2026 Aug 28 AbhishekRaghuram HMSmitha KishoreRamesh SunaadAnoor at Odukattur

Vocal: Vid. AbhishekRaghuram 

Violin: Vid HMSmitha 

Mridanga: Vid. KishoreRamesh 

Khanjira Vid. SunaadAnoor 

Venue : Odukattur / Janmashtami Celebrations

Song List:

01 sarasUDa ninnE kOri sAvEri Adhi kotthavAsal venkatarAma iyer

02 ninnuvinA marigalada ritigaula rUpaka syAmA shAstri (O)

04 sArasAkSha paripAlaya kAmavarDhini ChApu swAthi thirunAL (A, N, S,T)

05 viruttum

06 KaNDu kaNDu nI enna sahAna purandara dAsa

07 bhAgyAda lakshmi bAramma mAND Adi purandara dAsa

08 sukhi evvarO rAma nAma kAnada Adhi tyAgarAja

09 viruttum

10 akshaya linga vibhO svayambhO shankarAbharaNa mCApu m.dhIkshitar

Abhishek Raghuram at Odukathur — A Concert of Musical Depth and Quiet Brilliance

Some concerts impress you. Some concerts excite you. And then there are those rare concerts where, somewhere along the way, one simply stops analysing and becomes completely absorbed in the music. The concert by Abhishek Raghuram, accompanied by H. M. Smitha on violin, Kishore Ramesh on mridangam and Sunaad Anoor on Khanajira, was very much in the last category. It was an evening of remarkable musical imagination, exquisite raga bhava and an unusually compelling conversation between the four musicians.

For me, this was a 10/10 listening experience.

The programme itself was beautifully put together. There was no attempt to make the concert a parade of predictable choices. Instead, it travelled through Saveri, Ritigaula, Pantuvarali, Karnataka Devagandhari, Kannada Gandhara, Sahana, Mand, Kanada and finally Sankarabharana, with viruttams and bhajans creating natural bridges between the classical and devotional dimensions of the evening. The repertoire revealed a musician who is clearly comfortable inhabiting both the grammar and the expressive possibilities of Carnatic music.

The concert began with “Sarasuda Ninne Kori” in Saveri, composed by Kothavasal Venkatarama Iyer and set to Adi tala. Saveri is an interesting choice to open a concert: unmistakably classical, deeply rooted and capable of immediately bringing the listener into the Carnatic soundscape. The varnam made for a purposeful beginning, establishing the tonal and rhythmic foundation before the concert moved into a very different emotional territory.

The second item, Syama Sastri's “Ninnuvina Marigalada” in Ritigaula, set to Rupaka tala, brought with it an altogether different mood. Ritigaula has that fascinating ability to sound simultaneously intimate and majestic. It is a raga where the emotional character is often conveyed through the shape and weight of individual phrases rather than through overt musical drama. The choice of Syama Sastri here was particularly satisfying, and the composition provided a beautiful counterpoint to the opening Saveri.

Then came the first major raga exploration of the evening: Pantuvarali alapana, followed by Swati Tirunal's “Sarasaksha Paripalaya” in Kamavardhini, set to Chapu tala. The Pantuvarali/Kamavardhini combination opened up a much more expansive and intense musical space. This is music that does not merely decorate the raga; it asks the listener to enter it.

The alapana was an important turning point in the concert. After the structured opening pieces, the music now acquired greater freedom. Pantuvarali, with its inherent intensity and almost incandescent quality, is particularly suited to a vocalist with Abhishek's expansive musical personality. What followed in “Sarasaksha Paripalaya” gave the raga a compositional framework while retaining the sense of openness created by the alapana.

The tani avartanam followed, bringing the rhythmic spotlight onto Kishore Ramesh and Sunaad Anoor. The mridangam and Khanjira combination added a fascinating layer to the concert. The percussion was not simply functioning as an accompaniment to the vocalist; it became another voice in the larger musical conversation. The presence of both instruments allowed the rhythmic texture to acquire additional colour and dimension.

The concert then took a particularly interesting turn with a viruttam, leading into Purandara Dasa's “Kandu Kandu Nee Enna” in Sahana.

This was one of the most aesthetically pleasing transitions of the evening. Sahana is a raga of extraordinary emotional delicacy. It does not need flamboyance to make an impact. Its appeal lies in its tenderness, poignancy and ability to suggest a great deal through apparently simple melodic movement. Purandara Dasa's devotional poetry sits beautifully within this framework. The combination created an intimate atmosphere, almost as though the concert had temporarily stepped away from the formal concert stage and entered the world of personal devotion.

