The interview titled "If I'm wanted today, I could be discarded tomorrow" which appears below, was originally published on Filmare in January 1996. ©The rights to this material are reserved to the owner. If you have any concerns or comments, please send an email to info@rahmaniac.com.
Thousands of miles away, I am overcome by a chronic bout of homesickness. My friend in Washington D.C. has an instant remedy for my grey cloud of depression: he plays a CD of Rangeela, and the speakers blast Tanha Tanha. It’s like being home again.
Allah Rakha Rahman’s music is the hit-hot beat of the 1990s, with the nation fingersnapping to his beats and even the snooty teenyboppers bop till they drop to the manic drive of his hip-happy life’s-a-lark tunes. Born on January 6, 1967, the 28-year-old composer has cut through the thicket dividing the upmarket swingers from the hoi polloi.
Upon returning to India, I am overcome by the need to interview the usually reticent Rahman, to try to make him unwind and discover what goes on in that merry-go-round mind of his, and perhaps he will tell me his story. As it turns out, my subject of inquiry is in a rare conversational mood at his home-cum-music-studio in a quiet, dusty gully of Kodambakkam, Madras.
We zip through an array of rooms stacked with trophies and music paraphernalia, reach a carpeted study, and sit cross-legged on a sky-grey carpet to talk about life and music.
Do you remember the first conscious moment when you heard music?
I must have been four or five when my father, R.K. Sekhar, bought some new gear – a synthesizer from Singapore. He was an arranger and conductor and was using it to make the music of a Malayalam movie. I wasn’t allowed to touch it. As a child, music seemed to be a means of earning bread and butter. I had no special fascination for it – it was associated purely with work. Yet I couldn’t take my eyes off the synthesizer, it was like a forbidden toy. My father was even given a free ticket to Japan since we’d gotten the first synthesizer to India. All of that seems so far away today.
I learned my first music lessons on a piano and a pedal organ, learning western classical music. When my father passed away, all of his musical instruments kept reminding us of him. To make ends meet, we would rent out the equipment. I was nine years old when he died. I started learning how to play the guitar and keyboards when I was 11 and started giving performances on television.
What was your father like?
I’m told that I’m quite like my father – he was even shorter than I am. He’d be very busy, but he was very fond of me – I was the only son. I remember the many hospitals I would be taken to when he fell ill. He was taken to eight to nine hospitals, including the CMC hospital in Vellore and the Vijaya hospital in Madras. I saw him suffering physical pain. I remember the Christian priests who would read from the Bible beside his hospital bed and the pujas and yagnas performed by the pundits. By the time the Muslim pirs came, it was too late. He had already left us.
Do you ever feel anxious that you could be abandoned someday?
There’s no anxiety as such, but I’ve seen the callousness of the world at a young age. I’ve also seen kindness, like Mr. M.K. Arjunan who helped us in our darkest days by employing me as a keyboard player in his orchestra. I know that success doesn’t last forever and it could disappear suddenly one day. In fact, I feel like every new film I take on could be my last one. If I’m wanted today, I could be discarded tomorrow. If and when that happens, I have a safety route – I could go back to composing ad jingles. I’m composing film music now because I was encouraged by Mani Ratnam. When I expressed my reservations about getting into this field, he unlocked my fears and convinced me that my music could give pleasure to many more people. So here I am, trying to do my best with what I’m offered.
Do you feel like you’re stuck in an area of no return?
Not stuck, but fighting as hard as I can to be exclusive. When I refuse offers, I feel terrible because some people might be disappointed. I usually say no because I know I won’t be able to do justice to their projects. At times, they look like I’ve broken their hearts and it’s sad, but I can’t please everyone.
Aren’t you offered stacks of money? Aren’t you tempted?
Money can’t buy happiness. The biggest offers I get are for live shows and the amount I’m offered for one concert is much more than what I’d earn after working on 10 films! But I’m afraid you can’t buy creativity. Everyone comes with the same offer – state your price and we’ll give you what you want. Rather than huge fees, I’d appreciate interaction on a film’s score. The best music emerges from any composer when there’s an exchange of ideas and stories that inspire you. When you’re not into the spirit of things, you can get stuck and delays in delivering the score become unavoidable. So I’d rather not get into projects that don’t excite me from the outset. I don’t want anyone to feel that I’ve let them down later. Honestly, that’s how I was brought up – don’t get into something you’ll regret later.
