When I first listened to ‘Neeye Unakku Raja’ in Thoongavanam —you know, that distorted electronic synthesiser in the beginning—I had to pause the audio for a bit and check my headphones to make sure everything was as it should be. Ghibran laughs at this anecdote in a rather satisfied way, for, this is exactly the response he hoped to elicit in people. He points out that it’s a genre of electronic music called glitch—and a quick Google search reveals that the genre “adheres to an aesthetic of failure” and deliberately uses glitch-based audio media. Ghibran is particularly thrilled that the song had this response, as it was his idea to employ this genre. The camaraderie that has grown gradually between him and Kamal Haasan after their association in three films— Papanasam , Uttama Villain and Vishwaroopam II —has now freed him up to express himself more. “We’re now totally in sync,” he says. Words befitting a composer.
‘Neeye Unakku Raja’ is nothing like the Ghibran that Tamil cinema knows though. It’s an eerie, dark number with undertones of metal. This embracing of electronic music, which according to Ghibran, can be seen throughout the film, is quite far removed from the lilting melodies that he’s generally known for. He laughs and asks me to listen to some of his Telugu work. “The Telugu audience knows me only for electronic music,” he says, grateful that with Thoongavanam , he now has an opportunity to show his musical range to the Tamil audience. This dark, electronic music is rather representative of Kamal’s character, Diwakar, in the film, and the urban milieu that it is set in. Kamal, Ghibran says, insists that each important character in a film have music that is representative of them. “The first two minutes of the film will tell you who Diwakar is. ‘Neeye Unakku Raja’ is entirely about him.”
Even the symphonies that Ghibran painstakingly recorded have been made to sound electronic to suit the film’s overall mood. “Quite a few important scenes take place at pubs. And obviously, I couldn’t use the likes of veena and sitar.” Composers traditionally have emphasised their love for classical music—some have even gone on to publicly express their distaste for the all-powerful influence of technology in today’s music. Ghibran, however, loves electronic music and isn’t afraid to say as much. That’s why his team travelled to a Los Angeles studio for sound mixing. “Kamal’s films aren’t just for India. He makes them for the world. So, it was important that every aspect of the film, like sound mixing, be of international standards.”
Ghibran is also excited about his use of silence in the film. I’m immediately reminded of an earlier conversation with him when he spoke about how he dreaded the silent portions, as Indian audiences often get restless and begin hooting and whistling, and thereby, ruin the atmosphere of the film. “I admit it’s a risk, but when it’s a Kamal film, I am willing to risk everything.” It’s not all silence though, as Ghibran has found a rather innovative way to deal with the lack of music in certain portions. “Sound effects,” he says. “Or as we call it, solly.” He talks about how for an entire scene, all you hear in the background is the dim sound of an air-conditioner running. He also makes a reference to the the famous kitchen fighting sequence from the original film, Nuit Blanche . “When the kitchen utensils crash against each other, that is enough background music for the scene. You should see how we have used such ambient sounds.”
The biggest satisfaction of working in Thoongavanam for Ghibran is how much freedom he had to express himself. “There are films in which too many factors affect my work. Everybody from television channels to distributors to producers get a say. But in this film, it was pure art. The business of filmmaking was not allowed to affect our work.” In fact, so involved was Ghibran in composing for this film that the mood of the music he was working on often influenced his disposition. “I became the film,” he says. There were times when he’d go home, sullen and gloomy, and his wife would look at him and simply say, “Looks like you’ve composed a sad song today.” “And she would be right, of course,” says Ghibran.