The next item, “Bhagyada Lakshmi Baramma” in Mand, again by Purandara Dasa, continued the devotional thread. Mand brings an appealing lightness and folk-inflected charm, and the transition from Sahana to Mand was wonderfully natural. Here was another example of the programme's intelligent pacing: rather than sustaining one emotional intensity indefinitely, it allowed the mood to soften and brighten.

One could almost sense the concert changing colour with every major selection.

The next major item was Tyagaraja's “Sukhi Evvaro Rama Nama” in Kanada, set to Adi tala. Kanada is a raga that can be extraordinarily rewarding in the hands of an imaginative musician. It carries a certain depth and maturity, and Tyagaraja's composition gives it an especially appropriate devotional vehicle. The choice also brought the concert back from the lighter devotional Mand into a more substantial classical mood.

Another viruttam followed, providing yet another moment of freedom before the final major composition of the evening.

The concluding piece was Muthuswami Dikshitar's “Akshaya Linga Vibho Swayambho” in Sankarabharana, set to Misra Chapu. What an appropriate way to bring such a concert towards its conclusion. Sankarabharana is foundational, expansive and seemingly inexhaustible, yet Dikshitar's composition reveals its grandeur through a highly crafted classical architecture. After the succession of contrasting ragas earlier in the concert, returning to Sankarabharana at the end had a sense of arrival.

What I particularly enjoyed about the programme was the balance between discovery and familiarity. Saveri, Ritigaula and Sankarabharana are deeply familiar territories to the seasoned rasika, while Karnataka Devagandhari, Kannada Gandhara and the particular combinations in the programme offered opportunities for exploration. The devotional selections by Purandara Dasa and the viruttams provided further contrast.

And this is where Abhishek's musical personality becomes so engaging.

There is an extraordinary restlessness of musical imagination in his singing—not restlessness in the sense of impatience, but a sense that the music is continually searching for another possibility. This quality has been noted by rasikas over the years: his performances can carry tremendous energy and an abundance of ideas, sometimes creating an almost exhilarating sense of musical momentum.

Yet what makes this concert especially satisfying is that the imagination is being channelled through a repertoire that offers plenty of room for bhava, melodic nuance and repose.

The accompanists deserve equal appreciation. H. M. Smitha provided the violin voice with sensitivity and musical attentiveness, making the violin an integral part of the concert rather than a parallel performance. Kishore Ramesh on mridangam and Sunaad Anoor on Khanjira brought considerable rhythmic vitality to the proceedings. The ensemble clearly had the ingredients for the kind of spontaneous musical exchange that can elevate a concert beyond a sequence of individual performances.

What stayed with me most was the sense of musical continuity. The concert did not feel like eleven disconnected items. The varnam led into the kritis; the alapana opened larger melodic spaces; the tani created a rhythmic punctuation; the viruttams provided moments of contemplative freedom; and the Purandara Dasa compositions brought the devotional dimension into sharper focus. Even the final Sankarabharana felt like part of a larger journey.

There was also something wonderfully unpretentious about the overall repertoire. The concert did not appear to be constructed merely to showcase virtuosity. Of course, a musician of Abhishek's calibre possesses formidable technical resources, but technique here seemed to serve the larger purpose of musical expression. The best moments in a concert are not necessarily the ones that make the audience gasp; sometimes they are the ones that quietly make the listener lean forward.

This evening had many such moments.

It reminded me why live Carnatic music can be such an extraordinary experience. A recording can preserve notes, phrases and compositions, but a live concert captures something more elusive—the collective concentration of vocalist, violinist, percussionists and audience. A good concert creates its own atmosphere, and a great one makes that atmosphere difficult to leave behind.

This was, for me, a deeply immersive and richly rewarding concert. The music was vibrant without becoming merely demonstrative, contemplative without becoming languid, and traditional without becoming predictable. The repertoire allowed Abhishek Raghuram to move across a remarkable spectrum of Carnatic expression, while the accompaniment provided a strong and sensitive musical foundation.

The final Sankarabharana left the evening with a feeling of quiet completeness. One came away not with the sense that a concert had simply ended, but that a particularly rewarding musical journey had reached its natural destination.

Abhishek Raghuram, H. M. Smitha, Kishore Ramesh and Sunaad Anoor gave us an evening where melody, rhythm, poetry and devotion came together with exceptional coherence.

For a rasika, there is little more one can ask for.

10/10. A memorable concert. A truly absorbing listening experience.

