For as long as he was alive, my father loved A.R. Rahman’s music the most. He would always talk of how even the peppiest Rahman songs (a Kuthupaattu like ‘Pettairap’) have a solid melody base and easy rhythm. My dad would insist on buying Rahman albums the day they released and I would have to play all the songs to him, so that he could try and catch the raga of each and prove his theory that a good film song is one which has its foundation in melody. He was the one who told me that Kiravani and Sivaranjani were Ilaiyaraaja’s favourite ragas, his ‘research’ based on Vividh Bharati and ‘Ungal Viruppam’ on All India Radio.
The longevity of a song depends entirely on its musical merit, which is also why we listen to some songs even years after their release. Sometimes, the dance moves or visual montages are brilliant, and just the humming of a tune or a sudden image triggers a memory of the first time we heard the song or watched it on screen.
Anirudh Ravichander. | Photo Credit: L. SRINIVASAN/THE HINDU ARCHIVES
Rustic yet melodious
The current Anirudh super-hit ‘Jolly lo gymkhana’ from Beast harks back to a 1956 song of the same name — a song which was perhaps the first in a long line of Kuthupaattus that slowly evolved, finally attaining cult status in the 80s after the roaring hit ‘Machaana paatheengala’ from Ilaiyaraaja’s debut film Annakkili, which was rustic in beat and lyrics yet melodious in tune. The 1956 ‘Jolly lo gymkhana’ is from the Sivaji Ganesan-Savitri-Padmini film Amara Deepam. Padmini, by then gaining popularity for her dance moves, plays a gypsy girl in the film and we see her in this film singing and dancing to this energetic number, whose first few words are as light-hearted as in the Beast song sung by Vijay.
Songs which are ‘light’ in lyrics, tune and beat always enjoy unmatched popularity. In the black and white movies, a ‘jolly song’ was one where the dancing was ‘freestyle choreography’ and as the 80s dawned, a Kuthupaattu was accompanied by ‘street dancing’ moves (Kamalhaasan did it to perfection in ‘Singaarisarakku nalla sarakku’ from Khaaki Sattai). In the 90s, such songs had lyrics that sounded like Gaana (the Tamil equivalent to rap).
Kuthupaattus by now referred to songs that one could dance to in a style made popular in the North Madras milieu. Many college cultural events would always have a guest performance from such groups, much like the rap groups that emerged from Mumbai’s Dharavi. They were characterised by fast movements, staccato style and flexible grace. The music was often their own (they would play them on the tape recorders they carried), a rough mix of a Michael Jackson beat with Ilaiyaraaja’s violin pieces (mostly from his background scores). In the millennium, this gave way to Rahman’s notes and popular international rhythms.
Songs in Indian cinema are prominently a tool to take the story forward or convey an emotion. Composers like M.S. Viswanathan and Ilaiyaraaja were stars in their own rights. It is said that in the 80s, a producer had to book Ilaiyaraaja’s dates first and then assemble a film around his album. The film would make money before its release from audio sales alone. There were heroes whose careers got a fillip only because of Ilaiyaraaja’s music (Mohan, Ramarajan and Vijayakanth’s initial films).
Ilaiyaraaja. | Photo Credit: V. Sreenivasa Murthy/The Hindu Archives.
The making of music
Equally, there are film directors who made a difference to Ilaiyaraaja’s music, and for whom the composer reserved his best, such as Bharathiraja, Mahendran, Balu Mahendra, K. Balachander and Maniratnam. The song ‘Rakkamma kaiyya thattu’ from Thalapathy is a great example of how good music and good visuals can make for a great song. The music director is seen as the third most important name, after the hero and director, who adds to a film’s profits.
However, gone are the days when films were made around the concept of “Let’s get six songs from the music director and weave a story around it”. Anirudh’s recent chartbusters have had both the soft and slow ‘Naan pizhai nee mazhalai’ from Vignesh Shivan’s Kaathuvaakkula Rendu Kaadhal and the robust ‘Arabic Kuthu’ from Nelson’s Beast and both crossed 25 million and 220 million views in record time ahead of the film’s release.
A lot comes together for the success of a song. Creating a space for music and composing notes where none existed earlier, then visualising the tune and lyrics, and finally making it all come alive for the screen is the hallmark of Indian cinema.
A scene from Maari 2. | Photo Credit: The Hindu Archives
Today, this visualisation can either be a montage or a choreographed piece. Either way, the song stays in our heads because of the melody quotient and the visual memory it forms. A good example is ‘Rowdy Baby’ from Maari2. As much as melody is important, it cannot be denied that very often the songs that are loved universally and live on across eras are the ones that also add to the story and have a filmmaker’s strong vision behind them.
The writer is a content producer, writer, artiste and curator.
