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He sang his heart out
 "Anayasena Maranam Vina Dhainyena Jivitam, that’s what I have always wanted," said the Pitamaha of Carnatic music to a few admirers at Music Academy a few years ago.
A life without want and instant, peaceful death. He got both, a definite proof of the blessings he received from the Kanchi Paramacharya whose staunch devotee he was.
Semmangudi Srinivasa Iyer lived a full life, something that has rarely been afforded to musicians. At the age of 95, he had everything and wanted nothing more than the proverbial peaceful death. Though his passing away at a ripe old age was not totally unexpected or sudden, and though his performing years were long past gone, there is no doubt that it leaves a void hard to fill in the realm of Carnatic music as also in the cultural scenario of this country.
It is not an individual musician that has passed away. With Semmangudi, as he is known in the music fraternity, has gone a whole tradition, a tradition of classicism, a tradition of solid patantaram, of uncompromising orthodoxy and an institution that bred a whole genre of disciples who carried on his style. Among the doyens who were his contemporaries, it was he, more than anyone else, along with Rajarathnam Pillai, who was perceived to be the true conscience keeper of the impeccable tradition that was the fragrant gift of the
Cauvery.
 His partiality towards the nagaswaram was a consequence of his being rooted to the true artistic traditions of Thanjavur. Semmangudi never hesitated to learn from anyone. He cut his musical teeth by listening to stalwart pipers around the temple streets of Thiruvidaimarudur, Thirubhuvanam, Kumbakonam and other pilgrim centres. He has many a time frankly conceded his success in music to listening to the incomparable music of Rajarathnam, the Keeranur Brothers, Thiruveezimizhalai Brothers, Semponnarkoil Brothers and other such maestros of
nagaswaram.
He learnt many kritis from impeccable sources and composed his own. Battling against a recalcitrant voice, he had to toil tirelessly in order to produce acceptable music.
In the end, he succeeded, and how! He managed to make his pathetic voice reveal all the right emotions mainly because he infused passion into his art. This was what distinguished him from many other stalwarts who were his contemporaries and those younger to him too.
Semmangudi’s true legacy lies in the fact that he showed what it was that made great music. He proved that passion in the heart was more important than the endless dissertations and arguments on lakshana or an overemployment of the brain. Many critics said he sang much the same way always, especially, his raga alapanas which were quite simple and lacked imagination.
Yes, his essays were seemingly simple. But one had only to try to imitate any of his sangatis and one was sure to end up in despair. Much has been written about all aspects of his music and need not be repeated here.
 In the '70s and '80s, periods that were not good for Carnatic music, that is when music began declining, what with the passing on of many stalwarts and the rampant commercialisation of the art, it was Semmangudi, who provided rasikas a vital link with the past. To quote well-known mathematician and writer K P Ramakrishnan, “Their ears jaded with sub-standard, gimmick-laden trumpery stuff, which is the only fare usually available, the rasikas long for the true ring, the genuine flavour, the cleansing winds of culture redolent of the past. It’s all there in their collective sub-conscious. And they flock thirstily to the only waterhole available in the prevailing drought. The culture-hungry have thronged to hear Semmangudi.
Somewhere in its innermost core, his music has had something that has compelled response, respect and adulation. Listening to his music one has felt the Cauvery breezes on one’s brow, one felt transported to an era wherein at evensong, the temple bells tinkled, the lamps glowed and sonorous chants resounded. Whatever monstrous disguises we may put on in the name of modernity, somewhere deep in us lies a vague yearning for the past and Semmangudi’s music has somehow continued to go straight in and fill that emptiness.” This was Semmangudi’s great service to Carnatic music.
Fortunately, Semmangudi’s music has been widely recorded. Private recordings of his concerts and the rare chamber concert recordings that are doing the rounds will keep his music and the glory of the past firmly entrenched in our hearts.
One only hopes and prays that Semmangudi returns to earth soon in order to revive the solid classicism that has been lost.
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