The Island Editorial

End of an epoch

05 November 2016

 

Amaradeva sang and, therefore, he was. It was a treat to watch him perform. His life was a medley of beautiful songs replete with euphonious lyrics and mellifluous melodies, sung in a honeyed voice with a soul-stirring lilt to it. A nonpareil, he had greatness thrust upon him relatively early in life and became a national icon even before he reached middle age. The nation mourns his demise, which marks the end of an epoch in the history of Sri Lankan music.

It is said that when great humans are born they cry before the world and when they go the way of all flesh the world cries before them. This was true of the maestro we are grieving over; it is some consolation that he has been immortalised in his hypnotic, everlasting songs and compositions. He will continue to live in the hearts of grateful Sri Lankans forever as a great vocalist, violinist and composer.

Many artistes and others who had reached greats heights in their chosen fields became victims of a mega cultural tsunami triggered by the politico-economic tectonic shift in the late 1970s. Mushrooming bands cobbled together by pop star wannabes and calculating wealthy mudalalis thirsting for profits preyed on struggling talented musicians lured by dosh. Amaradeva was a notable exception; he was one of the few greats who refused to compromise principles and high standards they cherished.

Unarguably a lodestar for peers and upcoming artistes alike, Amaradeva was modesty personified in a field where even those with modest achievements are full of themselves. His trademark, sweet smile never faded except when he performed; he took singing very seriously and fell into a trance of sorts whenever he sang or played an instrument. He was known for his conviviality, guffaws and encouraging words for young artistes who loved his company as much as his guidance. He was a much revered guru to all of them.

A young, female musician once asked a world famous pianist after a concert whether she would ever be able to play the piano like him, according to an apocryphal story. Answering in the affirmative, the maestro said she would have to practise daily for eight to ten hours continuously. Excited, she asked how long she was supposed to do so. "At least forty years without a break," said the legend before walking away. Amaradeva is not known to have proffered any such advice tainted with egoism, but any young talented artiste desirous of being a maestro like him must prepare for decades of hard work.

Amaradeva’s fame was not confined to this country. He was recognised overseas as well. A proud recipient of much coveted Ramon Magsaysay and Padma Sri Awards, he was also honoured by France for his achievements and outstanding service to music. Most of the Colombo-based diplomats did not consider their functions complete without his graceful presence. Nobody could stop loving him.

One of the most important things that young artistes should learn from Amaradeva is to avoid divisive party politics. He was loved by one and all. Today, we carry a picture of the Head of State, together with others, carrying the casket containing his remains.

Green giants fall leaving huge voids which last for many years. The same happens when great men and women depart. Amaradeva was one in a million. There are, of course, other brilliant artistes who have done the country proud, but never will we have another maestro of Amaradeva’s calibre. His voice was so unique and therapeutic; it was a balm to every one’s spirit. His loss is sure to be felt for many more decades to come.