tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-29642726191856826752024-03-21T11:47:30.327-07:00Jay - Movies 'n MelodiesJay Subramanyamhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18217270432154315928noreply@blogger.comBlogger10125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2964272619185682675.post-33231717178326684682011-11-01T01:36:00.000-07:002011-11-18T01:10:25.119-08:00‘Yahoo’ – The Cry of a Generation<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"><div style="text-align: justify;"><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhScvleZocK7wm33HHGiqfVm28dhAiAxQbRUtopuzab7I0sAis0zvCQuqQJoV1CJE4bNmuTezzFiiZW5AURByCmMa3C2rWNtQYClRorjKp0yiVrrRQIGSOFBbh36U2CNPfVflp4deVTL865/s1600/Shammi+Kapoor.bmp" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; cssfloat: right; float: right; height: 148px; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em; width: 191px;"><img border="0" height="143" ida="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhScvleZocK7wm33HHGiqfVm28dhAiAxQbRUtopuzab7I0sAis0zvCQuqQJoV1CJE4bNmuTezzFiiZW5AURByCmMa3C2rWNtQYClRorjKp0yiVrrRQIGSOFBbh36U2CNPfVflp4deVTL865/s200/Shammi+Kapoor.bmp" width="200" /></a>Shammi Kapoor, nee Shamsher Raj Kapoor, could safely go down in history as Hindi Cinema’s first true blue youth icon. As one who changed the very essence of screen dynamics, Shammi was inviolably sacrosanct as the ‘rebel star’, whose comic wit could degenerate into clenches, just as his serious banter could swell into a bombast. And the audience loved it all. Plus, there were those pulsating numbers enacted by him so vigorously on screen, where every vein, every muscle of his, swiveled & swirled in a manner that was as indescribable as it was indefatigable. <br />
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Shammi's music in fact makes for an entire subject of study and analysis. It started out on a circumspect note with the stately Talat doing most of his playback, which didn't really jar for Shammi himself, had a relatively sedate persona when he started out. It was much later when Rafi synthesised his singing style to a point of ‘hybrid vocal calisthenics’ even as an unimpressive gait metamorphosed into the flamboyant, swaggering 'Yahoo' star. Two of Talat' evergreen numbers, 'Chal Diya Karvan..' ['Laila Majnu'] and 'Aye Gham-e-dil Kya Karoon..' [from 'Thokar'] were in fact, picturised on Shammi though the film themselves tanked. As did another lesser heard number, 'Tere dar pe aaya hoon fariyaad lekar..' from an even lesser known, 'Chor Bazaar'. Rafi made the first impression as the voice of Shammi with a song seeped in the Punjabi idiom, 'Tune mera yaar na milaya..' from another box-office failure, 'Shama Parwana'. Films like 'Rangeen Raatein', 'Rail Ka Dibba', 'Jeewan Jyoti' and 'Hum Sub Chor Hain' only added to his dwindling stocks at the box-office. This lasted for a full four years, 1953 to 1956.<br />
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</div></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;">‘Yahoo’, a kind of guttural rasp, which became his very own vocal fiefdom, first made its appearance in ‘Tumsa Nahin Dekha’ in 1957 and reached a crescendo with the mega-hit, ‘Junglee’ in 1961 to become a sort of a national chant. And thus was born a star among stars!! Always the irritable hell-raiser to his leading ladies, his kind of romance was akin to brandishing a red rag to a bull. And the hits followed thick & fast, ‘Professor’, Kashmir Ki Kali’, Raajkumar’ and ‘Jaanwar’. But as it happens, once you reach a career peak, there predictably is a downslide. The year 1965 was to prove a watershed in Shammi’s life, when his first wife, Geeta Bali succumbed to small-pox, leaving behind a shattered husband. ‘Teesri Manzil’, now rated a cult film, was then under-production but had to be halted for months. A broken, embittered Shammi unable to cope up with the tragedy, hit the bottle with a vengeance and drained it to the very dregs. By the time he was back, the once envied physique had started showing signs of neglect. Though, some of his celebrated hits, ‘An Evening in Paris’ & ‘Brahmachari’ were to come in the following years, the expanding girth now required the exigent camouflage of a suit or an un-tucked shirt. Inevitably, came the flops, ‘Pagla Kahin Ka’, ‘Jaane Anjaane’, ‘Preetam’ & ‘Jawaan Mohabbat’. Even as he slithered into the sunset plumes, Shammi had to share his last box-office success, ‘Andaz’ with Rajesh Khanna and his motor-cycling zip-off. </div></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;">Subsequently, Shammi tried his hand at direction with ‘Manoranjan’ but the attempts to recreate the aura of ‘Irma La Douce’ with the same voyeuristic undercurrents fell flat on its face. Towards the end, after his days as character actor too faded into a dim tint, it was sad to see a wheel-chair bound Shammi being subjected to an exacting dialysis routine, though he still maintained equanimity with the caresses and bruises of life.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;">Today Shammi is no more but his legend endures. A legacy of the days when the nation swayed with the unbridled vigour of ‘Aasman se aaya farishta, pyaar ka sabak sikhlaane….’ that now makes for sweet shenigans on TV channels, just as the ‘Yahoo’ mystique has a glorified halo around it. A star among stars has indeed gone back to where he came from, ‘aasman’ or the eternal skies!! God bless his soul!</div></div>Jay Subramanyamhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18217270432154315928noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2964272619185682675.post-11665793125429198442011-07-27T06:02:00.000-07:002011-11-02T22:37:14.820-07:00The Mystique of Mani Kaul<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"><div closure_uid_2hpd34="118" style="text-align: justify;"><div closure_uid_cjrewv="91"><div closure_uid_ixntmk="90"><div closure_uid_v02s6c="107" style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"> <a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgOs8ITwAA3Q3sWEo4inEYFLiCkAd9sBx3YAMeAhmqaCQXkGtrYZ4Cf4E8jq3KCeyB0FORaBximPVzNU-uY5MRTZUOBhqx-Iz3pOkY4lqBK-VSBehwEiqZx9JSGPXAHNQBFyVfbygTTlnDF/s1600/Mani+Kaul.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; cssfloat: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" ida="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgOs8ITwAA3Q3sWEo4inEYFLiCkAd9sBx3YAMeAhmqaCQXkGtrYZ4Cf4E8jq3KCeyB0FORaBximPVzNU-uY5MRTZUOBhqx-Iz3pOkY4lqBK-VSBehwEiqZx9JSGPXAHNQBFyVfbygTTlnDF/s200/Mani+Kaul.jpg" width="147" /></a>Let me be honest! I am not a Mani Kaul fan by any stretch of imagination. In fact, he seems to have created more tremors in death than during his lifetime, when for a major part he was the butt of ridicule of Bollywood filmmakers, particularly one Manmohan Desai, who had the propensity to say things impromptu and then try and give lame justifications for the same. For so many, Mani was simply a red-rag, whose cinema was an incomprehensible as it was a drag, he made films devoid of filigree whose frames were like the ripples of the ocean, slow and expressionless.</div></div></div></div><div closure_uid_ixntmk="92" style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; text-align: justify;"><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><br />
</div></div><div closure_uid_2hpd34="112" style="text-align: justify;"><div closure_uid_cjrewv="97"><div closure_uid_ixntmk="93" closure_uid_v02s6c="109"><div closure_uid_v02s6c="108"><div closure_uid_ot792b="90"><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;">I managed to catch a glimpse of 'Uski Roti' way back in the 70s during the black & white days of Doordarshan, which also happened to be my pubescent years in Lucknow. And all I remember of the film was a woman unpacking a sack for her truck driver husband which consisted of the obvious epicurean wonder : the 'roti'. I was anyways not really enamoured of watching the movie beyond this momentary glimpse. Gradually things changed for with age and time, one does learn to appreciate such esoteric strands of cinema that have created their own diminutive space in a wider canvas of film making. <br />
