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It was that time of year again and the stars of Soul Sounds were all gathered in the imposing atrium of the Cinnamon Grand hotel to give out a chorus of joy and Christmas celebration to all gathered there. -Standing room only. The island’s favourite pre-Christmas venue was ablaze with the faces of Sri Lanka’s premier choir, while the here and there of proud eyes and happy family hearts searched desperately for that special face shining under the limelight.
It was a triumph again. This lovely thing. It always is and the annual gathering of Colombo’s mums and dads, uncles and aunts, granddads and grandmas, and as many as can be packed in at this venue each year, gets more and more an annual tradition for us all.
Soundarie David-Rodrigo, a masterwork of musical talent, and her team of magical minstrels know how to impress. Not just in the local context but in some of the world’s most prestigious choral contexts. Fresh from their recent triple gold triumph at the World Choir Olympics in Austria, ‘Soul Sounds’ reminded us that song is not just an aural medium, but one that can configure the eye in all shapes, sizes and colours. An encapsulation of all that is charming, interesting and talented in Sri Lanka.
This year’s offering set us all at attention with position led solos leading the choir into ‘The First Noel’. It was very effectively done. An innovation I haven’t seen them do before. Then a tall lanky self-effacing young man reached out at his violin and took my breath away with an instrumental lead that accompanied the chorale.
Dominic Johnpillai is one of those gentle quiet all round musical aficionados for whom ‘excellent’ is an inadequate word. His musical versatility is outstanding and over the years I have watched him grow in virtuosity, and might I say height, with equal aplomb. Though of course not original, this was truly a beautiful musical idea in the setting before us. The lone violin caressing and being caressed by sublime choristers, Roshni Gunaratne, Dinushka Jayawickreme, and Shehara Liyanage; beautiful solo voices rising around and about a central echo of both. The intrinsic design of the venue provided that. It was a stunning effect.
The soloists told you they meant it. Every word, be it funny or reverent. They showed they cared that we came. They showed they loved the music, the words, their mentor, and above all they convinced me they all loved singing. It was infectious and every lovely voice there led on to each other. It was as much a choir of hearts as one of voices.
They do things well at the Cinnamon Grand these days. The organisation was exemplary. The sound stage was the best in all the years I have been attending this much vaunted event. The main accompanists this year included noted bassist Pradeep Rodrigo from India, together with the doyen of all things keyboard and the last word in anything technical in musicianship; Neranjan De Silva and top drummer/cymbalist Christo Prins. Together they provided a wonderful envelope of empathetic educated sound that any virtuoso performer would die for. Sri Lanka is truly lucky to have such masters of their craft.
There was something for everyone. Three choirs, Senior, Intermediate and Junior, all stage-managed and presented with stunning effect. Dinushka Jayawickreme’s direction of the middle branch on this whole tree of song implied all’s well for the future of this illustrious band of songsters. It was nice to see some male faces in the line of the Intermediate choir. The lovely voice of Shiara Wickramaratne in halting vivacity promised a wonderful new wave Soul Sounds to come. The little ones just sparkled, lighting up the faintest heart with the grandeur of their innocence and accomplishment.
There is no place better to see the spirit of Christmas than in the smile of a child. We looked around an afterglow of smiles everywhere. Sweet innocent smiles chasing the desultory hilarious walk of Santa as he cavorted around the atrium in a parody borrowed from the ‘Ministry of Silly Walks’. His blood red tunic twisting against the white edges of his sleeves; and there before me, in a flash amidst all this joy, I saw another place in my mind’s eye as he danced past me. There were no Christmas trees here. Only palms. The palms were bent and fraught with the scorch of flames. There were no smiles here. Only our brothers dying. It was just up the road. The A9 to be exact. Ah but that’s another place, another village; Out there somewhere. Ambegamuwa, Polgahawella, Tissamaharama. No Santas here. No wine waiters. Just a shrine perhaps. A statue of a sage in deep meditation. An oil lamp. A dim light and long shadows pointing at the faded edges of a cherished photograph of a man in army uniform. A mother weeping softly against a mud red floor. But then again, on such as this floor stood a manger. Once upon a time. Up another road. To Bethlehem. Then on to Calvary. Another A9 of sorts. Lest we forget, if you lend your ears for a moment to the east wind - you might hear another mother. Listen. She too is crying.
