CENTENARY CELEBRATION OF CT FERNANDO The Choir Master of Sinhala Song

BY Dr D. Chandraratna

One of the most uplifting moments during this COVID time, living under numerous restrictions, was to watch an episode of a Sri Lankan musical show reminiscing CT Fernando, with the lovers of Sinhala songs. Right around the world it is rare for an audience of all three generations to sing in unison to the music of half a century ago. The grandson of the music virtuoso CT, flamboyantly apparelled like his forebears, was with the microphone and captured the spirit and quality of the grandfather artiste. Perhaps, only a few can ride the zeitgeist like a progeny gifted by the genome. The audience, one and all, granddaughters with grandmothers and grandfathers, sang like the ‘Nations Choir’. People who otherwise would not meet in groups, found an occasion to sing together, and if given the cue, would have shuffled their feet in dance.

In the early months of the pandemic we saw Italians singing from their balconies John Denver’s Country Road, the karaoke renditions of Tom Jones’ Green Green Grass of Home and, in Dublin, the famous Danny Boy, and in Athens the ‘White Roses of Athens’ by Nana Mouskouri, and in Detroit, USA, Louis Armstrong’s ‘What a Wonderful World’. In Sri Lanka, Army bands performed in front of apartment blocks, professional orchestras dominated the digital sphere, and these will be the nicer things that remain after the vaccine hopefully makes the corona crisis a distant dream.

But, from a long distance, here Down Under, for Sri Lankans the CT Fernando two-hour long musical show, traversing the repertoire from Ambili Mame to Piyumehi peni bothi, sung to the Bossa Nova dance steps, was the ultimate. The enjoyable show was the fastest two hours I have experienced lately, and the fastest you can imagine. It was a programme of absolute delight, filled with a kaleidoscope of feelings, ideas and emotions. Given that 2021 is the birth centenary of CT, that experience prompted me to pen this appreciation

The early years – The
warbling melodist

In this retrospection, emphasis is to aspects of his songs, which get little mention in Sri Lankan books and articles about this nation’s most loved musician of all times. With utmost respect to all other great musicians, he was the bard, the lead chorister and the entire nation his choir, and hence my caption to this appreciation. Rising to fame in the 1950’s he was in the same genre of Sri Lankan artistes who followed in the footsteps of Sunil Shantha. There is a famous story in Tissa Abeysekera’s book ‘Ayale giya Sithuwili’, where he writes that CT must have been eternally indebted to Sunil Shantha for pushing him to the top category in the Sinhala singers ‘A’ grade at Radio Ceylon. Sunil Shantha, one of the three examiners, had the courage of his convictions to push him up against the opposition of the other examiners who found CT’s singing lacking in the finesse of the North Indian tradition. It is even rumoured that the gap between his front two teeth made certain intonations not ‘pitch perfect’.

This episode may have influenced him to draw inspiration from the originality of Sunil Santa’s ‘Handapane’ ‘Suwanda rosa mal nela’ and ‘Emba ganga’ like tunes, for which he reciprocated with Ambili mame, Suwada Rosa Mal Nela and Pin Siduwanne.

He was then the talented warbling songster in the tradition of many others, such as Sydney Attygala, Kanthi Wakwella, and Chitra Somapala to the musical backing of directors — R. A Chandrasena, Master Mohammed Ghouse, Master Rocksamy, stalwarts of that era. These talented music directors were superb in spotlighting CT’s voice, while enhancing the combination of percussion and strings to provide the glorious harmony. CT like many others of his ilk, were no doubt offered an administrative helping hand by public broadcasters like Neville Jayaweera at the Radio Ceylon and M.J. Perera, as the Director of the Sinhala service at the Rupavahini, and I belieeve there were many others.

CT Fernando’s career of creativity, persistence and resilience arrived with the fortuitous ensemble of talent that he mustered in the early 50s. B.S. Perera, Patrick Denipitiya, with whom he had a Bhathiya-Santush like relationship (according to his son, equally talented Mahesh Denipitiya), Claude Fernando, playing the organ, and Ranjith Perera at the saxophone. This was a combination of enormous talent that added appeal and colour to his musical artistry. On his arrival in Colombo, from the sleepy town of Nawalapitiya, after his tempestuous marriage to an adulating listener in Dhanawathie Fernando, he blossomed. With Patrick Denipitiya, in particular, CT produced a number of catchy tunes to the rhythm of the Hawaiian guitar, combined with the mandolin, and bongo drums, and he heralded a revolutionary change in the idiom of the Sinhala song.

