Hero, Pioneer of Modern Nepali Music

Passes Away

 

(KATHMANDU POST REPORT, Nov 15)

 

 

‘Ma mare pani mero desh baanchi rakhos’

 (Even though I may die, let my coun­try live on)

 

Nepal's first ever film hero, and a singer and musi­cian of repute, Shiva Shankar Manandhar, 72, who lent his melodious voice to this song passed away on Sunday night, lia is survived by his wife and three sons.

With songs of love, tragedy and patriotism, he was a pio­neer of the modern Nepali song. He had also given music to some 1,200 songs.

Manandhar breathed his last at Bhaktapur Cancer Hospital, where he was rushed Sunday afternoon. He had recently returned from Tata Memorial Hospital in Mumbai where he had been taken for treatment with the support of the govern­ment and Nepal Chalchitra Bikash Board.

Thousands of people, includ­ing film actors, singers, lyri­cists, politicians, intellectuals and many others, mourned his death at the Royal Nepal Academy on Monday. His last rituals were performed at Aryaghat in Pashupatinath, Monday evening.

Manandhar had played the leading role in the film Aama (mother)—the first Nepali mov­ie—during the 1960s. He also worked as musician in many Nepali movies in the early days of the Nepali film industry.

Having sung hundreds of heart touching songs, Manandhar was awarded with dozens of honors, including Ma-hendra Ratna Aabhusan, Gorkha Dakshin Bahu, Chhin-na Lata, Trishakti Patta, Nepal Motion Picture Award, Supradipta and Birendra Praja-tantra Bhaskar. Nepal Television had awarded him the Nati Kaji Memorial Prize just last week.

Manandhar, who entered into the service of the state-owned "Radio Nepal" in 1951, served there for more than 42 years.

According to senior lyri­cist Kiran Kharel, Manandhar always pre­ferred to keep a low profile and never sought populari­ty. He was, however, always concerned about the progress and popularity of Nepali music.

"He struggled hard to irn-, prove Nepali music at a time when Hindi music vjas were dominant. Nepali music would never have progressed in the absence of Manandhar," Kharel said.

He also said that though Manandhar was the pioneer of modern songs and was a modern singer, he always stressed on exploring folk music from rural Nepal. "He always listened to new melo­dies and accepted changes. If the generation today follows the trend set by him, Nepali music can do very well."

 

[THE KATHMANDU POST- Mansir 1, 2061]

 

 

 

_{Shiva Shankar: Our Years at Radio Nepal}

_{BY PETER J. KARTHAK}

 

(The Kathmandu Post, Sunday, Nov 21, 2004)

 

 

Shiva Shanker passed away on Sunday |November 14, 2004, coinciding with Bhai Tika. He died of liver cancer. He was 72. Now Shiva Shanker joins Nati Kazi, Ram Lal Shrestha, Janardan Sama, Pushpa Nepali while Tara Devi remains in an immobile state and other music contemporaries such as Bachhu Kailash, Manik Ratna and Dhruva KC have chosen to remain mute for many years already.

I mentioned only those artistes who be­longed to the Radio Nepal clan that was more or less a Newar majority pack in its music-making milieu for many decades. Of course, there were Laxman Lohani, Yadav Kharel, Kiran Kharel, Bishwa Ballabh and Purushot-tam Sapkota as lyricists, but the fraternity had mostly Newar composers and singers, including Phatte Man Rajbhandari, Ruby Joshi, Prem Dhoj, Narayan Gopal, Yogesh Vaidya, Panna Kazi and others who were fol­lowed by younger singers such as Durga Lal Shrestha and other aspirants.

In fact, Nati Kazi and Shiva Shanker pro­vided the fodder for the sustenance for almost all the singers throughout. The who's who also included most of the lady singers of the de­cades - Bhuwan Thapa Chand, Nirmala Shrestha, Bimala Shrestha, Kamala Shrest­ha, Gyanu Rana, Ganga Malla, Meera Rana and many others while Tara Devi was always there at the top of the masthead.

