The article which appears below was originally published in Krishna Tiloks's book, Notes Of A Dream. ©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.
Between themselves alone, Rajiv Menon, Trilok Nair and Sharada Trilok got no less than eighty jingles out of Rahman.
‘We did so much work together,’ remembers Trilok. ‘Some really amazing stuff. I think the jingle for Nalli silk sarees was absolutely brilliant, absolutely different.’
The agency that commissioned that ad originally had a song from an old film that they wanted to use. But AR heard the song and said he wanted to change it, he didn’t want to use the same thing. The agency was sceptical, but then AR went ahead and did his own track.
‘And when they heard it, they loved it,’ laughs Trilok.
‘Rahman would never copy outright. He’d rework any song you gave him. The concept of remixes in India really only came in with him. It was always his way, and his way was miles ahead. We used to have big fights, wars, with agencies, begging them to let us use him and his music.’
Much like how AR’s music would one day elevate the films they were part of, his jingles made several ad films memorable and popular.
The commercial Rajiv Menon created for Asian Paints turned him into a national-level ad film-maker. And, as a result, it helped improve his composer’s—the young AR’s—national standing as well.
Bharat Bala was already getting all the biggest ads in the country and AR was frequently working with him. He was also composing for commercials by Sharada and Trilok—who were big, but never really national—and retaining his stronghold of Chennai. Apart from these, he was also collaborating with Suresh Chandra Menon, Sarangan (who would go on to become an interior designer and, one day, create the interiors for AR’s KM Conservatory) and several others besides.
Rahman’s rise in ad films was phenomenally fast, because he, by all accounts, was a phenomenon. AR created around 300 jingles in total before going on to compose for the movies, and he grew in the ad film circuit with astonishing swiftness. Progress occurred in a matter of weeks and months rather than years.
But it was progress that came only in stages. For instance, AR started charging the same rates as established top jingle composers after he’d worked on only a handful of commercials. People eventually started paying his asking price, but what some ad film-makers would do, earlier in the game, was take the scratch of a tune that he’d created and then go to Mumbai and get it fleshed out by a more reputed composer.
The scratch is a reference track that is recorded as a ‘first draft’ of sorts, to give an idea of what the end product will sound like and also for performers, sound engineers and producers to build on. This practice allowed the ad film-makers to get a bigger budget from their clients since they were using a bigger name for the jingle. It also enabled them to pay AR less (since they were only getting a scratch from him) and also pay whichever composer they were finally going to less (since they had a scratch already).
‘Look at these guys,’ AR used to protest. ‘They just take my scratch and rework it a little bit and then put some other composer’s name on it. Why can’t they just give me the credit I’m due?’
Sometimes, the scratch and the final jingle would be virtually indistinguishable.
Another point of interest here is that, only a short while after entering the world of jingles, AR was charging as much as (if not more than) most other composers were. Thing was, in the early days at least, jingles were not a priority for Rahman. He was playing at recording sessions of movie composers, and programming too. Those were better paying and AR probably figured that if he was going to be doing jingles it had might as well be worth his while.
Be it his playing or programming, or composing for ads or films, AR’s services have always come at a premium. He’s always been clear that he knows he’s good at what he does, and that there’s a certain value he is deserving of. Plus, it’s simple economics. When there’s a demand, the price is going to rise. Rahman was always the kind of guy who hated saying no to someone. So a big price tag was one way of ensuring no one but the best, those with serious intentions of getting good music, came to work with him. But, of course, to this day, for some directors to whom he feels indebted, AR charges less than his market rate. It’s the relationship that matters to him in these cases.
The one thing that does and always has mattered to AR more than anything else, however, is the quality and reach of his music.
‘He always wanted his music to be heard,’ Trilok Nair remembers. ‘And by that, I mean he wanted as many people as possible to hear it. Not just in this state, not just in this country. He used to always say to me, “Trilok, my music has to cross the shores. It has to go beyond the seas. It cannot be just here. It has to go outside.” He used to keep saying that.’
That yearning to be heard—not just in India, but world over—is probably what spurred the creation of such top-notch creative work. AR’s natural talent coupled with the need to pioneer in order to make sure the world knew he was a class apart is the secret of his success, if there is one.
Even when it came to jingles, that was the driving force behind the creation of each tune. How to make it different? How to make it timeless? How to make it global? AR wanted to be the best. He did not want to do the same kind of music twice or—consciously or otherwise—imitate someone else. He was terrified of being mediocre.
‘He was different from the other composers,’ remembers Rajiv Menon. ‘He was much younger than the others for one.’
AR was around eighteen when Rajiv Menon first met him. Back then, Rajiv used to make what were called ‘industrial films’, basically documentaries meant to educate an audience about a certain industry.
‘At the time, these had a very standard kind of music,’ says Rajiv. ‘The post-production studios all had a stock of tunes that you could take and use for such videos. But I wanted something different.’
So Rajiv talked to AR, whom he’d heard about and whom he went to meet at Prasad Studios when he was still playing for Ilayaraja. AR heard what he had to say and agreed to work with him.
‘He was getting into jazz at that time,’ Rajiv recalls. ‘He was a big fan of Chick Corea and all those guys. He created a jingle for an industrial film I was doing for a boiler where he combined the flute and the veena in a sort of fusion and, when I heard it, I was like wow! It was so different, phenomenal. There was a relaxed space in his sound which was not there in the jingles of other composers.’
Rajiv Menon had also, before meeting Rahman, gone to Mumbai and worked with the Indian composer, record producer, jazz musician and singer Louis Banks. Louis was one of the biggest names in the world of ad jingles. And he and Rajiv Menon had worked on some rocky jingles together.
Rajiv made AR listen to these works.
‘These are so well recorded!’ AR would exclaim whenever he heard one of Louis’s creations.
Before long, Rajiv and AR developed a short-lived tradition that worked out well for both of them. They would work on a scratch together in Chennai and then go together to Mumbai to flesh it out.
‘We would go to Louis Banks,’ recalls Rajiv. ‘And Louis Banks would work on it. Rahman was in wonder of Louis Banks and would watch him work intently. He was constantly learning from him. AR would also strengthen his left hand by constantly pressing on these springs he had. He said he needed to strengthen his left hand if he wanted to play jazz. It is the only kind of exercise I ever saw him bothering with. He would say, “I want to be like Chick Corea one day.”’
Their relationship extended outside of work too. Sometimes, while the two were working, in the middle of the night, they would get into AR’s car and drive out to get fruit juice.
‘Very few places would even be open at that time,’ Rajiv Menon remembers. ‘He had this Ambassador then, and he would have to crane his neck to look over the steering wheel.’
AR would also visit Rajiv Menon’s house sometimes and the two of them would listen to Carnatic and Hindustani music together.
‘We share a brotherhood of sorts because we both lost our fathers when we were very young,’ reflects Rajiv Menon. ‘He is my only friend in the industry, I think, other than Mani [Ratnam]. I’ve never expected anything from him, but I know I have his friendship.’
