the word ‘ćañḏas’ and Gitano comes rather close to gīṯ which means song in Saṁskriṯ and in many Indian languages. Moreover, Gypsies, it is now known, migrated from western India around 1000 years back. The following passage is revealing: ‘ . . . even if indeed large gypsy populations are to be found there (in Bulgaria they represent 15 % of the population, 10 % in Hungary and 7 % in Romania). Gypsies (or Romani, as they call themselves, the Gypsy word for ‘men’) originated in northern India 1,000 years ago. Their language, called Romani, is undoubtedly related
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to Hindu and other Indian languages (named Indo-Aryan). Nobody knows why they left India. Some say that their ancestors, artisans and artists, accompanied troops and after some military conflicts left India. By 1,300 AD they reached Europe, after passing through Persia and Turkey. In Spain, they are called gitanos, in Germany zigeuner, in Hungary cigany, in Romania tigani, in France gitanos, and many consider these terms as pejorative, but in fact this is the only way people can identify them; Romani is a new term.’ (Anitei, Novermber 28, 2007)
Note that the Gypsies travelled via Persia to Europe. Now, take the case of the case of guitar which the Gypsies use for their Gitano. It is well known that Guitar comes from India which is clear in the following passage by the same author:
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‘The six string classical guitar first appeared in Spain but was itself the product of a long and complex history of diverse influences. Like virtually all other stringed European instruments, the guitar ultimately traces back thousands of years, via the Middle East, to a common ancient origin from instruments then known in central Asia and India. It is therefore very distantly related with contemporary instruments such as the Iranian tanbur and setar and the Indian siṯār. The oldest known iconographic representation of an instrument displaying all the essential features of a guitar being played is a 3300 year old stone carving of a Hittitebard. The modern word, guitar, was adopted into English from Spanish guitarra, derived from the Latin word cithara, which in turn was derived from the earlier Greek word kithara, which perhaps derives from Persian sihtar. Sihtar itself is related to the Indian instrument, the siṯār.’
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The facts that the Gypsies travelled from India to Europe via Persia is again a testimony of the Indian roots of the Persian Cetar/Citar. Note that ‘tar’ of guitar/citar/siṯār means wire even today in India. Also, Siṯār has six to seven main strings and around 20 others. The old guitar too has six strings. (n.a, 2009). Even Historian Jose Carlos de Luna and, philologists August F. Pott and Franz Xavier von Miklosich separately confirm that Gypsies indeed are from India (Foster 1987). Pohren (1964, p. 254) too ‘speculates that Hindu musicians could have introduced the kithar asiria to Spain while visiting Cadiz before the coming of the Romans, perhaps during the reign of the Greeks, from 500–250 BC.’ It is natural that with people their commodities also moved. London-based free lance fiddler Haigh (n.d) writes that Rāvaṇa is said to have invented the Rāvaṇasṯron; the first stringed bow instrument and the fiddle is its descendent. Rāvaṇa was known to be a SVic Brāhmaṇa and music was his first passion. Now Waltz is another form of the Ḏāḏrā ṯāl. Therefore, Ravindranath Tagore’s ‘āmi ćīnī gō ćīnī ṯōmāre’ cannot be labeled fully as a song influenced by Western music although it appears so prima facie. Here we see the use of different labels for almost the same things in different cultures may become misleading while deciding from where such nexuses begin. Obviously, older cultures where such things were already present with different labels were the starting points. Yet back home, they have not been insecure and therefore absorbed aspects of other cultures. There is a higher degree of circulation today especially due to media. Miśrā of the Centre for Indian Diaspora, Hyderabad says that, ‘circulation of ideas, people, and commodities are interlinked and influence each other’ (2012, p. 147). Just as human being persist and assimilate, so do their products. Therefore, we can conclude that Gypsies may have taken the siṯār with them and the siṯār may have got modified in the due course because the siṯār as it is very difficult to carry. Its bulky parts may have given way to flatter alternatives. We cannot conceive of any genre of music without reverberation of sound which amounts to some kind of melody or harmony, without beats that give us a sense of time and without the combination of both that gives us a sense of space and movement. Also, we term as ‘music’ only such phenomena which Journal of Creative Communications, 7, 3 (2012): 227–241
