The article which appears below, was originally published on Screen in July 2002. ©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.
In just about a decade’s presence on the music scene, A.R. Rahman has succeeded in revolutionizing popular film music. And he is now making waves internationally with the launch of Andrew Lloyd Webber’s much-hyped musical Bombay Dreams. Rahman’s music and compositions in the play, which also features his Hindi film hits ‘Chaiyya chaiyya…’ and ‘Shakalaka baby…’, have won rave reviews from critics abroad. And there is talk of the wizkid composer being roped in for Hollywood films. Taking a look at Rahman’s big achievements in little time.
After more than two dozen hits (surpassing 2.5 million unit sales, each), countless prestigious awards and an impressive array of films in progress, there’s little that A.R. Rahman needs to prove to anybody today. In just about a decade’s presence on the film music scene, he’s succeeded in redefining popular film music, mostly on his own his own terms. Bach, Beethoven, Mozart, reggae, rock, Carnatic, Hindustani classical and fusing them with traditional music, often woven in palpable folk idioms — with his high-tech synthesizer, his experimentation knows no limit. The upshot is a music that’s digital and very much a part of the computer age, but intelligent — not noise.
The melody has been retained with immaculate expertise and he’s not deviated from the traditional sound even when he’s creating new ones practically all the time. The result is an enticing oeuvre of songs and an enviable pan-Indian popularity. Irrespective of the film’s failure or success, Rahman’s music often continues to remain a hot-selling proposition. Each song, each tune of this music prodigy is a musical monument, intricately carved and exquisitely sculpted.
Take for example his latest blockbuster, Lagaan. Whether it is the exuberant ‘Megha…’ song or the anti-depressant ‘Mitwa…’ track, or the romance-jealousy number, ‘Madhuban mein…’, Rahman has an undeniable gift of soothing you into his delicately constructed creations.
In the ‘Megha…’ song, he uses the sounds of clouds so effectively to convey the pleasant madness of people waiting for rain, and going crazy over the black clouds gathering over their village. Similarly, in ‘Madhuban mein…’, he uses percussion in a way that it effectively expresses the heroine’s private little anxiety. And in a song like ‘Ori chhori maan le baat mori…’, where the British character sings in English even as the Hindi song continues undisturbed, Rahman achieves a highly complicated feat of clubbing the folk and the Western, with a simple but intelligent usage of piano for the transition.
In one of his other recent numbers, ‘Khamoshian gungunane lagi…’ (One 2 Ka 4), one can’t help noticing the soft, sensuous, and subtle way in which a Bhairavi thumri has been used to create a sensitive and romantic number, with all the freshness of a most ecstatic, youthful experience. Not to talk about the massive sweeps of different note patterns in the ‘Piya Haji Ali…’ qawwali in Fiza or the ‘Kehna hi kya…’ track in Bombay (and countless others, of course).
Simple but textured orchestration, innovative percussion, and charming melodies blend so effectively in Rahman’s music that you can experience many of his creations almost as a rich, acoustic kaleidoscope.
One reason for this is that, unlike many other contemporary composers, Rahman keeps on working on the song well after it’s ‘done’. The magic that starts after he’s recorded the song doesn’t stop till he’s played with and perfected it to his satisfaction. Once the song is on his computer screen, he takes a phrase from here, and puts it there, or there, or there, or here again. Block by block, verse by verse, he builds up his song like a master craftsman. This not only lends the song a feeling that it’s raised from the earth but also takes the filmmaker’s picturisation one step ahead of what was planned.
Those who have worked closely with him often talk about the way in which he keeps dabbling, fiddling and experimenting with new sounds and new rhythms till the point where his compositions start acquiring its distinct visual qualities. If, for example, one is listening to ‘Dil ye bechain hai…’ (Taal), it’s easier to come up with its beautiful picturization script — the softer colors, the dense fog lifting, the girl emerging like a palpable apparition, etc. — than say, if the track wouldn’t have the kind of textures Rahman has detailed it with.
They also point out his unique and subtle way of getting the right notes out of a singer. He may just prod the singer by saying, ‘Why isn’t their pain in your voice’? or ask for five variations of the same phrase and offer his feedback, and the singer knows what he’s looking for. His unassuming directorial techniques succeed with everyone, whether he/she’s a celebrity or an absolutely raw voice Rahman has decided to experiment with. Eventually, every note has to reflect the mood of the song, the character of the screen singer and most essentially, the soul of the number. He takes his time, but like a fabulous music designer, he creates intricate patterns that others may not think of going beyond a few simple lines.
Even before he touched his mid-Thirties, Rahman has already worked with internationally reputed artists like Nusrat Fateh Ali Khan, Zakir Hussain, L. Shankar, Ustad Sultan Khan, David Byrne and Talvin Singh. Collaborations with Michael Jackson and Sir Andrew Lloyd Weber have happened along with the coveted National Award, Padmashree in a career that’s barely a decade old.
