Showing posts with label music. Show all posts
Showing posts with label music. Show all posts

Thursday, 17 October 2019

An Ode To Kumar Sanu

There is something inherently simple and sweet, yet indescribably poignant, about the early melodies of Kumar Sanu, the ones that turned him into an overnight phenomenon 29 years ago, and by a few light years at least, the most influential (playback) singer of India after Kishore Kumar. It is interesting to note that, like Rajesh Khanna and SRK, it is the first 5-6 years of his career in the 90s (he had made his debut with Yeh Desh in 1984, but we can disregard the years leading up to Aashiqui in 1990) that really made Sanu who he was, who he is, and who he shall remain forever: the voice that came the closest to Kishore Kumar's throne, beating all other legends and gods in the race to musical immortality through sheer dominance on public memory.


[Image courtesy: Google Images]

Personal favourite: the achingly heart-touching "Bas ek sanam chaahiye Aashiqui ke liye" (Aashiqui, 1990), with its will-o'-the-wisp-like hint of anticipated romance. There is hardly another song in all of the 90s that encapsulates the unbearable lightness of being that the free-est, happiest of virginal young souls experience in the carefree moments when they are on the verge of starting their journey on the perilous path of Love as-yet-unexperienced, without a worry on their brows. Masterly, delectable, piquant.

There have been so many absolutely marvelous Durga Puja songs/albums (i.e. released during the festive season) over the years, but I still keep associating Puja music primarily with Kumar Sanu and Aashiqui (the original one, of course, not the snivel-fest from a few years ago).


[Image courtesy: Google Images]

Happy 62nd, Sanu da. You made the 1990s almost singlehandedly super-memorable.

Wednesday, 9 August 2017

Kishore-Lata Romantic Duets: Random Ruminations Of A Hospitalized Pancham Lover

During my recent two-day stint at the hospital, during which I had to undergo a long-pending surgery due to an internal haemorrhaging issue in the lower abdominal region, I had the opportunity to re-visit some of my all-time favourite Kishore Kumar-Lata Mangeshkar duets composed by—who else?—RD Burman. I shared these songs on a Facebook forum dedicated to Pancham, but then, I thought, why not compile the separate entries in one place?

So here it is, my thoughts on some of the finest RDB-KK-Lata collaborations (in no particular order), dedicated to the Nightingale of India, the best Music Director India has ever produced, and the greatest (male) singer of India in his birth month. Enjoy!


[Picture Courtesy: Google Images, edited]



  • Jagir (1984): “Chor tera naam hai”
[Tin Murti (1982): “Churi chhara kaj nei”]
One of the more fun, peppy romantic duets of KK & Lata.
Shakti Samanta in the 70s and the 80s specialized in making Bangla-Hindi bilinguals, like Amanush-Amanush, Ananda Ashram-Anand Ashram, Anyay Abichar-Aar Paar, Andha Bichar-Dushman, ANUSANDHAN-BARSAAT KI EK RAAT, etc. Samanta used to shoot every single scene in these films of his twice, once in Bangla and once in Hindi. Pramod Chakravorty joined the bilingual bandwagon with the superhit entertainer Teen Murti-Jagir in 82/84, but the difference was, Chakravorty only shot the scenes twice; the songs were shot only once, in Hindi, and used in the Bangla version as-is, with the songs dubbed over. This is why the lip-sync is off in the Bangla version. Watch the Bangla version of this song after the Hindi version and you'll know what I mean.
Nevertheless, that does not take anything away from this playful, naughty number. Both KK and Lata were well into their 50s when this song was done, yet they sound as youthful as the lead pair looks. Mithun is at his charming best, and although Shoma Anand could never really make it big as a heroine, she looks incredibly pretty in this song (and a bit like one of my paternal cousins). One other unique thing about this song is: despite being a romantic number, this one is as foot-tapping and dance-worthy as can be.


