I wish to experience…

It is 5.30am on Saturday. My alarm goes off.

“Why wake up at 5.30am on a Saturday?”, I ask myself, half asleep. I know I must have set the alarm for a 5.30am wake-up. But I don’t quite know where I am, or what date it is. I had slept well, which is already a good omen.

I have been sleeping quite badly lately. It is good to know that I do not need to consult my recently acquired Garmin Vivoactive to know I had slept well.

For the last six weeks or so, since I had procured this watch, I felt that it had been trying to control my life. There were nights when I felt I had slept fitfully, and the watch would give me a “sleep score” of 30 on 100! There were nights when I would have slept incredibly badly, and the watch would give me a sleep score of 80/100!

Not this morning, though. I felt refreshed. I knew I had slept well. I didn’t need my “sleep score”.

It took me a full minute to realize why I had set the alarm for 5.30am on a Saturday morning.

I had to listen to Pakistan Global Radio (PGR).

******

Over the last few years, I have been active on an online singing social app called Smule.

I was recently in Hyderabad on a work trip and met up with Prashant DP – we refer to him as PDP. I was on my way, ‘back home’ and PDP, who lives in Chennai, was on a work trip to Hyderabad. PDP and I could meet only at the Hyderabad International Airport.

As we sipped beer at one of the bars in the Hyderabad airport forecourt, we talked about many things: Smule was one of the things we discussed. The very next day, PDP wrote beautifully about his singing demons/inhibitions. In this essay, he talks about his meeting with me and explains Smule in a much better way than I can:

“Smule is a platform that allows people to create music socially, where each user sings one part of a song and leaves the other part open for anyone else to join in and complete. The app gives you accompaniment in the background, like a karaoke machine would, and you are expected to belt it out.”

For me, Smule is an avenue – a platform – where I can lose myself every day for an hour or so. I thrust my underdeveloped and somewhat inadequate singing skills on a few unsuspecting souls who “follow” me on that app.

I sing. I like singing. I like the feeling of liberation and the discharge of energies. I want to sing songs that set me free. Somewhat naturally, I am drawn to Sufi music.

Over the years, I have sung a lot of Sufi music on Smule. A few years ago, perhaps after listening to me torture people with my Sufi kalaam-s, I got invited by a Smule ID/handle called “Pakistan Global Community (PGC)” to sing for them.

I now sing regularly for PGC. A few “invites” later, I get invited to, and become a part of the PGC online group on a chat platform called LINE, where we talk about music and more…. And we sing mostly Pakistani Ghazals, Pakistani Coke Studio songs, and Sufi music.

******

Pakistan Global Radio (PGR) was relaunched last month. PGR is an online radio platform that features songs sung on PGC by its (mostly) amateur singers. Once a month, for a few hours, the PGR plays a few songs sung on PGC by amateur singers who are invited to perform.

And this morning was the second episode of the re-launched PGR.

And that is why I had set the alarm for 5.30am.

I reach for my phone find the Zeno Radio app and start listening to the show.

I also know I must get changed into my lycra to start cycling, another Saturday ritual. But the start of cycling can wait this morning. 

I must first listen to PGR.

As I tune in, the two radio hosts are winding up the previous segment. 

The hosts speak in chaste Urdu. Their language is pure and rolls off their respective tongues with comfortable ease. They speak musically. Their words dance to an unhurried, languid cadence. They use some words in Urdu that I have not heard before. And yet, they speak like it is all an integral part of their day-to-day lexicon. I wish I had the leisurely, unhurried, and loquacious command over the colorful and expressive language they seem to possess. Their idiom is chaste, and their pronunciation (talafuzz) is simultaneously intense and precise as it is magically charming.

The male host, in dulcet tones then poses a “Who am I?” quiz to listeners.

“I was born in 1941 in Mirpur and started singing in 1962. In 1964 I had a super hit song called ‘Tange Wala Khair Mangda’…,” the male RJ continues in pleasing 'made for radio' tones. But I stop listening to the clues. I don’t need to. I am only half awake, but I know the answer to this “Who am I?”, is Masood Rana.

I drift in and out of sleep.

And then suddenly, the RJs announce a song by a young 9-year-old called Sampoorna.

The song starts off with a short passage on the santoor. The initial swar progressions on the santoor establish raag ragesri in my mind. Even that short burst sounds lovely, and I am drawn in. Then, I hear two nishad-s and rule out ragesri; it is more khamaj, the parent thaat from which ragesri is derived. Let’s call this ragesri-khamaj for now, shall we? 

I am already hooked.

I listen intently. Young Sampoorna's voice is fresh and innocent. I am fully awake. Yesterday’s fog lifted almost immediately. The morning felt pure. There was something fresh and new about this voice. There was an innocence to this voice. It was like dew, and it hung in the air. Fresh. Inviting. Rejuvenating.

Nine-year-old Sampoorna sings Abida Parveen’s “nahin nigahein mein manzil”.

Abida Parveen is daunting even for an accomplished singer to attempt and here was a nine-year-old acing it. There are difficult modulations in the Sufi kalaam. But young Sampoorna handles each of these like a professional.

You cannot sing like this without utmost devotion to the craft. Clearly, Sampoorna is talented; but talent, while necessary, is not sufficient. Sampoorna has studied Abida Parveen’s music with devotion, fervor, dedication, and perseverance.

I was suddenly filled with positive energy. And then, the tears started flowing.

The lyrics hit me.

I have listened to a lot of Abida Parveen’s magic, but I had never heard this song before.

And I didn’t need to reach for a lyrics site to know that this was Faiz…

******

This happens to me all the time. I am so heavily invested in the melodic progressions and in the grammar of the music and rhythm, that I sometimes hardly notice the lyrics. The lyric is almost an adjunct, a supplement and an appendix for me in most songs. The lyrics are necessary for the song to form, exist, and come into shape. But the melodic progressions are what I hear most. The grammar of the music matters to me. The notes that make up the melody and the progressions are the scaffolds that hold it all together for me.

Apart from a predilection, a bias, or preference, the dominance and primacy that I place on the melody and tempo of a song allows me to connect with, for example, songs from Mali or Senegal. I can engage with the music of Africa or South America even though I do not understand the language.

A violin passage, a guitar riff, a catchy bass line, a complex drum roll, or a santoor passage – as in the case of “nahin nigahein mein” – are enough to hook me in.

Music engages both hemispheres of our brain. The human brain processes speech and cadence/tempo data using its left hemisphere and uses the right hemisphere for processing frequencies. There is therefore a coming together of the entire mind when we engage with music. 

However, when I listen to music, it is almost as though I need the left hemisphere of my brain to only process cadence, tempo, and rhythm.

But then, when I hear Faiz’s words, I know immediately that there is a harmonious balance. I hear the words too. 

It is nearly impossible to destroy Faiz’s poetry. Even with a somewhat ordinary and simple melody, Faiz’s words will always shine through.

So, when I hear Sampoorna, I feel inspired and enriched. I was listening to a young singer who had infused me with energy, excitement, and hope on a Saturday morning. I was listening to a young aspiring musician re-interpret an Abida Parveen creation. The presentation was considered, measured, thoughtful, erudite, and studious – even scholarly. Her rendition was also dutifully loyal to the legend’s voice. The song itself was a new one for me! I bookmarked it and promised myself that I would come back to it later in the day. And then there was Faiz.

Saturday could not have started better for me.

As I changed into my cycling gear, the PGR program was coming to an end. The hosts signed off and all of us on the PGC LINE group congratulated the hosts and the promoter. We bid our goodbyes as we prepared to either (like me) start the day, retire for the day, or just continue with our workday – we are drawn from all around the world.

The founder of PGC is a kind, gentle, and inclusive individual. I could not be happier for her and the success of her radio station and her platform that promotes good Pakistani music content. The two hosts of the PGR program are wonderful folk too; both are of Pakistani origin. They work hard to make sure that the many elements come together seamlessly. I congratulate them too.