2026 Aug 29 TMKrishna HKVenkatram KArunPrakash SunilKumar @ Odukattur

Vocal: Vid. TMKrishna 

Violin: Vid. HKVenkatram 

Mridanga: Vid. KArunPrakash 

Khanjira: Vid. SunilKumar 

01 shankari nIve bEgaDe rUpaka subbarAya shAstri

02 rAga tAna pUrvikalyANi MukhAri

03 chinna nADenA chEyi kalAnidhi Adhi tyAgarAja

04 karnATaka dEvagAndhAri AlApane

05 shrI tuLasamma mayinta nelakonavamma dEvagAndhAri Adi tyAgarAja

06 shankaram sharanAgata vatsalam kannaDa gAndhAra Adi RKSK (A, N, S, T)

07 sAvare aijiyyo yamunA kinAre miSra khamAj mIra bhajan

08 enna thavam shaidhanai kApi Adhi pApanAsham shivan

09 vaishNava janatO Mishra khamAj Adi Narsi Mehta

A Mesmerising Evening of Musical Conversation

There are concerts that one listens to, and then there are concerts that one experiences. The concert by T. M. Krishna, with H. K. Venkatram on violin, K. Arun Prakash on mridangam and Sunil Kumar on the Khanjira, belonged unmistakably to the latter category. It was a deeply absorbing evening in which music seemed to unfold organically, without the feeling of being driven towards a predetermined destination. The four musicians brought together formidable musical experience, individuality and sensitivity, resulting in a performance that was both intellectually stimulating and emotionally compelling. For a rasika, it was the kind of concert in which one gradually stops keeping track of time and simply surrenders to the music.

The opening “Shankari Neeve” in Begada, composed by Subbaraya Shastri and set to Rupaka tala, immediately established the character of the evening. Begada is a raga whose personality can be easily diminished when approached merely as a collection of familiar phrases. In the hands of a sensitive musician, however, its unmistakable grandeur, grace and slightly elusive character emerge naturally. The opening kriti provided a dignified entry into the concert, and the choice of Subbaraya Shastri was itself a lovely reminder of the extraordinary richness of the Carnatic compositional tradition beyond the most frequently performed repertoire.

What followed was a substantial exploration of Purvikalyani, with raga and tana, followed by Tyagaraja's “Chinna Nadena Cheyi” in Kalanidhi, set to Adi tala. The transition from the evocative world of Begada to the expansive emotional territory of Purvikalyani gave the concert an entirely different dimension. Purvikalyani has a naturally searching quality; it can sound luminous one moment and intensely introspective the next. The raga-tana presentation provided the first major opportunity for the evening to breathe expansively, and the subsequent kriti brought the music back from abstraction into the structured world of composition.

The concert then entered one of its most rewarding phases with the Karnataka Devagandhari alapana. This was followed by Tyagaraja's “Sri Tulasamma Mayinta Nelakonavamma” in Karnataka Devagandhari, set to Adi tala. The choice was exquisite. Karnataka Devagandhari possesses a distinctive emotional fragrance, and its appeal lies partly in the subtlety of its identity. It does not demand attention through sheer dramatic force; rather, it draws the listener inward through its gentle, poignant contours. The alapana and the kriti together formed a particularly satisfying musical pairing, allowing the raga to be encountered first in its unrestrained melodic form and then through the composer's carefully fashioned creation.

One of the pleasures of a concert of this calibre is noticing how deliberately the musical landscape changes without ever feeling fragmented. The movement from Karnataka Devagandhari to Kannada Gandhara created precisely such a moment. Another alapana opened up this distinctive raga, followed by “Shankaram Sharanagata Vatsalam” in Kannada Gandhara, an Adi tala composition of R. K. Srikantan's repertoire. Here again, the choice was compelling. Instead of relying entirely on the familiar raga-kriti combinations that dominate many concert programmes, the presentation gave space to less routinely encountered musical colours.

Kannada Gandhara, with its unusual melodic personality, seemed particularly well suited to a concert that valued exploration and listening rather than predictability. The juxtaposition of the two alapana segments—Karnataka Devagandhari and Kannada Gandhara—was one of the programme's most thoughtful features. They demonstrated how two comparatively less commonplace raga worlds can create very different shades of emotion and atmosphere. It was a reminder that the Carnatic tradition is at its most fascinating when its vast repertoire is allowed to breathe.

The tani avartanam that followed brought the rhythmic dimension of the concert into sharp focus. With K. Arun Prakash on mridangam and Sunil Kumar on Khanjira, the percussion combination had an impressive breadth of sonic possibility. The tani was not merely an interlude between the main musical sections; it represented the independent vitality of laya within the larger architecture of the concert. The rhythmic dialogue between mridangam and Khanjira added another layer to an evening that had already moved through several contrasting melodic landscapes.

