What's in a song?

geniuses at work

From lyrics that came straight from the heart to the ones that have been forced out of a writer’s pen, Hindi film music has seen several trends. Rajiv Vijayakar chronicles the rise and fall of poetry in songs.

It’s the eternal story — but this time there seems to be some substance in it. Every generation finds a deficiency and degeneration in values and calibre in the succeeding one. And it is no different in the field of lyrics in Hindi cinema. The matter is compounded when many observers state that the main problem with music today is not in the overtly Western or Punjabi tunes and beats, or in the vocals, but in the lyrics.

Where are songs of the calibre of Anand Bakshi’s Chingari koi bhadke (Amar Prem), Majrooh’s Jaanewalon zaraa (Dosti), Indeevar’s Chandan sa badan (Saraswatichandra), Pradeep’s Hum laaye hai toofan se (Jagriti), Sahir’s Zindagi bhar nahin bhoolegi (Barsat Ki Raat) or Shailendra’s Kisiki muskurahaton pe ho (Anari)?

In the last 10 years in particular, good lyrics seem to be at a premium. A historical perspective will show that lyrics in Hindi cinema had two critical phases earlier — the brand of smut that came in the ‘80s like Jhopdi mein charpai (Mawaali) and the early ‘90s barrage of double entendre, usually filmed in objectionable manner, that began with Rukmanee Rukmanee (in the dubbed version of Roja), Choli ke peeche (Khalnayak) and Gutar gutam (Dalaal).

In the ‘90s, a more commercial age driven by music companies and barons, the reversal happened when the audience endorsement of Hum Aapke Hain Koun…!, 1942 — A Love Story, Dilwale Dulhaniya Le Jayenge and other films led to great economics in music sales, killing the vulgar songs.

The real problem

And that is where the essence of the issue — as always — lies in the quality of verse we are getting today: with the audience. Firstly, the buying power of physical albums as well as the use of downloads now rests far more with the younger generation, thanks to computers, cellphones and personal MP3 players. It is they who decide trends, often as a ‘herd’.Secondly, this generation has little more than a working knowledge of Hindi and Urdu and even lesser time or inclination to listen carefully to good poetry that can soothe, educate, motivate or elevate.

What’s more, due to this and many other reasons, including a reduction in the reading habit, their vocabulary has plummeted, and as long as the beats and catchy hooks are fodder while driving, on a jog, in a gym or at pubs, a song does not have to be meaningful at all.

Another major reason, especially applicable to metros and the migrants to these urban areas, is a growing disconnect with one’s roots, traditions and culture and an inclination to the flippant or fashionable. This, when it applies to some songwriters themselves, becomes doubly lethal! Globally inclined filmmakers and new generation music makers (who come from all hybridised origins like ad jingles, bands and so on), further compound this miasma.

Songs today are like fashion accessories, trendy status symbols for a fortnight till the next hit in town. In 1995, Ram Gopal Verma’s Rangeela even separated the song from the script as a self-sufficient music video, which continues today in the form of the irrelevant ‘item’ songs forced into the narratives. Such songs are not conducive to situation — and script-specific thought or depth but need word-fitting to ‘hot’ tunes.

An evolving equilibrium?

But, in truth, are things really as bad today? With lyrics, like films on the whole, always reflecting society and changes in it, are not things settling down after a journey into the abyss?

Opines Amitabh Bhattacharya, who came to Mumbai to become a singer and is now a National Award (for I Am)-winning busiest name in Mumbai, “I think the audience should be able to relate to the song. It should not necessarily be about sher-o-shaayari. A definite trend today is the conversational song, with Hindi mixed with English, just as in the way we talk.” The man who received flak from purists in his fraternity for Bhaag DK Bose (Delhi Belly) has recently penned meaningful songs like Kabira (Yeh Jawaani Hai Deewani), Khoon choosle (Go Goa Gone) and Ankahee (Lootera).

Veteran Gulzar stresses on the need to reinvent as well. “The word chand (moon) was used for something unattainable in the old lyrics,” he notes. “However, after man stepped on the moon in 1969, we have to use the moon even as a metaphor differently, which I did with the lines ‘Chand ke paar jo sadak jaati hai’ in a song in Saathiya.”

Irshad Kamil, the other busy name today, agrees that metaphors today must be identifiable. His only complaint is, “Lyricists earlier got days to set words for tunes, but now you get 30 minutes or less. We are told, ‘Kuch kar do (write something)’, so we assemble words, not thoughts, building a structure that completely lacks soul!”

However, when the filmmakers have a sense of words, Irshad writes brilliant verse on par with anything classic, like Mujh mein tu (Special 26) or Mere yaara tere gham (Aashiqui 2). With a tinge of irritation, he adds, “When I am asked to change words to follow a trend, I feel like telling them, ‘I will give you the substitutes, but can this guarantee your film even three extra tickets?’”

The exceptions to mediocrity are, happily, fast on the rise this year. Apart from the examples mentioned above, the lyrics of Nautanki Saala! (Kausar Munir and others), Bhaag Milkha Bhaag (Prasoon Joshi), D-Day (Niranjan Iyengar), ABCD — Anybody Can Dance (Mayur Puri) and Once Upon A Time In Mumbaai Dobara (Rajat Aroraa) as well as the feather-light songs of Ramaiya Vastavaiya (Priya Panchaal) in particular, have been very strong.

If only filmmakers inspire lyricists to write without stress and calculation, and with more of a natural flow, lyrics can be strong again, notes Kamil. “Big thoughts do not need the crutch of big or unheard words. New words are needed only when there is little new thought!” he says.

The late composer Laxmikant(-Pyarelal) once said that if the creative current begins to flow in a deviant direction, it is better to flow with it for a while, seeking the earliest perfect chance to turn it back on track. This is perhaps true of lyrics today as well. The overdose of Punjabi, Sufi-ana terms and English seems to be settling down, thanks to several committed and pragmatic talents who seem to be following Laxmikant’s dictum, into a balanced flow. And hopefully, such worthy exceptions will soon become the rule and lyrics will regain (contemporary) glory.