JayanthiKumaresh
ArjunKumar
PramathKiran
NavaMantralaya
01 vAtApi gaNapatim bhajEham hamsadhvani Adi m.dIkshitar (A)
02 brOchEvA revarurA kAmAch Adi mysUru vAsudhEvAchAr
03 pAlaya gOvinda gAnamUrti Adi GanapatiSachhidAnandaSwamiji
04 raghuvara nannu kAmavarDhini Adhi tyAgarAja (A, S)
06 muddugArE yashOda janjhUTi Adi aNNamAchArya
07 pavanaja stuti pAtra kuranji K Chapu tyAgarAja
08 AbhEri Sindhubhairavi - Dual raga AlApane
09 tambUri mITidava bhavAbdhi dATidava sindhubhairavi eka p.dAsa
10 miSra Shivaranjani tillAna Adi LGJ
11 mangaLa madhyamAvati medley
When the Veena Became a Voice
There are concerts in which the instrument is heard, and there are concerts in which the instrument seems to speak. The veena, perhaps more than any other Carnatic instrument, has the ability to inhabit that space between voice and pure instrumental sound. In the hands of an accomplished artiste, a phrase can acquire the weight of a sung line, a gamaka can seem to carry the emotion of a word, and silence itself can become part of the musical expression.
Vid. Jayanthi Kumaresh concert at Nava Mantralaya, accompanied by Vid. Arjun Kumar on mridangam and Vid. Pramath Kiran on percussion, was a wonderful demonstration of this expressive potential. The programme was carefully balanced, moving from the sparkling architecture of Hamsadhwani and the classical richness of Khamas and Kamavardhini to the more contemplative worlds of Kuranji, Abheri and Sindhubhairavi. By the time the concert reached the tillana and the concluding Madhyamavati medley, the evening had travelled through a remarkably broad emotional landscape.
The opening “Vatapi Ganapatim Bhajeh̄am” in Hamsadhwani, by Muthuswami Dikshitar, set to Adi tala and preceded by alapana, was an immediately appropriate beginning. Hamsadhwani has a natural brilliance and an unmistakable ability to energise a concert from its very first phrase. Dikshitar's composition, meanwhile, gives the raga a weight and grandeur that prevents the opening from becoming merely celebratory.
The choice was especially apt for the veena. Hamsadhwani's clean melodic contours allow the instrument's clarity to come through, while the gamaka-rich treatment of the composition provides ample scope for the distinctive voice of the veena. The opening alapana established the raga before the kriti, allowing the concert to begin not simply with a composition but with a statement of melodic identity.
The second item, “Brochevarevarura” in Khamas, by Mysore Vasudevacharya, brought a contrasting mood. Khamas has an extraordinary combination of elegance, charm and expressive flexibility. The movement from Hamsadhwani to Khamas therefore changed the atmosphere without disturbing the momentum established by the opening.
Mysore Vasudevacharya's compositions are particularly rewarding in a concert such as this because they bring the listener into the rich Mysore compositional tradition. The programme was already demonstrating that it would not be confined to the most predictable composer repertoire.
Next came “Palaya Govinda” in Ganamurti, attributed to Ganapati Sachchidananda Swamiji. The choice of this composition introduced another striking colour. Ganamurti is not a raga that one encounters with the same frequency as Hamsadhwani or Khamas, and its inclusion added an element of discovery to the programme. It was one of several indications that the evening was designed not simply to showcase familiar favourites but to explore a wider Carnatic vocabulary.
The programme then moved into a more substantial classical zone with Tyagaraja's “Raghuvara Nannu” in Kamavardhini, set to Adi tala, with alapana and swaras.
Kamavardhini has an intensity that immediately changes the temperature of a concert. It is a raga capable of extraordinary emotional force, and giving it space for an alapana before entering the kriti allowed the melodic personality of the raga to emerge fully. The subsequent swara passages brought the rhythmic and melodic dimensions together, providing one of the early highlights of the evening.
The contrast between the preceding Ganamurti and Kamavardhini was particularly effective. The programme was continually moving between different shades of melody, never allowing the listener to settle too comfortably into one colour.
After this substantial classical stretch, the concert moved towards a more devotional and lyrical atmosphere with “Muddugare Yashoda” in Jhanjhuti, an Adi tala composition of Annamacharya. This was an inspired change of mood. The composition's Krishna-centric devotional imagery and the distinctive character of Jhanjhuti brought warmth and intimacy into the programme.
The following “Pavanaja Stuti Patra” in Kuranji, set to Khanda Chapu and attributed to Tyagaraja, continued the devotional thread. Kuranji is an especially delicate raga, and its presence after Jhanjhuti created a softer and more inward atmosphere.
The choice of these two compositions in succession was one of the more attractive features of the programme. The evening was gradually moving away from the expansive, technically oriented territory of Kamavardhini and towards a more intimate devotional expression.
And then came perhaps the most intriguing musical idea of the concert: an Abheri–Sindhubhairavi dual-raga alapana.
This was a particularly imaginative choice. Both Abheri and Sindhubhairavi possess enormous expressive potential, yet they evoke quite different shades of musical experience. To hear them explored in juxtaposition creates an interesting exercise in listening—one begins to notice not merely the identity of each raga, but the subtle differences in colour, contour and emotional atmosphere.
The dual-raga alapana was followed by Purandara Dasa's “Tamburi Meetidava Bhavabdhi Datidava” in Sindhubhairavi, set to Eka tala.