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at least some humans find musical. Then popular music has to be adequately musical to the ears of the masses to be termed as popular music. Now take the word ‘śruṯi’ which means heard or hearing. The root of this word according to Gōviñd Śaṅkar Śāsṯri Bāpaṭ (1998, p. 92) is Saṁskriṯ ‘śru’ which does not change in Zend, but becomes ‘śunḏan’ in Persian. There are cognates of Saṁskriṯ musical terms in Zend, Greek, and Latin; e.g., take the word ‘sam’ which means same and practically is at the center of the ṯāl āvarṯan. In Zend it becomes ‘ham’, in Greek it becomes ‘homoz’, in Latin it is ‘similis’ (p. 86). The Latin word for ‘teeth’ is ‘dentum’ and its Greek is ‘odont’ and Zend is ‘ḏaṯan’, while the Saṁskriṯ is ‘ḏañṯa. These words form a nexus beginning with Saṁskriṯ. While looking at pronunciation of English letter ‘n’ between a vowel and consonant, we witness its dependence on Saṁskriṯ letters ‘ka’, ‘kha’, ‘gha’, etc. rather than English letters a, b, c etc. that follow it.4 It functions, albeit more simply, as the Saṁskriṯ ‘anusvār’ which is the ‘nasal after-sound appended to a vowel, and normally followed by a consonant’ (Wikner, March 5, 1999). Now, if we examine the pronunciation of the anusvār in Saṁskriṯ and in English we see that English follows the rules of Saṁskriṯ and not that of its own. For instance that he Saṁskriṯ name (a rāga). The ‘n’ is pronounced with respect to the next letter which is ‘ka’. This comes from the rule in Vēḏic Saṁskriṯ wherein anusvār takes the sound of the last letter of the series of the subsequent letter to the anusvār; if it is ‘ka’ then the last Saṁskriṯ letter in this series is ‘ṅ’. Now, take the pronunciation of the English word ‘tank’. Here too the ‘n’ is pronounced as ‘ṅ’. Similarly, the ‘n’ in the English word ‘pant’ will be pronounced as ‘ṇ’ just because the last letter in the series of words starting with Saṁskriṯ ‘ṭa’ which follows ‘n’ is ‘ṇ’ in deed. We see English not following the phonetic sounds of ‘a,b,c,d . . .’ but that of ‘ka, kha, ga, gha . . . ’ of Saṁskriṯ. This illustrates that Saṁskriṯ has contributed to English pronunciation probably via Latin, but its rules are based on Saṁskriṯ rules. While singing a word in English only certain syllables can be elongated and others are not. This very rule was formulated in Vēḏas in general and SV in particular. Although RV and YV clearly incorporate music, SV is the earliest instance of a scientific integration of linguistics and musical notes, rāga, and ćhañda. The idea of svara is clearly spelt out in the Śikṣā (that which deal with pronunciation) and Prāṯiśākhya (structuring dynamics of Vēḏas) literature and in the Saṁskriṯ grammar tradition. They are the ‘mediums of to understand meaning of the Vēḏas’ (Hunnargikar & Kulkarni, 2012). The svaras are called uḏāṯṯa, an uḏāṯṯa, and svariṯa which are the first ever formulation of accent in the history of mankind which will be shown in the next section. This is also the starting point in human history of the formulation of seven svaras or the seven musical notes. The SV of the Kauthuma recension uses right hand fingers to indicate which svara is being applied to which part of the mañṯra. Tonic Sol-Fa notation was devised (after the ancient Guidonian gamut) by Sarah Ann Glover of Norwich. After popularizing it John Curwen in 1870 developed hand signs in for the sol-fa syllables. Even the Druids of the Celtic culture, especially of Ireland apart from innumerable commonalities with the Vēḏic culture (Campbell 2000), had fundamental similarities. Even today, we see experiments of Celtic and Indian classical becoming great successes and having a mass appeal. For instance the ‘Celtic Ragas’ by Ćinmaya Dunster and Vidroha Jamie combine Celtic and Indian instrumentation.
Conclusion In the case of Vēdic music, continuity has been achieved not only by their preservation, but also by change without altering core cultural values. So when we see conduct of popular music today, we find Journal of Creative Communications, 7, 3 (2012): 227–241
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these values deeply embedded in them. While this is clear evidence of continuity, we also see physical materials that the ancient Indian culture instantiated travelling to different areas of the world and adapting to changed circumstances and themselves going through change. Even then the linguistic and philological traces of their motherland stuck to these changed materials. Cultural communication helped continuity. We also saw in India and elsewhere how co-cultures exist and communicate among themselves. It is shown in this paper with examples how core cultural values of the language of the Vēḏas and their musical conceptions are even to this day reflected in popular musics.
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APPENDIX 1
Source: Martinez, J.M., 1997. Semiosis of Hindustani Music. Imatra, Helsinki: International Semiotics Institute.
I have added pronunciation of ‘ṯ’, instead of ‘ta’ and ‘ḏ’ instead of ‘da’. I have also introduced ḷ to bring out the sound of the ‘l’ used in languages like Tamiḷ, although it is originally used for the Devanagarai ‘lu’.
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APPENDIX II-Abbreviations SV: Sāma Vēḏa RV: Ṛg Vēḏa NSi: Nāraḏīya Śikṣā BD: Brihaḏḏeśi Notes
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1. A Key to pronunciation is given in Appendix I. 2. Abbreviations are given in Appendix II. 3. SV and its exegetic literature deal with pronunciations specific to this Vēḏa and musical enunciation, music practice, and theory. 4. I will not go into the great complexities that exist in the pronunciation of the anusvār in the four Vēḏas, but what I present here is a simplistic explanation.
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References
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Dr. Subroto Roy 06, Purushottam Apartments 18, Shilavihar Colony Erandawne, Pune 411038 Maharashtra. E-mail:
[email protected]
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