  • Aandhi (1975): “Tum aa gaye ho”
If “Tere bina zindagi se koi” is a musing on a life of lost opportunities and “Iss mod se jaate hain” talks about the opportunities that stare one in the face at the beginning of youth and love, then “Tum aa gaye ho” is the quintessential ‘while in love’ ditty that completes the cycle by putting in the place the 2nd of the three phases of love.
Suchitra Sen was an unusual choice; she came into the film when the original choice, Vyjayanthimala, declined as she was too much in awe of a certain Mrs. Gandhi, and surrendered completely to Gulzar's vision w/o demanding the slightest change anywhere in the script, unlike an earlier occasion when she demanded several changes in the script and Gulzar was compelled to say no to her. In this song, her heavy-duty makeup and her age show through—she was in her mid-40s when she did Aandhi—but the song itself, and the acting of the seasoned lead pair, one a fan favourite and the other a director's joy, more than make up for it.


  • Nehle Pe Dehlaa (1976): “Saawan ka maheena aa gaya”
For me, the USP of this song, apart from the music, of course, is not KK, neither Lata, neither a very handsome-looking Sunil Dutt, but the stunningly gorgeous, the absolutely divine Saira Banu. I'd marry her. Any day.
Feast your eyes, ladies and gentlemen, on this heavenly queen of oomph!


  • Bade Dil Wala (1983): “Tujhme kya hai deewane”
The third of the delightful KK-Lata duets from Bade Dil Wala, and this one is a classic romantic number. “Kaho kaise rasta bhool pade” is playfully romantic in tone, but is not picturised on the romantic leads; “Kahin na jaa” is more about lending emotional support to the partner in times of crisis. But this one hits the sweet spot of the bat much like “Saagar kinare” from Saagar, “Kasme Vaade nibhayenge hum”, and “Deewana karke chhodoge” from Mere Jeevan Saathi.
The one thing about this song that strikes me is how much, orchestration-wise, this resembles the Lata solo “Aisa samaa na hota” from Zameen Aasmaan, which came a year or so after BDW. It is possible that both songs were composed more or less together; BDW came later, maybe as a result of Chintu’s well-known tardiness (but this is conjecture on my part). However, it is entirely probably that whichever song was recorded first occupied RD’s mindscape significantly enough to influence the one that was recorded second. “Tujhme kya hai” has more of Lata than of KK, and RD gives her the same high notes in this one as in “Aisa samaa”. And like “Saagar kinare”, all the BDW songs have a very, very contemporary feel.
And yes, “Tujhme kya hai” also has a lot of similarities with “Jaane kaise kab kahan” from SHAKTI. It's like “Jaane kaise” is the eldest sibling, “Tujh mein kya hai” is the middle sibling, and “Aisa samaa” is the youngest sibling.


  • Bade Dil Wala (1983): “Kaho kaise rasta bhool pade”
A return to gypsy camp after a long time since “Mehbooba Mehbooba” from SHOLAY and “Dilbar dil se pyaare” from Caravan. In the meanwhile, we have been subjected to the terrible “Kamaal hai kamaal hai” by Laxmi-Pyare in Karz, an otherwise fine album. And once again, like “Dilbar dil se pyaare”, it is Lata and not Asha doing the honours.
Musically, BDW is the best album among Bhappi Sonie's entire body of work, much better than anything he did with Shankar-Jaikishen or anyone else. BDW, Saagar, and Sitamgar are like Mere Jeevan Saathi of the 80s: flawless albums, less than desirable box office performances of the films.
For a long time, songs were seen as a tool, a means of releasing the tension that has been building up in the on-screen narrative (“Khaike paan Banaras-wala” from DON is the best example). This one is another fine example of a song being used to ease up on the tension: the hero, accused of a murder he didn't commit (very Vijay Anand-ish), is fleeing and comes upon a gypsy camp, where he and the gypsy girl hit it off and they break into a song. Not a strictly romantic song, but can easily be construed as one, given the chemistry of the singing-dancing pair and the lyrics. Close your eyes and you'll feel that this is a repartee between a romantic couple.


  • Alag Alag (1985): “Kuchh humko tumse”
The music in Kaka's penultimate home production was criticized by some for being “Laxmikant-Pyarelal-ish” for the use of dholak beats. The film, or its box-office performance, takes nothing away from this childhood favourite album of mine. What a delightful song!