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</div></div></div></div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"></div><div closure_uid_v02s6c="110"><div closure_uid_ot792b="92"><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;">Mani was now well within my ambit of curiosity primarily because he was one of the leading lights of the off-beat cinema movement along with Mrinal Sen and Bhisham Sahni, way back in the late 60s. A kind of cinema which holds a strange fascination for me now. More specifically, Mrinal Da's 'Bhuvan Shome', Mani Kaul's 'Uski Roti' and Bhisham Sahni's 'Maya Darpan' are considered neo-classics in having pioneered the art cinema movement in India. Around the same time, Basu Chatterjee also came up with 'Sara Aakash' but unlike the other three, he chose to move away from the art genre and gravitated towards the middle path that straddled the realm of art and commerce a.la. Hrishikesh Mukherjee and Gulzar. The most unique aspect of these four films was that they were all devoid of songs, something unimaginable in the heady days of the 60s and the 70s. </div></div></div></div></div></div></div></div><div closure_uid_2hpd34="112" style="text-align: justify;"><div closure_uid_cjrewv="98"><div closure_uid_ixntmk="94"><div closure_uid_v02s6c="91"> <br />
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="clear: left; cssfloat: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiyLLv_vougMeXd0-7rsBw8SnavhN9gxkAMAHWD0EvxIfPlsAb_G1T_B9dSorpqezzF34SqljcBeU-tZGuh1fsMrKpFnvkD0Kv2jNdQ8xB6zberXFucPAtjpa0YSCrDn-EY-J2GiGypgt9C/s1600/%2527Uski+Roti%2527.bmp" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; cssfloat: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" ida="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiyLLv_vougMeXd0-7rsBw8SnavhN9gxkAMAHWD0EvxIfPlsAb_G1T_B9dSorpqezzF34SqljcBeU-tZGuh1fsMrKpFnvkD0Kv2jNdQ8xB6zberXFucPAtjpa0YSCrDn-EY-J2GiGypgt9C/s1600/%2527Uski+Roti%2527.bmp" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">A still from 'Uski Roti' [1969]</td></tr>
</tbody></table> <br />
<div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;">As usual and as is the norm in our film industry, once an artiste or technician departs, he becomes the focal point of conversations & discussions, regardless of the fact that his life was shrouded in obscurity during his last days, like Mani's. Having gone through the whole gamut of obituaries that have been written on him, the one anecdote that stood out for its jocularity and was a satirical garb in self-deprecating humour went like this : Mani's landlords, an ageing couple once called him over for dinner and the husband, in an obvious jibe at the filmmaker said, 'Do you about Mr. Kaul's latest film which is about a man waiting at a bus stop...'. The wife immediately chortled, 'No, please don't reveal the story and spoil my joy'. At this Mani just smiled and said, 'Sorry, but he has already told you the story, ma'am'. If anything, this was reflective of the kind of filmmaking in which Mani revelled and excelled too. He essentially belonged to a school of filmmakers who followed a cinematic pathway that was subvertible from its narrowness or the imperfections of its very basis. Throughout his chequered career, Mani struggled to find his niche as a film-maker. Even the cerebral often lamented that he found it hard to comprehend his kind of film-making. </div></div></div></div></div><div closure_uid_cjrewv="109" closure_uid_v02s6c="116"><br />
</div><div closure_uid_2hpd34="112" style="text-align: justify;"><div closure_uid_cjrewv="110"><div closure_uid_v02s6c="115"><div closure_uid_ot792b="93">I would define Mani Kaul as one who swam against the tide, but rarely did he manage to wade out of deep waters; his kind of obscurantism on celluloid had little or no takers. Yet, I would be willing to give my right hand to get hold of 'Uski Roti' and Aaashad Ka Ek Din', which were both based on literary works of Mohan Rakesh and 'Duvidha', which took inspiration from a Rajasthani folk tale. These three works of Mani have given him some kind of a halo in a world of cinema that depicted stark & stoic realism.</div></div></div></div><div closure_uid_2hpd34="112" style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div closure_uid_2hpd34="112" style="text-align: justify;">God bless his soul!!</div><div class="separator" style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; clear: both; text-align: center;"></div></div>Jay Subramanyamhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18217270432154315928noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2964272619185682675.post-30196784714268336462011-02-07T23:27:00.000-08:002011-02-07T23:27:02.692-08:00A Typewriter that continues to go Tip, Tip, Tip…..In the memory of Late Ismail Merchant<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"><br />
<div style="text-align: justify;">The one and only number that I can recall as having been composed on a 'typewriter' was a duet by Kishore & Asha that went ‘Typewriter Tip Tip Tip Tip Karta Hai…’, which really caught my fancy as it used to be played with frequent rapidity on Vividh Bharti and Radio Ceylon. As the years went by, the song barely lingered in my memory but a decade later, HMV released the song in one of its compilations, which rekindled my interest. I managed to dig out the information that ‘Bombay Talkie’, the film for which, it was recorded, was a co-production of Ismail Merchant and James Ivory, whose banner went by the name of Merchant-Ivory productions. Like many of their previous ventures, ‘Bombay Talkie’ was released only in Mumbai and its proximal areas but never went any further. I was given to believe that no print of the film existed anywhere, which gave a severe wrench to my hopes of procuring a copy or at least watching the film on the cable, if for nothing else, then just for ‘Typewriter…’.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;">Even as I sifted and pared in all VCD shops round the country, I came across Ismail Merchant’s autobiography, a damn expensive memorabilia and one of the visuals in the book showed a gigantic typewriter, with stills of a rollicking Shashi Kapoor and some colourfully clad dancers transfixed on the keys in paroxysmal poses. In a trice, I could visualize what the picturisation of ‘Typewriter…’ would have been like. Rich, sonorous and energetic, just like Shanker-Jaikishan’s infectious beats that were a rage till the turn of the 1970s.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;">Ismail Merchant for once broke away from his pre-defined norm and came up with a film that was the closest approximation of a Bollywood pot-boiler. So what if ‘Bombay Talkie’ did not run, for Ismail ji’s films were never meant for the turnstiles nor did they ever played to the gallery. They were all polished, up-market ventures that more often than not were a throw-back to the stark Colonial days in India. Ismail ji, sadly has left us forever and the elusive Typewriter has moved from my inner consciousness to a level of sensuous cognition, metaphorically speaking!! </div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;">It isn't yet time to put it in the back-burner, not as yet. Not until it stops going ‘Tip, Tip, Tip…’.</div></div>Jay Subramanyamhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18217270432154315928noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2964272619185682675.post-57116455209587851932011-02-07T01:12:00.000-08:002011-02-07T01:17:28.920-08:00How Bright are the Royalty Stakes??<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;">The Government of India recently introduced a bill in the Parliament for amendment in the Indian Copyright Act, 1957 with regard to music rights for films. If passed, then, along with the producers, the lyricists and the composers would also have a stake in the profits generated from the sale of musical tracks. In other words, the latter would be joint shareholders with the producers on the ‘royalty’ from sales through various channels.