श्रोता यत्र न विद्यते

The well-regarded, duly-honored (Padma Shri etc. etc.), virtuoso instrumentalist had just concluded the first half of his concert: a workmanlike but somewhat idiosyncratic rendition of Raga Bageshwari.  His unimpeachable accompanist was perspiring profusely after the thorough workout he had received at the hands of the soloist (first 11 beats, then 7 beats, and finally 16), and was busy re-applying cologne to his upper torso and armpits while seated on stage (seriously, dude, that is off the Narcissus scale).  I approached the Ustad with a request.

"We have had rain in Austin this afternoon after a dry spell, so may I request that you regale us with Malhar after the intermission?"

Ustadji smiled at me.  I continued, "But not the ubiquitous Mian Malhar, please.  I would like to hear one of the many other members of the family."

Ustadji demurred.  "You know, we have to play for the audience.  Most of them would not be able to appreciate something like what you are asking for.  Those ragas are for select mehfils, not concerts such as this one."

"Yeah, right," I thought, "like the hoi polloi really understood how in your Bageshwari you were de-emphasizing the madhyam in favor of the gandhar, or how you were playing a potent Kanada-ang phrase that is generally eschewed unless one is playing Bageshwari Kanada. (I told you that the performance was idiosyncratic.) Or that they appreciated the Philip Glass quality of your compositions: no proper asthayis, just a one-avartan catchphrase repeated endlessly with small variations.  Let's not even get into the matter of the missing antaras."

Ustadji's voice broke in on my musings.  "What particular Malhar would you like to hear?"  Surdasi Malhar was on my mind for some reason, so that's what I requested.  Ustadji was noncommittal.  "Let us see," he said.

For the record, he played a mellifluous dhun in the second half, a delicious stir-fry of Pilu, Kafi, and Shivaranjani.  (As a bonus, the rupak-tal composition actually had a real asthayi and antara.) The concert concluded with a Bhatiyali piece based on a Tagore song, originally immortalized by a scion of his gharana.

So how do we break this cycle of co-dependency, where performers stick to the usual suspects (often, scalar ragas facilitating those lightning-fast runs that receive the biggest applause) because that's supposedly "what the audience wants", while the audience doesn't know to demand any better?  Should we ask that artistes publish the concert program ahead of time (think of all the time I could save by not attending concerts where the main course is, say, Madhuvanti or Kirwani)?  Should we leverage game theory by re-instituting the practice of providing financial incentives or medals for particularly innovative compositions?  Should our farmaishes be for challenging concepts in standard ragas ("Please play a composition in Bageshwari with the sam on pancham" or "Please play a composition in Mian Malhar with the sam on komal nishad")?  Seriously, given where we seem to be headed in this musical genre, I'm tempted to switch over to rap, which I find to be more intellectually stimulating (if one can get past the usual subject matter).

Interestingly enough, this problem seems less endemic in the Carnatic world.  A few weeks ago, the listeners at the TNK+fils concert were knowledgable, and the musicians played for a musically savvy audience.  Their only concession was to choose ragas that would not be alien to Hindustani ears like mine (which I generally appreciated, but something like an Amritavarshini would have been appreciated as a palate-cleansing sorbet; besides, we were in that dry spell in Austin at that point).

So, what do you think?  Is there a way forward here?  Or am I just being "a polymath, a pain-in-the-ass, a massive pain" in an age where anti-intellectualism and mediocrity trumps all else?