Saturday has started well for me.

******

I want to cycle outdoors. But it is cold and drizzling mildly too. So, I decide to ride on my indoor bike Wahoo trainer! I chose a 50km ride in Belgium that looks interesting: tough and scenic. I haven’t done this ride before. So, I load it up on my trainer.

As I start cycling, I can only hear the strains of “nahin nigahein mein”.

Sampoorna and PGR have had a massive impact on me.

I listen to Sampoorna again.

And then I listen to Abida Parveen’s version of the song Abida Parveen’s version of the song.

Again.

And again.

And then again.

When I cycle indoors on my bike trainer, I normally listen to a concert of my favorite singer, Sanjay Subrahmanyan, or a podcast (and there are plenty of these in ‘cold storage’ for me to listen to) or a playlist of songs that I wish to learn.

Not today.

I must have listened to Abida Parveen’s “nahin nigahein mein” some 15 times. Repeatedly. If the melody didn’t hit me, the lyrics did.

I cry easily when I listen to music. And I cried this morning as I rode “in Belgium” for an hour and 45 mins, along with PGR, Sampoorna, Abida Parveen, and Faiz. 

Some rides seem longer than they actually are. Today, my 50km felt like it finished even before it started, thanks to the PGR hosts, Sampoorna and Abida Parveen’s “nahin nigahein mein”.

******

I grew up with books. As a youngster, I would always be with a book in hand, reading. I loved words. I loved language. However, I never dared to write.

“What made it even harder, was that I loved music. I loved how songs played in my head. And they would play there all day long, in dolby digital fullness…”, wrote PDP in his blog, describing his relationship and his connection with music. 

He wrote this blog post the day after we had met in Hyderabad.

PDP’s connection with music mirrors my engagement with writing. We are twins connected by a strange, banal, trite reluctance to connect with a skill that we both believe we do not possess. His engagement with music mirrors mine with writing.

I realize, with a chuckle that his words could easily be my own… describing my relationship with prose.

“What made it even harder, was that I loved reading. I loved how words played in my head. And they would stay there in my head all day long, in “Times Roman, Size 18” fullness.”

And yet, even when I tried to write, it would always seem woeful, pedestrian, simple, ordinary, and gloomy, bereft of anything other than mediocrity.

PDP and I talked about many things that evening before we parted ways at the Airport: Cricket. Politics. Activism. People. Music. Writing.

PDP is a polymath, a sage. He is a successful businessman and a loving family man. He is kind and generous. He can sing, and he sings very well. He plays the guitar. He is exceptionally witty. He is smart. He is incredibly well-read. But more importantly, has a perceptive, judicious, and sharp recall. It is merely not enough to read. What’s also needed is sharp recall. He has it all.

I encourage him to sing and show him the Smule app.

He encourages me to write and promises to send me articles.

We are two lame men; each of us is the other’s crutch.

“You know what? PDP and I should do a podcast together,” I think to myself!

After we part company, he digs out some of the stuff I have written in the past and reads it. He tells me he likes what I have written in the past and asks why I don’t write anymore. He sends some of my essays and short stories to a few others too and garners evidence and a coalition of support before encouraging me. 

He does that by shouting at me!

“Why don’t you write more?” he yells in a WhatsApp text message soon after I return home. 

I reply, “’Cos, I suck at it.”

He could have retorted, “You suck at singing too, but that has not stood in the way of your musical expression, has it?”

He doesn’t do that because he is also a kind soul and does not particularly like inserting sharp needles into forlorn, vulnerable, and gammy bananas!

Since then, PDP has been on my case every week. He sends me many articles on reinvigorating the writing habit.

I do not engage. I am scared to commit. I feel exposed and naked after I write. It is an unbearable, excruciating, and uncomfortable space to be in. I need a shell or armor to insulate me from harsh views immediately after I write and hit the ‘publish’ button on the blog.

Music is a different experience for me. I feel less exposed with my music, in the way I do about my writing. It isn’t as though I am good at singing. I am what I am. But I take myself less seriously in my music. I am not out to prove that I sing well. I am comfortable knowing that I can (and do) sing. I express. And that is perfectly fine for me. There is a magical blend of irreverence, pleasure, kindness, munificence, and optimism when I sing.

Not so with writing. Maybe I take it too seriously. Maybe there is a view that I need to be good at it because I used to read a lot when I was a young lad. This self-inflicted pressure is immense. It suffocates me. I feel utterly naked and exposed the moment I finish writing. And I detest what I wrote the moment I finish writing.

I explain all this to PDP, and he nods sagaciously. He wants me to work with him as I rediscover a love for the written word. 

It has been nearly 10 years since I wrote anything. I promise him I will try.

I  do. I just can't.

I push his persuasive arguments and his exhortations to a part of my mind that I do not wish to inspect. I procrastinate. Or maybe I want to forget his pleas. 

I hope PDP has forgotten about it too.

Hah! Not PDP. He continues to appeal, counsel, implore, and encourage.

******

I am stretching after my cycle ride “in Belgium” and my WhatsApp pings.

It is PDP.

PDP: Dei. You wrote something?

Me: Sigh

PDP: Write something this weekend, da.

Me: I ‘picked up my pen’ five times. Truth. But nothing is happening.

PDP: May I suggest you write about exactly everything you thought of while you cycled today?

Me: I thought about Faiz Ahmed Faiz and Abida Parveen and this song ‘nahin nigahein mein’!

PDP: Lovely. Write.

And so, I wrote!

******

The understanding of the meaning of the lyrics of “nahin nigahein mein”, requires us to understand Faiz Ahmed Faiz.

We can look at the words in the kalaam in isolation and try and piece together a literal meaning, but that would ignore context. Words like farda (tomorrow), or baada (wine), or bevuzu (sans the ablutions before namaaz) have meaning in a literal sense. These are words that are included in “nahin nigahein mein”. I am no expert in Urdu, but I ask people unabashedly. And constantly. There are plenty of online resources too that assist a deeper understanding.

But context is also as important as the words themselves.

Faiz Ahmed Faiz was a progressive liberal. He was unafraid to speak his mind. He was an activist way before activism was an accepted and fashionable pursuit. He combined his revolutionary ideas with a deep sense of idealized romanticism. He often lived in exile in Lebanon, a long way away from his ‘home’ and his wife. His poems combined his beliefs for a better future for his nation and its people. He often combined that with (a) a sense of optimism, and (b) a deep love for his wife. Once you throw the frames of Sufiyana into all of this, it is easy to see how I connect with Faiz.

In “gulon me rang bhare”, Faiz requests that “the blooms be allowed to fill the land with color and asks that the first wafts of spring be allowed to flow, so the garden can get on with its daily transactions." Here, the “daily transactions” (‘kaarobaar’) could have many layered meanings. Let us not forget that Faiz was a committed Communist who had won the Lenin Peace Prize. He merely craved a just society where business could be transacted in its ‘gardens’ in a routine manner. He wanted the land to be watered and seeds to be sown so that a thousand flowers could bloom, unhindered. Faiz was one of the most celebrated writers of the Urdu language, having been nominated four times for the Nobel Prize for Literature! He was also imprisoned by Liaquat Ali Khan (Pakistan’s first Prime Minister) and it is in this context that the ghazal breathes new life.

And in “nahin nigahein mein” Faiz Ahmed Faiz writes:

Today, I just cannot see how we will meet someday,
But I shall always yearn for thee,
Let it still be my undying wish
I wish to experience the destiny of being with you.

In a later verse, he writes:

In this land of strangers, with no friends or confidants,
I must converse with my own and,
I wish to experience...

Positivity and optimism are alive, despite the gloom and captivity.

******

So, this is exactly what I thought of while I cycled, PDP.

