For diehard fans of Hindi film music such as me, it is tempting to think that the end of the golden era of film music marked the end of creativity and genius. Indeed, in many ways, the songs of that period (late 1940s to mid-1970s) are incomparable, showcasing the pure magic that a team of three can create: music director, lyricist and singer. If the golden era reached the pinnacle of creativity, the decade of the 1980s plumbed to its nadir: for the most part, we were bombarded with completely forgettable tunes, blatant plagiarism, atrocious lyrics that the ageing, but still excellent, singers tried to redeem, though not quite managing to reverse the trend towards loudness and mediocrity. There was a sense of despair, as we were struck with the possibility that this might never change, that the Greats are going or gone, leaving a vacuum in their place. However, things started to look up in the 1990s as new talent, especially among music directors and singers, burst upon the scene. And thankfully, it has only gotten better in this decade. A.R. Rahman is the recognised agent of this change and to do justice to his creative genius would require a separate piece. With his command over Hindustani and Carnatic, not to mention western classical music, he combines the diverse sounds in these genres to create a new idiom that many have tried to clone without the same success. Shankar, Ehsaan and Loy have shown their range and versatility with superb soundtracks like Bunty Aur Babli, Dil Chahta Hai and Kal Ho na Ho. Ismail Darbar represents a different genre, with a focus on ‘Indian’ melodies. Monty Sharma has delivered a gem with Saawariya but the shadows of Ismail Darbar are apparent, in the use of the chorus in, for instance, ‘jabse tere naina’. Shantanu Moitra’s Parineeta was appealing because of its softness and pure melody, though perhaps not as original (‘kaisi paheli’ being based on Louis Armstrong’s ‘A kiss to build a dream on’). Pritam’s super successful Dhoom (1 and 2) and Life in a Metro, the latter with its fusion sounds, were targeted at the urban, young, westernised lot, but their appeal turned out to be much wider. Just when one thought there was an overkill of bhangra tunes, he brought to us Jab We Met with the spectacular ‘nagara’ and ‘mauja hi mauja’, and a hidden gem specially directed by the talented Sandesh Sandliya (‘aaoge jab tum o saajana’, sung by the Hindustani music maestro, Rashid Khan). Vishal Bharadwaj can compose music scores as well as he can make films (Omkara) and if that were not enough, is a good singer too. Music directors like Anu Malik are older, more prolific but of inconsistent and uneven quality. This collective creativity includes, but goes far beyond, bringing Sufi sounds to Hindi film music. This diversity in music direction is matched in equal measure by the variety among the male playback singers. Udit Narayan touched our hearts with ‘papa kahte hain bada naam karega’ and continues to deliver. He started, towards the end of the 1980s, the trend towards soft, melodic and soulful singing that extremely talented singers have continued ever since. Sonu Nigam shares with his idol, Rafi, the ability to emote with his singing voice and, perhaps of all the contemporary male singers, comes closest to Rafi’s vocal range. Shaan has blossomed into a versatile and sensitive singer from his Indi-pop days, and like Sonu, has tremendous mass appeal. Kailash Kher, Kunal Ganjawala and Adnan Sami have very distinctive voices and singing styles, the latter being a talented all-rounder with a command over the piano as well as different genres of music. KK’s singing, though not obviously similar, is reminiscent of Kishore Kumar’s with its crystal like clarity and an ability to pierce the heart, with layers of meaning. Singers from Pakistan have been making forays to good effect and this trend should be welcomed both for its musical inputs, as well as for its symbolic appeal. Female playback singers have been less varied in comparison. Kavita Krishnamurty and Alka Yagnik ruled the roost for years before the younger singers became popular. If Lata Mangeshkar and Asha Bhonsale have been singing for heroines much younger than themselves, Sunidhi Chauhan and Shreya Ghoshal, separated by one year, not yet 25, have lent their voices to much older women with incredible ease. The duo can match any of the male singers in terms of virtuosity. There are many others on the scene, like Richa Sharma, Jaspinder Narula and Rekha Bharadwaj, but on the whole, the female singers don’t display as much variety and range in voices as their male counterparts. The department of Hindi film music that has picked up the least from the depths of the 1980s is lyrics, despite islands of excellence like Gulzar and Javed Akhtar, who, like their counterparts of yore, are not only lyricists but also poets. The reasons for this might lie more in social changes outside Hindi films — the demise of good language in general. Hindi film music now sports, for the large part, a new cut-and-paste lingo that combines Hindi, Punjabi and English (‘I wanna guy jo dil mein bas jaye’; ‘tere pyaar ne diya sensation’; ‘zara zara kiss me, kiss me’) or is just bad Hindi (‘saheli jaisa saiyan’). It is a moot point whether lyricists like Swanand Kirkire, Piyush Mishra and Prasoon Joshi, who have the linguistic ability, are able to reverse this trend or end up succumbing to it. Much of the Hindi film music of the golden era is immortal. In comparison, contemporary film music has a short shelf life and is completely market driven, but these characteristics reflect the current ethos and are not unique to film music. Also, nostalgia should not blind us to the fact that the golden era had its share of mediocrity and plagiarism. Thus, while there is no dearth of cacophony and technology-assisted desperate attempts at singing that pass as music, overall, assessed on its own terms, Hindi film music today offers plenty of creativity, innovation and musicality that need to be recognised and applauded.(The writer is professor of economics, Delhi School of Economics)