</div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhvLNH8PfQx4XubOep72dhwEXp1huS7QEmVDrNoBBp77TDgYx3eiMrez-PvljK-VO_uuVbeVcdmslLucU8bnhoKO8bJOGIkxunF41tVaGREG-S9KnsNkwg4IrKpppzZsUJzx0S54FSTn4Nf/s1600/untitled.bmp" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; cssfloat: left; float: left; height: 175px; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em; width: 145px;"><img border="0" h5="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhvLNH8PfQx4XubOep72dhwEXp1huS7QEmVDrNoBBp77TDgYx3eiMrez-PvljK-VO_uuVbeVcdmslLucU8bnhoKO8bJOGIkxunF41tVaGREG-S9KnsNkwg4IrKpppzZsUJzx0S54FSTn4Nf/s1600/untitled.bmp" /></a>The fallout has been a ban imposed by the Film Federation of India [FFI] on Javed Akhtar, who parlayed a career as a dialogue writer to lyric-writing success, as he was the one who pushed for the bill for what he felt was a just cause. FFI justified the ban saying that the producer was already in a high-risk zone and such a move would only increase the level of financial burden on him. </div></div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;">The royalty issue is nothing new to the industry. In the 1960s, Lata Mangeshkar had pushed vehemently for singers to be given a share of the advance royalty paid by the music companies to the producers, of which, a miniscule portion used to be transferred on to the music director. Lata’s argument was that if the producer surrendered a part of the royalty to the music director, the singer in question, brooked a similar claim as it was he/she who carried it across to the masses. Javed Akhtar’s line of call is similar in tenor to Lata’s, for in his opinion, the lyricists always get a raw deal as they are paid once for a song and then totally bypassed, while the producer is able to exploit its selling potential for an indefinite period.</div></div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;">Lata, however, was unable to have it her way, for despite having the backing of almost the entire playback fraternity, the most crucial of them all, Mohd. Rafi, stood in intrepid opposition. Rafi’s argument was that as a playback singer, his claim over a song ended once he had recorded it, for unlike a music director, he was not ‘contractually bound’ to the producer to demand a share in royalty inasmuch as a song’s success or failure had no bearing on the singer, so long as he had been paid his legitimate dues. FFI’s point in a way vindicates Rafi’s stand, that if the lyricists demand a share in the profits as royalty, would they also be prepared to bear the losses if any, with the producer? After all, even the best of song writers cannot claim that every single number of theirs would hit the bulls-eye. </div></div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;">Four decades ago, Rafi’s opposition to Queen-bee Lata not only put a spoke in her royal(ty) wheel but also led to strained relations between the two super-singers. It would be interesting to see the outcome of a similar crusade when the new Copyright bill comes up for debate in the Parliament. Would Javed Akhtar emerge as a key benefactor for the song writer’s fraternity or just fade away like one of those fleeting phantoms who raise dust but no level? Only time will tell.</div></div></div>Jay Subramanyamhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18217270432154315928noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2964272619185682675.post-42824937605560126862010-08-31T05:45:00.000-07:002010-08-31T22:16:47.151-07:00A.R. Rahman - One up on his illustrious predecessors<a href="http://jayace.blogspot.com/2009/05/ar-rahman-one-up-on-his-illustrious.html?spref=bl">Jay - History 'n Political Affairs: A.R. Rahman - One up on his illustrious predecesso...</a>: "After sweeping a litany of awards, ‘Slumdog Millionaire’ managed a most eclectic slice of an a la carte spread at the Oscar feast - zipping ..."Jay Subramanyamhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18217270432154315928noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2964272619185682675.post-22228022744864913382010-06-30T23:51:00.000-07:002010-07-06T00:35:44.760-07:00Gopaldas 'Neeraj' - Chalta Rahe Yeh Caravan…<div align="justify">It was in the early 60s when a youngster from Aligarh, who had already<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhwbIWrS5WbsvVUq4MYfTT8XBnKwDi6cfscvxqhtLjq6D9i_fNm8h3fUtoK3e0GdYvqtVNBnKaIgqJrYmw43uHXkVydrkjfZpTYSrESo4pfRi6kCQCcJcrm4bJdDMYtxcwt6w_MOEKcupnV/s1600/Neeraj.jpg"><img style="MARGIN: 0px 0px 10px 10px; WIDTH: 88px; FLOAT: right; HEIGHT: 89px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5490692729388486034" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhwbIWrS5WbsvVUq4MYfTT8XBnKwDi6cfscvxqhtLjq6D9i_fNm8h3fUtoK3e0GdYvqtVNBnKaIgqJrYmw43uHXkVydrkjfZpTYSrESo4pfRi6kCQCcJcrm4bJdDMYtxcwt6w_MOEKcupnV/s320/Neeraj.jpg" /></a> established his credentials as a litterateur and a poet and had completed a whole gamut of scholastic pursuits, opted for higher sweepstakes of the tinsel world. He went on to leave his imprimatur as the finest literary talent from UP to have enshrined the terra-firma of Bollywood. Gopaldas Neeraj was his name.<br /><br />In a career that lasted just about a decade, Neeraj came up with heart-tugging musical utterances that enhanced the elegance of poetic Hindi lexicon across the film firmament like never before. Not for him the loosely framed scaffolding of inane word-spinning that was the standard norm; every number of his bore the inimitable stamp of a rare alchemist in sensitive poetry. He made his foray through a B-grader flick called ‘Cha Cha Cha’ with the numbers - <em>‘Luti jahaan pe bewajaah paalki bahaar ki’</em> and <em>‘Subah na aai, shaam na aayi’</em> having the most exquisite wraparound of words and emotions, which instantly captured the attention of music lovers. But Neeraj’s finest moment came with the film, ‘Nai Umar Ki Nai Fasal’ which was embellished by what has come to be rated as the poet’s ‘sacrosanct musical template’ - <em>‘Caravan guzar gaya, ghubaar dekhte rahe’</em>, a turgid socio-economic parable that saw Neeraj pouring out his creative zest in the most perfect amalgam of meter, rhyme & poetry. Here was a number that attained the same measure of popularity within the ambit of films as outside of it. With his literary bona-fides having been established, Neeraj was all set to climb further up to the bigger league of song writers in films.<br /><br />With the demise of Shailendra in 1966, Neeraj came the closest to filling the void in the Shanker-Jaikishan team as the one who could provide a poetic slant to Hasrat Jaipuri’s shairana style. And he did create some outstanding numbers for the high-profile duo, like the lyrical idyll, <em>‘Likhe jo khat tujhe’</em> (‘Kanyadaan’) written in iambic or open verse - a metaphor for astute penmanship, <em>‘Ae bhai zara dekh ke chalo’</em> (‘Mera Naam Joker’) - an evergreen classic that almost created a colloquy with the audience, <em>‘Bas yehi apradh main har baar karta hoon’</em> (‘Pehchan’) - an wistful ode to human affilia<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh_n1osjnDsLrbKLsmsBlQU_AkrkNassz4jkQsbVSUbLU_e5uRw6dZBQ43K2R-1FI_LpGegFl1Xeiw34H9dXSxl8T_Dwd4YJfmSXjOqyAku9lJsHaEvsD45jiAjs_jrJGaWWmfc3WH_HxBG/s1600/Neeraj2.jpg"><img style="MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; WIDTH: 78px; FLOAT: left; HEIGHT: 104px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5490693391340733362" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh_n1osjnDsLrbKLsmsBlQU_AkrkNassz4jkQsbVSUbLU_e5uRw6dZBQ43K2R-1FI_LpGegFl1Xeiw34H9dXSxl8T_Dwd4YJfmSXjOqyAku9lJsHaEvsD45jiAjs_jrJGaWWmfc3WH_HxBG/s320/Neeraj2.jpg" /></a>tion and the unabashedly romantic, <em>‘Aap yahan aaye kisliye’</em> (‘Kal Aaj Aur Kal’). Neeraj’s most famous teaming up however, was with the genial SD Burman that created a virtual cascade – in one sweep he could exhibit his mettle on a convoluted meter with ‘Rangeela Re’ or create a heady aperitif with <em>'Shokhion mein ghola jaaye phoolon ka shabab'</em> (‘Prem Pujari’), create moonlit hues with <em>‘Megha chaaye aadhi raat’</em> (‘Sharmilee’), sound fragrantly effusive with <em>‘Jeewan ki bagiya mehkegi’</em>, swear unfailing love with <em>'Hey maine qasam lee'</em> or weave a socio-mythological parable with <em>'Jaise Radha ne maala japi Shyam ki'</em> (‘Tere Mere Sapne’), disseminate arguably philosophical overtones with <em>‘Dil aaj shayar hai’</em> and on a faster beat, <em>'Choodi naheen ye mera dil hai'</em> (‘Gambler’) or create a whimsical parody of sorts with <em>‘Dheere se jaana khatiyan mein’</em> (‘Chupa Rustam’) – counting just a few of several exquisite numbers that left indelible poetic sinews across the wellsprings of time.