The connection between the alapana and this composition was especially satisfying. Sindhubhairavi is perhaps at its most compelling when it becomes a vehicle for direct emotional communication, and Purandara Dasa's devotional composition sits naturally within that world. The tambura itself becomes the subject of the composition, creating a beautiful connection between music, instrument and devotion.
This section seems to have been one of the evening's most distinctive moments—not because it relied on sheer musical spectacle, but because of the conceptual and emotional continuity between the dual-raga exploration and the composition that followed.
The concert then moved into Mishra Shivaranjani tillana in Adi tala by Lalgudi G. Jayaraman. After the devotional introspection of Sindhubhairavi, the tillana brought a welcome injection of rhythmic energy.
A Lalgudi tillana is, of course, a wonderful vehicle for combining melodic grace with rhythmic precision. Mishra Shivaranjani adds its own evocative colour, making the piece more than a purely percussive finale. The melody remains important, but the rhythmic architecture becomes increasingly prominent.
The concluding Madhyamavati medley brought the evening to a graceful close.
Madhyamavati has long occupied a special place in the concluding portion of Carnatic concerts. Its pentatonic simplicity and serene character can create an atmosphere of completion without requiring theatricality. Ending with a Madhyamavati medley therefore gave the concert an appropriately tranquil landing after the rhythmic exuberance of the tillana.
Looking at the programme as a whole, what stands out is its remarkable variety. The concert began with Hamsadhwani and moved through Khamas and Ganamurti, entered the intense territory of Kamavardhini, softened through Jhanjhuti and Kuranji, and then arrived at the expressive pairing of Abheri and Sindhubhairavi. The latter part brought Purandara Dasa, the Lalgudi tillana and finally Madhyamavati.
This is an unusually satisfying arc because the concert does not simply become progressively heavier. Instead, it breathes.
There is brightness at the beginning, classical weight in the middle, devotional intimacy later, rhythmic exuberance towards the end and finally serenity. The emotional architecture is therefore almost as interesting as the individual musical selections.
The choice of composers also deserves appreciation. Muthuswami Dikshitar, Mysore Vasudevacharya, Ganapati Sachchidananda Swamiji, Tyagaraja, Annamacharya, Purandara Dasa and Lalgudi G. Jayaraman represent very different compositional traditions and musical eras. Yet the programme brings them together without making the concert feel historically fragmented.
That is one of the pleasures of listening to a mature musician curate a programme: the repertoire itself becomes a conversation across generations.
And at the centre of that conversation was the veena.
Jayanthi Kumaresh has the formidable task of making an instrument with such a strong historical identity feel immediate and contemporary. The veena can sometimes be approached primarily as an object of reverence, but the finest performances remind us that it is not merely a museum piece from an ancient tradition. It remains a wonderfully expressive concert instrument, capable of intimacy, brilliance, gravitas and extraordinary melodic detail.
The repertoire chosen for this concert played directly into those possibilities. Hamsadhwani showcased clarity; Khamas allowed lyricism; Kamavardhini provided intensity; Jhanjhuti and Kuranji brought delicacy; and Abheri–Sindhubhairavi created a deeply evocative expressive space.
The percussion pairing of Arjun Kumar and Pramath Kiran complemented this journey. The mridangam and accompanying percussion provided the rhythmic foundation necessary for a programme that moved between kriti-based rendering, swara passages, devotional pieces and a tillana. The rhythmic dimension was particularly important in preventing the latter half from becoming overly contemplative.
But perhaps the most memorable quality of the concert was its musical personality.
It did not seem to be striving for novelty for novelty's sake. Nor did it depend entirely on the familiar. Instead, there was a healthy balance between both. “Vatapi Ganapatim,” “Brochevarevarura,” “Muddugare Yashoda” and “Tamburi Meetidava” provide immediate points of connection, while Ganamurti, Kuranji and the Abheri–Sindhubhairavi exploration bring an element of surprise.
The result was a concert that felt curious, confident and deeply musical.
The most rewarding concerts are often those that make the listener look at familiar music differently. A well-known composition acquires another shade; a less familiar raga suddenly becomes memorable; a transition between two pieces begins to feel inevitable only after one has heard it.
This concert had several such qualities.
The final Madhyamavati medley seemed to gather the evening's many threads together. The brilliant opening, the classical intensity of Kamavardhini, the tenderness of Jhanjhuti and Kuranji, the striking Abheri–Sindhubhairavi exploration, the devotional warmth of Sindhubhairavi and the rhythmic sparkle of the tillana had all contributed their own colours.
What remained at the end was a feeling of completeness rather than spectacle.
For me, this was one of those concerts where the instrument itself became the storyteller. The veena carried the melodic narrative from invocation to introspection, from classical architecture to devotional expression, and finally into the quiet repose of Madhyamavati.
Jayanthi Kumaresh, with Arjun Kumar and Pramath Kiran, offered a richly textured and beautifully varied evening at Nava Mantralaya. The concert combined virtuosity with warmth, repertoire imagination with tradition, and rhythmic vitality with genuine melodic sensitivity.
The programme was luminous in its opening, expansive at its centre, intimate in its devotional passages and serene in its conclusion.
And the most memorable thread running through it all was the unmistakable voice of the veena—sometimes brilliant, sometimes meditative, sometimes playful, but always eloquent.
A concert of exquisite musical colour, thoughtful curation and lingering emotional resonance—the kind of performance that leaves the rasika not merely impressed, but grateful for having listened.
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