More contemporary, less classical

A Million Eyes, performed at the Lennox Theatre (Parramatta Riverside Theatre) as part of the Parramasala Festival was an innovative piece, depicting the many aspects of the feminine, as seen by a million eyes.

The performance was widely advertised as Sydney dancer Anandavalli’s return from retirement since 2003. This statement perplexed me as I had watched her perform with other artistes in early 2009, so I naively assumed that this performance marked her return to solo stage shows. Alas, I was disappointed. While the dance was solo indeed, there was not much dance to it. Of the four pieces performed, only the last one ( Naan oru villaiyattu bommai) incorporated movement and actions. Anandavalli’s portrayal of the rejected lover as well as the woman overcome with desire, comprised mainly of mime. The slow hand gestures, the long glances, the quivering facial gestures and the emotive eyes were all very well done, but were wholly inadequate as a mainstay. The final piece showed her complete mastery over the dance form and was a visual treat for all; however, I can’t help but wish she had chosen this style for the entire show.

The music was provided by Anil Srinivasan and Sikkil Gurucharan, two very exciting and inspiring musicians. Anil is a western-trained classical pianist and Sikkil, a stunning carnatic vocalist. The duo has been hailed musicians a run for their money! Then it was Das’s turn to take on the jazz artists. worldwide for their musical innovations.

The rhythms began to circulate: from jazz musicians to bare feet and ghungroo, to Indian musicians to tap shoes. As these artists engaged in such a playful interchange of energy and rhythm, I became oblivious to the fact that one artist was of Indian descent, one of African descent, one 65, one 30, not to mention, one being several feet taller than the other. All of these differences disappeared into an experience of sheer joy and pleasure.

While Samuels-Smiths is an accomplished artist and master of his form at such a young age, he paid his due respects to the Indian musicians and especially to Das, revealing a deep reverence for this kathaka and the Indian artistic tradition.

When the audience sprang to their feet for a standing ovation, I looked around to see gleaming faces and huge smiles, and there was no doubt that somehow, we were all active participants in this collaborative celebration of dance and culture.

But aside from sharing an appealing playfulness and creating an experience of joy for the audience, the performance achieved something far greater. It showed that two very different cultures can find common ground and mutual understanding through art and dance. We all felt it. And in today’s world, this is a lesson we can all learn.

I had never heard carnatic music played out on a piano before this performance, but it was a wholly amazing experience. Anil provided the perfect accompaniment to Sikkil’s haunting melodies with his subtle changes in tempo and tone. If I was to find a fault though, it is that when I closed my eyes to better enjoy the music, I kept imagining that I was in a café or bar. Perhaps it’s just that my mind is not accustomed to seeing a pianist in a carnatic music concert!

Sikkil Gurucharan hails from a great lineage of musicians. His performance, while unconventional (he sits on a stool instead of crosslegged on the floor and maintains rhythm by tapping his feet, instead of his hands!) was simply mesmerizing. The emotion expressed by the artist has to be conveyed to the audience –thus rasa is born. When Sikkil sang, the audience was completely lost in his songs, imagining the water droplet on the Goddess (ksheerabdi kanyakkaku), or the sparkle in the bride’s eyes (suttum vizhi), or shedding tears in sympathy for the man who had forgotten his mother’s face (asai mugham marandhu poche). He left us all thirsting for more.

Despite the superlative music, I felt short-changed – as I had come to see a classical dance performance.