Fantastic Review!!!! Extremely insightful and well written. I respect the opinions expressed here.
--- In arrahmanfans@yahoogroups.com, Vithur <[EMAIL PROTECTED]> wrote: > > http://www.newindpress.com/sunday/sundayitems.asp? id=SEA20080201085414&eTitle=Arts&rLink=0 > > A weekend trawl through AR Rahman's scores for period films in > anticipation of his soundtrack for Jodhaa Akbar resulted in an answer to a > question I never knew existed: What would Apur Sansar look like gussied up > in mainstream garb, with stars and songs? The scene where Apu wakes up and > discovers his wife's hairpin in bed and toys with it, possibly recalling the > events of the night that caused the trinket to slip away in the first place > couldn't it be scored to Dheemi dheemi from 1947: Earth? When a soundtrack > first makes its way into the world, it is bound so inexorably to its parent > film that, short of a lobotomy, it's impossible to listen to a song and not > think of the way it plays on screen. But then the years pass and the film is > left behind in the half-hidden recesses of memory, and that's when the song, > if it's any good, assumes a life of its own. That's when it snaps the > threads that ground it to a particular film, that's when it becomes a > universal encapsulation of its essence. When we listen to Abhi na jaao chhod > kar today, doesn't it appear to have been crafted to express not Dev Anand's > entreaties of love so much as ours? And isn't Dheemi dheemi a perfect > musical analogy to the thoughts running through Apu that dreamy postcoital > morning: Tu jo paas hai, mujhe pyaas hai, tere jism ka ehsaas hai? > > > Art is often described as abstract because solid, mathematical evaluation > criteria cannot be applied to matters of discernment and taste, but a simple > application of ratio-proportion to the soundtrack of 1947: Earth shows you > concretely at least, it showed me that this is one of Rahman's most > successful soundtracks: the number of songs that have survived the > wear-and-tear of overlistening (and time) is the same as the number of songs > in the album. It's a perfect one as are two others, the magnificent > soundtracks for Water and Mangal Pandey (okay, Dekho aayi Holi apart), and > this makes me wonder if Rahman has, in his studio, a secret vault of > everlasting goodies he opens only for filmmakers named Mehta, namely Deepa > and Ketan (and perhaps, on rare occasion, for a Benegal and his Zubeidaa; > rediscovering Saiyyan chhodo mori baiyyan and Dheemi dheemi gaaoon were the > other highs of my weekend). A Gowarikar, on the other hand, appears way down > on the period-film list, for I found that the songs from Lagaan sounded > better when echoing nostalgically in the confines of my head than when > leaking out of the speakers in the present day. O re chhori was every bit as > folksy and lovely as I remembered it, but the rest of the album shone only > in parts. I perked up at the rousing four-line openings of Baar baar haan > and Ghanan ghanan, but the songs subsequently meandered away from > memorableness. And while Lata Mangeshkar's of-a-certain-age voice conveys a > palpable ache in the bell-jar rise-and-fall of the line Chanda mein tum hi > to bhare ho chaandni, O paalanhaare was otherwise a bit of a chore to get > through. > > > Rahman and Gowarikar were far more successful when they collaborated on the > contemporary soundscape of Swades. Yeh jo des hai tera is still one for the > ages, and I'd forgotten what a beauty Saawariya saawariya was, with the > closing portions of its stanzas taxiing down the tarmac before achieving > blissful liftoff at Bhooli hoon main jaise apni dagariya, after which the > tune gracefully descends to the mellower altitudes of the mukhda. And now, > with Jodhaa Akbar, the composer and the director go back in time for another > stab at another period, and after a few listens, the album seems to hover > between their earlier efforts though, thankfully, closer to Swades in > terms of achievement. I feel it will age better than Lagaan, but unlike > Swades, what appears to be missing here is that undefinable, perhaps even > unknowable, aspect of the creative process capable of nudging an album from > solid goodness into flat-out greatness. In other words, a perfect one this > isn't. The craftsmanship is extraordinary, and yet, as a whole, it's only > intermittently that this soundtrack worms its way into your soul. Perhaps > it's just that we're too greedy, too demanding when it comes to this > composer, or perhaps Gowarikar simply needs to eavesdrop on his music > director's sittings with one of the Mehtas. > > > The percussion heavy Azeem-o-shaan shahenshah extrapolates