My friend and colleague at Phoenix Advertising,
Chaaminda Ratnasooriya knew a lot about the local music scene. He was a much sought after lyricist. It was he who told me about Lelum
Ratnayake. He took me to a restaurant
down Castle Street, Checkers. He
introduced me to the members of the band.
This is how I got to know that ‘X-it’ was made of Kevin Almeida, Damien
Joseph, Nadeeka Jayawardena and Lelum. I
asked Lelum to sing those two songs again.
He duly obliged.
During a break in the music, Lelum came to our
table. I only remember one thing that he
said that night: ‘There have been two exceptional voices in the Sinhala music
scene, that of Victor Ratnayake and H.R. Jothipala’. I did not understand why he left out W.D.
Amaradeva and I didn’t ask him either. I
told him, ‘You have a better range than your father’. He just smiled.
We have met several times since then. Randomly. I enjoyed the album he put together with his
brother Jayantha, ‘Esala Nil Sanda’. I
heard him performing at the launch of the CD ‘Radical Romanthikaya’, a
collection of songs made to lyrics written by Chaaminda. He was the least known of the young artists
who have used Chaaminda’s lyrics (compared to Kasun Kalhara, Dayan Vitharana
and Amal Perera for example). They are
all highly talented and accomplished, but Lelum to me was not lesser in any
way. In between I interviewed him for
the now defunct ‘Weekend Standard’, the first in a series titled ‘Portrait of
the Young Artist’.
Lelum launched his debut album recently at the
Bishop’s College auditorium. The title
was simply ‘Lelum’. He didn’t sing ‘Bed
of Roses’. He didn’t sing ‘What a Wonderful World’. It was Lelum’s show, from beginning to end,
in preamble to song, song, entertainment, the paying of homage in the pujaca pujaneeyanang manner (honor those
deserving of honor), the telling of ‘as it is’ about his work and his life,
eminently forgivable arrogance overshadowed by unadulterated humility.
Lelum and his friends kept things simple. No special
‘opening ceremonies’, not speeches. Just music, directed by his brother
Jayantha. I felt that Lelum took a while
to warm up or else the music was too insistent; perhaps I am not an attentive
listener, but I missed the nuance he is capable of delivering. It only got better thereafter.
He acknowledged that he had learned much about music
from the western world during the time he was a student in Canada. He had obviously incorporated a lot of that
into his music. On the other hand, he is
certainly no mimic. He expressed his
gratitude to that exposure by a rendition of the Beatles’ ‘Yesterday’ in a
manner that did not hurt the sentiments of Beatles-lovers and yet stamped on
that song his vocal signature. The
refusal to mimic and the determination to carve his own identity is
understandable. He himself explained, in
brief.
‘We have seen sons singing the songs of their more
famous fathers, killing both song and father.
Jayantha Aiya and I decided we won’t walk that path. But a few years ago he did sing some of
Thaththa’s songs and that is because there were others who were butchering
them.’
The ‘Thaththa’ was in the audience. Lelum expressed his gratitude to Victor
Ratnayake for the music and the parenting, both in word and in the form of
presenting him with a copy of his album.
‘No, Victor Ratnayake will not sing for you. This is not Victor Ratnayake’s show, this is
Lelum Ratnayake’s show.’
It cannot be easy to step out of the shadow of a man
who Lelum himself likened to a massive tree and so that assertiveness can be
understood and pardoned. He has his own
way of doing things and this includes the expression of gratitude. He called Jayantha and the two brothers sang.
‘Vara Malak Vaage’ (Like the Vara Flower) is apparently the first song they had
recorded for V-2, although it was not included in their album. Showed genes as well as identity distinct
from father.
He sang just one song of his father; ‘Muthu
Varusaavata Themila’. It is probably one
of the most difficult melodies to sing, but if one closed eyes and listen (as I
did), it was impossible to think it was not Victor’s voice. That’s genes. Lelum demonstrated he was not second to his
father and that he could do what the sons of other artists did (without
murdering song or father). But that was
just one of a set of songs he entertained the audience with. He has deliberately charted his musical
course along other channels and into other oceans of creativity, even as he
acknowledges the debt he owes Victor.
Two songs, stood out. The first, written by Sunil
Ariyaratne, ‘Singali Nona’ was rendered in the Kaffringha style and the second,
‘Alcohol Vasse’ (Alcohol Rain), written by Chaaminda Ratnasooriya with music
composition by Mahendra Pasqual. He
addresses a specific set of people in this song: ‘Alcohol vasse, madu paana diyambe, nissaara heenaye diviye vatinaakam
soyanaa saumya minisune’ (Soft [hearted] people, in search of life’s
true values drenched in alcoholic rains, lost in intoxicant oceans and among
desolate dreams). He could be addressing
others too. The key word, saumya minisun or ‘Soft (hearted)
people’.
Both songs exemplify the artist’s versatility and
his discerning character when it comes to picking lyrics. Throughout, except for the short breaks he
took to offer gift and necessary introduction to particular songs, there was
entertainment. He came to sing, we came
to listen. He lived the song, we
listened.
That’s much more entertainment than one can hope for
in these days of commercial breaks, endless harangues from mindless announcers
and a fixation on frill and wrap with corresponding downplaying of substance.
Lelum Ratnayake is not just a voice; he is a voice
with a world view and way of being. This
was evident to the last detail that evening.
He is acutely aware of roots and is unafraid to acknowledge. He doesn’t name names in thanks; he names
relationships and in doing so Lelum speak of affinities that are larger than
professional linkages and acquaintances that draw from the man his father
is. He pays due homage to those who came
before, the giants of an earlier generation.
He does not forget contemporaries and not just those
who offer accompaniment. And he does not forget to mention ‘the 33 billion gods
(he) believes in’! He doesn’t forget to
bless us all with what to him is the supreme wish possible, ‘Budu Saranai’. He says, but he doesn’t have to, that he does
not see identity in terms of faith or ethnicity or anything else. It is obvious. He has clearly drawn from the
deeper tenets of the doctrine and one hopes therefore that until such time he
is the undisputed voice of his generation, he is a voice that will inspire and
will be followed. He is, after all, supremely
at ease with who he is and where he comes from.
He is therefore unafraid to step out and explore, gather what is best of
what he encounters, and shed what is unnecessary from the baggage he has
brought with him; truly a way of being that is recommended for these times and
for the youth of today.
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