A.R. Rahman and the Winds of Change

Rahman singlehandedly saved Hindi film music and showed it the way towards a better, more meaningful future.

This story begins in the early 1980s. So overpowering was Amitabh Bachchan’s sheer presence that music in his films had become practically irrelevant. Hindi remakes of South Indian films worked because of suggestive dialogues and shallow comedy. Songs played the props of choreographed dance sequences very often. The lyrics were uniformly silly, the compositions invariably mediocre. But the viewers fell for such package deals. The trend lasted for a while.

Alongside such films was a change on a modest scale. Ghazals found their way back through films like Umrao Jaan, Saath Saath and Bazaar. Had film-makers who directed big-budget films used ghazals on a regular basis, the art form could have experienced an emphatic revival. That didn’t happen as ‘disco king’ Bappi Lahiri unleashed his plagiarism-driven output on the masses.

Although some Hindi film music composers had been inspired from the West in the past, Lahiri was in a different league. Whenever he had to produce a track with fast rhythms, he lifted the tune of some Western pop number like a robot. Eruption’s version of Neil Sedaka’s ‘One Way Ticket’ for ‘Hari Om Hari’ in Pyaara Dushman, Tielman Brothers’ ‘Jesus’ for ‘Krishna’ and ‘Video Killed the Radio Star’ popularised by The Buggles for ‘Auva Auva’ in Disco Dancer, Modern Talking’s ‘Brother Louie’ for ‘Zooby Zooby’ in Dance Dance: while manufacturing these Hindi copies and passing them off as his own compositions, Lahiri’s application of imagination was as unremarkable as a tailor’s in a small town who copies a Salman Khan outfit for a rickety young man to make him look like the macho megastar.

By the 80s, Western pop music was far less unfamiliar to the average Indian listener in small towns. This person certainly wasn’t spoilt for choice. The pirated cassettes business was booming, so the disco revolution wasn’t confined to hearing Hindi film songs among those who understood English. Modern Talking’s ‘Brother Louie’ in fact was a huge hit; yet, Lahiri ripped off the tune shamelessly, knowing that the majority who didn’t hear English songs would succumb to the charms of its pulsating rhythm patterns and the bizzare homemade catchphrase ‘Zooby Zooby.’ This was the market he addressed. His target listener heard him, too.

In fact, the 80s are often spoken of as the dark age of Hindi film music. R.D. Burman’s decline because of the failure of his films inflicted serious damage. Although Kalyanji-Anandji and Laxmikant-Pyarelal were around, Burman’s range was incomparable. He was a man of ideas. He was completely at ease with several musical styles, be it Western or Arabic, and he could weave haunting Indian melodies as well.

While Burman was sidelined, a young Anu Malik scored a huge hit with Mard’s soundtrack which was an assault on sensibility. Towards the end of the decade,  Anand-Milind seemed to signal the beginning of further decline with Qayamat Se Qayamat Tak while Nadeem-Shravan delivered what was possibly the biggest blockbuster of the decade with Aashiqui.

Today, soundtracks like those of QSQT and Aashiqui with their insipid melodies, structural sameness and unimaginative instrumentation would have disappeared from the mind’s radar a few days after they were released. The listener’s expectations having shot up, such mediocrity wouldn’t have been endorsed any longer, a change for which Hindi film music must thank A.R. Rahman.

History will judge Rahman in three different contexts: his work in films in the South, his global reach and his contribution to Hindi film music. Those analysing his work threadbare will make a list of songs in which he was inspired by others: for instance, Mozart’s 40^th symphony in G Minor which had formed the basis for Salil Chowdhury’s ‘Itna Tu Mujhsey Na Pyar Badha’ in Chhaya in the early 60s. The same symphony may or may not have returned to Indian composing in Jai Ho!, his most famous song because of the Oscar factor. But while Chowdhury’s source can be identified easily, Rahman’s composition has a faint suggestion which might be a coincidence. Likewise, ‘Challa’ from the recent Shah Rukh Khan starrer Jab Tak Hai Jaan is loosely inspired by Eagle-Eye Cherry’s ‘Save Tonight.’ And, there are a few others too.

But while discussions on inspirations are irrelevant in this essay, there is no doubt, absolutely no doubt at all, that his was a liberated spirit in the sedated environment of the early 90s. He took Hindi film music out of the junkyard and catalysed the formation of a brave new approach which acted as a powerful counterpoint to the cliche-infested musicianship of the period. When Roja’s songs reached listeners, we heard the work of a powerful creative force in the soothing melody of ‘Chhoti Si Aasha’ set to reggae beats, or his use of Raga Desh in ‘Roja Jaaneman’. The compositional tapestry, designed for popular appeal, was a lesson for music directors.

So what if Rahman was a young lad? With just one soundtrack, he had emerged as a threat to the establishment. The stereotype had been demolished. The songs didn’t have the kind of limited appeal associated with the content of arthouse cinema, since ‘Roja’ the film didn’t belong to that category either. Assessing its success in terms of sales figures would have been unfair, the soundtrack having shown that the listener was open to songs in which novelty was the basis of diversity.