It calls for a separate essay on Shiva Shanker's numerous melodies sung by oth­ers and those hundreds recorded by himself. He was one of the triumvirates, the other two being Nati Kazi and Tara Devi. After all, Shi­va Shanker's musical career and govern­ment service lasted for 42 years at a single place called Radio Nepal, where he began and retired from. Altogether, Nati Kazi, Tara Devi and Shiva Shanker dedicated more than 120 years to Radio Nepal and Kathmandu resourced Nepali music. It is a tall or­der and a stupendous subject to write about, to say the least.

In his death, Shiva Shanker is dubbed an ac­tor, a singer and composer. I would add anoth­er one: an arranger too. He dabbled in films, daily recording at Radio Nepal, film music, and almost all singers, males and females, and musicians passed under his baton.

His debut as the principal male actor in Ama, the return-of-the-native-son-of-the-soil documentary, was chiefly notable to our 'generation for his singte two-syllable "Ama!?" which sounded like a sheep's "Baa!" in the cinema hall. It was amusing to hear that monotone "dialogue". But this was pardon­able because he was not a trained actor. Nor the director seemed to care, either. He was el­igible for the hero's role for his all-Nepal fair skin, chiselled face and features and above average Nepali height. But his Newar accent perhaps called for some careful dubbing. However, this was not considered necessary and essential either. For, above all, Ama, though paraded as a "Made-in-Nepal" maid­en feature-length commercial film, was a mere propaganda piece, a government pub­licity circus of the Panchayat Policy. On the opposite virtual reality pole were Lila Baha­dur Chhetri's novel, Basain, Lain Singh Bangdel's novel, Muluk Bahira, and Man Ba­hadur Mukhia's latter-day explosive drama­tisation ofAniDeuraliRunchha.

This shows how the Panchayat treated and considered it promotion and publicity cam­paigns through Radio Nepal via songs, news, skits and other modus operandi merely as an afterthought and a half-baked and an ad hoc business. When Fate landed Ranjit Gazmer, Phurba Tshering Bhutia and me in Kath-mandu from Birgunj, where we had arrived for a consultancy contract to found and man­age an English-medium school, the first task was to revive our musical urges. We were the three Hillians while the two others were left in Darjeeling. Consequently, Ranjit took Phurba and me to Radio Nepal and its recording stu­dios for the prospects of playing music.

There we met Shiva Shanker again, after our formal and brief meeting in Darjeeling in the early 1960s when a Nepali musical dele­gation of Nati Kazi, Janardan Sama, Shiva Shanker and Tara Devi had arrived and had received grand receptions.

This time it was different because Shiva Shanker was one of the well-ensconced hakim-s in the music department of Radio Nepal, along with Nati Kazi and Tara Devi.

But the sight and sound of the studios at Ra­dio Nepal shocked us. The state's only official radio station and its complex, built and equipped with foreign aid and donations, looked so rudimentary and disfunctional that the Radio Kharsang station of All India Radio in Kurseong, a mere mahakuma or mo-fussil in the district of Darjeeling, looked lavish and better equipped with machines, instru­ments, staff musicians and administration.

This was how we started playing music at Radio Nepal as studio musicians. It was Shiva Shanker who saw the new lights in us; the modern streams of music and playing that were so urgently needed at Radio Nepal. With the three of us, there soon arrived CK Rasaili, CB Chhetri, Damber Gurung, Man Singh Gurung, Purii Subba, Prakash Gurung and other musicians. We provided unheard of new sounds in the daily recordings and Ratna Recording's disc cuttings.

But the pity was the dearth of musical in­struments at desultory, desolate and decrep­it Radio Nepal. How could a state propaganda machine manage with a rickety organ, a few violins,acoupleofmada/-s,afrmgaZja/taranc/, some murali-s and bansuri-s and a couple of sets of duki tabala-s, dholak-s and tanpura-s? The air-condition did not work or was unused because its whir disturbed the recording, the floor-to-floor carpet cried for sweeping and vacuuming and lay thick with musty dust; it was ostensibly laid for sound proofing only.

The recording session, with Thorens con­sole within the next glass-cubicle control room, in the stifled studio were further made miserable by smelly socks, bad breath, sweat-smelling clothes, loudmouthed boss­es and dirty peons and people needing an ur­gent bath. Once the "take" was completed and Okayed, we rushed out for fresh air and sunshine.

