AP Dhillon controls the narrative in this opaque and cryptic documentary

But there was pressure to make an ordinary life, so he went to school at Camosun College in Victoria (British Columbia), worked as a sales associate at Best Buy, saved some money to create a small studio in his garage and began singing. Along came other ‘brown munde’, in his life including lyricists and co-singers Shinda Kahlon and Gurinder Gill and together they created Run Up Records, jammed and wrote music in typical Majha Punjabi with a sprinkling of English, added some autotune and put out a couple of songs on YouTube. They were singing the way they conversed with trap beats in tow, ones that were built on a laptop. The hook landed. The music — songs such as Fake, Arrogant, Excuse, and then Brown Munde — turned Dhillon into an internet sensation.

The series tracks this journey to stardom, but misses quite a few imperative points such as the process of actual music making, or Dhillon’s inspirations — Indian and Western. There is a mention of Sufi poetry set to tune and visuals of Nusrat Fateh Ali Khan but Dhillon never mentions any Punjabi musicians he grew up listening to, and avoids any reference to his mother or the whole space of single-parenting by his father. Telling some, if not all, could have been a window into an artiste’s soul.

Dhillon and his friends symbolise a generation that grew up with a smartphone and the Goliath that is social media. While the self-worth came from the easy flow of attention, the music ticked all the boxes of what could pass off as ‘cool’ in Punjabi rap — luxury cars, swag, guns, and bodies that were made without protein shakes. While it worked for many, especially those zipping around in fast cars and brought up on a diet of machismo, high-end brands, and Jatt pride, for the South Asian diaspora, the beat was infectious enough. Soon Dhillon spread like wildfire in the party circuit. Those who didn’t know the lyrics were also drawn to the catchy hooks. But the content of Dhillon’s songs has always been pretty basic. The beat is the king and the groove has people bonding over social media.

A considerable part of the film is spent figuring large arena shows in the US and Canada independently by Dhillon’s small team. The other trauma here: Dhillon cuts a tendon and gets three stitches followed by a surgery.

But all of the whirlwind has a significant issue: With the amount of money that Dhillon is spending on these shows, why doesn’t he sing in these concerts? The documentary never raises the point, even though Dhillon was heavily trolled for lip-synching at the opening ceremony of the Women’s Premier League in March. At most of his concerts, he often sings over the backing track. Mechanised music usually comes with this conundrum, where the effect of the music in a large arena matters more than the actual music. When 90-year-old Asha Bhosle can still sing live, it’s odd to watch a young artiste sing so little and focus on the logistics of a show.

Dhillon has a lovely voice, as one hears it in a gentle song sung on a guitar at his home. But that’s not the music for the big arenas.

The only other musician who finds a mention in the series is Sidhu Moose Wala and that Dhillon spoke to him two days before his death. He relates the death of Moose Wala to the threats that he, too, received but nothing further is delved into, discussed or revealed.

Overall, the documentary sits strangely when a musician, barely three-four years old in the music business, with nothing significant to say lyrically, at least so far, and with a very short catalogue, is at the helm of a documentary and keeps drilling the idea that he’s made it so big on a global scale independently and “it’s amazing to come this far in this little time”.

The repetition by everyone in an unimaginative screenplay is tiring. There are three voices (beyond Dhillon’s team) in the series who speak about him. None of them are active musicians or representatives of record labels. They could have really allowed the documentary to get into a deeper space, getting musicians to speak about this new artiste and what he is singing about; a sort of commentary on the art of it. With the kind of soul-baring documentaries that exist today, it is strange how everything is so cryptic and opaque. With Dhillon being at the helm of the production, he controls the narrative.

One of the few genuine moments in this one is where Dhillon says, “Mera naa hai Amrit (My name is Amrit).” People are listening to him. I hope Amrit Pal Dhillon soon says something compelling. At least representative of his people and their lives, ones he misses in his home in Canada.

AP Dhillon: First of a Kind
Director: Jay Ahmed
Cast: AP Dhillon, Shinda Kahlon, Gurinder Gill
Rating: Two stars