To begin with, a disclaimer: This article makes no claim on restraint or equilibrium.
The scorching heat was getting to the bone. Even the large shade tree under which I stood at the Ramana Ashram, in Tiruvannamalai, provided no relief. The still air made sure that anxious moments hung heavily around me. In a few minutes, with a perspiring heart, I was climbing the narrow staircase of a modest building. It led to an open corridor -- before my eyes got accustomed to the bright sheet of light before me, the god of film music, Isaignani Ilaiyaraja opened the mesh door behind which he was standing. He smiled welcomingly. The humble room, a whiff of cool air, the petite composer, and his gigantic body of music – it was too many contrasting things to come to terms with at one go.
I had practiced my broken Tamil during my five-hour journey. But does language come to the aid of a tongue-tied aficionado? Do I say “it is a dream come true!”? Do I tell the invincible master that I am awestruck by the very nature of his journey – from his discipleship under Dhanaraj master to being groomed by his brother P. Varadaraju to studying western music? How do I let him know that his music has enriched the meaning of emotion itself? Must I tell him of the hundred songs that were playing in my mind at that moment – 16 Vyathinalai , Sadma , Pallavi Anupallavi …? “You sit here,” said the maestro drawing a chair, as he sat beside the photograph of Saint Ramana and an orderly pile of books. The muted smile on his face made it difficult to gauge his feelings. Going by his self-effacing demeanour, it’s hard to believe that this is the man who infused his music with grandeur and passion in a manner that altered the nation’s notion of film music.
Ilaiyaraja’s idiom exhibits a rich and divergent sensibility, a stunning range that traverses from the home-grown Tamil folk to the complex Baroque. His profound understanding of various genres of music has made it possible for him to create compositions that are a splendid synthesis of the many styles of music which have impacted him. His compositions are complex, their expression is energetic and spontaneous. For instance, let’s take a song like Putham Pudhu Poo Puthado , it is impossible to slot it in any one idiom of music. His violin and saxophone passages are clearly influenced by the Western symphony, the arrangement of other instruments have Indian classical statements, percussion – a highly evolved expression in Ilaiyaraja’s music -- is composed counter beat, but the main melody remains distinctly rooted in the Tamil soil. Ilaiyaraja’s creative process indigenizes the most distant sounds, presenting them in a manner that’s most harmonious. Hence, even such an attempt to deconstruct his compositional techniques is mere self-gratification.
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Thousand films, and his creative energies are intact. How does an artiste with such a huge body of work, keep his musical responses fresh? “This cannot be explained. It is something that has already taken place,” laughs the maestro, a man of few words. In his over four-decade career, Ilaiyaraja says, barring a couple of films, he has never gone prepared to compose for a film. “If there is preparation, you will come to a conclusion even before you see a situation. When you are unprepared, there is spontaneity. Your brain responds in the most natural way,” he explains. He gives me an analogy from life. “If my father had derived a theory from his life experiences and given it to me as a capsule, would I have been able to experience life the way I have? Life is not what you expect, it is made up of the most unexpected twists and turns. Theory is past, practical is present.”
Did his music take shape during his childhood? “My parents were simpletons. Everyday living was a big thing in that small village where I was born. They had no clue about music. How can I explain where my music came from? Do you think it is the happening of a single birth? It must have come to me from many previous lives….,” the maestro ruminates. There was no moment in his early life when he thought he would become a musician. “No plans, no calculations… nothing.” As a young boy of 14, he toured with his brother Varadarajan’s music troupe, and soon realized that music was vital to his life. Curiosity and the zeal to learn led him from one thing to the other, and Ilaiyaraja soon began to master each and every skill – session guitarist, keyboardist, organist, from Salil Choudhry to G.K. Venkatesh.
I continued to plod through my Tamil, “We can speak in Kannada,” Ilaiyaraja took over fluently, reminding me of his years with G.K. Venkatesh. He worked in nearly 200 films as assistant to G.K. Venkatesh, and records it as “great learning years of his life”. The experience of working with GKV was rich, and the legendary composer was so generous with his dear assistant. “He would tell me so much. I have heard many stories from him about the days he was working with M.S. Vishwanathan. I have never met anyone like them. Their understanding of music was outstanding, and their relationship pure. They were attached to each other like siblings….,” he pauses. Ilaiyaraja remembers the recording of Sampatthige Saval. P.B. Sreenivos had fallen ill. They had to record the song, “Yaare Koogadali” and were trying to find a voice that could sing with abandon. “I suggested Mutturajanna…,” he remembers. Rajkumar sang that song, and what followed after that is history. “It is hard to find people like them today. Totally devoted to what they did…”
Ilaiyaraja’s contribution to Kannada films is unmatched. Not just the songs, but his re-recording has no parallel. His mastery in creating a visual language through music can be seen in films like Janma Janmada Anubandha. Our conversation veers towards the song “O Iniya” and his background score for the reincarnation theme of the film. “With all the exposure I received from the people I met during my growing up years, I developed a certain aesthetic of music. I groomed and nurtured it through my study. After all this, the outcome has to be good, isn’t it? That’s what is called creative struggle. I have tested everything before I implemented it in my scores. My work for a particular film may have been spontaneous, but it is the result of thinking for several years.” Ilaiyaraja is among the very few composers in India who does background score. “Film is a different medium, and music for a film must enhance the visual language. In fact, recently, when I was recording for Prakash Raj’s film Oggarane, he told me my music directs the way the audience must respond. That’s how it should be…music has to do the job of screenplay.”
Are there directors who have a discussion with Ilaiyaraja? “None so far. Because, they cannot tell me ‘compose this song like that one!’ I don’t believe in making two songs similar. Every composition must have its own unique character.” His taste of sound, its aesthetics, and the perfect use of technology is a reflection of his approach to music. “Technology will never produce sound, it can modify sound. We need technology to take music to people, not beyond that.” His grandchildren recently played for him music they had “composed”. “They had looped music that is already available. What’s your own in this? I asked them. Technology is a temptation. A good mind should tell the difference between noise and music,” he adds.
For someone who has followed the maestro’s journey, the albums How to Name It? and Nothing But Wind are clearly highpoints of his musical career. It was for the first time in these albums that Tyagaraja and Bach got into a conversation with each other. All music is afterall a continuation and reinterpretation of tradition. “It was not just interpretation. For the first time in the history of music, here I was, trying to say that Indian music and Western music are not different. There are several artistes who do fusion between Indian and Western, and they need not have meeting points. But I for the first time, harmonized every Indian music note. It was Ilaiyaraja who proved that Indian music can also have harmony. Sadly, not one person from the music world discussed my work.”
Indeed, he is right. That evening in the 80s in Bangalore when one saw a young Ilaiyaraja wield the orchestra baton in a three-piece white suit, high-heeled shoes and shoulder length hair, did one imagine that he would reign as the king of film music? Life, like his music, is full of surprises. “You must have lunch and go,” he warmly insisted.
I dare a last question, “Are you a very spiritual person….?” “Why would I be here if I was? I could have achieved it in my studio.”
Walking down the stairs was not a decrescendo – inverting the theory of music, I was on a high note.
