Oh, to be in Chennai, now that the music festival's there!

You can tell it’s December-going-on-January in Chennai by two things.

First, in a city where the temperature roasts the hapless Chennai-_vasi_s for much of the year nearly as well as they roast their PeaBerry beans for their steaming cup of filter coffee, you suddenly see a profusion of ‘monkey caps’ among early-morning Marina beachwalkers merely because the temperature has dipped below 20 degrees.

And, second, the city resonates with the steady slap-slap of taalam beats as rapturous _rasika_s in countless music halls mark rhythmic time to the lyrical flow of music and the graceful sway of dance performances, for which this marks the high season.

In this season of mellow mists and mellifluous music, the southern metropolis, sufficiently cooled down by the north-east monsoon, showcases a medley of music and dance festivals that draw connoisseurs in their tens of thousands from all over the world. Think of it as the Woodstock of Carnatic classical music or a Carnival of _ kutcheri _s.

The musical tradition itself is centuries old, but the festival of music and dance in _sabha_s (concert halls) originated in 1927. Its roots can be traced to an ‘all-India music conference’ that was held alongside the Madras session of the Indian National Congress during that momentous period of the freedom struggle.

The Music Academy , Chennai’s premier sabha which is to Carnatic music what the Lord’s is to cricket, was founded that year, and has held its annual festival every year since.

On this hallowed ground have I savoured countless musical performances by some of the foremost practitioners of the art form. On one memorable occasion, I even got to sit cross-legged, virtually on stage, when MS Subbulakshmi, the Nightingale of Song, performed at prime time. That’s a bit like watching Sachin Tendulkar score a century at Lord’s – not from the stands, not even from the Pavilion, but from somewhere near the point fielding position!

Over the years, many more such culture clubs – close to 100 by last count — have come up. Together they showcase some 1,800 concerts and 400 dance performances during the season, which stretches from mid-December to mid-January. An average of over 70 performances a day from morning till late at night may offer a tyranny of choice, but the diligent connoisseur darts from concert hall to concert hall based on the matrix of artists and sabhas that s/he’s drawn up for the day from the daily listings in The Hindu.

It isn’t just a heightened appreciation of the fine arts that enhances attendance at the _sabha_s. Nityashree Mahadevan’s choice of saris and ornamental jewellery at different concerts are analysed as clinically as her _raga alapana_s are. Likewise, Sudha Raghunathan’s jangly _jhumka_s and elegant saris have pitchforked sales of similar fashion lines and accessories. The fashion rules for the audience themselves are fairly straightforward: Kanjeevaram silk saris, flashy diamonds — and flashier smiles — are par for the course.

When the cultural treat gets a little too rich, audiences seek out other sensory delights in the canteens outside, which do roaring business during the season. And over mouthfuls of onion pakodas and steaming cups of filter coffee, they critique an artiste’s delineation of, say, the Yadhukulakambhoji ragam that afternoon, and offer many reasons to account for why it didn’t measure up to their exacting sense of aesthetics.

Among the more chronologically advanced audiences, nostalgia runs high for an earlier time when concerts lasted four hours or more, and when – as with most things in life – art had not been compromised at the altar of commercialism. For many, vocalist GN Balasubramaniam’s last concert at the Academy in December 1964 tops their list of most scintillating performances of all time. GNB, as he was better known, was known to suffer from a heart ailment. But that night, people who were there recall, he gave the performance of his life: his layering of the Kalyani ragam that night drives passionate audiences to tears to this day.

Another compelling personality from an earlier time was GNB’s disciple, the renowned vocalist ML Vasanthakumari. During the 1970s, cricket Test matches in Chennai were timed for the Pongal holidays, towards the end of the music season. MLV was known to spend whole day cheering the Indian team at Chepauk and proceed directly to the Academy and give some of the most outstanding performances.

Musical and dance performances are reviewed in newspapers and magazines, and they have just as much of a following as the star performers themselves. Not all reviews are flattering, and in some cases, the reviews themselves are savagely criticised. (The Hindu, quite remarkably, even has a set of guidelines for its music and dance critics, intended to eliminate bias.) In extreme cases, as happened with famed music and dance critic Subbudu, performers who felt they had been defamed by his wit-laced searing criticism have even filed lawsuits.

A testy exchange earlier this year between The Hindu’s Editor-in-Chief N Ram and star vocalist TM Krishna exemplifies the tension between performer and reviewer. Responding to Ram’s comments that performers were “thin-skinned” and only sought favourable reviews, Krishna questioned the competence and musical knowledge of some of The Hindu’s music critics.

Ram shot back at Krishna’s “condescending tone” and his “sweeping dismissal” of the competence of The Hindu’s critics. This attitude, he said, reflected that of a “successful Test cricketer dismissing reportage and critical assessments by cricket writers by asking: ‘What does he know about playing in the middle? Has he played first division, let alone first class cricket, not to mention Test cricket?’” Ouch!

For all this testiness, and the frequently heard complaints about excessive commercialisation of the sabha culture and the perceived dilution of performance standards, the Chennai music and dance festival is a many-splendoured delight for artists and connoisseurs alike.

It is this sensation of floating gaily in an ocean of music and soaring on the wings of scintillating dance performances that keeps Chennai’s _rasika_s going all the year round. It is also why connoisseurs from elsewhere fly in, come December, like homing pigeons for Madras’ own Mardi Gras.