Chembai Vaidyanatha Bhagavatar's Mystical Humming: The Art of Closed-Mouth Alapanas, Saveri with MSG

I chanced upon this recording earlier today while listening to this a concert of the legendary Chembai Vaidyanatha Bhagavatar, a voice synonymous with open-throated, resonant, and authoritative Carnatic singing. As was his signature style, he began with a magnificent and expansive Saveri Alapana, drenching the concert hall in the raga’s brooding intensity. Each phrase, every gamaka, thundered with his characteristic weight, a proclamation of mastery that no listener could escape.

And then, the reply, MS Gopalakrishnan picked up the threads of Chembai’s melodic tapestry, weaving in his own—one of delicate and inventive responses. His bow glided effortlessly, bringing out the raga’s quintessential rasas with an articulation that only he could command. This was a classic exchange—a seven-minute ebb and flow between voice and violin, a perfect blend of reverence and creative liberty.

Just as I, and seemingly even the mridangist, got prepared for the kriti to begin, something unexpected happened. Chembai did not dive into the expected sahityam. Instead, he began humming.

But this was no ordinary humming. With his mouth closed, he conjured up the very same Saveri that had just been painted in full-throated akaram. At first, it was subtle—like a breeze whispering through a temple corridor. Then, slowly, it grew in intensity, rippling through the air like an incantation.

Humming in Carnatic music is not a mere exercise in subtlety; it is an incredibly demanding test of both sruti shuddham and volume control. When the mouth is closed, the usual resonating cavities—the oral and nasal—are restricted. The singer must rely almost entirely on internalized vibrations and sheer breath control to sustain the notes. Brikas, which demand an interplay of laryngeal agility and diaphragmatic control, become significantly harder to execute with clarity. Yet, Chembai managed to navigate this constraint as though it were second nature. His characteristic brikas and gamakas poured out seamlessly, proving that his command over the art went far beyond the conventional use of open-throated power.

But what made this moment all the more spellbinding was MSG’s accompaniment. Despite the change in timbral texture—humming inherently lacks the attack and sustain of open-throated singing—MSG followed with unerring precision. His bow strokes mirrored Chembai’s intent, capturing the raga’s essence even when stripped of its conventional articulation. The violinist’s challenge here was twofold: first, to maintain the fluidity of his accompaniment while responding to a softer, more diffused source of sound; second, to enhance the underlying melodic framework without overpowering the maestro’s closed-mouthed exposition. MSG, with his unparalleled sensitivity, did both with remarkable ease.

Initially bemused, soon I found myself hypnotised. A six-minute second wave of alapana unfolded, unexpected yet inevitable, as though the raga itself had decided to stretch its wings once more. There was a near-spiritual quality to this moment—a testament to how a true master can challenge, subvert, and elevate tradition while remaining rooted in its deepest principles.

As the humming finally gave way to the kriti, there was a palpable sense of having witnessed something extraordinary. Not merely a performance, but a revelation—of breath, of sruti, of raga, and of an unwavering commitment to artistry that transcends even the most physical constraints.

Chembai, through this masterstroke, reminded us all: music is not just about technique or tradition; it is about the sheer audacity of expression. And sometimes, that expression can be most powerful when delivered with nothing but the closed mouth and an open heart.

00:00 - Vocal Humming Alapana by Chembai Vaidyanatha Bhagavatar
04:18 - Violin Alapana by MS Gopalakrishnan