ILaiyaraaja- The Adorable Musican

 

What makes certain people or certain things likable?

And what role does subjectivity play in this?

Let me park these questions for a while and take you all through something.

A young girl decorates the streets with fine white sand. She then lights a fire- literally and figuratively from a bundle of sticks shorn of thorns and invokes the God of Love- Kaamadeva a.k.a Manmatha and makes a request:

‘’Oh Manmatha. Brace your bow with honey-filled flowers, mentally writing the name ‘the ocean hued one’, and aim at me so that I unite with the One who killed the Demon in the form a bird, by tearing its beak’’.

 

வெள்ளை நுண்மணற்கொண்டு தெருவணிந்து வெள்வரைப் பதன்முன்னம் துறை படிந்து

முள்ளுமில்லாச் சுள்ளி எரிமடுத்து முயன்றுன்னை நோற்கின்றேன் காமதேவா

கள்ளவிழ் பூங்கணை தொடுத்துக் கொண்டு கடல் வண்ணன் என்பதோர் பேர் எழுதி

புள்ளினை வாய் பிளந்தான் என்பதோர் இலக்கினில் புக என்னை எய்கிற்றியே.

Here is a young girl just around 13, who after having decided that the Lord is her lover and that He will be her husband, invokes the God of Love to help her in her mission. Forgetting the mystical part, look at the way the poem sounds. White stands for purity. So does a thorn less faggot. So does fire. So do flowers. So does the ocean. Using all these in a single verse is called poetic beauty. But there is more too. Even if one has all the positives in a poem, it is the contrast which gives it that sheen. And this appears in the last line- ‘The One who tore the beaks of the Demon who was in the form of a bird’. See the line before that- Honeyed flowers- and you will know what kind of beauty this contrast offers!

This is precisely the reason for AaNdaaL, who incidentally composed 143 verses, is liked by many even after 1300 years!

Is this subjective or objective?

Before one breaks his/her head yet again in finding an answer, let us look at a gentleman who after composing 6000+ songs, is liked by many even after 46 years, which might sound too less compared to 1300 years but will sound huge when one takes into account many other factors, period being the major one.

Why don’t we look at yet another composition of his today and see how it sounds as likable as the poems of ‘Choodi Koduththa ChudaRkodi’?

‘Meenkodi Theril Manmatha Raajan’ from ‘Karumbu Vil’(1980) shimmers with exquisite beauty not least because of the raga it is based on.

Not many ragas evoke a sense of love and romance just by mentioning the name. In fact, the beauty of Mohanam lies as much in its name as in its sound. That is why, it is found in other forms of music, say, the South East Asian and Western Classical, Jazz and Blues as a scale. The five notes – sa ri2 ga3 pa dha2- give a special colour even when rendered plainly. One can then imagine the kind of feelings and emotions it would give if these notes were oscillated. It is not without any reason that Tyagaraja called Rama ‘Mohana Rama’ and that one of the names of Krishna happens to be ‘Mohanan’.

If I say that ILaiyaraaja has played around in this raga like no other film music composer has done, I will not be exaggerating. So much so that he has never hesitated to take many liberties with this raga by gently and brilliantly introducing some alien notes, enhancing the mood of the composition in the process.

However, in ‘Meenkodi Theril’, he chose not to do it. On the other hand, he used the appropriate swara combinations giving subtle oscillations of swaras wherever required, at the same time not making it sound too classical and most importantly used some beautiful instruments in the orchestration. What one gets to see and hear is Mohanam in its pristine beautiful form.

The song opens with a kind of mystical sound. Even as one is shaken up by this sound, the bass sound from yet another instrument appears like a rapier cut in chatushram and this alone is enough to give that spark. The spark becomes a huge musical fire, a kind of fire which is harmless and is a spectacle to watch.

What happen are many things. One, the chorus voice in pure Mohanam. Two, a kind of ‘kolaattam’ in the background. Three, the two sets of percussion which alternate with each other, with the first one playing only the first syllable-ta- and leaving the other 3 blank and the second one playing ‘ta – dhi mi’ and producing different kinds of sounds. Four, the humble and subtle bass guitar playing with a touch of nonchalance. Five, the sound of ankle bells which appears after every second beat.

As if to show the auspiciousness of the occasion, the Shehnai unfolds with great zeal and gives a sketch of Mohanam in its inimitable style. The santoor pitches in towards the end and guides us to the Pallavi.

The Pallavi starts in the voice of Yesudass. One cannot afford to miss the subtlety here as well. The first line has no percussion when it is rendered the first time, though the time signature remains the same. The percussion appears the moment the first line is rendered again and follows the same pattern as that of the Pallavi. The entire Pallavi gives a soothing touch not least because of the structure of the swaras and the rhythmic pattern. The descending swaras at the end- Sadhapa/dhapaga/pagari/garisa- shows the kind of grip the composer has on this raga.

The vivacity of the guitar in the beginning of the first interlude is striking. It just plays a few notes of Mohanam and that too without any oscillation and yet it makes us sway.  The chorus appears again and we continue to sway with the musical elegance. After a guitar melody which is full of grace, the flute enters with an ebullient swirl and goes around playfully enveloping us with a spiritual fragrance. It is left to the santoor again to complete the task and it does it effectively and efficiently, bespattering the swaras with a grin.

Without a trace of doubt, it is the rhythmic pattern- about which I have already written earlier- which is the leitmotif of this composition. In a way, it even defines this composition.

Now, the CharaNam starts sans percussion in the first line a la Pallavi, though there is that subtle bass guitar. The percussion-which of course follows the same rhythmic pattern- appears after the first few phrases, but it is the santoor which appears between the lines, that steals the show. The litany of swaras played with coherency and fluency, lights up the lines.

We are in for some abundant melodic phrases in the second interlude. The group of Shehnais play an amazing melody in higher-octave which is hauntingly charming. Suddenly and from nowhere appears that long Hindustani flute. Playing with alluring depth and with felicity, it goes deep inside the soul. The chorus takes over and sings in higher-octave showing us a beauteous bride.

A bride on a white sand who is as likable as the musician with the trademark Harmonium!