  • SHAKTI (1982): “Jaane kaise kab kahan”
Another top-notch KK-Lata number, but one with a twist: all the romantic frolicking turns into a sensuously-charged coming together of body and soul. Note how the tone of the song changes—to one of long-anticipated physical union as the song moves to the 3rd antara.
This is also one of AB’s most romantic numbers, along with “Kasme Vaade nibhayenge hum” and MUQADDAR KA SIKANDAR’s “O saathi rey” by Kalyanji-Anandji.


  • KASME VAADE (1978): “Kasme vaade nibhayenge hum”
Along with “Saagar kinare”, this one is THE definitive KK-Lata duet. Do I really need to elaborate on this?
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=W68p7_MYPF8

  • Aanchal (1980): "Bas meri jaan bas"
More sensuous than romantic, with Rekha oozing oomph from every pore. Wonder what a certain Mr. Tall Man had to say to this!
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=iS84MRB7rUw

Monday, 31 July 2017

On "Aati rahengi baharein": Late-night Panchamania (And Bachchan-mania Too!)


Surprisingly, there are very few songs/sequences depicting things like birthdays, college life, etc. in AB movies. In all likelihood, the larger-than-life image that was created for him by writers and directors, as well as his aura, was responsible for that. Two rare birthday songs picturised on him and with him as the birthday boy are "Inteha ho gayee" from SHARAABI and this one from KASME VAADE.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=CD2KC79uaes

Unlike the SHARAABI song, "Aati rahengi baharein" is comparatively a lot more low-key and straightforward, shorn of the high-decibel jing-bang orchestration that one gets to hear in 'urban mehfil' songs. There's hardly any hoo-haa either in the picturisation or in the composition. It starts off on a low note, to the mouth organ strains of "Happy birthday to you", and ends on a low-ish note as well, and this goes perfectly in sync with the fact that the birthday is that of a college professor. Just about the only high note is the brief mouth organ piece in the middle (when Randhir Kapoor starts grooving immediately before his antara), and that's in line with the character of the person doing it as well - a college-going, carefree, happy-go-lucky yuppie. This, then, is a song that ties up not only with the situation, but with the characters as well: a triumph of low-key composition meant for indoor use.

N.B.: there is one other indoor song in the film, the mujra number "Pyar ke rang se". Again, fits in with the mood, but does not do much in setting up the characters or advancing the story, unlike "Aati rahengi baharein", which gives the viewer a very good idea about the kind of relationship the three principle characters share.

Saturday, 29 April 2017

"Haal Chaal Theek Thaak Hai": Bidding Adieu To Muqaddar Ka Badshaah

...and Time has claimed one more bastion of the Most Colourful Era of Mainstream Hindi Cinema. The raw, animal, several-horsepower sexual magnetism of Vinod Khanna (6.10.1946–27.4.2017) has passed on into the big Eternity.


[Image courtesy: Google Images]

Tributes are pouring in as usual, most of it focusing on Khanna's handsomeness and machismo and how he had taken the concept of ubercool "maleness" to new heights, in conjunction with Dharmendra and the one man with whom Khanna drew the maximum amount of parallels, aka Amitabh Bachchan.

Some of us, and by that I mean the musically-inclined, have also been discussing Khanna's music on social media. And there, we are encountering a roadblock after only a few steps. You see, the number of truly iconic songs that the hunky actor could be associated with is considerably—and surprisingly—small, especially when compared against what his contemporaries can boast of.

Try making a list of the iconic songs Rajesh Khanna was associated with. The list will travel from the Earth to the Moon and back. Same for Dev Anand and Amitabh Bachchan, both of whom have a fantastic musical body of work to their credit. Ditto Randhir Kapoor and Rishi Kapoor. This is because the lion's share of Kishore Kumar and Rahul Dev Burman's best songs were picturized on these actors. But Vinod Khanna?

