For no reason, this Kannada film Anupama (1981), occupied the mind. And how? Totally. The actors, the story, songs – everything. It was a fun film, something similar to the lines of many films of those times. Like Padosan – you fall in love with the girl who is your neighbour. You have friends to aid your love, who are foolish, but loveable. Something like Guru Shishyaru , a bumbling brat pack that has sudden visions of truth. And many other films – tragedy strikes, and till then a fun story, heaves with sadness. Anupama , therefore, brought with it loads of memories – of a time that can never come back. Of the simplicity, of the genuine goodness of things, of tragedy and its inevitability, most of all, the music.
Violinist L. Vaidyanathan (right) with S.P. Balasubramaniam and Janani.
The film has three memorable songs: Anupama Cheluvu, Bartaale-Bartaale and Olume Poojegende . Anupama Cheluvu is a lovely, breezy and vibrant love song. You can see in it shades of Ilaiyaraja (who had made his debut in 1976 with Annaikili ), especially on the percussion track. It is composed differently for the main melody and background score, with an illusion of syncopation for the main melody. Bartaale Bartaale is an entertainer – it is full of clownish antics with not much of a melody. But one remembers it for the number of sound textures it creates and how it intelligently blends it into the melodic structure. The highlight is Olume Poojegende , masterpiece of a song. A song that can easily be called among Kannada’s best.
The music for this film is by Ashwath-Vaidi, a pair that came into existence after they met during the recording of the film, Kakana Kote (1976). For the next three decades, the C. Ashwath and L. Vaidyanathan duo composed some of the greatest songs of Kannada film industry. The story about their collaboration is that Ashwath provided the tunes, and Vaidyanathan made the background score, however, it is hard to believe that their extraordinary efforts emerged from such watertight compartments.
Renowned singer C. Ashwath performing at "Dr. Raj Geeta Namana", musical tribute to film actor Rajkumar, through his songs at National College Grounds, in Bangalore on April 24, 2006. Photo: V. Sreenivasa Murthy
C. Ashwath was among the iconic bhavageethe composers of Kannada. His vision, style, repertoire was distinct. L. Vaidyanathan came from a family of great musicians. His father V. Lakshminarayana was a teacher to him and his highly accomplished brothers, L. Shankar and L. Subramaniam. An ace violinist, he worked as G.K. Venkatesh’s assistant and the film industry remembers him as one of the finest arrangers who mixed rare instruments to create a unique and sensitive soundscape. He had a great sense for earthy sounds and timbres, and was also known for his keen understanding of technology. Vaidi, as he is popularly known, composed music for over 170 films, but the most enduring memory for listeners is his unforgettable signature tune for Shankar Nag’s Malgudi Days: Thanana thananana re…..
Malgudi Days - Manjunath in 'Swami & Friends' (1987)
Olume Poojegende is a masterpiece (sung by S. Janaki and S.P. Balasubramaniam) for the way in which the composition has been conceived. In its imagination, it has the complex manoeuvrings of a piece of classical music, but in its rendering it brings the eternal charm of an intense film song. What merits such an observation? Listen to the song, and you will recognise the rich textures of the Hindustani raga, Yaman Kalyan. Listen to it again, and again, and you will begin to get into a mystery that is embedded in the song. What is it? In an optical illusion what you see depends much on what you focus on: what forms the background and foreground. Similarly, in an auditory illusion, what we hear also depends on what we focus on. In this song, much of what we see and hear depends on what we begin to see as the aadhara shruti (the note from which the entire song progresses). The opening phrase of the song on santoor, which largely uses just three notes, operates from the shadja , but by the end of the opening background score, the entire song moves to madhyama shruti . This creates the effect of tonic shift or graha bedham while actually the entire melody has shifted to another note, a higher note which is the madhyama . While in the normal pa to pa scale, the opening phrase for Yaman Kalyan would have been da ni sa , it becomes ga ma pa in this case. This has been done so intelligently that unless you stay with the song, it is a mystery you cannot decipher. In a masterpiece of a move, Ashwath-Vaidi introduce raga Bhinna Shadaj in a phrase that occurs just once, elevating the dramatic quality of the entire song.
The use of instruments is brilliant, as well as the use of rhythm and intervals between notes. It creates multiple patterns, multiple melodic effects while the emotion of the song remains a constant: slow, and protracted. The whole experience of the song gains in meaning when, at the end, you realise it is a dream that you want to hold on to. To extend it to poetry, Basavanna writes: “Things standing shall fall, but the moving ever shall stay”. Therefore, as long as Yaman Kalyan appears in new forms in every dream, it will remain eternal.
(Inner Voice is a fortnightly column on film music)