As the novelist J. Wijayatunga wrote in his ‘Grass for my Feet’, CT’s songs tell snippets of village life with all the simplicity, warmth, charm, familiar to anyone who has ever lived in a village anywhere. His songs capture the innocence of the village folk as sympathetically as one can. The romantic interludes they are enveloped in, makes one feel as if the night skies are lit up, lighting up a romantic mood. You are instantly transported to another universe through his beautiful melodies, embracing the gentle love of the village with his adorable osariya clad menike, which naturally electrifies the senses no end, making you a creature of impulse. Whether the simplicity of it made us underestimate this great performer in his time, is a nagging doubt in many of our minds. If so, to adulate him in his centenary year, hopefully will recompense our debt.

Revolutionary songster
and lyricist

His revolutionary style (dubbed badly into Sinhala as dadabbara) included a fusion of the Eastern music with the Calypso tradition. Calypso, the West Indian music, originated as a form of protest against the authoritarian colonial culture. This music genre was made appealing by its commercial variant, with pop songs like the Banana Boat song and Day O day O, sung by the musical maestro Harry Belafonte. One point rarely mentioned in the books referring to CT’s synthetic swirls, percussive combined with the lush electronic clangs, were brought to the elitist Sri Lankan homes not so much through Radio Ceylon but the 78″ RPM records. Later in the late 60s, Dr Nithi Kanagaratnam, from Jaffna, sang calypso-styled songs in Tamil, which earned him the title “Father of Tamil Popular Music”. His Aiyaiyo aval vendam, Rosy, Sweet Marie, kallukadai pakkam pokaathe came on the 78 RPMs, which combined Tamil, Sinhala and English, was ably assisted by Claude Fernando in the orchestra. If you like, they were more successful as Sanhindiyawa than the artificial variants of sanhindiyawa foisted on suspecting people.

CT created a new generation of music lovers in the Sri Lankan middle classes, hitherto averse to many things local; who as Professor Sarachchandra once mentioned, considered the Sinhala theatre and music suitable only as a cultural spittoon, appreciated by the unendowed multitude. But contrary to all that within a short time period, helped by the successes of CT’s performances at the Little Hut, GOH and Galle Face hotels endeared him to many in the elitist homes, and bridged two worlds through discography and numerous hits.

Discography and CT’s
Calypso beat

For amateur dance lovers, Sinhala music is as equally suitable as any other. While those who love to dance slow Waltzes and Fox Trots to the tunes like olu pipeela, bilinda nelawe ukule, and, suwanda rosa mal nela, the fast beats fit in with the West Indian Latin dances such as the swing, cha cha, samba, bossa nova and mamba. To those Latin dance lovers his revolutionary songs fit the bill nicely. With the Bongos reverberating in the background Mal loke rani, Ranwan rankendi peerala, Ane dingak Innako, Laksana Pura handa paya dilenne, are beautiful tunes. One is enticed by the beat but the appeal has obviously something to do with the lyrics as well.

D.C Jayasinghe (90 years) who was interviewed during that show, said that he wrote the lyrics after an uneventful happenstance. He was holidaying in Ibbagamuwa at his father’s bungalow called out to a bevy of young girls rushing to the fields. He said Ane dingak innako,(not daetha poddak dennako) aeyida kalabala, ahaka bala bala and so on. This urbane youngster followed them to the field to see the girls in cloth and jacket were helping the punchi mamage kumbure, replanting paddy. The lyricist went along with the girls to the punchi mama’s field and recited exactly how the farmers bathed in the stream (dola), flowing by the kumbuk tree lining the bata kele and returned to relax on the swings.

Back to the discography, here in Australia at a time when obesity was the issue, the government sponsored a programme titled Norm, (how not to be like Norman, binging with a beer in front of the Tele) in every organization to encourage exercise programs. In my university, a group of us initiated a Latin-Western dance class in the lunch break, and was a tremendous hit going on for years. For the Latin dances, I offered a cassette of CT to my dance instructor, and though, at first he was unsure whether it will suit the rest of the class, it caught on except for one minutia and it was when the swing came on he shouted — This is Sri Lankan, remember the hesitation at 6 (before you count 7). When I said I find it perfect he shouted, jokingly of course, ‘you are bloody Sri Lankan’. I still think it is pitch perfect. But unperturbed, I am unashamed of my sentimentality.