As I cycled on Saturday, after having listened to PGR and after listening to Sampoorna reinterpret a Abida Parveen Sufiyana kalaam of Faiz, I promised myself that I would recommit to my goals once again:

I want to be filled with optimism and positive energy. Always.

I want to move away from environments where people constantly shout over each other; where people gaslight and cancel each other.

I wish to experience…

I wish to experience the joys of singing and learning.

I wish to experience a future where Sampoorna sings for her manasika guru.

I wish to experience the joys of writing, just as I experience the joys of music and be unfazed by criticism or judgments.

Un-Faiz’d even!

-- Mohan (@mohank)

Snow and music in December: The Chennai music season

This article was first published in DNA Online on 29 November 2013.

I haven't seen or heard of anything quite like this anywhere else in the world. I am talking of snow in Chennai in December. The inhabitants of this southern metropolis are known to be intolerant to cold weather. So, when wintry December approaches and the "mercury dips" inconsiderately to a "bitterly cold" 28 degrees Celsius, mufflers and ear muffs -- known as kullas and monkey caps, respectively -- are whipped out of wardrobes in the average Chennai household. The moment the mercury dives to an "unbearable" 25 degrees Celsius and there's a mild hint of mist in the air, shawls (called pothis) are whisked out of suitcases carefully hidden up in the lofts. People start talking in hushed tones about an impending blizzard. 

Almost every year, on the 1st of December, The Hindu (the newspaper) announces the imminent blizzard with a picture of a few people huddled around a fire with monkey caps,kullas and pothis. The accompanying story makes frequent references to the El Niño effect and warns Chennai residents to brace themselves for yet another biting cold year. This invariably makes me turn to the weather pages to look at the day's temperature: a clement 25 degrees Celsius!

The same day, the newspaper also heralds the commencement of the annual Chennai music season, commonly known as just 'the season'. This too is something I've never seen or heard of anywhere else in the world. It is a month-long celebration of Carnatic music – the classical music of South India - and dance, mostly Bharatnatyam, one of the south's classical dance forms. Several other Indian cities have music festivals too – notably, Pune – where the best musicians are appreciated by a scholarly and erudite audience with a refined sense of appreciation of the fine arts. But there is something different about the Chennai season: not just its scale, but also its grandeur and joie de vivre. It is a commemoration of culture, custom, convention, cuisine, creativity and colour. 

You see, it is as important for a Chennai Carnatic music enthusiast to see and hear as it is to be seen and heard. What you wear to a concert is as important as who you hear. What you watch is as important as how often you are seen. You must wear the most ostentatious clothes and the loudest jewellery, arrive late to concerts and be noticed. And of course, you must sit for as much of the concert as possible, shake your head in appreciation, and wave your hands to keep beat. 

At least 30 music organisations (or sabhas) are involved in organising a season. Each sabha typically holds four or five concerts a day; two ticketed evening concerts by seasoned and renowned performers, and three or four free concerts in the afternoons featuring promising young artists who are still learning. This adds up to a staggering 2000 events (or more) in a month, quite unparalleled in terms of scale. 

Also, just organising a music and dance festival at an appropriate venue is not enough. Each sabha also needs to have a makeshift canteen adjoining the concert hall, offering a variety of snacks for patrons to enjoy in between (or even during) concerts. The best sabhasprovide a giddy combination of the best performers, a great audience and excellent food.

Truth be told, most venues are dreadfully poor in terms of performer and audience comfort. I have had many a shirt or trouser torn as a result of them getting caught in a nail that was poorly hammered into cane or wooden bucket seats. Many venues have as many mosquitoes as they have audience members. 

Despite this, every year, the stimulating combination of community and culture draws aficionados from all over the world to Chennai. I hear a mix of accents – including West Coast USA, East Coast USA, Cockney, ochre Australian, and Kiwi. It is clear that the "biting cold" (read pleasant) weather, the opportunity to listen to good -- mostly free of cost -- music, the food, and the opportunity to combine all of these with family visits makes the December season a must-attend for the Indian Diaspora.

I am off to the season this year too. This will be my 16th attendance in the last 25 years. There was a time when I used to hop -- somewhat indiscriminately, perhaps -- from venue to venue, listening to as much music as I could. There were a few years in the late 1990s and early 2000s when I'd score a century of concerts each season, although unlike batsmen in cricket, I would gleefully rush through the nervous nineties. I remember the thrill of concert hopping, of rushing from venue to venue, ascertaining what the raga (or composition) of the season was.

In the early days, I'd stare vacantly and somewhat anxiously as people around me yelled "sabaash" in a spontaneous exclamation of appreciation. Most of them continuously waved their hands to a complex beat. I'd wonder why I was masochistically subjecting myself to such mental abuse. I didn't need to be recognised as someone who appreciated the fine arts. As a non-foodie, I didn't particularly need the food on offer either. Yet it was an annual ritual too important and too close to me to let go.

I soon realised I didn't really need to understand the music to intersperse a "sabaash" at appropriate points in the proceedings. I learned to copy the hand flaps of others. Soon, I too became recognised as an aficionado. This became an extremely easy gig. 

It used to irk me that most concerts had no entry fee. It is common to see the phrase “All are welcome” at the bottom of the pamphlet that announces a sabha's schedule. The inability to charge the audience for many concerts means that the sabhas have to depend on sponsorships from companies or patrons to make their contribution to the season. 

In the end, though, this enables a democratisation of what is essentially an elite art form. It makes Carnatic music more available to those who may otherwise not stumble into a concert hall. The distractions -- the food, the glitz, the concerts -- become the attraction. And through this, the season offers a feast for everyone, an excellent collation of music for learners, aspirant performers, music aficionados, connoisseurs, random "sabaash" utterers, and the person who just wants to soak in the atmosphere in an air conditioned hall. Oh yes! Many concert halls are air-conditioned despite the impending snow that is supposed to wipe out Chennai in one fell swoop every year. 

People will talk to you too. In canteens, as you bite into your vada, someone will walk up to you and say, "Fantabulous concert it is, no?", and a conversation will commence. Everyone has an opinion on everything: the food, the biting cold, the sarees and the music. Knowledge of either of these elements is not a pre-requisite. Indeed, it is often a hindrance.

Most conversations on music must make reference to the "glorious past" or "past masters", and of how "yengshters orr not paying heed to the glorious traditions", although everyone is looking for Carnatic music to be placed in "safe hands". The search for the next Semmangudi Srinivasa Iyer or Ariyakudi Ramanuja Iyengar or Madurai Mani Iyer or Palakkad Mani Iyer is constantly on.

No article on the Chennai season is complete without a mention of the music reviews in The Hindu. There is much mirth to be had in their blandness and similitude. One cliché-ridden review blends cogently into another. Often you wonder if you and the reviewer even attended the same concert. Words and phrases like “sublime”, “divine” and “mellifluous rendition” work their way into almost every review, and after reading one, you are left scratching your head, none the wiser for having read it. Here is an excellent sample: “The raga essay was exemplary in delineation, built step by step beautifying the phrases in the raga’s progress". And, "She evolved the raga with fine moves, with nuances here and there". These sentences say absolutely nothing and yet, are such fun to read because you are left trying to decipher what the critic is actually trying to say –which, in case you are wondering, is again nothing!

Yet, reading reviews of concerts in The Hindu is as much a part of the season as the music. If the editor banned the use of terms like “raga phrase”, “delineation”, “nuance”, “essay”, “eschew”, “blissful”, and “mellifluous”, the reviewers won't know what to write in their 500-word pieces. The supremely talented Krish Ashok has written a hilarious post on these reviews, so it would be pointless to repeat much of what he has already said, and so eloquently too. 

A notable feature of the season is that almost all concerts start and end on time. I was once at the venerated Music Academy where the curtains were drawn midway through an artiste's performance because she had overshot her time by three minutes. At first I thought that was extremely harsh. But on reflection, the artistes are informed in advance of the time constraints and that these need to be respected. The artiste in question hurriedly completed her concert and ran out of the venue, with the secretary of the sabha in tow.