<br /><br />With the turn of the 70s, Neeraj, having attained some measure of popularity, set up temporary base in Mumbai, without abandoning his roots of course. But he was too much of a simpleton to adapt to the hop, skip & jump style of Bollywood, besides being plagued by persistent ill-health, owing to a constant shuttle between Aligarh and Mumbai. Besides, the Mumbai industry thrived on team-work and here is where Neeraj, by his own confession was a victim of destiny’s decree. The composers with whom he worked with a fair measure of regularity – Roshan & Jaikishan (of the S-J duo) had passed away by 1971 and Dada Burman in 1975; the younger generation of composers had their own committed writers to look elsewhere. Neeraj was soon out in the cold despite the exquisite poetry that he wove into his works. Soon enough, the poet in him was rekindled and he returned to his hometown after a final tryst with destiny through a surpassingly lovely creation – <em>‘Jannat hai dekhni to kisi dil mein aashiyan bana’</em> from ‘Shatranj Ke Mohre’ reflecting his all-encompassing love for mankind that was axiomatically depicted in another of his poetic jargons –<em> ‘Vaheen dhoondna Neeraj ko tum jahaanwaalon, jahaan bhi dard ki koi basti nazar aaye’</em>. Another one of his lesser heard but well-crafted numbers was, <em>'Suryamukhi hai mukhda tera'</em> from the film 'Tu Meri Main Tera'. The sad reality now was that he was no longer in the big league of cine-lyricists and the offers were for such obscure, low-budget films that stymied his growth as a writer. Goldie (Vijay) Anand, his old colleague and friend did apparently summon him to write for a film which he was directing for Dev Anand and Neeraj did come dowm from Aligarh to pen the song. Sadly, the film and as a result the song never saw the light of the day and are both languishing in the cans somewhere. Despite the allure of the tinsel world, he remained a poet at heart –<em> 'Aatma ke saundarya ka shabd roop hai kaavya, maanav hona bhaagya hai, kavi hona saubhaagya’</em>.<br /><br />In a career spanning 55 years, Padma Bhushan Neeraj can well be given the sobriquet of the ‘Poet Laureate of India’ with a range & variety that epitomized his creative genius. Not many can claim to have received equal encomiums from the litterateurs as well the cine-goers, appealing to the connoisseurs as well as the commoners, which makes his art so timeless.<br /><br />Just as the Bard of Avon sang, ‘If music be the food of love, play on’, Gopaldas Neeraj, a tsar in his own poetic fiefdom, continues to move along the whispering sand dunes leaving behind a trail of bitter, sweet musical intonations. <em>‘Yaad rakh jo aandhiyon ke saamne bhi muskuraate, voh samay ke panth par, pad chinnh apne chod jaate’</em>.<br /><br /><em>‘Caravan guzar gaya’</em> he had once lamented but for unabashed loyalists of the lyricist-poet it would be - ‘<em>Chalta rahe ye caravan, umr-e-rawaan ka caravan…’</em> .</div>Jay Subramanyamhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18217270432154315928noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2964272619185682675.post-61252594493621843442010-06-30T23:46:00.000-07:002010-06-30T23:49:05.415-07:00An Ode to Nationalism - Sir Iqbal to Sahir Ludhianvi<div align="justify"><br />Sir Allama Mohammed Iqbal was one of the greatest sons of undivided British India – a poet, an intellectual and a philosopher, having affiliations with the old feudal order. His name shall always be associated with what remains to this day, the most sacrosanct template of patriotic sentiment – <em>‘Saare Jahaan Se Achcha Hindustan Hamara’</em>, first published in the journal ‘Ittehad in 1904.<br /><br />Initially, Sir Iqbal was a staunch nationalist, which he used as a contemplative metaphor to define the universality of external forces. Beneath a tumultuous psychological struggle, lay his justification of conscience & reason - <em>‘Ghurbat Mein Hon Agar Ham, Rahta Hai Dil Watan Mein, Samjho Vaheen Hamein Bhi Dil Ho Jahaan Hamara’</em>. However, his trips to Europe brought about a change in his thought-process and he soon became a vocal supporter of Islam. In his publication, ‘Tarana-e-Milli’ (1910), Sir Iqbal’s retained the same rhythm & metre but abandoned the earlier sentiment for – <em>‘Muslim Hain Hum Watan Hai, Sara Jahaan Hamara, Cheen-O-Arab Hamara, Hindustan Hamara’</em>.<br /><br />Strangely enough several years later, a young lad from Ludhiana, Abdul Hayee, who attained celebrity status as a poet & litterateur with a more lyrical name, Sahir Ludhianvi, used these lines as a muse for satire to articulate his pronounced Leftist leanings – <em>‘Chin-O-Arab Hamara, Hindustan Hamara, Rehne Ko Ghar Naheen Hai, Saara Jahaan Hamara’</em>. The song was used for a Raj Kapoor film – ‘Phir Subah Hogi’ (1958), which was inspired by Fyodor Dostoevsky’s ‘Crime & Punishment’. Unlike Sir Iqbal, who reveled in semantic paroxysms that raised emotional prejudices – <em>‘Aye Aab-e-rud-e-Ganga, Voh Din Hai Yaad Tujhko, Utra Tere Kinare, Jab Karvan Hamara’</em>, Sahir’s poetry stemmed from a rank abhorrence to the capitalist cult and a bitterness towards the bourgeoisie – <em>‘Kholi Bhi Chin Gayi Hai, Benchein Bhi Chin Gayi Hain, Sadkon Pe Ghoomta Hai, Ab Karvan Hamara’</em>. Having been a member of the Progressive Writers’ Association, Sahir had cultivated an egalitarian mentality that called for a social policy that supported the working class. His poetry focused on the moral dilemmas of human psyche and their chilling consequences. Thus, what was a broad, dialectical interpretation of individual torment for Sir Iqbal – <em>‘Iqbal Koi Mehrum, Apna Naheen Jahan Mein, Maalum Kya Kisiko, Dard-e-Nihaan Hamara’</em>, became an untrammeled cry of the oppressed and the anguished for Sahir – ‘<em>Taleem Hai Adhuri, Milti Naheen Majuri, Maloom Kya Kisiko, Dar-e-nihaan Hamara’</em>.<br /><br />Sir Iqbal’s poetry had the power to offer a philosophic background to the Muslim intelligentsia in a featherbed of religious sentiment – <em>’Tauheed Ki Amanat, Seenon Mein Hai Hamare, Aasaan Naheen Mitaana, Naam-o-Nishan Hamara’</em>. Sahir, an atheist, believed in raising his voice within the system rather than breaking away from it. If Iqbal was rational, then Sahir slithered into the meta-rational. At the end of his poetic diatribe, Sahir realises his mea culpa as he ends optimistically with – <em>‘Mil Jul Ke Is Watan Ko, Aisa Sajayenge Hum, Hairat Se Munh Takega, Saara Jahaan Hamara’</em>.<br /><br />Despite inspiring two diametrically opposite sentiments, the twain of the rational of Sir Iqbal and the meta-rational of Sahir did learn operate symbiotically - one showing the way, the other following and thus exploring some bitter truths, as they were. </div>Jay Subramanyamhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18217270432154315928noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2964272619185682675.post-21595535455278879462009-08-21T05:08:00.000-07:002009-08-22T04:41:10.197-07:00'Bombay Talkie' [1971] - An Audio-Visual Narrative<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgHlsWR9clsmMsdfjm64nb5gpaL-z14oluPWItqPETDu3FF1bFV6j7m3fZDVm84R7vTujIotzcG-jG2WNF8YORmZL20sCI0KD6qIHozzO2FdHLwNIm_MD-kg89QpL2p1BE7NNYxDdVkxQzE/s1600-h/3tanisha_1001_550x422.jpg"></a><div align="justify"><div align="justify"><strong>'Bombay Talkie’</strong> shall always be a ‘stand-alone’ in Shanker Jaikishan's phenomenal musical output. This happen<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjY3ka70Hov-fffGYVfesex_mwSZWCs4mXsl8gDlfju7woBkEV3A0lFyeiANZqfvJrKgDSFBNysetRGzg4SicmCnxvwt_UVmISm3NtniPrHPX-92MUq-kDkmJdJyLSfux-qzBuLdKUePXsA/s1600-h/v66529z3nu5.jpg"></a>ed to be the first and the only English film that they comp<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiUo4AH3G6HXtCWzYX3ulAjsYny5F3ZeH2soWnREJl8bOog2bDLyILSzMlwOn8atnH1fOGDTb_4AX_6ptoA1IdnKTpCdKfqJE6sAAEs4uwBosyc9YWkxGP_QLxL7KGx0QRxM9QC6qBFgcOT/s1600-h/bombaytalkie11.jpg"><img style="MARGIN: 0px 0px 10px 10px; WIDTH: 177px; FLOAT: right; HEIGHT: 124px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5372401691340954706" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiUo4AH3G6HXtCWzYX3ulAjsYny5F3ZeH2soWnREJl8bOog2bDLyILSzMlwOn8atnH1fOGDTb_4AX_6ptoA1IdnKTpCdKfqJE6sAAEs4uwBosyc9YWkxGP_QLxL7KGx0QRxM9QC6qBFgcOT/s320/bombaytalkie11.jpg" /></a>osed for and therefore, the music too had (and still has) a feel of elusiveness about it. It also brought together the formidable team of Ismail Merchant, James Ivory and Ruth Prawer Jhabwala following their earlier ‘Householder’ and ‘Shakespearwallah’. This one too, like many of the predecessors from the Merchant-Ivory stables, stresses upon a juxtaposition of Eastern & Western ideologies and the Shashi-Jennifer team-up lends credence to the depiction.