Shiva Shanker worked in this nether­world and was singing and recording in this wasteland devoid of good and varied instrument and capable musicians.

I found the bass section complete bereft of instruments and players. I missed my electric bass, amplifiers, acoustic and electric guitars - all left in Darjeeling. But presently, we met a young man of our age. Uday Chand Thakur, son of Ambassador Prakash Chand Thakur, looked like a transplant from North Point in Darjeeling and had appeared out of nowhere. Wonder of wonders, he had a complete set of Italian equipment - Farfisa guitars and amplifiers and a complete drumset - and he merrily lent us these for use in the recording. We hired a Russian Jeep for Rs. 25 on two-way basis and ferried the instruments along with what we had brought from Darjeeling. We were paid five rupees each per recording, and thus spent our considerable resources reserving the vehicle. Such was the state of the recording culture at Redio Nepal.

But a new atmosphere pervaded Radio Nepal, and modern sight and sound did not escape Shiva Shanker who himself liked to tinker with -new-sounds in his music through chords, beats, pitches and scales. He liked to "arrange" his music.

However, our honeymoon with Uday did not last for long. He departed for Japan and disappeared. Bad rumours floated around and we soon forgot about him. With him and his gears gone, the same Flintstone age de­scended upon us at Radio Nepal.

Then Nati Kazi was packed off to Japan to purchase new musical instruments. He brought a set of Yamahas - two electric pi­ano/organs with bass foot pedals which no­body learned to play, an electric guitar with an amplifier and so on. A new drumset also arrived, but its packing list did not include the large customary cymbal, nor the snare drum and a cowbell. Also, the guitar should have many sets of original Yamaha strings with it; the amplifier should have come with lots of fuses. As a result, when strings snapped, we spent our own money to buy in­ferior Indian strings at Harmonium Maila of Khicha Pokhari. Shiva Shanker saw all these during the 10 years (1966-1976) we spent at Radio Nepal. Meanwhile, we the studio musicians got a raise of Rs. 2.50 on top of the previous five rupees.

Shiva Shanker was a quiet man and quite progressive in his music making. One day, I found him listening to an eight-track tape hooked to the guitar amplifier. The spool had John Barry's music, mostly themes from his James Bond films. We sat together and styl­ised chords and arrangement for whatever instruments we had in the studio. Though the amp had only hi-fi sound and no stereo throwback, we nevertheless worked on con­cepts and ideas for Nepali songs. Whether Shiva Shanker employed these meta music tricks as an arranger is an altogether different matter. But his nature as a techno-mechano dreamer who tinkered and experi­mented with modern music arrangement was quite unique in the Kathmandu school of musicians of his generation.

One day, Ranjit happened to venture into the narrow storeroom next door to the re­cording studio and dragged out a double bass.

"You play it, Peter," he ordered me while a rehearsal for a Narayan Gopal song was in full decibel. I looked at the big instrument, dusted off the film of powdery particles that had spread over it. It was a good instrument, well seasoned and tamed by enough playing and handling in the past. Another good thing about it were its gut strings instead of the new flat-wound aluminum metal strings in use. I ran a few bars on it and found what I call the "third effect" of the notes al­most perfect.

Thus, for the first time, a double bass en­tered the sound spectrum of modern record­ings at Radio Nepal. Of course, there was an army dai who used to play it, but his short height and bulging belly did not enable him to cling to the hippo for very long. And he was more importantly required in the string sec­tion, anyway. Thus I alternated between acoustic bass and lead and rhythm guitar.

When everybody listened intently to the "final okay" recording of "Mero Geet" by Narayan Gopal, Shiva Shanker walked over to me and exclaimed, "Gajab bajaunu hundo rahechhatapainleta,ba!Ramrochha!"

I thanked him for his kind words and mas­saged my finger and palms vigorously. I didn't tell him that I had hugged the ele­phant after many months since the nights I used to play the instrument in Louis Banks' band at the Gymkhana Club in Darjeeling. Since then, I had switched over to electric bass guitar. My old deadened hide had peeled out into tender skin, and my blistered fin­gertips were aching and smarting. But Shi­va Shanker's sincere compliments carried the day, and Mero Geet has very nice bass thumping in it although the recording en­semble could afford only two microphones, one of which was solely for the singer.