Of course, destiny had also been kind to Rahman. Had he emerged in a previous era when masters like Khayyam, Naushad and S.D. Burman were working, his influence would certainly have been less. That he appeared after satellite television had entered Indian homes was also fortuitous. He  had the guarantee of getting a significant number of followers who had formulated some idea of Western music through the music channels.

Besides, he had access to music-related technology which he mastered. But any theory that his songs are better because his technological awareness is much higher than other Hindi film music composers is absurd. The reason: command over gadgets cannot create a song which is the offshoot of knowledge, interpretation of influences, and the subsequent construction of a melodic structure. Rahman, the creator, must therefore be isolated from his technological expertise when any judgement on his music is passed.

His importance in Hindi film music was well-explained by composer Vishal of Vishal-Shekhar: “It is because of him that we are able to compose our own thing. He is unique.” This doesn’t mean that the Bad Song died. Formula-based songs were born, and some  succeeded as well. Plagiarism was rampant in the 90s even after Rahman continued to grow bigger in film music. Songs in which composers of undemanding melodies preferred to stay within their comfort zones didn’t disappear either. Jatin-Lalit were far ahead of Anand-Milind and Nadeem-Shravan, but both were musicians of limited ability who didn’t appear keen to expand their creative vision. However, the duo spun their independent narrative of success which cannot be brushed aside.

What Rahman did—leading to Vishal’s statement—was to pioneer a parallel movement in film music. Even those who had once fed off stereotypes and plagiarism have had to try and mend their ways. An interesting example is Malik and his work in Refugee or his title track in Yaadein sung by Hariharan, which the director certainly wouldn’t have tried back in the 80s and early 90s. He wouldn’t have felt the need to stretch himself to that extent simply because it wasn’t necessary.

Rahman on his part has been busy setting benchmarks. Even a listener who responds instinctively without attempting to discern the nature of influences that govern a creation would have understood that Saathiya’s title track was as well-knit and structurally complex as anything he had ever heard in Hindi cinema.  ‘Yun Hi Chala’ from Swades was a charming cut; yet, Rahman also took it several notches higher by using Udit Narayan, Hariharan and Kailash Kher for the right parts. Their voices were made to overlap on occasions, which created an intricate tapestry of voices.

Carnatic music, Hindustani Classical, qawwali, different strands of pop—Rahman has kept adding to his repertoire over the years. Factors like the use of unusual voices and skilled use of technology have made him the benchmark composer others watch out for and learn from.

Those who have followed him with their own approaches and ideas have made contributions of their own, although that process has just begun. The trio of Shankar, Ehsaan and Loy are individually brilliant. Had Rahman not shown the way, they might have hesitated before composing a fusion pop song like Dil Chahta Hai’s title track (2003) for the mainstream Hindi film audience. Each one of these directors brings with him a different musical sensibility, which has merged to create some very good work from time to time.

Vishal-Shekhar are very talented, and they experiment freely quite often. Seven years after the pioneer himself started out, Ismail Darbar’s usage of contrasting vocal styles to convey the backgrounds of the characters in ‘Albela Sajan’ in Hum Dil De Chuke Sanam (1999) was a purely Rahman-influenced move.

Of course, all shortcomings haven’t been eliminated. Shankar-Ehsaan-Loy have embarrassed themselves by recycling a part of Roy Orbison’s ‘Oh Pretty Woman’ in the song ‘Pretty Woman’ for Kal Ho Naa Ho (2003). Producer Karan Johar had obtained a licence for using it, which was a dignified act, but the way it was manhandled was disrespectful. The industry still has Pritam, the Bappi Lahiri of modern times, whose only claim to superiority is his exposure to different varieties of music which gives him more options to copy.

Meanwhile, Rahman goes on. From a period film like Jodhaa Akbar (2007) to a rock musical drama like Rockstar (2011), he has adapted himself to suit the need of contextual considerations to create sufi, rock, qawwali, Arabic- and classical-based and lively young pop tracks and more. He has faltered while composing for the odd film like Lekar Hum Deewana Dil (2014). However, the seeker in him retains its thirst for more education in music.

In fact, although connoisseurs of Hindi film music who are stuck in the groove of the past might hate to hear this, Rahman is ‘the’ most versatile composer that Hindi film music has ever seen. It can be argued that music directors from the golden era have given us songs which have lasted for several decades, but this can be countered by asking whether it is correct to judge a man whose first soundtrack was born only 22 years ago and which we still remember very well. In terms of range, he has given more than anybody else has. Ever. That in itself has shown a new path to directors whose willingness to juggle with various musical idioms is in evidence.

Perhaps the recall value of his body of work can be properly assessed only 25 years from today. The results might be better than we imagine. They might be worse. What any fair analysis must mention is that he singlehandedly saved Hindi film music and showed it the way towards a better, more meaningful future. For, therein lies the real importance of the man.