<br /><br />With a title like that, one would imagine the film had something to do with the bygone era of the studios, which has now receded into the past. At least that is what I had pre-supposed. But it isn’t quite so. The film actually has a very modern & contemporary setting and carries the feel of a ‘film within a film’. Shashi (as Vikram) plays the role of a successful but unhappy star whose marital life with Aparna Sen (as Mala) is thrown adrift as the couple is childless, which leads him on to an extra-marital affair with Jennifer (as Lucia), who plays an American novelist on visit to India looking for literary inspiration. Shashi, while articulating his plight to Jennifer sounds palpably chauvinistic when he says – ‘We Hindus need a son to light the funeral pyre’. During her several meetings, Jennifer falls for the charms of Shashi but when it dawns upon her that the affair is heading nowhere, decides to spurn his overtures and runs off to an Ashram, seeking spiritual solace. Ruth Jhabwala, true to her bona-fides and also her penchant for the self-made Godman (a la ‘The Householder’), weaves in a cameo of a spiritual guru (played by Pinchoo Kapoor) in her screenplay. Again, in keeping with her predilection for suggestive digs at the Indian Godmen, Pinchoo Kapoor is shown mollycoddling Jennifer as he gets servilely evocative with – ‘Come, let’s get cosy…. I am thirsty, I am waiting…!’. By this stage, it dawns upon Lucia that everything about the Ashram and the Guru is shambolic and she decides to return to her unrequited love only to meet with tragic consequences. Then we have Zia Mohyeddin (as Hari), who becomes the fourth player in a love quadruped of sorts, playing a film writer who is palpably frustrated at the commercial trappings that have stymied his creativity. He is in love with Jennifer, but when it dawns upon him that she has her heart set on his friend Shashi, decides to forego his love. Quite inconspicuous throughout the film, his character acquires significance only towards the end, when in an act of desperation, he stabs the hero for his seemingly philandering ways with the very dagger that the latter had presented him. Thus, the maxim, ‘those who live by the sword perish by it as well’, underscores the denouement. The film essentially narrates a tale of four people, all of whom are in love but each of them ends up a loser owing to the quizzical quirk of fate.<br /><br />Except for Shashi himself, other ‘filmy’ characters are there merely as ‘decorative adjuncts’ which leads no credence to main storyline. Utpal Dutt for one, as a filmmaker playing to the galleries, surprises you with his chaste English but has little or no connect with the basic plot. Then we have Nadira who funnily breaks into – ‘Badi mushkil se dil ki bekarari ko karaar aaya..’ as a throw-back to her salad years, used as a cleverly garbed metaphor to delineate her current eclipse as an actress. Interestingly, Anwar Ali sings a few lines of – ‘Mere Angne Mein..’ (almost a decade before its commercial release) while Jalal Agha is there only to strike crude poses and expressions. The famous documentary filmmaker, Sukhdev too is wasted in a group sequence. And finally, the veteran character artiste, Mirza Musharraf, who after several decades of mouthing inane ‘Hinglish’ dialogues finally gets his place under the sun with an extended monologue to Jennifer in pure, unadulterated English, while the two climb down the spiral staircase of the Taj. Incidentally, this is the Taj of Mumbai whose interiors looks exquisite (who would have predicted the carnage that was to be wrecked two decades later) but strangely even celebrity stars are shown climbing up and down the staircase. Was it to heighten the emotional impact of the dialogues or was Taj devoid of any lifts in the 70s? Honestly, I am not aware. And finally, why pray, has an artiste of the caliber of Iftekhar been wasted in a nondescript sequence in a hotel bar?<br /><br />The film was censored alright (19th of February, 1971 to be precise) and was reviewed in 'Filmfare' too, when the S-J team was still ruling the roost. Harmandir Singh Hamraaz’s ‘Geet Kosh’ strangely includes it in the addendum list of films that were either shelved or whose censorship dates are not recorded. The film also has some intimate scenes, which apparently held it up with the censors for quite a while but it eventually was cleared with ‘a ‘U’ certificate with a triangle’ (meaning with some cuts). It is another matter that the film didn’t have a proper commercial release anywhere in India though, it found its audience in the West.<br /><br />So then what is the high-profile S-J duo doing in this non-commercial but haunting symbiosis woven into a narrative of myriad relationships? As a matter of fact, the film’s music marks yet another triumph for the duo as a conflation of the trends prevalent in the West and the East. The inherent genius in their works is discernible in the unfolding of the credit titles itself, where they employ a haunting melody with minimal use of instruments as it all begins with a huge hoarding of the film being carried across Mumbai’s Bori Bunder stretch. This is followed by separate hoardings announcing the various creative heads associated with the film, placed at various points in the city and the camera zooming in from unusual angles. The hustle and bustle of a busy Mumbai is avoided and instead, the somber & wistful moments of the city life are captured vividly in glorious colour; a huge credit to the cameraman, Subrata Mitra, famous for his earlier collaboration with Satyajit Ray. A single collage is dedicated to Shanker, Jaikishan, Hasrat, Asha, Kishore & Rafi, which has you riveted to the screen. The accompanying lilt to the title track is punctuated by a whiff of a ‘choir’ that perfectly matches the mood of the sequence with the unison of the sitar, the veena, the Spanish and the tabla for orchestral accompaniment. It was only after repeated hearing that I realised that it was an instrumental version of Usha Uthup’s <strong>‘Good Times and Bad Times…’.</strong> At first, I found it strange that only Kishore, Asha and Rafi are credited as playback singers but then I realised that Usha Uthup was not used as a playback singer in the conventional sense as she makes a ‘guest appearance’ in the film to herself put over <strong>‘Hari Om Tatstat…’</strong> and does a commendable job of it.<br /><br />For that matter, none of the songs are used in the conventional sense in the film; just a few lines of each are picturised, perhaps to run concomitant with the ‘realistic narrative flow’ that Merchant-Ivory films were famous for. The question then is - why did the producer duo sign up the high-profile S-J for this film when any other composer could have provided them with such piece-meal 'deliverables'? I got the answer to this in the brief interview of Ismail Merchant that is included in the DVD where he says – ‘I had known Jaikishan when I was in college and ‘Bombay Talkie’ was a great opportunity to work with him and the fulfilment of a dream’. Point noted!<br /><br />Curiously enough, HMV released the LP record of the film (it is there in my collection) using just the 04 tracks along with some instrumental pieces. And it is worth its weight in gold. However, as the songs are used quite sparingly in the film, I had to re-visit the LP record, which allowed me the luxury of probing, dissecting & scrutinizing each of the 04 songs - as a combination of its visual (on film) as well as the aural (on record) essence –<br /><br />** The only song from the film that made considerable waves on Vividh Bharati was <strong>'Typewriter tip tip tip tip tip tip tip tip karta hai...' </strong>but to my utter disappointment, it is badly mutilated in the film. I wonder whose brain-wave it was to spend so much of money in erecting a huge, opulent set of a gigantic typewriter and then picturising just a few intractable lines of the song to go on it. Only the producers can have the answer. It unfolds at the very beginning when Jennifer is brought along by Zia to get the feel of a typical Hindi film set – with all the music & dance that form its qualifying benchmark. The song has a rich, opulent ensemble of instruments, with the prominent use of the saxophone and the trumpet and follows a rhythmic pattern of drum beats - befitting the regal stature of S-J as composers and underscoring their orchestral panache. It surely makes for an ‘inviolable S-J template’ of the 60s and the 70s. James Ivory, while giving a backdrop of the sequence explains how it took a week to build the set of the typewriter and another week to picturise the song sequence, which lasts but a few embittered moments in the film. To heighten the impact of the typewriter on screen, it was decided to colour the entire background in black and that shows quite prominently in the long shots, giving it a 3-D effect. If James Ivory is to be believed, the complex dance numbers of Busby Berkeley’s, a one-time rage in Hollywood, apparently inspired this song. And one can definitely see a striking similarity between ‘Typewriter…’ and the song ‘By a Waterfall…’ (from the film ‘Footlight Parade’ - 1932), which was choreographed by Berkeley using a crowd of girls performing to various floral & geometrical patterns, to create the impression of a human waterfall.