Shiva Shanker's voice had an originality all his own. We suspected he always had -_ a supannut in his mouth that gave his voice an echo chamber sound.

But we never verified our hypothesis and his vocal retained that reverb sonic sweet­ness.

That Shiva Shanker lasted more than 40 years at Radio Nepal speaks of his quiet resil­ience and lasting staying power amidst the rigours of Kathmandu's intrigues and con­spiracies, especially in the dark black bu­reaucratic jungle. I admire him for that.

My only regret is that Shiva Shanker re­tired from Radio Nepal at a time when Kathmandu had just entered digital recording with multi-channel and multi-track tech­nology in the brave new world of recording studios and FM bandwidths in the private sector. Though he evinced even then a world of surround sound, high fidelity, ste­reophony and Dolby system, these were out of his reach in the monophonic world of Ra­dio Nepal. It was only in the last week of his life that Radio Nepal linked up with BBC for their joint FM transmission, though only within the radius of the Kathmandu Valley. But the consolation is that Shiva Shanker's post-modern sound visions of MP3, PMPO, graphic equalisers and other state-of-the-art conveniences for general consumers may yet come to materialise - however slowly, but surely.

 

 

The End of An Era

Nation Weekly (Nov 28, 2004: vol 1, No 32) pp 42

 

Shiva Shankar's demise has brought to a close an important chapter in the history of Nepali music. But his life's work has opened many more.

BY INDRA ADHIKARI

 

Shiva Shankar Manandhar, who has influenced virtually every aspect of Nepali music for 50 years, died of lung cancer last week. He was 72. During the past four de­cades, his name has probably been mentioned more often in books, journals, lectures and conversations about Nepali mu­sic than any other musician. His music was both patriotic and sentimental—among the most touching songs of his genera­tion—and spoke to people of all ages. If he is remembered by posterity it will be for his contribution to the development of Nepali music while preserving its heritage and originality.

Shiv Shankar's co-workers describe him as a man of des­tiny and remarkable generosity, someone who was down-to-earth and deeply committed to his work. Premdhoj Pradhan recalls the days when Shiv Shankar would work for a week to give a song one final touch. He was even stubborn and de­manding with words, forcing them to do as he willed. He worked odd hours; he worked without food. He would refuse to meet visitors without an appointment.

Those 'who have associated with him closely say he was a man with an impeccable sense of timing, in his music and his work. His habit of sticking firmly to a schedule helped him build Radio Nepal, which had just been formed when he joined it in 2007 B.S. There was fierce competition for positions there, as it was the only medium at the time that reached the general public. Radio Nepal attracted great tal­ent but also needed an able person to coordinate and man­age it. Shiv Shankar proved to be the right person for the position.

Commercial music in Nepal was in its infancy when Shiv Shankar started his career. Except for a few performances on public stages, there was little opportunity for music to grow. Indian music enjoyed a dominant position. Promoting Nepali music to new heights 'was the goal; Radio Nepal became the medium, and Shiv Shankar became the model. He was an im­presario, producer, composer and arranger who did much to expand the popularity of Nepali music.

According to Pradhan, Shiv Shankar was the father of the adhunik geet, the modern Nepali song. The trend he started led to the revolution in the music industry and eventually to the rise of pop music that has won the hearts of youngsters. In his four decades of service to Radio Nepal, Nepali music grew into full flower. In the beginning, when there were only lok geet, folk songs. The introduction of modern styles drew criti­cism, but Shiv Shankar eventually won listeners over. His fans, music lovers and aspiring musicians sent him letters: He re­plied to all with handwritten responses that were invariably positive and encouraging.

Shiv Shankar always favored change. He encouraged emerg­ing artists and promoted music, even pop songs, always stress­ing originality and musical roots. He was fond of using the newest technologies available to make the -work easier and the music better. He taught his proteges fairness and loyalty, con­centration and dedication to their work.

