Rahmania

(A post by Deepi)

It's the intensity of the lines "saare riti riwaaz hatakaar, dekho apne ghar ke andar, shaayad kahin kisi kone mein, oongh(?) raha hai kaala bandar.” The answer that is said with conviction, forcing you to open your eyes to reality. That is what makes this song so endearing.

This is the sort of song that tells you a story and the story here is woven into the movie. (Interestingly, one other such song is Hawa Hawa from Rockstar. The picturisation and the lyrics are in step with the events that are about to unfold in the movie.) The concept of Kaala Bandar. Everyone's got something to say about him. He prowls about at night, invisible and attacking the innocent folk. Some claim he's a cyborg and a nuclear bomb was used to make him. Ridiculous, yes? So Karthik sings along explaining, who knows the kaala bandar might just be you. Look into that mirror there, you'll see. You hide beneath all those layers but no one can cover up the black truth that resides deep down in your heart. So it is only appropriate to say "Paagal hain ya naadan hai hum sab.”

Now that the truth has been exposed, the earlier statements on the monkey have been retracted. The song keeps picking up pace. There's a statement, then a discussion and they reach the conclusion. He's really like-able and the streets are safer because of him. He's the reason they have electricity and the people are happy as long as the monkey doesn't get to them. They refuse to face the truth, begging for the black monkey to stay on.

(A post by @krtgrphr)

Anne says, rather succinctly, that “any music you grew up on is automatically the shiz”. Anne is right, and Anne is the reason I am up an hour past midnight this Monday hammering away at a keyboard.

First, a routine flashback – yes, much as I hate admitting it, “growing up” is only a phrase that I can use in relation to the past now; as in “when I was growing up”. So when I was growing up and in my teens, I had the great fortune of going to a school that didn’t think that kids ought to study all the time (in fact, from what I hear of the place, very few people there think kids ought to study at all now). As part of this high ideal, we were encouraged every week to put up all manners of skits and plays and song and dance routines for an entire class period – this was considered good training for the years of cultural festivals and social ingratiation that lay ahead.

And every single term – sometimes even once a month – we would behold the white-salwar-color-dupatta dance. If you’re smiling already, skip ahead. If you’re still reading, this would translate to a peppy dance number that involved three or more girls, all wearing brilliant white chudidars with equally stark and wildly colorful dupattas tied gracefully around their waists. Lots of twirling and carefully choreographed sequences; a thorough delight to watch.

And so to the point of this piece. The song that played in the background.

It was always, always, always Revival. Track 2 from AR Rahman’s Vande Mataram album, the song that lit a thousand lamps and launched countless cultural festivals. The words themselves were from Bankim Chandra Chattopadhyay’s Anandamath, and carried with them more than a hundred years of history and the collective weight of the Indian freedom movement. And what sweet words they were – the translation apart, which Aurobindo Ghose claimed was as futile an effort as any other – the sweetness of the syllables and the wonderful adjectives, themselves giving rise to many a beautiful name.

But that isn’t nearly enough to make it a dance song, no. And thus the bass guitar is called upon to provide the tempo that only it can, and the first two verses are completely transformed. The energy, the delight – there are few passages in music as uplifting as that one minute when the first two verses of the song are repeated, and fewer still as powerful in conjuring up images of rhythm, progress and passion single-minded.

From that point on, the song is solely the composer’s, his to fill out with instruments and melody as he sees fit. Guitar joins percussion and humming in one lilting tune that conveys quietly and subtly the hold that the refrain has in the common consciousness. And then it is back to the saxophone, with its lilting and sometimes melancholic sound, to close the song out – a fitting finale for the stateliness and the majesty of the song.

Of one thing I will remain certain – Vande Mataram Revival has the finest orchestration of any song that AR Rahman ever conducted. And for me, it will hark back always to those days from the past when it was less a song, and more a celebration.

And if you really want to do this poor nostalgic fool a favor, please find for me (and link to) Bharatbala Productions’ original video that featured this song, and aired all over Indian TV in the late 90s.

(A post and cover by @soyahere)

(http://soundcloud.com/soyahere/thoda-thoda-malarndhadhenna)

This is a song whose visuals I can imagine with my eyes closed. Many of ARR's songs paint a mental picture when you listen to them. Another such song is Pudhu vellai mazhai in Roja.

The whistle sounds and the crickety noises...and the beautiful short flute piece take you into the song. The simple tum-tum-tum rhythm keeps it simple and adds to the mystery. I am now in a dense green forest.

"Thoda thoda malarndhadhenna...." SPB's voice floats up. And then I forget everything.

The flute grabs my attention again. I know two kids are playing and towards the end when the flute piece reaches a higher pitch, I feel what Arvind Samy must have felt while being tickled :D The swift and brilliant string pieces interspersed with the flute piece - hats off to ARR!

The song just flows like a mellifluous stream into the soul. And stays there. Flawless and soulful rendering by the two stalwarts of the playback singing profession - SPB and Chitra. I love SPB's intonation when he sings "Pookkalil thenillai" (In the line "Kaadhalar theendadha pookalil thenillai") and the way Chitra sings "Narambugal pinna pinna nadukkamenna".

The choreography during the flute piece in the first interlude and during the line "Suda chuda nanaindhadhenna" makes me wonder. Did ARR compose with the visuals in mind or did they choreograph so well?

During the second interlude, ARR builds the pace with the flute and takes it up to a crescendo. When the heroine faints, the suspense element is brought out again - tum-tum-tum alone. Strings that melt your heart, when she awakens and cries after realizing what happened. It ends with the flute chiding her and saying all is well, to us.

Vairamuthu must be applauded for the excellent lyrics. 

Paniyinil kuliththa paal malar kaana...

Irupadhu vasanthangal...vizhi valarthen...

Pasiththavan amudham...parugida thaane...

Padhinezhu vasanthangal...idhazh valarthen...

#Whattey!!!

For a singer, this song is a challenge in terms of reaching the high notes, bringing out the feel, trying to emulate the nuances in the simple brihas, and also keeping the voice soft and pleasant. Like a breeze before rain.

Cool Breeze. Gently flowing stream. Tender flowers. Thoda thoda malarndhadhenna.