CHENNAI: Soumik Datta's new show, ‘Melodies in Slow Motion’, is a sonic exploration of the planet’s fragility. Accompanied by an ensemble that includes Sumesh Narayanan (mridangam/percussion), Sayee Rakshith (violin), and Debjit Patitundi (tabla), Soumik decodes the natural world’s hidden architecture. By integrating field recordings of intertidal zones and insect choirs recorded by musician and sound designer Rahul Nandkarni, the performance stretches the flutter of a wing or the pulse of a cell into a cinematic slow-motion journey. The audience will be further immersed in the music through headphones provided to each member, transforming the performance into a sensory experience as they engage with live music, perfectly mixed audio and projected visuals. ‘Melodies in Slow Motion’ will be performed on May 22 at Offbeat Music Ventures. In a chat with us, Soumik talks about the performance in detail.
Melodies in Slow Motion explores the planet's fragility through sound. What first sparked the idea of translating nature’s rhythms into a live musical experience?
The seeds were sown about two years ago during a period of forced stillness. I began listening to the sounds we usually ignore. I became fascinated by ‘slow motion’, not just as a tempo, but as a way of seeing. It was a realisation that the acoustic space of our planet is highly organised; that a beehive is a percussion ensemble and a murmuration is a choreographed dance. I wanted to move away from climate statistics and toward a visceral, musical interconnectedness.
The show combines sarod, Carnatic violin, tabla, mridangam, field recordings, and immersive audio. How challenging was it to balance these diverse sonic worlds without losing emotional intimacy?
The instruments are based on players with whom I have been forming relationships over the last two years. They were part of two previous projects, Travellers, which we toured around India and One Size Fits All, which was about textiles. These projects were sort of cocoons or incubation units within which wonderful human relationships could form and chemistry could grow between people. So it’s not that I necessarily chose the instruments; I chose the people.
The way they play is sometimes classical, but these projects also reveal a new way of playing as a unit, listening more to each other, almost like a mini ecosystem. So the music emerging is unique to those people rather than the instruments, which is very exciting to be part of as a musician.
You’ve described the performance as ‘slow motion.’ In a world obsessed with speed and instant consumption, was slowing listeners down part of the artistic intention?
The intention was definitely to create more space in a world that is becoming cramped and overcrowded, where speed is the currency of things. In fact, the entire tour was called ‘Melodies in Slow Motion’, so the journey of these eight months carried that title.
The phrase came to me last summer, and it made me realise that’s what an aalap is. When we play an aalap, it’s essentially slowed-down phrases that we later play faster in the bandish. What is unique is the stretching quality, which creates space, breathing room, silence, and calmness. That’s why an aalap is so difficult to play and so special to listen to. It became a metaphor for going about life a little more gently, observing things, and taking time to notice what you might otherwise ignore. That philosophy penetrated the entire ethos of the tour. Whenever we performed, I was keen to slow down, stay an extra day, visit local schools, conduct workshops or simply take out the sarod and play for children. That opened a new door in taking music beyond transactional concert hall spaces and turning it into more of an offering.
The use of headphones creates a deeply personal listening experience. How does this change the relationship between performer and audience compared to a traditional concert setup?
This will be the first time I am experimenting with this format, but I have always been curious to try it. Something that has changed over the last 10 years is that phones have become a constant distraction, even in cinema halls and concert spaces. People are asked to switch them off, but they often don’t. There is this strange social license people have given themselves to stay partially distracted instead of being fully immersed in the work they have bought tickets for.
Headphones create this beautiful analogue experience where the music exists inside your head and you exist inside it. It becomes an extra layer of protection against distraction. Again, this connects back to the larger theme of the tour and the show.
The collaboration brings together musicians from different classical traditions. How did the conversations between Hindustani and Carnatic influences shape the final soundscape?
We addressed this very early in the process because the starting point itself was that the sarod belongs to Hindustani classical music, while the violin and mridangam belong to Carnatic music. We asked ourselves how we could create a dialogue that wasn’t simply a North-South fusion.
We started exploring the idea of not playing the same thing, but instead playing different yet complementary things. For example, if I’m playing Raag Gorakh Kalyan, Sayee might respond with Andolika. There are many common points between us, but by remaining rooted in our individual traditions, unique phrases and textures emerge naturally. Those layers wouldn’t exist if either of us tried to imitate the other.
One of the things we also explored was how different traditions respond to themes like water and rain. In Hindustani music, that immediately evokes ragas like Miyan ki Malhar or Surdasi Malhar, while in Carnatic music the association may instead be with Amritavarshini ragam. That contrast became creatively exciting for us.