The years between 1997 and 2001 saw some interesting transitions in the music albums of Kollywood, owed in large parts to one magician, A R Rahman. Ever since his scintillating 1992 feature film debut with Roja, Rahman’s music became an outlet for intangible emotions. It became synonymous with that overcast October evening sky in Chennai, waiting to drench the unsuspecting and anxious crowd with a cloud burst of rain before passing as if nothing else happened. It became the music equivalent of the multi-flavoured ‘rasna’ popsicles that would go out of stock within fifteen minutes of being opened for sale. It was the calming breeze that wafted from somewhere, carrying tales unknown, only to caress us and enrich itself with one more tale to carry forward. Rahman’s music became a common language that understood so many people. It was perhaps the absoluteness of his music that lyrics were not strictly necessary to convey the emotion, but would definitely add beauty like dessert to a ...
What moves someone to love a movie song? Music? Lyrics? Picturisation? Voices? The story/context? While all these are important factors deciding the mass popularity of a song, some compositions leap beyond such trivialities and step into the realm of the soul. If the picturisation and visualisation mattered, soundtrack albums would not be released to a rousing reception. And even if the lyrics of a song adhere to the context of the story, poets know better than to tie a song with only that situation. There is a universal appeal to music that goes above all other factors. Even the most wonderfully penned poetic words might fall short without the accompanying music – the same music that would easily lift normal conversational words and carry them towards a lasting eternity. When Alaipayuthey was released in 2000, my first exposure to the movie was the cover flap of the audio cassette that featured an immediately attractive ochre theme. I took it up to read the list of songs, and on...