So, Chennai plays host to a most unique event every December. No, not snow, but the music season. If you have not visited and attended the season, please do. Eat idlis, dosas and vadas in the many canteens. Talk to people you may never ever meet again. Or just sit at concerts and let random strangers talk to you; they will. Wear your best clothes and get them torn by a vile chair nail. Agonise over that only to realise that that was easier to tolerate than the mosquitoes. And enjoy the music. Soon, you will amaze yourself with your hand flips and your yells of "sabaash". And after that you will be back the following year, and the next and the next, because the magic of the season is indescribable.

--Mohan (@mohank)

My jogging tracks

I can't jog without my ears plugged. Indeed, when I started jogging some 15 or so years ago, I started jogging songs rather than time. I jogged one song, then two, then three and so on. When I wanted to attempt my first half marathon, I told myself that I needed to jog at least 25 songs, each of 5 minutes duration on average. I didn't run distances, just songs. Soon that wasn't enough. I had to run 50 songs because I wanted to run a marathon.

Since music is as much a part of my running as my shoes are, I started developing playlists. I need music in my ears when I run. 

The only real constraint I have is that my tracks have to be between 80-90 beats per minute (bpm). The beats assist my running cadence. I place the lower bpm tracks at the start and progressively the tempo in the playlists increase. This works just fine because my stride shortens as the run progresses.

Not all songs that I like to include in the playlist fall neatly into the 80-90bpm range. So I use software to either reduce or increase the tempo of these songs.

I have 4 playlists and depending on my mood for the day, I will pick one or the other and on some days, I may even choose to play songs from all four playlists in a random manner. 

The playlists are:

• Bollywood (Hindi) running tracks
• Pop/rock playlist
• Carnatic music running playlist
• Tamil (mainly Ilayaraja) tracks

The playlists are provided below.

Carnatic playlist

1. karpagambikai nee allavo, behag (tempo increased 25% -- Sanjay Subrahmanyan)
2. lavanya rama (Hyderabad Brothers)
3. matim dehi, kalyani (Sanjay Subrahmanyan)
4. chalamelara, marga hindolam (Sanjay Subrahmanyan, Live in Melbourne)
5. mahalakshmi, sankarabharanam (T. N. Seshagopalan)
6. evvare ramaiyya, gangeyabhushani (Sanjay Subrahmanyan)
7. palaya sada, nalinakanti (Sanjay Subrahmanyan) 
8. ee vasuda, sahana (Sanjay Subrahmanyan)
9. nenarunchara, simhavahini (Hyderabad Brothers)
10. etula brotuva, chakravakam (Alathur Brothers)
11. nijagadasa (tempo reduced 20%), sindhubhairavi (Sanjay Subrahmanyan)
12. ra ra rajeeva lochana (M. L. Vasanthakumari)
13. ninnadanela, kannada (Hyderabad Brothers)
14. rama ninuvina, sankarabharanam (Sanjay Subrahmanyan)
15. unnadiye gati, bahudari (Sanjay Subrahmanyan)
16. smarane sukhamu, janaranjani (Ramnad Krishnan)
17. amba kamakshi, bhairavi (Semmangudi Srinivasa Iyer)
18. brochevarevare, sri ranjani (Sanjay Subrahmanyan)
19. pranatharthihara, melaragamalika (Sanjay Subrahmanyan)

This playlist lasts nearly 3 and a half hours and is the one that changes most. This is how the playlist looks at the moment though.

Pop/Rock Playlist

1. Hymn to Her -- speed up 10% (The Pretenders)
2. Under The Bridge (Red Hot Chilli Peppers)
3. Tears In Heaven (Eric Clapton) 
4. I Want to Know What Love Is (Foreigner)
5. Brothers In Arms (Dire Straits)
6. Mad About You (Sting)
7. You're the Voice (John Farnham)
8. Come Together / Dear Prudence / Cry Baby (The Beatles)
9. Take the Long Way Home (Supertramp)
10. When We Dance (Sting: Fields of Gold)
11. Kashmir (Led Zeppelin)
12. A Great Day For Freedom (Pink Floyd)
13. She's Always a Woman (Billy Joel)
14. Last Chance (John Mellencamp)
15. Come Away With Me (Norah Jones)
16. In the City (The Eagles)
17. Sunrise (Norah Jones)
18. Captain Fantastic and the Brown Dirt (Elton John)
19. Every Little Thing She Does Is Magic (The Police)
20. Romeo And Juliet (Dire Straits)
21. Holding Back the Years (Simply Red)
22. I am… I Said (Neil Diamond)
23. All the Girls Love Alice (Elton John)
24. I Can't Tell You Why (The Eagles)
25. Going to California (Led Zeppelin)
26. Love is the Seventh Wave (Sting: Fields of Gold)
27. Give A Little Bit (Supertramp)
28. Brass in Pocket (The Pretenders)
29. Spirits in the Material World (The Police)
30. Pink (Aerosmith)
31. Black Dog (Led Zeppelin)
32. In Your Eyes (Peter Gabriel)
33. She's Got The Look (Roxette)
34. Nikita (Elton John)

This playlist lasts nearly 2 and a half hours.

Tamil (Ilayaraja) Playlist:

1. nee pathi naan paathi 
2. priyasaki
3. pazhamuthir (tempo reduced 10pc)
4. talaiyai kuniyum (tempo reduced 10pc)
5. aadipattam
6. povomaa oorholam 
7. iru vizhiyin (tempo reduced 8pc)
8. nee oru kaadal (tempo reduced 10pc)
9. keladi kanmani (tempo reduced 5pc)
10. anjali anjali
11. irandum ondrodu (tempo reduced 10pc)
12. silence(tempo up 5pc)
13. siriya paravai
14. chittaan chittaan
15. mana maalaiyum (tempo reduced 11pc)
16. oru pooncholai (tempo up 9pc)
17. varadhu vandha (tempo reduced 7pc)
18. vaa vaa anbe (tempo reduced 20pc)
19. ninnukori (tempo reduced 15pc)
20. kaathu udha
21. kaadalin (tempo increased 42pc)
22. senbagame (tempo reduced 12pc)
23. chinna kuyil
24. chinnamani (tempo increased 7pc)
25. un paarvaiyil
26. kaalai nera (tempo reduced 6pc)
27. ilaya nila
28. mannil entha (tempo increased 10pc)
29. kadhal (tempo reduced 10pc)
30. per vachalum (tempo increased 8pc)
31. keeravni (tempo reduced 12pc)
32. poo maalai (tempo reduced 12pc)
33. inraikku yen (tempo reduced 8pc)
34. thalattum
35. maarugo maarugo
36. oh sukumari (tempo reduced by 18%) (Harris Jayaraj)

The last song in this play list is not an Ilayaraja song of course. It was included just for fun and for no other particular reason. 

This playlist lasts nearly 2 and a half hours. 