Well, let's see. So here goes, in chronological order:
  1. Koi hota jisko apna - Mere Apne, 1971
  2. Ruk jaana nahin - Imtihan, 1974
  3. Humko tumse ho gaya hai - AMAR AKBAR ANTHONY, 1977
  4. Amar Akbar Anthony - AMAR AKBAR ANTHONY
  5. Chaahiye thoda pyaar - Lahu Ke Do Rang, 1979
  6. Hum tumhein chaahte hain aise - Qurbani, 1980
  7. Chhodo sanam kaahe ka ghum - Kudrat, 1981
  8. Bachna rajaji - Jail Yatra, 1981
  9. Teri har adaa hai haseen - Daulat, 1982
  10. Moti ho to baandh ke rakh loon - Daulat
  11. Lagi aaj saawan ki - Chandni, 1989
  12. Jab koi baat bigad jaaye - Jurm, 1990
See what I meant? Hardly a dozen truly memorable songs from a career that started in 1968 and ended in 2017. And even here, many of the songs are not readily associated with Khanna. The AMAR AKBAR ANTHONY songs are associated more with Bachchan, with Kishore Kumar singing for the Megastar; most of the other songs on that list had Kishore da singing for Khanna, but the songs themselves are known more as "Kishore Kumar songs", not as "Kishore Kumar-Vinod Khanna hits". Compare this against the legendary singer's "Main shayar badnaam" (NAMAK HARAAM, 1973), "O saathi rey" (MUQADDAR KA SIKANDAR, 1978), "Main hoon Don" (DON, 1978), "Gaata rahe mera dil" (Guide, 1965), "Chingaari koi bhadke" (Amar Prem, 1972), and "Yeh shaam mastaani" (Kati Patang, 1970), and you will realize what I mean.

And yet, there is one song that tends to go almost unnoticed; a rare gem that few seem to be aware of, a song that got overshadowed by its more celebrated sibling from the same film (Mere Apne). But make no mistake: this is a song that is very unique...and uniquely structured. This song.


[Image courtesy: Google Images]

Firstly, the theme. The song is about a group of unemployed young friends, straight out of college, looking for jobs but not getting any: a common picture in the urban Indian society even today. Yet instead of tears and angry rants and bitterness, they channelize their angst through dark comedy and smiling sarcasm. What this also does is, it lulls the audience into thinking that in typical cinematic style, things will be all right by the end. This is why, to first-time viewers of the film, the tragic end comes as a bit of a shock even today.

The second thing is the lyrics, which resemble that of a letter a young college student in the city would write to his parents, esp. his mom, and siblings in his native village: "Don't worry, everything's fine." No flowery, ornamental filmic lyric here. Combine that with the low-key way it has been sung and the very basic orchestration—where the singers use their whistling as an instrument!—and what we have is actually the first-ever 'blank verse' song of Hindi Film Music, more than a decade before Panchamda's classic "Mera kuchh saamaan" (Ijaazat, 1988). Hats off to Salil Chowdhury for this one.


[Image courtesy: Google Images]

To me, more than any scene or dialogue, this song remains the greatest imagery of Vinod Khanna's suave, urbane machismo—the angry young man who has to shoulder his responsibilities as his family's beacon of hope while fighting a cruel, unmerciful system that churns out thousands of unemployed graduates every year.

The MUQADDAR KA SIKANDAR still rules supreme, but the Muqaddar Ka Badshaah is gone. That's how Muqaddar rolls.

Rest in a lot of peace, Vinod Khanna.

Wednesday, 8 February 2017

Hitting The Right Notes

Ever since my Daughter was born 5 years ago, I have developed a habit of singing my favourite Bangla and Hindi songs (that means mostly RD Burman-Kishore Kumar numbers) to Her. Apart from trying to introduce Her to the Golden Era of popular Hindi/Bengali music, the idea has also been to keep Her away from the "Badtameez dil"/"Beat pe booty"-brand of atrocities. And it seems my efforts are bearing fruit.
Recently, I went to a friend's house with my Daughter. The host, a lover of retro music, started playing some old songs on his mobile attached to a speaker. After a song or two, "Tere bina zindagi se koi" came on.
My Daughter was sitting on the floor and playing by Herself. Suddenly, She looked up, cocked Her ears at the song that was playing, turned to me, and said: "Baba, Baba, Jete jete poth-e holo deri...", and then She started singing the Bangla version of the Aandhi song!
I was astonished at how my 5-year-old had been able to recognize the tune of the Hindi song and correctly identified the Bangla version of it. Evidently I must be doing something right, as far getting my Daughter's ears attuned to good music is concerned.