Bengaluru hosts Aditya Prakash's bold Room-i-Nation concert, blending tradition with necessary dialogue

Expect the unexpected. Musicians are often associated with a concert. When you come to a concert, there’s a certain format: it’s going to start with a song, then an explanation, and then another song. This, however, is a multidisciplinary show with different theatrical elements like video projection, movement, dance, choreography, singing, music, multiple instruments, dialogue, storytelling, and discussions. It also gives insight into my album, Isolashun created during the pandemic and a very political album. It’s asking questions about the history of carnatic music, identity, my belonging in society, positionality and privilege. Through this show, I’m opening up a direct dialogue and conversation with my audience.

It all stemmed from the Isolashun album. In it, I address issues of identity, tradition, sonic identity, immigration, migration, diaspora, privilege, mental health, anxiety, loss and grief. During COVID-19, we were all forced to introspect. I want to bring us back to that space of quiet reflection. The whole show happens in my room — recreated to where I was during the lockdown. It’s not meant to imprison the audience in the pandemic. Rather, it’s about creating a space of informality and reflections to give audiences a deeper glimpse into what I was thinking about. Also, the gig-theatre nature of this show is very important. I talk about history and casteism, which exists within carnatic music. Credit to my mentor, TM Krishna who has opened up these conversations. All we’re doing here is trying to have a humane conversation and talk about history in an honest way without glorifying an ancient divine past. There is divinity, but there’s also violence. That’s a very misleading narrative that we’re perpetuating and making ourselves feel comfortable with. It’s a music that is equally divine but also violent. So, I wanted to integrate this conversation with the music I play.

I think this mystification happens on two fronts. One is from the home country itself, tying it so much to nationalism or ancient sacred scriptures, which makes the music a little bit more elitist and inaccessible. Then in the west, there’s this exotification of Indian culture in general. Everyone expects Indians not to be political, not to speak out and yet they think of Gandhi. On both sides, there’s this pressure to spiritualise everything. I tackle this through sound. With the classical world, there are expectations of refinement and purity of pitch. In Isolashun, I really dug into those more uncomfortable sounds — whether it’s rock, shouting, or how a very rough noise like drilling becomes a rhythmic beat.

Cities with a greater inflow of people from different cultures generally have more complex dialogues and more interesting artistic projects. Bengaluru is a very diverse place. That alone makes it a perfect place for multicultural art and a place seeking something more than just a traditional performance. Also, I’m a Kannadiga, so I would naturally want to do it in my parents’ hometown or city.