Shiv Shankar's career began in his late teens; he joined Radio Nepal at 19, along with Koili Devi, Natikaji, Pannakaji, Hari Prasad Rimal and Bhairab Bahadur Thapa. His first song, "Yo Kholako Pani, Euta Rumal Dhundaima Din Jane," was recorded in 2015 B.S. in Mumbai. In 2021 B.S. Shiv Shankar played the lead role in "Aama," the first film made in Nepal. Although he did not act in any other film, the exposure ad­vanced his career, and he, in turn, worked to advance the Nepali film industry. Shiv Shankar wrote the music for more than 1,200 songs, sang more than 300 of those and composed

music for more than a dozen films. For his contri­bution he was showered with many laurels, the most recent of those was the Natikaji Memorial award, which -was presented to him just days before his death.

Shiv Shankar was not motivated by per­sonal success and cared little for money. He was simple, quiet and shy. He liked to dress in simple clothes; his favorite dress was a brown safari suit. He was known to enjoy a drink and was a heavy smoker. The lung cancer that killed him -was probably a result of smoking, even though he quit the habit three years ago at the request of his friends.

He was very devout, pass­ing most mornings in his prayer room. Until recent years a walk in the mornings was a part of his daily schedule, and he was active in his neigh­borhood in Kalimati.

Shiv Shankar was born to Man Bahadur and Ram Maya on Falgun 12, 1989 B.S. on the day of Shivaratri, at New Road in Kathmandu. He attained his bachelor's degree in music from Kalanidhi Indira Sangeet Mahavidhyalaya and then devoted himself to his chosen career. In his 41 years of service at Radio Nepal, Nepali music grew into full bloom. Hundreds of his students followed his lead: The strength and variety of Nepali music today will give peace to his departed soul.

On the last day of Tihar, at around six in the evening, Shiv Shankar passed away at the Bhaktapur Cancer Hospital. His three sons, Gauri, Ravi and Shashi, performed his last rites at Aryaghat on Monday evening, the day following his death. Shiv Shankar's demise has brought to a close an important chapter in the history of Nepali music. But his life's work has opened many more.

 

Music Doyen Shiva Shankar Manandhar Dead

 

 (Himalayan News Service Kathmandu, November 15)

 

 

Senior musician Shiva Shankar Manandhar, who devoted 60 years of his life to the devel­opment of Nepali music, died last evening leaving behind a legacy of over 1,200 songs composed or sung by him.

Manandhar, 72, who was born on Shiva Ra-tri, died of cancer of the liver on Bhai Tika day at the Bhaktapur Cancer Hospital. He is sur­vived by his wife and three sons.

Apart from his devotion to music, he also acted in the first Nepali film, Aama.

According to his youngest son Shashi Shankar Manandhar, the family came to know about Manandhar's illness only four months ago. "He was taken to Kolkata as soon as we got to know, but it was too late," Shashi said.

Prime Minister Sher Bahadur Deuba de­scribed Manandhar's demise as an irrepara­ble loss to the Nepali music industry.

Ministers, artistes, journalists and people from all walks of life paid their final tributes to Manandhar at the Royal Nepal Academy.

Home Minister Purna Bahadur Khadka, Deputy Prime Minister Bharat Mohan Ad-hikary and Information and Communication Minister Dr Mohammed Mohsin also arrived at the Royal Nepal Academy where Manand­har's body was kept.

His last rites were carried out at the Pashupati Aryaghat this afternoon.

Senior artistes, including Nepal's first ac­tress Bhuwan Chand, Koili Devi Mathema, Amber Gurung, Prem Dhoj Pradhan, Ruby Joshi and Shambhujeet Baskota were also present.

Manandhar was associated with Radio Nepal from 2007 BS to 2049 BS and also worked as general manager of Ratna Record­ings. He got his first disc recorded in 2015 BS at Kolkata.

Manandhar was also honoured with numerous awards, including Mahendra Ratna Aabhusan, Gorkha Dakshinbahu, Chhinnalata Puraskar, Trishakti Patta, Nepal Motion Pictures Award, Supradipta Birendra Prajatantra Bhaskar and Natikaji Memorial Award.

He was deeply committed to preserving and promoting cultural and folk songs. At the same time, he was perturbed by the growing influence of western music.

Born in New Road in 1989 BS Falgun 12, he grew up honing his musical talent through re­ligious portals.