Bollywood/Hindi Playlist

1. ek ladki ko dekha (1942 A Love Story)
2. hud dabangg dabangg (Dabangg)
3. pankhon ko (Salim-Sulaiman)
4. kyon (All The Best - Pritam)
5. ali maula (tempo increased 22% -- Kurbaan)
6. tumhi dekho naa (Kabhi Alvida Naa Kehna)
7. iktara (Wake Up Sid)
8. aaj kal zindagi (tempo increased 18% -- Wake Up Sid)
9. hum tum (Hum Tum)
10. shukran allah (Kurbaan)
11. taare zameen par (tempo increased 14% -- Taare Zameen Par)
12. noor-un-ala-noor (Meenaxi - A Tale of 3 Cities)
13. maa (tempo increased 11% -- Taare Zameen Par)
14. kal ho naa ho (Kal Ho Naa Ho)
15. tere bina (tempo increased 15% -- Guru)
16. khwaja mere khwaja (tempo increased 48% -- Jodhaa Akbar)
17. kuch to log kahenge (Amar Prem)
18. ali ali (tempo reduced 10% -- Deewaar, 2004)
19. teri ore (Singh Is Kinng)
20. namak (Omkara)
21. sajdaa (tempo reduced 5% -- My Name is Khan)
22. bin tere (tempo increased 20% -- I Hate Luv Stories)
23. thoda thoda pyar (Love Aaj Kal
24. rahiman ishq ka jhaga re (Well Done Abba)
25. alvida (Life In A Metro)
26. phir dekhiye (Rock On)
27. chinnamma chilakkamma (tempo increased 8% -- Meenaxi - A Tale of 3 Cities)
28. aye udi udi udi (Saathiya)
29. saathiya (Saathiya)
30. kahin door jab din (Anand)
31. chingari koi bhadke (Amar Prem)
32. bheegi si bhaagi si (Raajneeti)
33. ibn-e-batuta (Ishqiya)
34. yeh rishta (Meenaxi - A Tale of 3 Cities)
35. tum jo aaye zindagi mein (Once Upon a Time in Mumbai)
36. andhanga lena (Godavari - telugu)
37. saamne aati ho (Dus)
38. rahi re (Luck By Chance)
39. khabar nahi (tempo reduced 10pc -- Dostana)

This playlist lasts nearly 2 and a half hours. 

If you have any tracks that I could add to this, please send me an email or leave a comment. 

-- Mohan (@mohank)

Aspirins and music opinions...

On Twitter, I recently noticed off one of the people that I follow say, "Pink Floyd is over-rated."

We then put off one terrific argument. Somewhere and all it went. Here, there and everywhere. Meandering only it was. What and all was said, I don't even know. Mattroffact, I don't even remember half the things I said. But what a jolly good fun I had off aa? I said one thing. The other person twisted it and threw it back at me like 'thoo take it'. I then took something they said, twisted it better and put off 'thooo take this now'. The bigger the thooo, the better the argument. Whatay jolly it was.

In the end, even though we argued and argued like anything, no new knowledge was conveyed. But then, what to do, this Twitter is a really silly medium for arguments and learning no? It is for idle chat about weather, recipes, cooking, putting "aaaaw" over kids photos, or putting "aawwww" over a Junior Master Chef contestant, talking about shoes, and cricket scores and for retweeting an article you have never read. Oh! And also about why IPL is a waste of everyone's time.

After that argument and all was over, after going home, I thought about it little bit more. Then I thought off: 'This argument that I had today about Pink Floyd being over-rated is not really different from the opinions that are put during the Chennai music season in December every year.

'Same to same this is, I thought.'

Opinion after opinion you will hear without substantiation. If you push the opinion-giver little bit they just run off.

Many times you will hear from one of the maamis: "X is chumma over-rated only. Why she is getting so much crowd, I only don't know!" The large maami sitting next to her would then often add to this growing body of opinion, "Ya ya. I agree. They only come to see her clothes and her jewels to take off copy of the latest trend. Does anyone in this audience even know music like you and me? And what gaudy clothes this X is wearing anyway? Too jazzy. Tcha. Will refined people even wear these? Her music is as gaudy as her clothes taste no? But what do do? Her fate and neram is good. Anyhow, I think our Mythili has a much better voice." 

I would lean forward and ask the thin fellow sitting next to large maami (presumably the underfed and malnourished husband): "Who is this Mythili? Which sabha is she performing in? Do you have her schedule?" hoping to catch a concert or two of a new, hitherto unknown talent. Often this would be met with, "Saar just now only she has reached varnam stage. But what my wife is saying is that Mythili has too much potential. Her potential is like anything only. The peoples in these sabhas have to giu chance no? Full politics saar in this place. Too full. Looks like you are overseas based because you are carrying ruck-sack, putting shorts and carry water bottle. You giu chance for her no in the abroad? Here take. Here is my card. Giu yours no?" I would often just run away from there.

Everyone has an opinion on something or the other during the music season.

This concert in Shastri Hall I still remember from a few years back. Full mosquitoes were fighting with each other to take me with them to the roof where they will not be pushed down by fan-air. Suddenly one bad breath leaned across and said to me: "Youngsters these days are all fed on instant coffee. That's why they are like this. See this fellow singing today? His tempo (kalapramanam) is all too fast. Most places taalam doesn't stand only."

If he did not have such terrible bad breath I may have pointed out to him that the artiste was singing "bala kanaka maya" in atana in the slowest kalapramanam I had heard anyone sing up until that concert. But I kept to myself and thought, 'Why and how do people acquire such incredibly bad breath?' Anyhow, how to argue in the middle of a concert with bad breath while at the same time fighting this mosquito army? I kept quiet only. It is not that this fellow's taalam was any good or something. And he was putting gyaan on taalam of the musician! He was putting taalam along with the song, but like he was in an exam or something, one eye was on my taalam. I can't cover my taalam with a towel to put no? So I put taalam and allowed him to copy. Suddenly lights went off. In Shatri Hall this is a common occurrence. Concert continued. What could this man do? Nothing. No taalam and no pat-pat-pat on his thigh. Lost he was. When the generator went "vrooom" and lights came off, this man's taalam also started off like that only after both eyes and head were near my thigh to see what I was putting.

Some people couch their opinion with somewhat of an apology. One fellow said to me once: "Saar I do not know too much technikel aspects of music and all, but this musician no... I have some advice for him. If you know him, tell him no? His uchcharippu ... you know, pronunciation ... is not good at all." I did not know the musician at all, but I wanted to know more about this "uchcharippu" business. On further questioning he said, "Saar, I don't know about ragas and all. That and all too technikel for me. For me mohanam and bhairavi are all same to same. But Sanskrit is difficult to sing. I know. No one can sing Sanskrit like MS Amma. All these fellows must listen to tapes of MS Amma singing and then go to Sanskrit college and then only come here to sing. In Sanskrit, the initial consonant should be properly aspirated." I felt I needed an aspirin too. I wanted to tell Sanskrit man, 'Dei. Listen to the music no? If you want to hear a Sanskrit lecture, listen to a Krishna Premi devotional lecture or something like that. Why come to a carnatic music concert and complain you did not have much aspirin that morning.'

What raa? Where do we find such people?

And then there are a bunch of people who might know a little bit more and are able to venture an  opinion with a little bit more substance. In one concert, one fellow sitting behind me said to his friend, "This musician fellow has such a poor voice. How did he come to such a level. He must be well-connected. Must be influence based no? Whatay poor sruthi shuddam this is. Range-e illai saar. And what a meek voice also no?"

This went on for a while. So I turned around and said, "Saar, clearly you do not have a meek voice. First listen to the concert no? Then you may be able to hear a stronger voice." When he started saying that he had also paid for the ticket, I quietly changed my seat to another place. How to argue against a fellow who says that his payment gave him the right to talk over anything that is being sung and complain that the artiste had a weak voice?

Then there was this fellow who sat next to me in a concert of a young musician. It was an afternoon concert where the young musician launched into a wonderful bhairavi raga. This fellow sat next to me and within a few lines of the raga, started saying that the bhairavi that was being sung was more like maanji. "What is this nonsense? These young fellows must be properly trained and then only sing. This is maanji only" he said. These are rare arguments, but sometimes you do come across precise opinion like this. And this is easy to argue against because you can refute this with observation and fact. This was argument-gold -- a rare opportunity. And so, I immediately pointed to the presence of sgrg phrases, the absence of an elongated dhaivatam in the sndp phrases or the absence (haha, yes, an "eschewing") of the pmpgrs too. I pointed all of this out to this bhairavi-maanji man and said, quite proudly "Saar, so this is bhairavi only."

But this fellow was adamant, "I don't know this-that-all-that. But I know I am right. This is maanji only. To my ear this sounds wrong." I simply said, "Saar, how can I argue with your ear?" and changed seats again.