<br /><br />One other instrument that stands out quite prominently is the trumpet that plays in the prelude and each of the interlude pieces. As for the vocals, I must admit that Kishore’s falsetto does mitigate the impact of the song somewhat, especially as it isn’t required in the first place. One would have preferred Kishore not stretching his vocal calisthenics to such extreme limits. Asha keeps pace with Kishore right through except for the inimitable ‘yodeling’ which in many ways, was Kishore’s exclusive and impregnable bastion.<br /><br />The sequence that unfolds before the song promises the moon, of course. The sequence of extras doing a jig on the typewriter keys has a cute feel to it as they swing and sway to the lines being played on the tape-recorder. This appears quite natural if one looks at the fact that the film is an attempt to demystify the world of cinema by going behind the actual scenes. Helen appears for a brief moment as herself in the sequence but her presence is limited to just a few paroxysmal movements in a shining white attire. Shashi on his part, does his typical sinewy moves in the few portions of the verse – '<strong>Hum bhi apne dil ki haalat roz type karte hain…’</strong> that are picturised on him. Too brief in fact to warrant a judgement!<br /><br />Interestingly, the director of the sequence played by Prayag Raj gives an interesting preamble to the song as he explains the connotation of the typewriter keys to Jennifer – <strong>‘We call it the fate machine. Typewriter keys represent the keys of life and we human beings dance on them. And then when we dance, as we press down the keys of the machine, the story that is written is the story of our fate’.<br /></strong><br />To me honestly, this sounds quite juvenile, quite puerile, but Jennifer is quick with her riposte – ‘Very Symbolic’. Fine, so long as the lady is convinced. What perhaps, is the underlying motif here is that our continued influxes of feeling are modified and directed by the movement of typewriter keys.<br /><br />The essence of the follow-up line in the ‘mukhda’, <strong>‘…Zindagi ki har kahaani likhta hai…’</strong> isn’t quite brought out in the song by Hasrat Jaipuri, who seems ill at ease in penning down the lyrics to the tune. Yet, he comes across as a game-trier with the lines –<br /><br /><strong>‘Pyar ki arzi karna ho to isse pyar badhalo, isse pyar badhalo...<br />Apne dil ki haalat likhdo apna kaaam bana lo, apna kaaam bana lo…<br />Jeewan ka hamraaz yehi hai, haalat sabki sunta hai….<br />Typewriter tip tip tip tip tip tip tipt tip karta hai....’<br /></strong><br />On hearing the full version of the song, one can feel the impact of a thunderbolt as the drums open out in a cascade at the end of each of the 03 stanzas. The second stanza is preceded by an innovative use of the ‘muted trumpet’ with excellent results. S-J were, of course, past masters at such unconventional arrangements. They tried and executed something similar in the song – ‘Hai isika naam zindagi naach aye dil gaa aye dil…’ by Asha from ‘Nadaan’ the same year.<br /><br />The first time I visualised the picturisation of the song was when I came across Ismail Merchant’s autobiography, some three years back, a damn expensive memorabilia showing the typewriter with ‘stills’ of dancers in their ‘stilettos’ striking characteristic poses. It was therefore, sad that the film didn’t quite recreate the way I had visualized the song. Chronologically, it was among the last of the typical S-J rock-based numbers that were a rage right up to the time Jai was alive.<br /><br />** Usha Uthup's <strong>'Hari Om Tatsat...'</strong> is the next number which again is not utilized to its potential in the film but in its own capacity, overflows with the magic of S-J’s musical baton. The background to the song is a party that is thrown to celebrate the success of one of Shashi’s films (which interestingly is supposed to be ‘Naina’, as snatches of the song – ‘Humko to jaan se pyaari hain tumhari aankhen..’ are shown before the arrival of hero to the party venue). Amid the blowing of cigar fumes, Usha’s vocals stretch from a low moan of anguish to a high-pitched expression of euphoria, holding the promise for more when she entreats the guests with – <strong>‘Now I want all of you to join me and sing – ‘Hari Om Tatsat…’ </strong>- but a sudden change-over in the sequence, scuttles its prospects. The focus then shifts to Lucia who joins in with – ‘I have an idea of a story of an American Star who runs away to India’. Supposedly picturised in Mumbai’s Sun’n Sand Hotel, the song lasts barely a minute in the film but in the record, a good 6-8 minutes (in 02 different versions). S-J’s ‘King Emperor’ touch actually enhances the piquant vocal appeal of Usha’s, the ‘Queen-bee’ of a nightclub swirl.<br /><br />It is only on hearing the entire track on the LP record that you get a feel of S-J’s luminosity as composers as it galvanizes the track to a ‘tempestuous high’. The combination of drums, violins, saxophone and the trumpet explodes ever more raucously with every single utterance of the catch-phrase - <strong>‘Hari Om Tatsat…’.</strong> Usha’s exuberant, rabble-rousing style of singing brings the audience down to its knees with –<br /><br /><strong>‘I’ll tell you of a vision I saw last night,<br />A man in saffron robes, his face as white as light,<br />I went to him and asked him, why are you lamenting,<br />His eyes brightened, his reply came,<br />A strange enlightened chanting,<br />Truth will always prevail, truth will always prevail….<br />So say – ‘Hari Om Tatsat…’…’<br /><br /></strong>The song in fact has three stanzas with the tempo considerably slowed down to a hush as the singer renders the verses in a mode familiar as ‘rhythmic recitation’ followed by <strong>‘Hari Om Tatsat..’</strong> where the drums gather pace with the vocals.<br /><br />A second version of the song on the LP record begins with Usha imploring the audience again with –<br /><br /><strong>'Hello everybody, it is wonderful to see you all here tonight, I want all of you to join me and say – ‘Hari Om Tatsat...’<br /></strong><br />When she realizes that the audience is not all that forthcoming, she comes up with the rejoinder –<br /><br /><strong>‘If this is your idea of audience participation, it is really sad, I am sure you can do better than that…’<br /></strong><br />This time the audience takes the cue and everyone rise in perfect union with <strong>‘Hari Om Tatsat…’</strong> and the song concludes on a frenzied & vociferous high.<br /><br />Sadly, none of this is visible on screen where the song appears a ‘vocal interjection’ during a conversation between high-profile movie people. Yet, the song marks a ‘torrential triumph’ for the S-J duo as their formidable orchestra propels the song beyond imaginable limits.<br /><br />** Rafi’s <strong>'Tum mere pyar ki duniya mein basi ho jab se, zarre zarre mein mujhe pyaar nazar aata hai...'</strong> has no logical build up in the film but still happens to be the only number cast in the conventional ‘filmy’ mantle. I heard this song much after the film’s release as it hardly gained a semblance of popularity but Rafi, the genius, renders it in his characteristic trademark style as he follows up the opening lines with such tender drips ’n dribbles of ‘cloying emotionalism’ as – <strong>‘Meri har saans mein aati hai tumhaari khushboo, saara aalam mujhe gulzaar nazar aata hai…’.