Resurrecting lost sounds: How Uru Paanar is rewriting Tamil music history

Tharun: We’ll be performing songs from our debut album, which draws inspiration from Tolkappiyam. Along with the music, we plan to weave in conversations, stories, and reflections about the performance and the instruments themselves.

Tharun: Around six years ago, when Siva (Subramanian) was living in Madurai, he wanted a yaazh made for himself and approached me. I had just finished architecture school and had begun exploring the idea of designing and building Indian instruments. I started working on his yaazh, and that gradually led to crafting more instruments. Shiva and I would play at small weddings, performances, and book launches, but after a while we realised it wasn’t enough — we wanted to create more music. So we began bringing in more artistes, friends and friends of friends, and the collective grew organically. All the instruments we use are traditional Tamil instruments.

SiSu: When I first met Tharun, he had just finished architecture school and was setting up a design and manufacturing process for Indian instruments. At the same time, I was working in education as an assistant professor at Thyagaraja College of Engineering and was also involved in the Keeladi excavations. My research into early Tamil musical traditions kept deepening, especially with references to the yaazh in Sangam literature, Silappadhikaram, and the Aatrupadai texts. Our shared fascination with ancient soundscapes brought us together.

Within a year, I built a seven-stringed Sengottai yaazh, followed by a 14-stringed version, and from there, a small ecosystem of instruments began to take shape. Our motivation has always been to rediscover the Tamil musical soundscape that predates Thevaram and Thiruvasagam. With very little documentation available before the 8th century, our work became a blend of research, reconstruction, and constant experimentation. Scholars like Abraham Pandithar only began addressing these gaps in the last century, and that quest has been a guiding force for us from the start.

Through Uru Paanar, we continue to bring this ancient soundscape closer to reality each day. By staying true to these roots while creating original music, we aim to rebuild a sonic world that once existed — and that pursuit has been our driving force from day one.

SiSu: Surprisingly, the audience response has been phenomenal. The visual presence of these instruments immediately draws people in, and even though the instruments are ancient, we perform with the energy and style of a contemporary band. Over the past two years, we’ve received overwhelming support — from intimate private events to major public festivals. We’ve played at venues like Goa’s Azad Maidan, Kochi’s Bolgatty Palace, and many more.

One of the biggest highlights was the Neithal Kalai Thiruvizha, where nearly 10,000 people stayed fully engaged throughout our one-hour performance. After our set, MP Kanimozhi (Karunanidhi) ma’am told us how authentic the experience felt and encouraged us to keep moving forward. It was a huge moment for us.

SiSu: Every live performance brings something new — that’s the nature of live music. But with these ancient instruments, the unpredictability is even greater. They can be tricky to handle: tuning them, maintaining the right temperature, and adapting to how they respond on a given day is always a challenge.

Yet that’s also what makes it beautiful. When the audience hears a sound they’ve never encountered before and their eyes light up, that moment is priceless. Capturing that energy is what keeps us going.

Our debut album Thol was created for exactly this reason — to document these sounds. For so long, there was no solid record of how these instruments might have sounded. Today, with visual and recording technology, we finally have the tools to archive them properly. The album itself may be the final product, but the process behind it was purely archival.

Tharun: We once met a Tamil researcher from a maritime university who understood our instruments so deeply that he was moved to tears. Moments like that stay with you.

SiSu: Another unforgettable experience was performing at the renovated Sabha School in Bengaluru, a 150-year-old Tamil institution. The thick lime-plastered walls acted as a natural resonating chamber, amplifying the yaazh in the most beautiful way. People became emotional hearing an instrument that felt both ancient and alive. The key difference between a yaazh and a harp lies in the veterinum, the resonating chamber. The kind of resonance produced when a yaazh is strummed inside the veterinum simply doesn’t exist in any modern harp.

Historically, many cultures had their own harps — Turkey had an early form of the harp, Greece had the lyre, China and Iran had the sheng. India, however, lost its harp tradition over time. So another powerful moment for us was our invitation to China, where ancient harp players from around the world had gathered. When we presented an Indian arched harp after centuries of discontinuity, the Iranian and Chinese musicians were visibly moved. Seeing India step back into the global harp lineage was deeply meaningful — for them, and for us.”

Tharun: Yes, absolutely. There’s increasing awareness and curiosity. Out of our eight band members, only six are full-time musicians—the others come from different fields. Yet they play confidently, showing that these instruments are democratic and accessible. We believe that as the world becomes more AI-driven, people will crave primitive, organic, human-made sound. Live music will only become more precious.

SiSu: Definitely. We’re currently developing five new instruments inspired by Indian and Eastern traditions. Overall, we have a list of 30–40 instruments we hope to reconstruct, most of which are ancient and never modernized. Tharun focuses on redesigning them to be structurally robust, visually striking, and accessible to modern musicians. For instance, adding pickups allows instruments like the yaazh to be amplified like an electric guitar, while preserving their original tonal character.”

SiSu: Yes. We regularly consult Tamil researchers, study historical sources, and carefully assess each instrument’s authenticity, tone, and ergonomics. Once the foundation is accurate, we explore improvements for maintenance, playability, and contemporary use. Our aim is to remain true to tradition while ensuring practicality.”

SiSu: We perform around 25 shows a year, and each performance gets at least two dedicated rehearsals, making practice a continuous part of our routine. Beyond mastering the instruments, we focus deeply on conveying the emotions of each Tamil landscape, or thinai — from the mournful oppari of Neithal to the tender intimacy of Mullai. Instruments and technology may evolve, but human emotion remains constant — that’s our anchor. Looking ahead, we hope to expand into a larger, more inclusive orchestra that reflects the rich diversity of Tamil and Indian society.”

Tharun: Listening to our maiden album Thol means a great deal to us. We’re also on a screening tour for our film Thol Talkies, which recently premiered in Chennai. Screenings in Coimbatore and Bengaluru are coming up next. The film is a one-hour performance piece that captures us playing these instruments in their fullest form. Instead of transporting the entire band everywhere, we screen the film and then engage with audiences afterward. It’s a practical, intimate format — and one we’re genuinely excited about