How have your mother and sisters influenced your values and behavior professionally?
They have made a big difference in how I behave and conduct myself professionally. Since we grew up without a father, I’ve tried to be an example to my sisters. That’s why I haven’t become too immersed in the film world and lost my bearings. My mother and sisters have been a strong influence because they exposed me to music other than film music.
What prompted you to convert to Islam?
After my father passed away, I believed there was no God for a few years as a teenager. But there was a feeling of restlessness within me and I realized that there can be no life without a governing force or one God. I found what I was looking for in Islam. I used to go to durgahs with my mother and was advised by pirsaab Karim Mullashah Qadri. When we moved to this house, we committed to the faith.
You’ve said that your music is inspired by a divine force. Can you explain what you mean by that?
I meant that every individual’s success is given by a divine force. Often when I meditate, tunes come to me and these are the ones that are appreciated. When I compose without going through meditation, the melody doesn’t stick in the mind.
Do you get tunes while you’re praying?
No, while I’m praying I’m completely neutral. It’s like I’m dead to the world.
I’ve heard that you have strange working hours. Is that true?
Ha! Whoever told you that? I only work strange hours occasionally, not all the time. Sometimes I work through the night and catch up on sleep during the day because if I was in the studio during the day, I’d spend hours and hours just answering phone calls from producers.
You said that you’re limiting your assignments, but don’t you have a heavy workload?
In 1995, I worked on four films. For the 1996 releases, I completed four and a half projects and I’m doing five new ones.
Isn’t that a lot?
It’s manageable. I set a goal for myself of four to five films per year, the interesting ones.
Were you satisfied with the score for the Rajnikanth film Muthu?
Hmmmm. I couldn’t do more because of the time limitation. The Muthu cassette is doing very well though. But I know that the music of Muthu didn’t boost Rajnikant’s image, it was more of a film score rather than a personality score. Devaa’s music for Rajni’s earlier film, Baasha, seemed to work much better in that context.
Which scores have given you the most creative satisfaction?
Roja, Pudhiya Mugam, Duet, Thiruda Thiruda, and the background music of Bombay.
What is the most daunting aspect of composing a film score?
The director should have faith in the composer and the situations. I don’t know why, but it’s often thought that a slow-tempo song won’t engage the audience and they’ll walk out of the auditorium. That’s why producers always want raunchy and fast numbers. Everyone said that Tu hi re (Bombay) was far too slow and wouldn’t be successful, but Mani wasn’t discouraged at all. When a director has conviction, then the composer can create melody.
How come you didn’t mention Kadhalan (Hum Se Hai Muqabla) among your favorites?
Oh, that’s because churning out the Kadhalan kind of hits is quite easy. These numbers may be commercially successful, but they don’t elevate the taste of the listeners. The only innovative side of such songs is that we’ve always tried to go for clean lyrics… I composed the tune for Muqabla Muqabala around the same time that I composed Humma Humma. At the outset, when Shankar (the Kadhalan director) heard the tune, he felt it was too freaky. Then we got the first two lines of the lyrics, and he said that sounded okay. The rest of the lyrics were added after that. In the case of Urvashi Urvashi, again the tune was composed first. The song’s theme was “take it easy.” Then we were looking for a word that would rhyme with “easy.” I suggested “policy,” and that was it.
On average, how long do you take to complete a song?
I take time with all my songs; I can’t hack one out in a day. At times, the tune comes fast and the lyrics come slow. At times, it’s the other way around. Given the pressure of deadlines, I try to keep a balance between creativity and delivery, to the extent that it’s humanly possible… So let’s see, I think it takes me three to four days, on average, to complete a song.
Do you approve your film soundtracks that are dubbed into Hindi?
I’ve liked the Hindi versions of Roja, Bombay, and Kaadhalan especially. The dubbing goes through various stages. With my colleagues, like my sound engineer H. Sridhar, we monitor the dubbing and rectify any mistakes. Since we exercise control, we can ensure that the Hindi versions retain the essence of the originals.
With Rangeela, haven’t you entered an entirely new world of Hindi movies?