</strong> S-J, for a change appear in a less adventitious mode but do a highly commendable job as their composition sounds genial & spontaneous. The interlude pieces before the 1st and the 3rd verses are marked by their trade-mark electronic claviolin followed by the Shehnai. The interlude preceding the 2nd stanza has a (s)lush outpour of violins. The arrangement which follows a 06-beat percussion cycle, sounds very much a Jaikishan tune to me. Picturised on Dattaram himself, the first stanza of the song conjures up a most perfect specimen of self- expression with a vivid portrayal of an individual at the pinnacle of love. Hasrat gets his one and only chance in the film to pen a song which is perfectly congenial to his neo-Ghazal style of writing and he does a grand job of it -<br /><br /><strong>‘Jab guzarta hai mere jism ko baadal chookar<br />Phir koi reshmi aanchal mujhe yaad aata hai<br />Main to har cheez mein paata hoon tumhara chehra<br />Ishq kya kya mujhe parchaaiyaan dikhlaata hai…<br />Tum mere…’<br /></strong><br />At this very point, just as the song gathers the right mood & tempo, it is struck down by the proverbial bayonet (musically speaking!) and jettisoned from the sequence; another of those inexplicable acts by the filmmakers. Dattaram, used as a dummy singer, hints as though, he has lost the cue and apologises to Shashi standing next to him, more out of cinematic necessity than anything else, for such a ‘faux pas’ by a professional seems implausible. Incidentally, Hasrat Jaipuri too figures for a split second just after the song sequence when he is seen shaking hands with Shashi Kapoor outside the recording cubicle.<br /><br />Thus, we have as many as 04 members of the formidable S-J team making split second screen appearances that same year – 1971 – for a final hurrah – Jaikishan, Dattaram and Sebastian in ‘Main Sundar Hoon’ and Dattaram and Hasrat Jaipuri in ‘Bombay Talkie’. Who could have visualised the dramatic changes in the musical landscape that were to come about later in the year with the demise of the ‘greatest celebrity figure’ of the ‘greatest ever musical duo’.<br /><br />** Listening to Usha’s other number, <strong>'Good Times And Bad Times…',</strong> makes you wonder whether it is a shade too plaintive, given Usha’s robust vocals; a number best heard when you are in an introspective mood. It leads one not to bask in pleasant or wallow in harrowing times but just move on with life, even as its melodious strains unfold at the end of the film during the credit titles for precisely a minute.<br /><br />Again penned by Usha herself, it sounds quite pleasing in isolation but has no tangible situation in the film. One can savour the lilting strains that accompany the vocals, which collectively depict an interchange of seriousness with merriment, by which the mind is softened at one time and exhilarated the other –<br /><br /><strong>‘Good times… we’ve had good times…<br />Although sometimes the bad times,<br />those times were so bad…<br />Let’s live through the night, let’s just kiss and fight…<br />And forever and ever more, we’ll say goodnight…’<br /></strong><br />Interestingly, the LP record of the film has the instrumental version of the above song figuring as many as 03 times in different moods. The first has drums and the veena playing in symphony and even as it unfolds, one just needs to close his eyes and savour the lilt of moonlit hues spreading across the opulent blue of the ‘sea’ and creating an undulated harmony of ‘sound waves’. Then we have another version with only the Spanish guitar playing for exactly a minute followed by a clutter of violins that slows down the tempo. A third version is a classical piece on the Sitar and a fourth has a combo of the guitar and the flute.<br /><br />All of this sounds pleasant to the ear no doubt, but you get the feel that they have been stretched beyond pliable limits just to make up for an LP record as the film after all, had only 04 songs. But the effort, overall, is a credit to S-J inasmuch as their first-rate team of musicians, who were always up to any challenge, devoting their inexhaustible energies to crystallize all their ideas into empowering action.<br /><br />Usha, on her part, has been strangely reticent in acknowledging these two numbers in any of her recent interviews or chat shows though, in one of the articles that appeared in the December 1970 issue of ‘Star & Style’ entitled ‘The New Vogue in Film Singing’, she discussed these two songs at some length and acknowledged them as ‘written by her and tuned by Jaikishan’. While she reserves no special praise for either Shanker or Jaikishan, she is quite effusive in her praise for Kersi Lord and Sebastian, two members of the S-J team. She also goes on to say how Ismail Merchant ran into her when she was singing at Oberoi International in Delhi and asked her to do her bit in ‘Bombay Talkie’ – not as a playback singer but by appearing and singing in person. The article also mentions that some sequences of hers were picturised ‘live’ in HMV’s recording studio under the supervision of Vijay Kishore Dubey. These seem to have been edited out of the final print.<br /><br />As you go through the whole gamut of the songs on the LP, you feel as though you have struck a musical treasure trove of inexhaustible plenty but watching them as they unfold on screen does make you feel as though, the diamonds and pearls have been clouded by peevish incrustations. The lovely tunes surely deserved a much better and a more coherent placement in the film. The music even if heard today, is a ‘connoisseur’s delight’ and who could have achieved it but the redoubtable S-J.<br /><br />The DVD and the LP record of ‘Bombay Talkie’ are my priceless possessions and I would switch on to them ever so much in a celebratory mood over and over again. The music has almost everything that S-J’s musical prowess could exhibit: the zest of spirit, the cadence of rhythm, the undulation of sound and the sinews of poetry. Most importantly, it is a throwback to the ‘salad’ years of a duo which unleashed the most ‘eclectic’ of musical spreads, thus giving me some of the finest musical moments ever.<br /><br />As the film nears the end, Shashi Kapoor laments – ‘The party is over’. But for me, the party has just begun - in a deluge of extravagance so to speak.<br /><br />On a final note, the world today has been overtaken by technical gizmos – A.R. Rahman’s computer, the keyboard and a whole gamut of plug-in instruments hold sway. Yet, I do feel that S-J’s ‘<strong>Typewriter…’ </strong>that continues to go vibrantly <strong>‘Tip Tip Tip Tip…’</strong> shall always command its own melismatic place in the florid realm of film music. </div></div>Jay Subramanyamhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18217270432154315928noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2964272619185682675.post-58157574513136937932009-08-21T04:43:00.000-07:002009-08-23T23:33:18.018-07:00A.R. Rahman - One up on his illustrious predecessors<div align="justify">After sweeping a litany of awards, ‘Slumdog Millionaire’ managed a most eclectic slice o<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjnUOaCp_Slc4KDXC2DFjX4gChGmny_mI697kNzWv00jHwWa3dDqXkF7LxPj1QKm88eFDUXxCWP88Ep96NiTXMpyZioHPBq9FI2nH5vIqQ6Vrro5lslr1a9KKgOwoBE8X45nAXfGxATzhpR/s1600-h/Rahman2.jpg"><img style="MARGIN: 0px 0px 10px 10px; WIDTH: 114px; FLOAT: right; HEIGHT: 128px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5372381820262190786" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjnUOaCp_Slc4KDXC2DFjX4gChGmny_mI697kNzWv00jHwWa3dDqXkF7LxPj1QKm88eFDUXxCWP88Ep96NiTXMpyZioHPBq9FI2nH5vIqQ6Vrro5lslr1a9KKgOwoBE8X45nAXfGxATzhpR/s320/Rahman2.jpg" /></a>f an a la carte <a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhD1TrjqyChGbgbsELWGN1rZzS9062IVtkbulKKt2Z_c3qCFtQ_aPZrX3mJ8-rSVFz7WWfKFaIGKz7_w9eYzoso8wCC5zSKbxQ2f-VQWzvPXTy94opXzOMPDhusPFUfZA9tUYJi1_jmbKeS/s1600-h/Rahman1.jpg"></a>spread at the Oscar feast - zipping off an enviable 08 trophies in a treasure chest of honorifics. Even as the nation erupted, the channels were choc-a-bloc with the images of Danny Boyle and his effusive band cavorting in style, one of whom was an unassuming character who did a quiet promenade across the red carpet to collect his ‘twin tango delights’, to the wonder of the boisterous Hollywood glitterati. Allah Rakha Rahman, as Indian cinema’s true-blue composer created history of epic proportions as he stormed the international music bastion like none before. </div><div align="justify"> </div><div align="justify"></div><div align="justify"></div><div align="justify">If one looks back at the history of Indian film composers, there