When I realized I would, yet again, be writing an A. R. Rahman review, I asked myself if I shouldn’t just give up and stop imposing my ridiculous standards on the poor man. Contrary to popular belief, he is only mortal. Yuvvraaj’s trailers seem to advertise a half-baked Euro-Indian romance replete with chandelier concert halls, and the music sometimes sounds as confused as those images look. But then, this is A. R. Rahman. If I have high standards, I’ll blame it on his brilliance. And Yuvvraaj does have some gems.

But let’s start with the bad and the ugly first. The songs that fall into this category comprise about half the track, and I’m tempted to call this the “Rahman-attempts-to-be-Rahman” half. I think the best example of this is Dil Ka Rishta. The English-Hindi lyrics, the farcical minor key music the song starts with, and the mishmash of Indian and Western classical elements just confused me. There are some snatches of good melodies and sometimes the harmony between the Western and Indian music types is audible, but those are rare oases of music. Many claim that Rahman’s music takes a while to grow on listeners, so I tried keeping it on loop – until I had to stop it halfway through sheer exasperation.

Shano Shano starts off promisingly, and the chorus is made up of some interesting voices and a good melody. Halfway through the song, though, Indian drums appear suddenly, along with a very annoying tremolo voice. That spoiled the song for me somewhat. The caveat that Rahman’s music needs more than one listen is becoming true in this case though; I find myself already going back to that track for another try.

I thought I’d definitely like Meri Dost Hain – it begins with some lovely strings music and a nice, complementary background beat. The melody throughout the song is wonderful, and everything would have worked if it weren’t for Benny Dayal. His voice really isn’t up to standard, and near the line “aawaz hu main,” it’s completely inadequate. But Shreya Ghosal as usual does a brilliant job, and her rendition of the same line where she brings it up effortlessly into the upper registers is beautiful. That makes the discrepancy between the two singers even more evident.

And as for Main Hu Yuvvraaj – I really have no idea what to say. Beethoven’s Fifth interspersed with Salman Khan sounding overdone and egocentric is not my cup of tea and I don’t know if it’s anyone else’s either. “Maaf karna Beethoven sir”¹ indeed.

At this point you could decide that a) I have no idea what I’m talking about and Rahman is always the god of Indian film music, or b) this album isn’t worth it, and you’re going to give up and go away. Please don’t, because I’m about to give you four reasons why the Yuvvraaj soundtrack is still worth your time.

First, there’s Mastam Mastam. This track is pure fun, from the opening sounds to every one of those exhilarating rhythm changes and choral pieces. I didn’t quite understand the cat meowing, but I really couldn’t be bothered while listening to the song – it’s really that catchy. Especially invigorating are those sequences in between where Sonu Nigam lets himself go with the high notes and the chorus begins again with “aaye ji baanke aaye.” The final parts near the end where the strings, drums and a chorus of happy shouts comes in to round it all out just hits the spot.

Zindagi will, I hope, become a classic. It’s not Rahman at his inventive best, but that isn’t necessary for this song. The way Rahman uses the guitar as Srinivas sings “tu kahan kho gayi” is just as wonderfully effective as it was in Lukka Chuppi. And Srinivas’ voice carries a simple earnestness that makes this song the great piece of music that it is. Rahman keeps it interesting, though, with the addition of stronger rhythm and a haunting female voice towards the middle. When I first heard Zindagi, I honestly didn’t think much of it at all. But he and Rahman had me convinced by the first thirty seconds.

Another beauty is Tu Muskura. Alka Yagnik is just the voice for this – sweet, melodious, and rich enough for the simple melody in the background. The thing this song brings out, as did Meri Dost Hain, was how well Rahman utilizes strings. My general impression of them in most Indian music is that they’re used as filler material and tend to be piercing and intrusive. But Rahman borrows from the West well, and uses various string instruments to form the backbone of the melody itself. Javed Ali’s amazing tenor comes in very nicely at “teri aankhon mein”, and complements Alka’s voice really well. But just when you think that’s all the gentle support he provides, Ali comes in with a wonderful series of swaras² that culminate in a brilliant climax with a flute, strings and the intensity of his mellow voice.

I’ve kept the best for last: Manmohini Morey. I’d never heard of Vijay Prakash before, but his voice is brilliant. The song begins with a traditional “thom thom thana thom” which is undercut with electronic music and, again, strings. I was a little doubtful about the result – until Prakash’s voice soared into “maathey ki bindiyaa”. Then I was hooked. The Hindustani classical rigor of his voice absolutely suits the song, especially when swaras begin in the middle. And the last “manmohini” in the song carries an irresistible undercurrent of yearning. Rahman has conjured up a highly effective mix of modern music and classical melody. As another reviewer mentioned, he did for this song what he did for Alaipayuthe, where the two types of music complement, instead of clash with, each other. And the result is just gorgeous.

It’s these latter four songs that made me wonder what went missing in the other half. These are not only lovely to listen to, they’ve also got that distinctive A. R. Rahman touch to them, while the first half of the songs just seem to force that quality. But to the reader who might agree, and is wondering if Rahman has lost his touch – just loop those last four again and again. That Rahman stamp of excellence might be confused sometimes, but it isn’t about to disappear.

Footnotes:
1. “Forgive me, Beethoven sir.”
2. notes in the Indian classical scale

Photo Courtesy: ebolly