A concert held by Somtow Sucharitkul, Thailand’s acclaimed composer and director of the Siam Philharmonic Orchestra, in Korat on October 27.
In this month of mourning for King Bhumibol Adulyadej, the people of Thailand are paying homage to their late sovereign in creative expressions of poetry, art and song. Galleries and streets show murals and paintings of the king’s many roles: statesman, monk, soldier, son, husband and father, musician and artist. The airwaves of Thai television and radio are filled with songs, in both popular and classical styles, extolling the king’s life as man and monarch. And Somtow Sucharitkul, Thailand’s acclaimed composer and director of the Siam Philharmonic Orchestra, has started a musical pilgrimage to heal a grieving nation by performing the royal anthem throughout the country.
The Thai national anthem, Sanrasoen Phra Barami, dates from 1913, attributed to Prince Narisara Nuwattiwong, and later revised by Rama VI. It was the national anthem until Thailand became a constitutional monarchy in 1932, yet throughout King Bhumibol’s 70-year reign it was played before every concert and film. Somtow notes: “The royal anthem is so beautiful many people feel it’s the song that represents Thailand, so that is why it’s stayed so popular.”
The first mass singing of the royal anthem commenced in Bangkok under Somtow’s baton on October 22, 2016 before the Grand Palace. The second concert took place on October 27 in Nakhon Ratchasima. I joined the musicians in Bangkok as we boarded buses and drove north to Isan. The event was held in Korat’s main square before a statue of the exalted warrior princess, Lady Suranari, who in 1826 thwarted the armies of King Anouvong of Vientiane. The concert stage was framed by screens showing film footage of the king’s 70 year reign and a giant portrait of Rama IX wearing the golden robes of his 2006 diamond jubilee celebration.
As the Siam Philharmonic Orchestra rehearsed under an afternoon sky filled with brilliant sun and blue sky, as mourners filled the square and streets, the sea of black garments punctuated by white clad medics and green army fatigues. People carried photographs that for decades have hung in every shop and café; the king playing piano and saxophone, painting Queen Sirikit, his favourite model, visiting wounded soldiers in the years of the communist insurgency, surveying upcountry projects with his maps, pencils and cameras, wiping his brow, holding hands with his people. Among the city elders who gathered in the front row was a delegation of Sikhs, all wearing black turbans — a symbol of mourning for the king.
As the hour for the concert approached, the evening sky filled with black clouds, the boom of thunder and a torrential downpour. Wichian Chanthranothai, governor general of the province, spoke from the stage: “Now we will stand and pray for nine minutes — for our king was the ninth ruler of the Chakri Dynasty. Do not be afraid of the rain, let us thank the king for all he did for us.” The mourners bowed their heads for nine minutes of silent prayer, without umbrellas or raincoats, undeterred by water and wind.
The rain did not relent; Somtow had to rewrite the arrangement five minutes before the performance, for brass and chorus only, all other instruments would be ruined by water. The anthem rose through the storm, the crowd began to sing, holding white candles shielded by cups that illuminated the avenues and sois that stretched to the edges of the city. When the concert ended, the rain subsided and the air filled with birds singing.
“It was hideously wet, yet the water felt like a blessing, a purification.” Somtow said afterwards. “Thais strongly believe in the power of water to wash away bad karma of the past, that is the purpose of the Songkran festival, and why people go to monks to be blessed with water. In India, it is fire, in Thailand it’s water. It felt like the whole community was receiving a heavenly catharsis — that metaphorically Thailand is weathering the storm of losing our king.”
Afterwards I wandered through the square to speak with the people of Korat. A lady in a black lace shawl, clasped by a jewelled emblem of the king, said: “Since the king died, every day I wake up and cry. The king gave his whole life to the people of Thailand, we called him Dad. He worked so hard for us. This concert made me feel that the king is still with us, that we can carry on as he did.” A young man with a tattoo of the Thai numeral 9 on his shoulder, said, “I feel that the message is that we must stay together and move forward, it was what the king would want.”
“Yala in the south is our next destination, on November 9,” says Somtow. “I plan to do it in both languages; the original Royal Thai and the regional dialect. Yala is over 70 per cent Muslim, so it is vital to show the king was the protector of all religions of Thailand, that he was a symbol of religious tolerance.”
King Bhumibol once said: “Music is a part of myself, whether it is jazz or not. Indeed, music can be found in everyone. It’s a great part of our life. For me, music is an intricate and beautiful experience and everyone should appreciate all kinds of music.” When standing with the tens of thousands of Thai citizens who have come together to sing the royal anthem, the unique relationship between the Thai people and their gifted king is palpably felt. As Somtow said after the concert in Korat: “The love people have for the king is real because he earned it.”
Maura Moynihan is an author and Tibet expert who has worked with Tibetan refugees in India for many years
