Percussion maestro at 100: Tuned in with beat of time

A week ago, musicians Sangeetha Sivakumar, N Guruprasad, B Sivaraman and I had the privilege of spending a morning with the mrdangam maestro Dr T K Murthy. On August 13 2024, this great man turned 100! It is rare to meet centenarians; and even rarer to find them among musicians. For those who may not have heard his name, let me introduce him. Murthy represents one of the great schools of mrdangam. He has adorned stages across the globe and collaborated with the who’s who of Indian classical music. One musician with whom he had a continued aesthetic partnership was MS Subbalakshmi. He anticipated her every move, accentuating her electric flourishes with his breath-taking wizardry and her pauses with his silences.
Murthy’s style of playing was different from his luminary contemporaries. His fingering technique, subtle and deceptive. At times, what seemed like a straightforward pattern revealed a complex method when slowed down. And a simpler way of playing the pattern did not create the same effect. Murthy never made a hullaballoo about what he played; never making it overtly evident that something spectacular had just occurred. Everything he played had so much class written over it, yet he did not wear it on his sleeve. He would simply smile in happiness. Whatever he played was enmeshed in the melody to such an extent that it dissolved into the raga and composition. Murthy was selfless. He would not wantonly shift the focus onto himself or distract you with his individualism. Instead, he would ensure that you remain glued to the singer and the violinist. Individualism is touted as an ideal, a necessary requirement for success. But it also at times tramples upon others. Murthy’s approach was collective-individualism where the distinctness is a collective expression.
As a young student of music and even in my early years of performing, I remember listening to innumerable concerts featuring TK Murthy. At that time, though I was enamoured by certain aspects of his style, I was unable to comprehend the grandeur of Murthy’s musical mind. It seemed too subdued, not flashy enough. After a long hiatus, I shared a stage with him and, in that moment, I realised that it was my immaturity and insensitivity that stopped me from emotionally experiencing Murthy’s contributions. His arithmetical calculations were of the same vein, grounded in his school of thought, with minute embellishments and number progressions. He was also not one to obsess over arithmetic correctness, a present-day preoccupation. What mattered more than “correctness” was musical elegance and flow. Murthy makes us ponder over our over-emphasis on the theatrics in musical presentation. I am not for a moment suggesting that his approach was sans the drama that performance necessitates. But never did he allow this to take over his thought or modus operandi. For him to retain this intellectual clarity for nearly a century, especially when everything has been changing around him, only demonstrates his strength of mind and belief in his path.
Murthy was unusual in other ways. He was musically active at a time when many musicians preferred not to share the stage with women. The reasons for not doing so consisted of the usual tropes used by all men. Right through his career, Murthy not only shared the stage with MS Subbulakshmi, but also with many other women. I have heard through the musical grapevine that the fact that he was constantly accompanying MS Subbulakshmi was even used as an excuse to say that he was unavailable for other’s concerts. None of this deterred Murthy. He went on with his music and life, as he saw fit. When I was writing Sebastian and Sons, a book about mrdangam makers, the older generation of makers spoke of him with a lot of affection. My reading was that he developed relationships with mrdangam makers that went beyond occupational necessities. In this modern age, when progressiveness is prized as a special virtue, Murthy reminds us that seeking equality transcends eras. It is only a question of the choices we make.
When we went to see Murthy, he exuded joy. His memory, intact. With small cues, he regaled us with stories of the bygone days. Known for his inimitable humour and quaint storytelling manner, he had us in splits of laughter. The respect with which he treated each of us, despite the fact that we are decades younger, was a lesson in humility. Not once did he flaunt his knowledge, experience or stature. There was no bitterness in his tone, no underlying sarcasm and not one negative word about any other artiste.
Before leaving his home, Sangeetha and I decided to sing a song for him. Sivaraman, who was with us, is also one of Murthy’s senior disciples. He brought a mrdangam from Murthy’s cabinet and we began singing. As the song progressed, we witnessed the passion of the man. Murthy was mentally accompanying us and enjoying his protégé’s every move. At the end, both of them exchanged a few rhythmic sequences, Murthy uttering the rhythmic vocables, Sivaraman following on the instrument. When the music ended, Murthy pointed to Sivaraman and asked me “Do you know what people call him?” Then, with a proud smile, he said “He is known as Junior Murthy!”
I hope I will be as generous with my student!
TM Krishna is a Carnatic musician and writer. The views expressed are personal