But as I said, opinion is very cheap during season time. And even outside season time, chumma people will have some opinion or the other. I ask for substantiation of such opinion. But most times I have to argue with the ear of someone. How? People will just put off opinion like "I don't like this person, too much body shake happening". Arre, close your eyes and listen no?

One fellow pronounced a definitive verdict once about a popular musician, "This fellow needs to take a two year break,". A full fight only started off when I said, "Why? You take a two year break from him no? Not possible aa?"

Only last year, during the season, one fellow said to me as we were exiting the venue after a concert: "This fellow's repertoire has been exactly same same for many years now. Same songs again and again he is singing" I said cheekily, "Everyone sings the same mangalam only no Saar?" He got very angry at that point, "You impertinent fellow, you are teasing me aa? I am talking of his entire repertoire. Same songs again and again for two years." I did not think so at all. Indeed, I knew it too. The singer had changed completely from a Kannada based repertoire to an entirely Sanskrit repertoire with lots of aspirin. But I said, "Saar, you must know that the word you used is not pronounced reper-tear," and ran away from there.

But the worst kind of opinion that I generally stay right away from is that which starts with "Back in my days music was..."

That is when I know I really need an aspirin...

-- Mohan (@mohank)


Ps: This piece is quite influenced by @localteaparty who wrote a hilarious piece on "looking good". The above piece started off in a different tone, but the tone was changed somewhat after reading the "Good looks. And then?" piece.

A. R. Rahman's Guru: A review...

Over the weekend, I listened to music from Mani Rathnam's movie "Guru". The movie is slated for release late in 2006. The music was released a few weeks ago.

I don't somehow think there will be too many 'hits' from 'Guru' as most hits these days seem to me to be of the dhol-type or the club-mix-type! This is more kick-back-and-relax-genre. Rahman tunes Gulzar's lyrics in Guru. Guru is a Ratnam-Rahman combination; a collaboration that worked really well in blockbuster movies like Roja, Bombay, Dil Se and Alaipayude (Saathiya).

Guru is Rahman's first (Bollywood) movie music release since Rang De Basanti, which was towards the end of 2005. It was therefore, quite an anticipated release. I have to say that it did not match my expectations completely. This does not mean that the songs are bad in Guru. Not at all! Indeed, some of the songs are actually quite good. However, after many super hits from movies like Earth, Roja, Taal, Dil Se, Pukar, Meenaxi: A Tale of Three Cities, Rangeela, Saathiya, Lagaan, Kisna, Yuva, Swades, Rang De Basanti, etc, one expected much more. Maybe that's more because of the standard of music we have come to expect from Rahman.

But after listening to Guru, one can't help but admire Rahman's versatility and courage. Gone are the days when he used to just belt out tunes that the Producer or the Director of the film felt the audience would like. He has, one feels, entered a phase where he makes music that defines himself as a musician. One feels that he is not content with just belting out tunes. He wants to leave a stamp; create an impact. In Guru, I feel that he is starting to break free of the Bollywood formula stranglehold. Guru is, one feels, a statement from Rahman although not an indulgence. Good luck to him.

As B Rangan says in his blog review of Guru: "There’s very little in his music that’s instantly catchy and fun anymore, because he’s no longer just making soundtracks; he’s painting soundscapes."

The movie has seven songs.

Two of these are, in my view, not that great ("baazi laga" and "ek lo ek muft"). Three songs are just awesome ("tere bina", "ay hairathe" and "jaage hain") and I feel that one other song ("mayya") will grow on me. And I am undecided on one of them ("barso re").

I did not get the point of a simple song like "baazi laga" (sung by Udit Narayan, Madhushree and Shweta Bargavee). I did not quite get this song and where it came from. It may be a situational song with a lot of prancing around aimlessly. But, w have come to expect such lofty ideals for Rahman's music that this song falls short.

Rahman's tunes are normally extremely melodious and are solidly based on classical or folk idioms. There is a sheer craftsmanship to his music. To him, composed music is a carefully sculpted piece of art. he takes it seriously. Therefore, one tends to find many layers to his music and the more you peel (for those who want to peel) the more you see. Rahman's music, therefore, caters to a wide audience. Those who want to hear a song in order to discover something new, will! And yet, his songs also cater to those that didn't want to tax themselves. The songs are fun enough for them too!

Bappi Lahiri sings "ek lo ek muft". Perhaps Rahman wanted to re-create the "mumbai se aaya mera dost" mood in a tapori-type bhang song? Especially since the movie also has Mithun Chakraborty, the original "mumbai se aya mera dost". All of this is random speculation, of course. However, what is certainly not speculation is that this song doesn't work for me... yet! And I have heard it only 5-6 times now. But then again, maybe this song will grow on me too?

Then we have "barso re", a song by Shreya Ghosal and Uday Mazumdar. While it is certainly not in the "baazi laga" category, it is not a sit-up-and-take-notice type of song, in my view. The beat is simple and effective and there are a few clever loops that run through the song. But the song just doesn't lift. It does have some fascinating layers in it though -- like the nice staccato beats. So perhaps the song will grow on me through these layers. Who knows? I felt a bit frustrated with this song though. The vocals by Shreya Ghosal are terrific and Naveen's flute is magic. The soundscape suggests a folk setting, but one can never be too sure with Rahman. There is always this tension between the imagined soundscape and the actual. But therein lies my frustration with this song. Just as the rustic drums worked in "chinnamma chilakkamma" (from Meenaxi) the strange drums (B. Rangan calls it "fire crackers in a tin can" -- how appropriate!) sometimes drown out the sweet vocals in this song. Maybe this is a layer-thing? I am hoping that a few more listens will move this one from the "undecided" category to "I can't get enough of this"!

The songs in the movie that are worth raving about are "tere bina", "ay hairathe" and "jaage hain". A mild warning though. You can easily get hooked on these songs! They are awfully catchy and they are incredibly melodious. Hariharan's voice in "ay hairathe" is awesome and so is Alka's. Chinmayee is a revelation. A. R. Rahman's singing is also awesome in "tere bina".

Of these three songs, "tere bina" is Rahman's tribute to Ustad Nusrat Fateh Ali Khan. There is no doubt that Rahman, like a whole generation of sub-continental musicians (and music directors) has been hugely influenced by the great Nusrat. The "tere bina" tune is simple and the song is good in (or maybe because of) its simplicity. Chinmayee adds to the layers of the song. She sings quite mellifluosly and effortlessly. Rahman's rapid-fire solfeggio-singing as part of the first interlude is nice and quite Nusrat-esque. However, although it is quite good and while it is a nice tribute to Nusrat, it falls somewhat short of a total Nusrat impression for me. If you want to hear a take that is a bit truer to Nusrat style of rapid-free-solfeggio, listen to "ali ali" sung by a singer called Krishna in the movie Deewar! Of all the names for a person singing a Sufi Qawaali, the name Krishna seems almost as bizzarre as Imran Khan donning whites to turn up to play for India in a game of cricket! The song "ali ali" is from Deewar with music by Aadesh Shrivastava. I have been quite impressed with Aadesh Shrivastava lately. He has had a few clever songs like "ali ali", "rang deni" (the Kailash Kher offering), etc from movies like K3G, Dev, Deewar, Chalte Chalte, etc.

Anyway, back to "tere bina"... It is a lovely song with a catchy refrain. Chinmayee is quite good in this too. The segment that Chinmayee sings in the lower octaves towards the end of the song is quite haunting. She projects her clear and sweet voice right through the song. It is quite Alisha-Chinoy-ish in some parts too! Perhaps Chinmayee is in her more mature phase and one hopes that she lives up to the immense promise she showed when she burst onto the scene as a teenager! The "dum tara dum tara" refrain is sung by Murtuza Khan and Kadir Khan (who sang the terrific "noor-un-ala" Qawali from the movie Meenaxi). The acoustic guitar chords that play right through the song create a wonderful backdrop for the song. Overall, "tere bina" is quite good and I can see that this will become a favourite soon.

