Narasimhan Vijayaraghavan
The thinning of audiences in the 2025–26 season is not a quirk of calendar but a structural malaise. Free afternoon concerts were once crowded proving grounds for artistes on the cusp, with halls that quietly drained at dusk as ticketed celebrity evenings began—a ritual that signified abundance.
This year, the chairs stay vacant regardless of hour. The paradox deepens when one recalls that the supply of trained musicians has never been richer: millennials and Gen Z artistes, global pedagogy, and technical polish aplenty. Yet demand appears anaemic.
One explanation is saturation. Too many Sabhas, too many concerts, compressed into too few weeks, competing for the same finite pool of listeners. Scarcity once created pilgrimage; excess now breeds indifference.
Another shift is behavioural. Rasikas have not vanished; they have dispersed. Social media is awash with images of packed venues elsewhere, suggesting attendance has become selective and episodic—driven by buzz rather than habit.
Most curious is the failure of live streaming. Offers found no takers, despite an obvious constituency: homebound listeners and the elderly, long assumed to crave access without travel. Streaming fell between stools—neither the gravitas of the hall nor the intimacy of private listening—an idea right in theory, wrong in execution.
One can almost hear Subbudu sharpening his pen. He might have remarked that when music multiplies faster than listening, halls will echo, artistes will perspire, and only the sambar will enjoy standing ovations.
The canteens thrive because food adapts faster than institutions. Until concerts do the same—spread across the year, reimagined in form, and freed from seasonal congestion—the music will endure, but the halls may not.
