Strings and Soul: A Tonal Purist’s View

In the heart of Indian classical music, where melodies spin tales and notes carry centuries of soul, a debate hums like a finely tuned Sa. On one side, purists champion an instrument’s unfiltered voice—its raw, honest tone. On the other, visionaries explore new sounds through innovation. 

For those who hold tonal purity as music’s heartbeat, the choice is clear: let an instrument sing true. Let’s dive into this melodic tug-of-war, celebrating Pandit Brij Bhushan Kabra’s minimalist magic while honoring the creative paths of maestros like Pandit Vishwa Mohan Bhatt and Pandit Debashish Bhattacharya. 

The Guitar’s Golden Voice 

Picture Pandit Brij Bhushan Kabra, the slide guitar sage, on a quiet stage. His six-string guitar sings in Call of the Valley (1967), a timeless gem alongside Pandit Shivkumar Sharma’s santoor and Pandit Hariprasad Chaurasia’s flute. No extra strings, no rebranding—just a guitar, its warm, clear tone flowing like a morning breeze. 

Kabra’s melodies, soulful and unadorned, prove a standard guitar can capture the depth of Indian classical music without mimicking a sitar or sarod. His approach is a purist’s dream, showing an instrument’s true voice needs no embellishment. 

Now, contrast this with the inspired creations of Pandit Debashish Bhattacharya and Pandit Vishwa Mohan Bhatt. Bhattacharya’s Chaturangui, a 24-string marvel with 6 main strings, 4 chikari (drones), 12 tarab (sympathetic), and a few extras, weaves a rich, resonant tapestry, as heard in Hawaii to Calcutta (2017). Bhatt’s Mohan Veena, a 20-string wonder, enchanted the world in A Meeting by the River (1994), earning a Grammy. 

These instruments are breathtaking, blending guitar roots with sitar-like shimmer, yet they shift from the guitar’s crisp, melodic heart. It’s like choosing spiced chai over delicate green tea—both delightful, but each tells a different story. 

Why Add Strings? Craft and Charisma 

Why do maestros like Bhattacharya and Bhatt weave such intricate string setups? Two reasons, sharp as a tuned Sa. First, Indian classical music is a glorious challenge, craving microtonal glides (meends), intricate ornamentations (gamakas), and resonance that lingers like a monsoon memory. A standard guitar, with its short sustain, can feel like scaling a musical peak. Tarab strings add a dreamy glow, chikari strings anchor the rhythm, and suddenly, the guitar dances with a sitar’s grace. Bhattacharya’s Chaturangui makes long, flowing glides effortless; Bhatt’s Mohan Veena elevates melodies to poetic heights. It’s a thoughtful craft, easing the path to classical expression.Second, there’s the undeniable charisma of a unique instrument. The Chaturangui and Mohan Veena are stage stars, their strings sparkling under the lights. Bhattacharya’s global performances with John McLaughlin and Bhatt’s fusion journeys with Ry Cooder glow with this allure. Naming an instrument “Chaturangui” (Sanskrit for “four-toned”) or “Mohan Veena” celebrates their vision, inviting audiences into a new sonic world. While captivating, this flair might shift focus from the guitar’s simple soul—but there’s no denying the maestros’ artistry in blending tradition with innovation.

The Purist’s Path: Less Is More

Now, let’s salute the artists who keep it pure. Kabra’s six-string simplicity in Call of the Valley is like a poet’s quill—every note deliberate, every melody a story. No new name; he called it a guitar and let the music soar. Then there’s U. Srinivas, the mandolin maestro, who took a five-string mandolin—barely tweaked—and made Carnatic music sing with such joy, you’d swear it was born in Chennai. His electric mandolin added a modern spark, but its bright, plucky voice stayed true, untouched by extra strings.And the violinists? Oh, Lalgudi Jayaraman and N. Rajam are tonal royalty. Their four-string violins, tuned to Indian scales, glide through melodies with a vocal warmth that needs no embellishment. Rajam’s performances are a masterclass in bowing finesse, singing with the soul of Indian classical music without a hint of sitar envy. These artists prove the purist’s credo: an instrument’s pure tone, wielded with mastery, captures the music’s essence without borrowing another’s voice. Want sitar shimmer or sarod depth? Play a sitar or sarod. Why reshape a guitar’s heart?

Naming a Legacy: Vision or Vanity? 

The sharpest question lands here: the act of renaming. Bhattacharya’s Chaturangui, Gandharvi, and Anandi, or Bhatt’s Mohan Veena, are pitched as new instruments, their names carrying Sanskrit elegance or personal pride. It’s a bold move—call your guitar a “Mohan Veena,” and you’re not just a musician but a creator of a legacy. Bhattacharya’s School of Universal Music in Kolkata teaches the Chaturangui as a distinct art, cementing his visionary status. Yet, some wonder if these names shift focus from the guitar’s roots. Kabra called his instrument a guitar; Srinivas stuck with “mandolin”; violinists say “violin.” Their humility lets the music shine, proving tonal purity needs no new label. 

The Sweetness of Simplicity 

The love for music’s “sweetness”—that ineffable joy in melodies that tug the heart—pulses through this debate. Tonal purity is that sweetness: the unfiltered soul of an instrument, free from the complexity of extra strings or the weight of a new name. Kabra’s guitar, Srinivas’ mandolin, and Jayaraman’s violin deliver Indian classical music with a clarity that hits like a perfectly timed note. Bhattacharya and Bhatt, with their brilliant creations, offer a different beauty, blending guitar and sitar worlds. Yet for purists, the guitar’s honest voice—untouched and true—sings loudest. 

A Final Strum 

This dance between purity and innovation is like choosing between homecooked khichdi and a fusion curry. Both have their charm, but the simple stuff endures. Kabra, Srinivas, and the violin virtuosos remind us that an instrument’s true voice, honed by skill and heart, can carry Indian classical music to the stars. 

Bhattacharya and Bhatt, with their inspired Chaturangui and Mohan Veena, weave new dreams, expanding the guitar’s horizons. But when a guitar sounds like a guitar, a mandolin like a mandolin, and a violin like a violin, the music doesn’t just play—it soars.