By the way, the "dum tara dum tara" refrain sounds very similar to the "ga ga re ga ga re ga re ga" solfeggio that Shankar Mahadevan and Sadhana Sargam sing in "goonji si hai" from Kyon! Ho Gaya Na. There's nothing patently wrong with that mind you. Just an observation. The refrain is also quite similar to "maangalyam" in Saathiya (Alaipayude)!

The song "ay hairathe" is a wonderful ghazal-type number sung by Hariharan and Alka Yagnik. The song starts of in a wonderfully quirky manner. An accordian plays softly accompanied by only the dayan beats of a tabla, also played in a muted manner. The entry of the bayan of the tabla is, therefore, quite dramatic and creates an immediate impact before the synth and electric guitar join in a melodious fusion. The "dum tara dum tara" refrain is heard in this song too, this time sung by Rahman in quite an impressive high pitch.

Anyway, "ay hairathe" is a good song that shows of the versatility of Hariharan and Alka. The movement from a ghazal arrangement (simplicity of arrangement with tabla, accordian, synth, electric guitar) to a Scottish highland tune in the first interlude shows Rahman's ability to switch genres seamlessly (as he did in Lagaan, Bombay Dreams and many more of his projects). Towards the end of the song, Alka Yagnik launches into singing "dum tara dum tara" and turns what is essentially a Qawali refrain right through the song to create a bhajan-type mood. Quite nice.

The last good song in the album is "jaage hain". Perhaps it is also the last song in the movie? It has a melancholic air to it and suggests a possible death-bed scene to it. I suggest that we be prepared for a few heart-string-tugs when we watch the picturisation of this song. Perhaps Dhirubhai Ambani on his death bed? [Guru is supposedly inspired by Ambani's life]. Chitra and Rahman have combined to make "jaage hain" a really nice song. It presents some really confident and strident vocals by Rahman. However, his entry into the song is a soft whisper. The horn and string arrangements in this are quite excellent. The string arrangement is presumably played by the Madras Qartret -- a group that Rahman uses in almost all of his movies (they travel on his live concerts too). The group includes V. R. Sekar on the Cello -- Kunnakudi Vaidhyanathan's son.

Lastly a song called "mayya" sung by Maryem Hassan Toller and Chinmayee. This is quite a nice song too. It is quite likely that Rahman got exposed to Maryem Toller's singing while he was based in Toronto (in preparation for his compositional magnum opus -- Lord of The Rings: The Musical). Maryem is an Arabic/Tukish singer based in Toronto, Canada. And "mayya" is an Arabic-inspired song supposedly picturised in Turkey with Mallika Sherawat dancing away. Rahman has always had a huge Arabic influence in his music (hear "satrangi re" from Dil Se). And "mayya" is a song that has a distinct "khalbali" (Rang De Basanti) hangover. It also has a "bhanno rani" flavour (the song from Earth:1947 that is said to have launched Sadhana Sargam), especially in its background loops, its rhythmic structure and its cleaver use of a heavy tambourine to accent the flowing rhythm. It is likely that the picturisation of the song, especially with the curvy Mallika Sherawat dancing away, will lift the song!

The lyrics and meanings of the songs are at: http://passionforcinema.com/gulzar-in-guru/

You can watch a clip of "tere bina" at: http://havetoremember.wordpress.com/2006/11/18/tere-bina-from-guru/

Finally Guru is not a funky KANK-type album. You won't be dancing to any of these songs in a tearing hurry! The songs will not play in pubs, bars and nightclubs. It may play in a few cafes. It will hopefully play in living rooms! I think that Guru is a good Rahman album. I wish he hadn't made "baazi laga" or "ek lo ek muft" or made something else in their place. I do want to wait and see what Mani Ratnam and Rajeev Menon do with the songs. If they don't pull it off, some of the songs will probably be forgotten.

But I have a feeling that the three-four good songs in this album will play repeatedly on my iPod...

On why I like Sanjay Subrahmanyan's music so much...

Sanjay Subrahmanyan is my  favourite Carnatic (South Indian classical) musician,
by a long way. I have quite a few of his recordings in my possession. I also have
quite a few of his live concert  recordings. His music fills more than 30% of
my 40Gb iPod!

It is not as if I listen to only Sanjay Subrahmanyan.Some of my fellow
concert-going-friends have often accused me of having an unnecessarily
"Catholic" (and perhaps even an undifferentiated) taste in music. I
listen to anyone and everyone without fear or prejudice. But there are
few that challenge and stretch me.

I don't really need to justify my liking for his music to anyone really!
But recently, I asked myself "Why so?"

Primarily, to me Carnatic music has to engage the heart as well as the mind
(simultaneously). Although many musicians do reach and simultaneously engage
the mind and the heart, Sanjay's music is certainly engaging and challenging
and certainly makes me want to continually enquire and search for a far
deeper meaning... Beyond that somewhat simplistic explanation, I have
nothing more to profer by way of justification or explanation for why I
like Sanjay's music.

More generally, when it comes to performing artistes (or sports people) in
the end, for me, it is all about a combination of (some of) the following
characteristics:

• to excel in ones field and to continually want to excel,
  
• having a huge dollop of self-belief and yet, retaining humility,
• demonstrating utmost integrity in public and private life,
  
• showing leadership in all aspects of life (performance life and private life),
• continually demonstrating passion for what one does,
• a steely resolve to succeed despite the odds -- not for the sake of success itself, but in order to make a contribution,
• a desire to make lasting impacts (to society and/or to ones profession) and
• a constant and demonstrable need to continually learn, grow and innovate.

It is for the above reasons that I admire:

• A. R. Rahman
• Sachin Tendulkar
• Rahul Dravid
• Shabana Azmi
• Steve Waugh

It is for the above reasons that I used to admire Ganguly (who was, in my opinion
the best 'leader of men' in Indian cricket and perhaps even the 'first true leader
of men' in Indian cricket).

Sanjay Subrahmanyan has an utter and total dedication to the classical Carnatic
idiom. He has an absolute and utter belief in his own abilities and his own chosen
path to 'success'. He has the self-confidence to pursue those goals. He has belief
in the path that he has chosen -- which includes the constant desire (that I feel)
to creatively innovate within the norms of a strongly codified genre. Rather than
look at those norms as a burden, a shackle and a constraint (which, unfortunately,
many of today's musicians do), Sanjay has not only believed in it, but also used
it to stunning effect.

There is, I believe, a foundational structure in his performance career.

"To innovate contiunually and to search for more meaning within the norms of
a strictly codified genre".

This position that he has occupied today, I feel, stems from an absolute inner
confidence. An inner confidence in his own abilities, his own drivers and his
motivations. An inner confidence that shuns wanton adulteration and denigration
through mediums such as (con)fusion music, jugalbandhi music, kalyana (marriage)
katcheris, etc.

There is foundational principle at play here; a principle that was seemingly
established at a very formative stage in his career as opposed to one that
was arrived at after a timeless journey of introspection; a principle that
was deliberate as opposed to wanton; a principle that was designed and
crafted as opposed to one that was randomly chosen.

Therefore, there is a sense that I derive from listening to him that one can
stick to basics, within the bands of pragmatism in the modern-day milieu of
instant gratification and a fast pace of life.

Examples of these are

• a strict belief in classical traditions,
• singing with a tambura and not an electronic sruthi box,
• to not resort to needless speeches while on stage -- especially those that unnecessarily magnify ones own contributions/genius in a garish and outlandish manner -- and therefore, focussing on the greatness inherent in the music itself (unlike some of his contemporaries that adopt a patronizing stance towards their audience),
  
• not referring to notes on stage,
• a constantly neat appearance on stage that shuns extravagance (the focus, therefore, is on the music and nothing else),
• providing percussion accompanists with a taniavartanam (solo percussion segment of a Carnatic classical music concert) in the first half of the concert itself,
• wearing crisp-white on stage,
  
• not succumbing to the need to splash a dash of ash on the forehead and not being frightened of the consequences of him being seen, perhaps, as a non-believer, etc.

