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Sid Sriram’s Tiny Desk Concert: A Masterpiece of Fusion and Soul

Writer's picture: Colin DarbyshireColin Darbyshire

There’s something about Tiny Desk concerts that makes them feel like you’ve stumbled upon a hidden gem. No big production, no smoke machines — just pure music in its rawest form. Sid Sriram’s Tiny Desk wasn’t just another gig; it was the kind of performance that stops you in your tracks. Honest, emotional, and completely unforgettable.


Sid’s music feels personal, like he’s letting you into his world. Born in India, raised in the U.S., he carries both cultures in his voice. It’s rooted in Carnatic classical music but wrapped in the smooth grooves of R&B. That blend could easily clash in less capable hands, but Sid makes it feel natural, like it was always meant to be.


A Start That Draws You In


The concert opened quietly, almost reverently. Sid started with an alapana — a Carnatic improvisation — that had this hypnotic quality. You didn’t need to know anything about ragas to feel it; it just pulled you in. It was the kind of moment where everything else fades away.

Then, just when you thought you had a handle on the vibe, the groove slipped in. It wasn’t abrupt; it just flowed, like water spilling into a new stream. One minute you’re lost in this ancient melody, and the next you’re nodding along to a rhythm so modern it feels like a contradiction. But that’s the beauty of Sid Sriram — he doesn’t force these styles together; he lets them find their own harmony.


A Band That Feels Like Family


Sid’s band wasn’t just good; they were locked in. The percussionist stood out, effortlessly shifting between the deep, resonant tones of the mridangam and the easy swing of a jazz groove. The keys created this lush, cinematic backdrop, while the guitarist added these delicate, shimmering flourishes that felt like the icing on the cake.

Watching them play reminded me of some of the best jazz gigs I’ve photographed — those moments where the musicians are so in sync it’s like they’re finishing each other’s sentences. You don’t get that unless the band really trusts each other, and that trust came through in every note.


A Berlin Night I’ll Never Forget


Before seeing Sid’s Tiny Desk, I had the chance to photograph him at Kantine am Berghain in Berlin. If you’ve been there, you know the vibe: dark, moody, and intimate, like the music’s wrapping itself around you. That night, Sid gave everything he had. There was a moment during “It Isn’t True” when his eyes rolled back, completely lost in the music, sweat pouring off him as if he was wringing out every ounce of emotion. It wasn’t just a performance; it was like watching someone lay their soul bare.

Photographing that gig felt like trying to capture lightning in a bottle. The way his hands moved, the way his voice seemed to fill every corner of the room — it was spellbinding. Tiny Desk had that same energy, but on a smaller, more intimate scale.





Songs That Hit Home


Sid’s setlist was a mix of originals and covers, each one a little window into his heart. His own tracks, like “It Isn’t True” and “Entropy,” felt raw and confessional, like he’d scribbled them down in a journal and decided to share them with the world. The intimacy in his delivery made it feel like he was singing directly to you.

And then there was the Carnatic piece that melted seamlessly into an R&B improvisation. I’ve seen plenty of artists try to mix genres, but it often feels more like a statement than a genuine blend. With Sid, it wasn’t forced; it just worked. He wasn’t showing off; he was sharing.

His cover of what I’m pretty sure was a D’Angelo track was another highlight. He didn’t just sing it; he made it his own, weaving in the microtonal ornamentations of Carnatic music. It was the kind of moment that reminds you why you fell in love with music in the first place.


That Voice


Sid’s voice is hard to pin down because it’s so many things at once. It’s raw and unpolished, but also precise and controlled. It’s the kind of voice that could fill a temple or whisper secrets in a smoky jazz bar. But above all, it’s honest. There’s no over-polishing, no pretense — just pure, unfiltered emotion.


A Crowd Under His Spell


While the Tiny Desk format doesn’t show much of the audience, you could feel their energy through the silence that hung in the air and the occasional burst of applause. The intimacy of the setting brought out something special in Sid's performance. It’s not every day you imagine a room reacting to a Carnatic alapana with the same energy they’d give a belted soul chorus, but that’s Sid’s magic. He connects, no matter who you are or what you’re into.


A Glimpse of the Future


Sid Sriram’s Tiny Desk wasn’t just a concert; it was a glimpse of what music can be when it’s allowed to live and breathe without boundaries. It’s proof that the best art often exists in the spaces between genres, where things don’t quite fit but somehow feel just right.

For fans of Indian classical music, it was a moment of pride. For R&B lovers, it was a revelation. And for everyone else, it was a reminder that music doesn’t need to fit neatly into a box to be beautiful.


Final Thoughts


This performance will stay with me for a long time. It wasn’t about perfection or polish; it was about connection. Sid reminded me why I fell in love with live music in the first place — it’s about feeling something real.


If Sid Sriram is the future of music, then sign me up. He’s not just an artist; he’s a storyteller, a connector, someone who’s not afraid to bare his soul. Watching him felt like a privilege, and I can’t wait to see what he does next.




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© 2024 BY COLIN DARBYSHIRE

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