The post-tani portion took an entirely different turn with the Mirabai bhajan “Savare Aijiyyo Yamuna Kinare” in Mishra Khamaj. This was a particularly natural transition. After the density and sophistication of the preceding Carnatic presentation, the bhajan opened up a more direct devotional space. Mishra Khamaj, with its graceful mixture of classical structure and expressive accessibility, provided an ideal vehicle for this shift. The atmosphere became more intimate, and the devotional character of the composition allowed the music to communicate without the need for elaborate musical architecture.

Then came Papanasam Sivan's “Enna Tavam Seithanai” in Kapi, in Adi tala. This was perhaps one of those moments where the familiar can become newly meaningful. Kapi is a raga of extraordinary emotional versatility, and Papanasam Sivan's composition carries an unmistakable devotional tenderness. Coming after the Mirabai bhajan, the choice created a beautiful continuity of bhava. The concert had moved from the sophisticated architecture of raga and tala towards the more direct language of devotion, but without compromising musical depth.

The final item, “Vaishnava Janato” in Mishra Khamaj, set to Adi tala and attributed to Narsi Mehta, brought the evening to a deeply evocative close. The placement of this bhajan at the conclusion felt particularly apt. It did not attempt to end the concert with a spectacular flourish; instead, it left the listener in a contemplative and devotional space. The final impression was therefore not one of exhaustion after a long musical journey, but of having arrived somewhere quiet and inward.

What made the concert particularly memorable was the way T. M. Krishna's musical personality interacted with the exceptional calibre of his accompanists. H. K. Venkatram is an accompanist with a remarkable ability to inhabit the music rather than merely follow it. The violin becomes a conversational voice, capable of reflecting, complementing and enriching the central melodic line. K. Arun Prakash brings to the mridangam an extraordinary combination of authority and sensitivity, while Sunil Kumar's khanjira added a complementary rhythmic colour to the ensemble.

But perhaps the most important quality of the evening was its sense of musical freedom. There was no impression that the concert was simply moving through a checklist of items. Each raga and composition seemed to have its own space and character. Begada gave way to Purvikalyani; Purvikalyani yielded to Kalanidhi; Karnataka Devagandhari opened another window; Kannada Gandhara offered a less familiar but fascinating landscape; and the final sequence gradually moved towards the devotional intimacy of Mishra Khamaj and Kapi.

This is where Krishna's approach to concert-making becomes particularly engaging. The programme did not seem designed merely to satisfy expectations. Instead, it invited the listener to travel with the musicians. Familiarity and discovery sat comfortably beside each other. The compositions were not simply vehicles to be crossed off a list; they became points of entry into different emotional and musical worlds.

There was also something wonderfully unhurried and contemplative about the overall progression. Even where the music was technically demanding, the larger experience remained spacious. That spaciousness is precious in a concert setting. It allows the rasika to listen not only to the notes but also to the silences, the pauses, the transitions and the subtle changes in mood. The music acquires a life beyond the printed programme.

The programme itself deserves appreciation for its imaginative curation. Beginning with Subbaraya Shastri and moving through Purvikalyani, Kalanidhi, Karnataka Devagandhari, Kannada Gandhara and finally into the world of Mirabai, Papanasam Sivan and Narsi Mehta, it presented Carnatic music not as a rigid succession of standardised items but as a living continuum. There was tradition here, but there was also curiosity. There was scholarship, but there was also spontaneity. Most importantly, there was bhava.

For me, the concert was an unequivocal 10/10 listening experience. The rating is not simply a comment on technical excellence—which, at this level of musicianship, almost goes without saying. It is a reflection of something more difficult to quantify: the ability of music to hold one's attention completely, to provoke thought, to evoke emotion and ultimately to leave a residue that remains long after the final note has disappeared.

A memorable concert need not necessarily overwhelm. Sometimes its greatness lies in the manner in which it quietly occupies the mind. This evening did exactly that. The ragas continued to linger, the compositions acquired renewed resonance, and the interplay between melody and rhythm remained vivid in memory.

In an age where the temptation can sometimes be to measure a concert by the number of items, the length of an alapana or the brilliance of a particular swara sequence, this performance offered a more enduring measure: Did the music make you listen? Did it make you feel? Did it make you think? Did it leave you wanting to hear it again?

The answer, unequivocally, was yes.

It was a rich, refined, evocative and deeply satisfying evening of Carnatic music—one where four accomplished musicians created not merely a concert, but a sustained musical conversation. And for those fortunate enough to have been present, it was the kind of evening that one does not simply remember as having attended; one remembers it as having lived through the music.