While these traits could have been seen as a throwback to the 50s in the era where
cricket, Bollywood, internt-chat and download-gratification dominates, these traits
have become stunningly popular and a near-cult-following has ensued.

The refrain in his case is "simplicity and yet depth; basic and yet profound". 

Film songs that I am listening to

When it comes to film scores, A. R. Rahman is a personal favourite of mine. More recently, I have become partial to the scores of Shankar-Ehsaan-Loy too. Two of the songs I am listening to currently (and I mean over and over and over again!) have been scored by Shankar-Ehsaan-Loy. I must say that between the two of them A. R. Rahman and Shankar-Ehsaan-Loy account for nearly 95% of the film songs that I like to listen to.

I must be developing some sort of an aversion to too much bass and monotonously thumping rhythms. Most of my recent favourites seem to be slow numbers with a strong accent on good vocals and strong chords. Moreover, most of the songs that I am listening to also seem to derive strength from a sound classical base.

The film songs that I am listening to these days are:

- yeh rishta (Meenaxi: A Tale of Three Cities)
- kitni batein (Laskhya)
- aao na (Kyon Ho Gaya Na)
- yeh jo des hai tera (Swades)
- dheemi dheemi (1947 Earth)
- noor-un-ala (Meenaxi: A Tale of Three Cities)

Reena Bharadwaj's debut offering is in the form of yeh rishta. This is a fresh and captivating song from Meenaxi and is scored by A. R. Rahman. I particularly like the picturisation of yeh rishta. The colours in it are wonderfully crisp and well accented. Reena Bhardwaj has since sung in main vari vari, Rahman's composition in Mangal Pandey: The Rising. She was, however, introduced in yeh rishta and what a wonderful introduction this is. It is said that Rahman called her over for an audition to his studio apartment in London and recorded the scratch version of this song on his kitchen benchtop! This is not the first time Rahman has used a scratch version as the real thing! It is said that the bhajan, pal pal hai bhaari (Swades), with Ashutosh Gowariker reciting Ravana’s lines, was recorded inside a hotel room in Panchgani. Apparently everyone who was present in the small hotel room (the cast included Gowariker, Shah Rukh Khan, Javed Akhtar, Rahman and playback singers Vijay Prakash and Madhushree) believed that a scratch was being recorded. The scratch was so good and natural that it became the real thing!

Back to yeh rishta, however. The song has great vocals, wonderful music, wonderful picturisation, breathtaking colours, and excellent cinematography to suit the pace of the song! The best part of the song is the splending blend of guitar, violin and tabla. One aspect of this song that makes me want to go back to it over and over again is the brilliant use of the tabla. Just as one anticipates the commencement of even the simple but supremely effective na-dhin-dhin-dha theka in the song yeh jo des hai (Swades), a similar sense of anticipation and build-up accompanies the commencement of the tabla in yeh rishta. Rahman has an uncanny sense of rhythm and music, but more and more, I think it is his sense of timing (the right time to deploy simplicity and the right time to increase the complexity of rhythms and of music landscapes) is what sets him apart from the rest.

While I found the film Meenaxi to be highly taxing, and perhaps even an over-indulgence by M.F.Hussain, I thought the songs were quite stunning. The Sufi-style noor-un-ala-noor by Murtuza Khan and Qadir Khan is a splendid compositional effort by A. R. Rahman, the genius of modern film music. The complex chords, the bass and the use of the harmonium in patches only, accent the song brilliantly. And of course, chinnama chilakkama is a masterpiece in the chaiyya chaiyya mould.

In recent times, A. R. Rahman has included chinnama chilakkamma in all his live concerts. The flute interludes by Naveen are sensational. On closer observation (I did see Rahman and his troupe live in their recent Melbourne and Sydney concerts) it appears that he uses a very small (tiny, in fact) folk flute to belt out the powerful tunes.

For some time now I have been fascinated by Hariharan's vocals. His voice is extremely pliable and he manages to retain the voice projection consistency in the higher octaves, just as he does in the lows. Unlike Shankar Mahadevan, who only demonstrates his strong classical background sparingly, Hariharan tends to produce enough modulations in his voice to continually remind listeners of his strong classical background, leanings and abilities.

The films Lakshya and Kyun Ho Gaya Na throw up some interesting songs. Of the lot, I must say kitni baatein (Lakshya) and aao na (KHGN) are just pleasing. Sadhana Sargam and Hariharan have developed, in my view, a special chemistry. Their duets are often magic and this is abundantly evident in kitni baatein. Although he is such a versatile artiste, I believe kitni baatein is a song which is, I think, just made for Hariharan.

Apart from the above songs, I am also partial to all songs in Swades -- this movie does have some brilliant songs in it.

The fact that ARR is able to blend in Western elements and Hidustani/Carnatic influences in almost all of his songs is amazing. He doesn't call it "fusion" and is not as pretentious as some of the other musicians who are running around, claiming to do "fusion" music! Frankly, a lot of the "fusion" music today is plain "confusion"! However, ARR, without claiming fusion as his way of life or his USP (and frankly, it isn't!), manages to blend various influences (Arabic, Chinese, Indian, Folk, Western, etc) in a seamless and wonderful manner. His is the true "crossover" genre of music today -- at least in the 'mainstream'.

In Swades, I thought Rahman brilliantly brought out the folk setting of the movie through his songs. The songs (especially saawariya and pal pal hai bhari) are so tightly based and built on folk heritage themes of North India (where the film is set). Hence, there is a sense that the music, the lyrics and the film's setting are tightly interwoven; clearly an important feature of the ARR-JavedAkhtar-Gowrikar combination which accomplished a sense of coupling in Lagaan too. Clearly, ARR pays distinct attention to these finer aspects of arranging music in a manner that Bollywood has not seen much of before!

Of course, the classical base of several of the songs make the songs from Swades all that more appealing to me!

I thought yeh tara woh tara was a curious mix of the Carnatic raga-s, kapi and khamboji (the m-g-p-d-s keeps appearing several times in the tune) -- close to the hindustani khamaj perhaps? I'd need to to listen to it some more to be certain. There is a flute segment in this song again, which is just sensational.

The alap for yun hi chala (provided by Khailash Kher and Hariharan) is sensational too.

The song pal pal hai bhaari has very strong traces of abheri (or karnataka devagandhari) or bhimplasi, its equivalent in the Hindustani system of classical music. It is really quite a well arranged piece.

The song yeh tara woh tara once again stems from a strong classical base. It has strong hues of the Hindustani kalavati (the Carnatic malayamarutam) which is close enough to the Carnatic valaji!

The best song of the album is, in my view, yeh jo des hai tera. The chords in this song are so very complex, although that is a distinct Rahman feature in that he makes it very hard on himself as well as on other instrumentalists who want to learn and play his songs. This is mainly because in most of his songs, the chords cross-run and play differently each time a melody repeats. The shehnai feature in yeh jo des hai is so simple and yet, its effect is so stunning. Although it is a live sample that plays as a digitised loop all through the song (as is the "hai hai" that peels right through the song) and although I am not a great fan of digitised loops, I think it forms a stunning landscape for the whole song to be sculpted on as a wonderful edifice! At first I coldn't believe that it was ARR that sung this song. However, it bacame clearer in the first charanam (apologies to you die-hard Bollywood buffs for me using a Carnatic term here again!).

Overall, Swades is a current favourite of mine. It is a very well crafted album with many gems in it.

I have been threatening to write a blog on ragas employed in film music for quite some time now. I might just get started on that one of these days!