Dil Se re.. unsatisfying number? no comments.. On Wed, May 5, 2010 at 3:54 PM, AJ <[email protected]> wrote:
> > > Now, that's what a I call a REVIEW!!! Thanks for sharing! Excellent one! I > always love Qalandar's reviews. > > > --- In [email protected] <arrahmanfans%40yahoogroups.com>, > Gopal Srinivasan <catchg...@...> wrote: > > > > > http://qalandari.blogspot.com/2010/04/music-review-raavan-hindi-2010.html > > Music Review: RAAVAN (Hindi; > > 2010)< > http://qalandari.blogspot.com/2010/04/music-review-raavan-hindi-2010.html> > > < > http://www.abhishekbachchan.org/gallery/albums/movies/ravana/stills/raavanstills0028.jpg > > > > > > > > > The music of "Raavan" -- supposedly a modern day re-telling of The > Ramayana > > -- wasn't what I was expecting. Instead of a self-contained album > confining > > itself to the world of the film like several other collaborations between > > composer A.R. Rahman and director Mani Rathnam (such as "Alai Payuthey", > > "Yuva", or "Kannathil Muthamittal"), this album hearkens to the music of > the > > greatest Rathnam film of all, "Iruvar", in its anthologizing of almost an > > entire film music tradition. But whereas Rehman's mode in "Iruvar" was > > history, with each song representing a different Tamil film era (Rehman's > > genius ensuring that none of the songs seemed derivative or stale, as > merely > > nostalgic numbers would have), the "Raavan" album cannot imagine such > > continuity: the Hindi film musical tradition is here, but in shards as it > > were. The cumulative effect of the album is thus somewhat disorienting, > as > > musical moments from Bollywood's past -- a 1990s song here, a Punjabi > beat > > there, a tapori jig elsewhere, even strains reminiscent of some who have > > followed in Rahman's wake, such as Mithoon -- occur when least expected. > > Fitting: for nothing so linear as chronology (even where history is > > refracted through Rathnam's eye) makes sense in the realm of myth (and > the > > power of myth), even if, in the case of Rathnam's Ramayana, by virtue of > > being a contemporary tale, the myth is itself is heir to several > > histories... > > > > The first song on the CD, "Beera", would have been more at home in "Yuva" > > than at least one song in that Rahman/Rathnam/Abhishek Bachchan film > (think > > of "Kabhi Neem Neem"): the soaring, clean instrumentation, the > in-your-face > > lyrics, the urban vibe (that is to say, not music targeted at the > > self-consciously urbane, but music that takes its bustle and restlessness > > from cities) that was practically invented in Hindi and Tamil cinema by > > Rahman -- "Beera" shows that six years on, the Master still has it, and > he > > doesn't need to repeat himself to show it. Gulzar's lyrics owe more than > a > > few debts to his earlier work on the title song of "Omkara", but > musically > > the two are as different as can be; and if the lyrics of "Beera" are > nowhere > > near the equals of those in the earlier song in terms of epic grandeur > and > > the sort of myth-making this sort of "hero" song cries out for (although > > Gulzar shrewdly uses the word "Beera" ("brave"; or "warrior") as a > refrain > > for entire lines of song, almost seeking to obviate the need for any > other > > poetry), musically the solid and assured "Omkara" cannot match "Beera" in > > fleetness of foot or deft touch. And if this emphasis on charm seems a > bit > > incongruous in a film named after Hinduism's most famous villain (or, > from > > the perspective of Dravidian nationalists, its most vilified hero), > perhaps > > it tells us something about the film: virtually all of the album's > > quintessential "hero" songs are lighter, more upbeat, than its dark, > fretful > > love songs. A quibble: at just a shade over three minutes, I wish it were > > longer -- Keerthi Prakash, Vijay Prakash, Mustafa, and Rahman's vocals > > didn't begin to satisfy me, giving this song the air of a tease. > > > > Its opening fifty seconds are reminiscent in tone of Anwar's "Symphony in > > Blue", but "Behne Do" then veers back into a more traditional direction > > (this track is about transporting love; not the victim of society at > Anwar's > > core), combining a conventional tune-structure with the mood of "Dil Se > Re" > > (Dil Se). Over a decade on from that unsatisfying number, though, Rahman > is > > now more adept at composing testimonials to hopelessly overwrought desi > love > > in a semi-Western orchestral setting. Think of it as the frontier between > > "Dil Se Re" and "Satrangi" from the same film (certainly singers Mohammad > > Irfan and Karthik seem to think so, with their Sonu Nigam-inspired > vocals) > > -- while I doubt "Behne Do" will ever rise to the level of the best > neo-Sufi > > love song in Bollywood history, Rahman's integration of the Western > > orchestration into a completely Indian emotional landscape bodes well (in > > the past, his attempts along these lines have more often than not been > > unsuccessful). Ultimately, though, the song, splendid in itself (except > for > > the fact that not for the first or last time in the album, Rahman > relegates > > his own vocals to the background), suffers from the presence of "Ranjha > > Ranjha" in the same album, almost as if two different attempts at > fulfilling > > director Mani Rathnam's brief have been preserved in the same album. > "Behne > > De" isn't completely subsumed by the later song's spell, but what is its > own > > is poorer. > > > > With respect to "Thok de Kili" a real pity that the album's most > politically > > daring lyrics -- turning on childish rhymes between nails (killi), a > common > > Indian street game (gilli), and of course, the national capital (in lines > > reminiscent of the 1857 battle-cry "Delhi chalo!", itself appropriated > > decades later by Subhash Chandra Bose for his rebel Indian National Army) > -- > > should be housed in