This is an ongoing series of written explorations into songs/music in general that has somehow significantly contributed to how we remember our past selves. Importantly, understanding these sonic memories will go onto colour one's preferences for a future that is yet to come. This series sets out to chronicle some of these musical milestones that are intimately biographical yet somehow universal - miles through tones.
Enthe Innum Vanneela, Vidyasagar (2003)
There are love songs. And then there are love songs of eternal longing. Something about romanticised pining for long-lost/hopeful love has led to great art. Their perpetualness possibly underlines why most songs in this genre are labelled timeless classics. Enthe Innum Vanneela is my first ever sonic idea of romantic love: in its Qawwali-like rendition, my adolescent self found meaning in a possibly long, endless wait. In the movie, the piece revisits the heydays in a late musician's life through his now-old, impoverished musician friends as his old flame dreams of his arrival from the afterlife.
Enthe innum vanneela, ninnodonnum cholleela? Anuraagam meetum Gandharvan - nee swapnam kaanum aakasha thoppin kinnaran
Why hasn't he arrived, or spoken to you yet?
That celestial singer of love - the harpist in the orchard of your dream-filled skies
The melody led by a deeply evocative P Jayachandran (and hand-pumped harmonium) is placed on a generous bed of ambient, unplugged mehfil sounds. Borrowing into that Sufi/Hindustani aesthetic are tabla percussions, mystic chimes and hand-clapping qawwals. A wistful clarinet prelude (by Eranholi Moosa) instantly teleports one to a music-room, somewhere in 1960s Jew Town and with K J Jeemon's accent voice, the nostalgia is simply undeniable.
The interludes in this lyrically-heavy song are standalone, compositional gems. They interleave between verses rendering breeziness to the composition - a leitmotif that Vidyasagar aces in. The first tarana with both vocals upholds the overall Hindustani premise, gently easing into a sombre mid-section. Contrastingly, the second interlude is uplifting, with a playful male chorus and claps, using a clarinet to transition into the last stanza
Oru Pushpam Maathram, M S Baburaj ft. K J Yesudas (1967)
Growing up with All India Radio in the 90s ensured that there was no dearth of nostalgia - an almost silly yearning for an era way before your birth, inherited from elders in the household. In Malayalam Cinema, this path down nostalgia lane invariably winds up to M S Baburaj's doorsteps. In the movie, Oru Pushpam Maathram is visualised as a dichotomy of song and dance, where the male stoically sings while the female fervently dances. The minimal Hindustani composition is effortlessly timeless - strung on K J Yesudas's balmy voice, a harmonium and an animated tabla.
Malar manam maanyallo, mattullor poyallo! Mama sakhi nee yennu vannu cherum?
The scent of flowers has diminished, everyone else has vanished! O my fair lady, when will you eventually arrive?
Enthe Innum Vaneela is likely a homage to Oru Pushpam Mathram in more ways than one. Melodically stemming from the same raag, both songs are anthems for romantics awaiting the arrival of their loved ones. Also maybe the yesteryear musician portrayed in the first song (who dies an impoverished, premature death in the movie) - was indeed based on M S Baburaj's life. This meta-unearthing of nostalgic gold only grows more lustrous as time passes.
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