(laughs uproariously) Fortunately for me, the Hindi film-makers have entered my world. Luckily for me, they come here… I don’t go to Bombay. So this world of mine seems pretty nice and colorful.
Which of the Rangeela numbers would you place on the highest rungs of your personal hit parade?
Tanha Tanha, Mangta Hai, and Hai Rama. Their music happened, it flowed. Ramu (Ram Gopal Varma) would say, “let’s go for a Rangeela sound; a Rangeela tune, Rangeela music.” He would be very charged-up. He would walk up and down the studio as if he was possessed when Hariharan was recording Hai Rama. We went for an intensely romantic sound… we were immersed in the score for nearly a year and we tried to reflect the changes and the youthful energy around us.
How much did you think of Urmila while composing the Rangeela numbers?
(Laughing) Oy, don’t say that please! We thought of Urmila like the character of Jennifer Beals in Flashdance. It was a young film, everyone involved in it wanted it to work, and so it did.
Would you say there is quite a lot of politics in the show business?
Of course. Is there any business, any field, any area where you don’t find politics? They keep saying that melody succeeds. But Rangeela was torn apart by the industry here in the first two weeks. When the film and the music did very well, then they started saying, “Oh wow! It must be good, very good.”
Rumors had circulated that there were some differences with Subhash Ghai, with whom you’re doing Shikhar.
They were nothing more than idle rumors. Subhashji was busy with Trimurti, so for three months, we didn’t do any work together on Shikhar. It was even said that we had parted ways. Nothing of the sort. Shikhar is a different kind of film for both of us. Now we have even worked out four numbers.
How is it working with Subhash Ghai on one hand and Mani Ratnam on the other?
Initially, Subhashji and I had communication problems. This wasn’t good for the film. Both of us understood this and the vibes became better. We are going in for a totally new sound for Shikhar. For Mani, the sky is the limit. He expects better than the best, he’s always charged up.
You haven’t ever had violent arguments with Mani Ratnam?
Violent? No way. But while Bombay was being completed, I was working on three background scores simultaneously. He wanted me to concentrate on Bombay and said, “Okay, you finish your other assignments, I’ll wait.” That’s why the background score of Bombay took a little more time.
Haven’t you delayed a shooting schedule? It seems that Suhasini Ratnam’s unit of Indira had to wait for several days on location because you hadn’t delivered a song on time.
Yes, I admit that I delayed things, but only once in my life. It was a long outdoor schedule. The unit had gone with one song, the other I was supposed to deliver. Later I could only tell them, “You know me, it would be better to have the song and then plan the shoot.”
Tell me, how would you answer the accusation that your music is far too repetitive?
When you do different things and use radical instruments, you are identified with a different sound. Like I used the pan flute in both Dil Hai Chhota Sa and Tanha Tanha. It was to give expression to the feeling of pure peace and harmony with nature. So when a certain instrument becomes distinctive in the music, the tendency is to say “he is doing the same thing over and over again.” But it doesn’t worry me because with every number I compose, it’s like starting all over again on a clean slate. The trouble is that everyone needs to pick on some flaw or the other. All I can give by way of an answer to such accusations is that no one’s perfect except God.
Is such criticism sparked because you have become a major threat to every music director today?
If I were to accept all the 45-50 films offered to me, then I would have become a major threat to other music directors. But I am doing just four to five films at a time. There’s plenty of bread, butter, and marmalade left for the others. There’s food for everyone here. I am often told that I have replaced Illaiyaraja. I don’t accept that. A lion is a lion, a tiger is a tiger. There’s no question of replacing him.
So are you the lion or the tiger?
(laughs) Ha! That’s for you to figure out. See, I am sure that India can take on 20 more successful music directors today. Nowhere in the world are music directors given the sort of star status that they are in India.
Now and then you have sung for your film scores. How would you rate yourself as a singer?
You tell me, how would you rate me? As far as I am concerned, I can’t sing all sorts of numbers. The problem is that the real good singers don’t want to do film songs. The ones who do are mostly clones of the earlier singers. I can do the freaky songs, but it’s painful to teach singers how to go a bit crazy, so I will do the wacky ones myself. I’ll never try the serious numbers because my voice wouldn’t be able to do them justice. I know my limitations and my strengths, or at least I think I do. And that’s why I’ll make music I believe in as long as I am wanted.