to an entire > number the love-in-the-time-of-war feel in the interludes of Ilayaraja's > Sundari kannaal oru seidhi, from Thalapathi. I was instantly hooked by the > rhythm patterns all pounding drums and clashing steel and it's a superb > touch that the staccato lines of melody, the unvarying ups and downs intoned > with almost military precision, gradually segue into a pattern of notes that > flows more organically, more tunefully, as if hinting at the > warrior-emperor's impending transformation at the hand of love and in the > arms of his queen. But beyond that conception, there isn't much to hold on > to in the number, which wears its welcome out by the second stanza. This > sense of gradually diminishing returns isn't as pronounced in Kehne ko > Jashn-e-bahara hai, the first of the love songs (nicely sung by Javed Ali, > who sounds as if Sonu Nigam's throat had been roughed up, just a bit, with > sandpaper), but if the number feels less than what it could have been, it's > due to the strangely truncated second interlude (especially in light of the > first one, filigreed with exquisite work on strings). But the tune is > gorgeous the instrumental version, with a delectable flute replacing the > voice, bears this out and Ali glides through it admirably. If I had to > pick a nit, I would wish for a little more variation, perhaps emotion, in > his singing. It's as if he mapped out the high notes and the low notes and > set about conquering them with a mountaineer's diligence rather than a > musician's grace but, again, the melodic lines are so stirring, I couldn't > help returning for a fifth, or a fifteenth, listen. > > > The other love song is the magical In lamhon ke daaman mein, one of Rahman's > most structurally ambitious compositions and easily this album's standout. > Hearing Sonu Nigam (with the backing of a robust chorus) seesaw expertly > between crescendo and decrescendo, between moody meditation and defiant > declaration, it's as if a committed, if weak-willed, lover grew a spine of > steel through the course of the song, then flopped lovesick on his mattress > again, then roused himself once more, then decided it wasn't worth the > trouble and slipped back into supine romantic longing. There's so much > character in this song, it's as if stage directions were written into its > crevices. I felt this especially when Madhushree begins the second antara > with humming that sounds almost absent-minded, as if she walked into the > recording studio lost in her own thoughts and snapped out of her reverie > just in time to ready herself for the unexpected contours of the end of the > stanza, beginning with ki prem aag mein jalte hain. The anticipation to see > this number play on screen is at once thrilling and terrifying. What a > canvas to mount a picturisation on... but what if they aren't up to it? > > > The mood of this pair of love songs finds interesting contrast in a pair of > equal-opportunity devotional numbers, making this soundtrack, if nothing > else, some sort of secular triumph. Khwaja mere khwaja, sung by Rahman, > begins with a number of overlapping dissonances that find somewhat pat > resolution almost instantly. There are interesting rhythm patterns and a > great snatch of interlude music that goes on to colour the subsequent > stanzas, but this isn't a patch on to take a loose genre equivalent Al > maddath maula from Mangal Pandey. But the instrumental version is a > drop-dead stunner, veering into bylanes uncharted by the original and coming > off like Pachelbel's Canon in D reconfigured for strings and an oboe. > There's a breathtaking purity of purpose in this piece that's unmatched by > anything else in the album or perhaps only by Bela Shende's exquisite cry > from the heart that kicks off Manmohana. The soulful mukhda is a thing of > beauty, the orchestral tapestries are lushly woven with alternating flute > and strings, but the stanzas are disappointingly one-note. Javed Akhtar, > however, compensates somewhat with an extremely startling line as Shende > drops to a murmur near the end, as if exhausted by the fervour of her > full-throated devotion. "Bansi ban jaoongi, in honton ki ho jaoongi," she > whispers, and in wishing that she were a flute in service of those Lips, she > reminds us that bhakti and shringar, the spiritual and the sensual, are > oftentimes one and the same. And that's true of great music too, which > operates as much on the pleasure centres of the brain as the strings of the > heart and there are times the soundtrack for Jodhaa Akbar comes > tantalisingly close, but it's no hookah. > > > -- > regards, > Vithur > > A.R.RAHMAN - MY BREATH & LIFE FORCE >
