Crooning Glory

I have won the Grammy for Bathroom Singing, but the audience in the mirror is always pleased easily. But now singing just took on a serious turn as we reached music director, Atul Sharma’s studio, Saffron Touch in Chandigarh. This space has produced singers like the late Surjit Bindrakhia, Hakim Sufi, and all the big names in the world of Punjabi music (the Maans).

My memories of humming in the bubble bath just burst, as I realised the chances of me croaking were higher than me crooning, I wished I had paid more attention in the classical music class at Mrs. Sharma’s house. But all my fears were put to rest as Atul Sharma made us feel at home in no time at all. “Let’s give it a shot, shall we?” he gave an encouraging smile as he unlocked his harmonium.

This was my cue to think of a song and try singing it, like a pre-recording jam session. From all the high energy bubbling, gurgling songs in my head, the only one I could name was Tere liye palkon ki jhaalar bunoo. (It’s Lata Mangeshkar at her usual best in the film Harjaee). I know, it’s a little rusty, lost in the grooves of the LP disc song. Considering the sizzling Bidi jalayley music land we are burning in today, it seemed like a relic. But call me a romantic fool or an AIR Aap Ki Farmaish fan, this golden oldie has been my favourite for many years.

Atul ran his fingers up and down the harmonium keys, searching for the right scale and note that suited my voice. In the meanwhile, I, who couldn’t tell a B flat from a B minor made an honest effort not to abandon the tune. “Rule Number one—relax. If you pretend, you lose. Just sing from your heart,” said the guru.

Playbacks have an order to it—rehearsal, recording, and then add music. “Unlike earlier, when live orchestra played and everything was simultaneous,” said Atul. Live orchestra would’ve been something. Couple of rehearsals later, Atul, satisfied with the pitch and voice quality, directed me to the playback room where a grand set of headphones and a mike awaited me. As I adjusted them, I felt a sudden rush—I was in a sacred space. Studios lock the sound out, even something as silent as a breath is loud and clear. While I was contemplating this, a voice crackled in my ears—“Jaskiran, can you hear me?” Atul waved from across the recording room. We were separated by a glass and acoustic wall. I walked closer to the microphone and spoke softly. “Yes!” It’s quite a discovery, to know how you actually sound! “Don’t move or snap your fingers”, he ordered. Even the slightest alien sound can ruin the playback—no wonder singers always have their hands up in the air.

“I’ll give you a beat, on four, we take from mukhda (the first lines),” Atul gave orders from the recording room. It took three takes to get the high-pitched start right and then move to the antara. My voice quaked on low notes and trembled on the high ones. A song is really not as effortless as it sounds. “Remember, melody is supreme…listen to your own voice and you’ll know where you’re faulting,” guruji continued. As I scaled note to note, moved beat to beat, I felt a sudden soar. I was hooked, we were having serious fun. “I will never ridicule any singing reality show,” I secretly vowed.

Two and a half hours later, I was done. Back in the recording room, Atul got on with the programming. “My laptop is my studio,” he laughed as he and the audio guy on the highly computerised console (the graph was quite similar to a lie detector) tweaked and fine-tuned the song, adding the sound of guitar and soft beats to it. My voice had never sounded better! The Tere liye remix was the first song in my first album. See, you can sing!” smiled Atul. I felt I could break off into another song right away.