Today, A.R. Rahman is a star who commands brand equity equivalent to the big acting stars. His name is used, not only to push the sales of the music cassettes and CDs but also to ensure the success of the movie.
When the music of Rangeela was released by Times Magnetics, Rahman’s mug shot was put on the inlay, highlighting it as ‘Rahman’s first original score in Hindi’. When the same film was to be released in Chennai, all the stars (Aamir Khan, Jackie Shroff, Urmila Matondkar) were relegated to the backdrop and they featured huge photos of Rahman on the publicity stills and posters with the line ‘A.R. Rahman Mudhal Hindi Padum’ (A.R. Rahman’s first Hindi film).
When his credits come on the screen, especially in Bangalore or Chennai, the auditorium comes alive with wild cheers. And distributors are willing to fork out that extra bit if the movie carries the Rahman tag. There is little doubt as to who is the ultimate wonder boy of contemporary Indian film music.
The interesting thing is, he has maintained his position as a wonder boy, from his very first film, Mani Ratnam’s Roja. After an eventful and early initiation into a musical apprenticeship with veterans like Ramesh Naidu, M.S. Vishwanathan, and Illayaraja (and then a brief stint with ad jingles and fusion bands), when he made his debut with Roja, it was to change the face of film music in the next decade. Soulful and experimental, the music of Roja sounded like nothing heard in film songs before, and became a rage throughout the country.
Thiruda Thiruda, Gentleman, Kadhalan, Bombay — in less than four years, Rahman had arrived and was there to stay. Bombay crossed five million units and even albums like Vande Mataram, released by Sony Music, sold over a million copies in India alone (it was released in 28 countries simultaneously across the world).
The chartbusting ‘Chaiya chaiya…’ (Dil Se) however, in many ways, marked a new phase in Rahman’s career. It countered the accusation that Rahman faltered when it came to North Indian styled music, which is the mainstay of Hindi film songs. And his ability to bring out the best out of a diverse range of singers like Shankar Mahadevan, Sukhwinder Singh, Udit Narayan, Sonu Nigam, Lata Mangeshkar, Asha Bhosle and Swarnalatha put to rest the criticism that he could work best only with unknown South Indian voices.
However, while facing criticism too, Rahman manages to incorporate a certain melody and rhythm within his personality that is almost exemplary. He beats back censure — ‘too technical, too slow, too westernised, too repetitive, of lacking soul’ and even of plagiarism (when his Muqabla original was shamelessly copied by as many as five films within that very two year span in mid nineties) — with studied silence, but never with indifference.
However, in the fast-paced work ethic of the film industry, the only criticism that perhaps becomes relevant sometimes, from the producer’s point of view, is that he is slow. But he himself admits it with a forthrightness that’s disarming, “Sometimes, what I’m looking for comes to me immediately, but on others it may take some time.”
While working on Bombay for example, the mixing was being held up since the background score was not ready. For three days, Rahman sat in his studio but nothing would work. He needed to deliver a score which would bind the film, but that was just not happening, even after fiddling with a theme he had created with passion.
Then, from out of the blue, he tried out putting lyrics into it and the lyrical rendition of the background score worked out to be absolutely brilliant. Once again, it was his ability to design sound outside the set parameters that cut through his creative block.
Overall, Rahman has been greatly responsible to bring about a remarkable technological sophistication in the recordings, through his latest techniques. His studio, started as Panchathan Record Inn in 1989, is arguably India’s most well-equipped and advanced recording studio today. The Inn, where he started experimenting in sound engineering, design and production, today also houses Asia’s most comprehensive sonic library.
Rahman’s prodigious talent and output has, in fact, played its own role in giving many composers a distinct Salieri complex. There’s no dearth of ill-wishers in the industry who want him to fail. Tales of his arrogance, how producers have to wait outside his studios all night (that’s when he works: 10 p.m. to 8 a.m.), abound. But the incredible thing is: he simply doesn’t fail. He knows the mind of the director he works with and the pulse of the public, better than any other composer in the industry today.
It’s not surprising then that he has in his bag, some of the best projects on the floor today, in spite of the fact that he chooses to base himself only in Chennai.
In addition are ventures like Ekam Satyam (A.R. Rahman’s own outing with Michael Jackson, incomplete since 1999), Bombay Dreams (Andrew Lloyd Webber/Shekhar Kapur), Listen (a collaborative project between 99 artists from the UN), The Return Of The Thief of Baghdad (an English-Telugu film) and 1857 – The Rising (Ketan Mehta’s historical).
Rahman’s oeuvre, much like his music, takes a while to grow on you. His music can leave you numb with ecstasy, with its zing as well as its substance. On his private front however, this shy and reclusive music wizard would rather concentrate on the task at hand, instead of getting affected by the trappings of phenomenal success.