the least impressive musical number. Its certainly > early > > days for me and this song yet, and it is perhaps the most inaccessible > (and > > deceptively so) of the album's songs. But while the instrumental portions > > have a chocolate velocity to them that is hard to resist, the vocal > portions > > (by Am'nico, Sukhvinder Singh, and Rahman himself, although one is > > hard-pressed to make out anyone but Singh) drone on without getting > > anywhere. Gulzar's daring appropriation of the rebel trope for some of > > contemporary India's least popular political militants (Abhishek's > "Raavan" > > character has long been rumored to have Naxalite antecedents; the > stinging > > criticisms of Delhi's neglect, and references to the color red, appear to > > provide confirmation), deserved better. I'm curious to see if the Tamil > > version will showcase this song's music to greater advantage. > > > > The folly inherent in predicting which number in a Rahman album is going > to > > stand the test of time in my iPod playlists is not going to prevent me > from > > nominating "*Ranjha Ranjha*" as my favorite song from this album. Rekha > > Bharadwaj's chorus-refrain is addictively catchy, but insistently and > > urgently so, and no less mournful for it -- a worthy metonym for a song > that > > re-treads old ground about love being both blessing and curse, loss of > > identity and derangement, slave and master, and -- not coincidentally > given > > Raavan's theme -- kidnapper and captive. Thanks to Gulzar, who is at his > > best where, as here, he borrows bits of folk songs and poetry to use as a > > springboard, the lyrics are that rarest of things in Hindi romantic > numbers: > > fresh. The song's urgency -- devoid of aggression -- is crucial in > rescuing > > the song from the merely conventional, far removed from the strains (too > > familiar to place with precision, in too unfamiliar a setting to be > placed), > > left over from other songs, other musical moments wafting in and out of > this > > seductive yet unsettled number. Who knew that a khichdi everything from > > Nadeem-Shravan's mediocrity (often by means of Javed Ali's > callow-sounding > > voice); Sufi-kitsch the Bhatts specialize in; the generic urban sound of > > countless "male bonding" songs; held together by the promise of intimacy > > always suggested by Rekha Bharadwaj's voice; could combine to yield an > > ambience so compelling? > > > > I'm not a huge fan of Rahman's very slow Hindi numbers, but "Khili Re" is > > the way Goldilocks would have liked it: just right. Rahman gets it right, > > first, by using a female solo (most of his slow misfires are male solos, > > such as Bombay's "Tu Hi Re" (Hindi)/ "Uyire" (Tamil); and second, by > keeping > > things simple for the first minute and a half with restrained > > instrumentation accompanying Reena Bhardwaj's delicate voice. Just when > you > > begin to think the song might have trouble sustaining interest over five > > minutes, tabla beats (of a decidedly traditional dance bent) break into > the > > song, inflecting this song with a structure and balance it might not > > otherwise have had, even after it has returned to Bharadwaj's vocals. > Over > > all, the purity of this song is reminiscent of some of Rahman's earliest > > works (such as "Dil Hai Chota Sa" from "Roja"; or "Karuthamma"), and > while > > it is too polished to completely blend in with that company, it is > > heartening to encounter Rahman's continued readiness to compose work in a > > decidedly minor vein, especially nowadays, when the combination of the > Oscar > > for "Slumdog Millionaire" and the fact that (unlike in Tamil, as even the > > far-from-great Vinaithaandi Varuvaaya will attest), he makes music in > Hindi > > mostly for Big Films, threatens the mellower pleasures his music affords. > > > > "Kata Kata Bechaara Bakra" has to be the most rambunctious, fun, Rahman > > number in quite some time, a wedding-song that reminds the audience there > > was one (far more lewd) in the album that brought Rahman India-wide > renown > > ("Rukmini Rukmi" from Roja). Despite all the throwback fun -- the backup > > vocals, the percussion, and the speed all might have been transposed from > > the era when Rahman unleased *Kathalan *on us, while the lyrics are clear > > kin to those in "September Maatham" (Alai Payuthey)/ "Chori pe Chori" > > (Saathiya) -- this song is not fluff. In any film that purports to engage > > with the Ramayana, the question of marriage has to loom large; and while > I > > don't know if this song is set at the wedding of the purported Ram and > > Sita-characters, the conch shell-sounds that punctuate this track never > > allowed me to forget that this film is supposed to re-imagine an epic, > that > > something cosmic is in the air. That extra dimension, unncessary in the > > analogous songs from Roja or Alai Payuthey, is also expressed in Ila > Arun's > > vocals, which take this song into a more traditional (and surprising) > place, > > the North Indian "household" women's songs that are now virtually extinct > in > > urban India (but not, apparently, for Rahman, whose "Genda Phool" > (Delhi-6) > > is also in this vein). In a little over five minutes, distinct Indian > spaces > > -- the urban South, the North, and the western deserts it is impossible > not > > to think of when confronted with Arun's voice -- bubble up and vanish. > This > > song (like its mythical progenitor) has geography on its mind. [My one > > reservation: while my non-existent grasp of Tamil will mean that I'll > miss > > Gulzar's lyrics in the Tamil version, I can't help feeling that > language's > > more definite consonants and springy rhythm will do greater justice to > the > > mood of this number than Gulzar's playful lyrics; I mean, could "Kummi > > Aaadi" (Sillunu Oru Kaadal) have been nearly as much fun in any other > > language?] > > > > >