have been sporadic instances of a euphonic cross-over without anyone quite managing to leave a strong imprimatur. The legendary Shanker-Jaikishan recorded the first ever English number for the film, ‘Sangam’ in 1964 that went, ‘Eich Leibdisch, I Love You’ sung by Vivin Lobo that made considerable waves. In the years ahead, the duo performed a <a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhBZ3fhkRlaTeUqgro5p8RiXkfm3uv1UPRalZzVEidXtwJLwU25VaRmRbotQhLo9och3JhZnmbGU4B6745lFNilcCHV6D5f5QDr3BDjeP0aknOavUXCIa7zs0UHBf3sv3yCCqxyxat-GKnE/s1600-h/Rahman4.jpg"><img style="MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; WIDTH: 124px; FLOAT: left; HEIGHT: 106px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5372382036888911074" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhBZ3fhkRlaTeUqgro5p8RiXkfm3uv1UPRalZzVEidXtwJLwU25VaRmRbotQhLo9och3JhZnmbGU4B6745lFNilcCHV6D5f5QDr3BDjeP0aknOavUXCIa7zs0UHBf3sv3yCCqxyxat-GKnE/s320/Rahman4.jpg" /></a>daring feat of coming up with an album, entitled, ‘Raga Jazz Style’ where different Indian ragas were strung together, embellished in Western Orchestra to create a unique ensemble of sound, beat and rhythm. What stood out prominently in the album was the combo of the Saxophone by Manohari Singh and the drums by Kersi Lord, both legends in their respective fields. This was on<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjHRRWMDklyCaXJTH84U50yF7iz_FLPpLOiSzPdFlIXYqehJ0M-BGOwFwed8myXHDZwETbxtgZ1g4sv51ijfQO7v2fkO52NfKnLH6RI4oxAnpFsmEijleWF57iHD3prfGzKULqK8mT7dqQz/s1600-h/Rahman4.jpg"></a>e of the first attempts at creating a hybrid style of the West and the East. Another credit to the S-J duo was when one of their funk and garage rock numbers - 'Jaan Pehchaan Ho...' from the film 'Gumnaam' (1965) was used in a Terri Zwigoff’s film, ‘Ghost World’. Yet, in the 1960s in India, such sporadic instances just about skimmed the surface of the boundless creativity of Indian composers in an international perspective. We also had instances of Salil Chowdhury creating something out of Mozart’s G-Minor symphony or employing innovations of scale progression based on Western classical music principles. RD Burman’s rise in the 1970s was quite phenomenal and it could so easily be concluded that as a composer he was way ahead of his times. He was often compared to Dave Brubeck for his innovative methods and a penchant for breaking the traditional boundaries of composition. It was in the latter stage of his career that he did an international album called ‘Pantera’, his private collaboration with Jose Flores, an out and out heavy metal attempt, which sadly did not create any musical ripples back home. For all his genius, RDB never quite managed to break the chain of Bollywood fetters to go blazingly international, something he was quite capable of doing. In the 90s, we had Illaiyaraja, of the ‘Cheeni Kum’ fame, recording his first major work in Western classical music, named Symphony No.1, with the Royal Philharmonic Orchestra of London under the baton of John Scott; the first Asian to do so. But again, back home, his achievement went unsung and the album is yet to be released in the Indian market. </div><br /><div align="justify">All of these instances, make Rahman’s achievement all the more noteworthy for here is one composer who has made world critics and jury members to sit up and take note of the unbridled magic that Indian composers can weave for an international audience. The man who had his basic grounding in the Trinity College of Music, started off as a keyboard player and arranger in a band called ‘Roots’ before graduating to jingles, until Mani Ratnam and ‘Roja’ catapulted him to instant fame. As his film career galloped along, Rahman had begun to measure his strides across global frontiers, first with the film ‘Warriors of Heaven and Earth’ followed by Andrew Lloyd Webber’s neo-opera, ‘Bombay Dreams’. This was followed by ‘The Lord of the Rings’ in association with a Finnish folk-music band ‘Vartinna’ and Shekhar Kapoor’s ‘Elizabeth’ before his melismatic sounds struck a precise note in mainstream Hollywood, even as a ‘slumdog’ managed to rake in a ‘millionaire’s’ shekels, so to speak. The hallowed fortress has finally been breached and how! Rahman has succeeded where all his predecessors somehow proved unsuccessful – to become the global face of Indian cine-music. </div>Jay Subramanyamhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18217270432154315928noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2964272619185682675.post-76965543831056859012009-08-21T04:37:00.000-07:002009-08-21T04:42:42.781-07:00Feroz Khan – The Lonesome Star of the ‘Curry Western’<div align="justify">The first half of the 1970s has the element of a standalone in the annals of Hindi Cinema. For one, it was a break-away from conventional fetters and a walkathon towards hitherto, uncharted terrain. The cult of idyllic snow-capped mountains leapfrogged into to a more ra<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjIKiN79zARAWdD6Ftiuc5F_89jYHqo1KEwJI483E3Ago3x71NSZR98j94P6wBrvcs7-Cq9zogom1LAl_dUbSXEaDyT4h_WmZY6BV0XxETeYcqtwyUQ5JHR0wmII64yZjvZPDkyFXTQkImX/s1600-h/thumb_feroz_dharmatma04.jpg"></a>refied realm of stark, dusty ravines with their boul<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhzY4la2ad3xRgCs4kYiHUQiy9myU_0g6L5QxYe_7-BtpKzjNz_hMEgmqLepjXXR4C8_SB-KgsEMXcZXmO-qjllftSDriDNJxQDoKWlYWqYmEVy3lNfBx2rS5alHx3ACKvyu4XElhkhf7hz/s1600-h/thumb_feroz_dharmatma04.jpg"><img style="MARGIN: 0px 0px 10px 10px; WIDTH: 138px; FLOAT: right; HEIGHT: 100px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5372380375829294258" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhzY4la2ad3xRgCs4kYiHUQiy9myU_0g6L5QxYe_7-BtpKzjNz_hMEgmqLepjXXR4C8_SB-KgsEMXcZXmO-qjllftSDriDNJxQDoKWlYWqYmEVy3lNfBx2rS5alHx3ACKvyu4XElhkhf7hz/s320/thumb_feroz_dharmatma04.jpg" /></a>ders and stonewalls, even as high-voltage action now began to take centre-stage. In this setting, a new genre of films began to take shape – the ‘Curry Western’. Mind you, the slew of dacoit dramas that initially came out, encapsulated this genre in what could be termed a ‘kaleidoscope of kitsch’ as technology was yet to gain strides and the dacoits themselves, looked like denizens of the woods with their genial robes and a stark vermillion on the forehead; yet such yuppy flicks were being offered dime a dozen. </div><div align="justify"></div><br /><div align="justify">It was this genre which brought in a new kind of hero – rugged, handsome, stylishly brash and evasive. Feroz Khan, for long in the fringes as a parallel hero in ‘A’ graders and a nondescript performer in ‘B’ grader crime flicks of the 60s, suddenly emerged as the epitome of this ‘Cowboy Cult’ which if anything, trans-grafted the Hollywood assembly-liners to suit the fertile influxes of the Indian milieu. Feroz’s rise was a natural corollary to his stately outdoor image and this added ‘saddle ’n stirrups’ swagger, led to his final acceptance as a viable box-office proposition. Before his advent, we had close-ups of stars supposedly riding the horse interspersed with the long-shots of a double doing the galloping act just to create a falsified illusion of dare-devilry. Feroz was a trendsetter in that all the shots featuring him riding a horse were done without a body double and none was a more striking example than his cult-hit – ‘Khote Sikkey’. For those who have seen the film would recall the opening sequence of a lone horse-rider in a black robe fiercely galloping across a barren landscape, silhouetted against the orangish hues of the twilight hour. And a star was born! Feroz and nobody else could have performed the role with such panache, which was a pre-cursor to two other films in the same genre – ‘Kala Sona’ and ‘Kabeela’, not to mention ‘Dharmatma’ and ‘Janbaaz’ all of which, were propelled with considerable ‘horse-power’ in the high stakes of the box-office turnstiles. </div><br /><div align="justify"></div><div align="justify">Now destiny has led one of our greatest star-actor-directors ever, who transformed horse-riding to a fine art of glad tidings, beyond a silent bourn from where no traveler returns. As the boot-scoot ‘Gaucho’ gallops away into the blue yonder, the desert sands of thought continue to regale us with the bitter-sweet memories of perhaps, India’s only ‘Cowboy Star’. </div>Jay Subramanyamhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18217270432154315928noreply@blogger.com0