PART 0 OF 10: WHY SPB?

 

Let us get one thing straight as an arrow, folks.

Sripathi Panditaradhyula Balasubrahmanyam, aka SPB aka Balu is the God of playback singing. Well, you may shrug your shoulders and say, that is too much of a sweeping encomium, even for someone as accomplished as Balu. Bestowing godliness upon a musically untrained film singer just because he is the recent sentimental favorite, is not how it works, you may argue. 
You may further contend that India brims with eminent musical talent that can perform unfathomable feats. Artists that: hit perfect pitch effortlessly; sing chittaswarams at the speed of Usain Bolt; utter swerving sargams @ a thousand rpm without moving a facial nerve; and milk the essence of seventy-two melakarta ragas in an eight-minute kirtana. So, what is the big deal about this Balu guy, you may ask? My counter to you would be: Yup. I get all of that (ok, I don't). But when it comes to film music, the most popular and the most egalitarian form of music there is in India, Balu is in many ways peerless, and one among a pantheon of few Gods. He is perhaps the last "prophet" of playback-singing – in the exalted lineage of Lata Mangeshkar, Mohammad Rafi, Kishore Kumar, P Susheela, Asha Bhosle, and S Janaki.

"Oh, what about X, Y, or Z?", you will retort. Yeah, that vexatious pursuit of "whataboutery" (I had to use that word one last time. Let us vow to ban that notorious news channel word from public usage). You will reel off names of Mukesh, Hemant Kumar, Yesudas, Ghantasala, TM Sounderarajan, KS Chitra, Bhupen Hazarika, and others. Your point being, even within the cinematic idiom, there are (or were) other eminent names that have left shining legacies and possessed talents that perhaps surpassed Balu's.

To which my response will be that I chose that exclusive list of singers, above, quite mindfully. For, the people in it are very unique: they are brilliant, original (they defined the singing styles of their respective eras), prolific (between them, they have sung over two-hundred thousand songs), versatile (their voices expressed a plethora of emotions on an array of stars across generations), widely accepted (each of them have millions of devoted followers), and importantly in the Indian context, multi-lingual (SPB has sung in 16 languages, Lata, Asha, and Janaki in over 20).

My final point will be this: music is an aural and subjective experience. What you are going to read in this series are just my opinions, not scientific postulates. You may disagree with me. Just don't lynch me. Or call me anti-national. Or return your awards.

The real point is, why am I even justifying all of this to you? I should have just jumped right in. Which is what I will do now.

>> PART 1 OF 10: THE BIRTH OF A GOD

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PART 1 OF 10 - THE BIRTH OF A GOD

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Let us start from where it all began. SP Balasubrahmanyam was born in Konetampet (present-day Tiruvallur district, Tamilnadu), a year before India’s independence, in an orthodox, Telugu brahmin family that hailed from Nellore in Andhra Pradesh. His father, SP Sambamurthy, was a Harikatha exponent and his mother, Sakunthalamma, looked after the bounteous family of three brothers and five sisters, that included SP Shailaja, who would go on to become a popular playback singer later in life. A TWIST OF FATE Growing up, in the early 60s, SPB had a typical Indian, sub-urban dream: to become an engineer, qualify to be a khaki-clad gazetted officer in his native Nellore, and ride around in an official Jeep eliciting salutes from his subordinates and the public. He was definitely artistically endowed. He sang and won prizes in music competitions, acted in school plays, and even formed a music band of his own, but had never taken his talents seriously. He enrolled into Jawaharlal Nehru Technical
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PART 10+1: POSTSCRIPT, DISCLAIMERS, APOLOGIES, AND OTHER FINEPRINT

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WHY DID I WRITE THESE BLOGS? "You are going to get sick couching in that sofa, watching all those sad videos of SPB, and crying like a baby. Find another past time," my wife had scolded me several weeks ago. You can't say that my spontaneous outpouring of grief was the reaction of a puerile mind uninitiated to agony.  I have been fairly conditioned by my share of tragedies. But Balu's passing away , that too on my birthday, made me feel as if a part of me was gone, like it happened when my father or my sister passed away. It was a deeply personal loss. There were so many memories associated with him, right from childhood to adolescence to adulthood. I was filled with this baffling guilt because I felt that I had somehow drifted away from being the ardent Balu fan that I used to be. There was a permanence about his presence which was reassuring. But maybe due to that, I had perhaps taken him for granted. I had skipped his recent New Jersey Tamil concert during the '
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