Kaadhal Virus
Sony Music, 2002.
Dir: Kadhir

From what I heard, the movie was plenty bad. Bad kind of bad. I have seen Kadhir’s Kaadhalar Dhinam, and that was bad too, but this is considered worse. I shudder,

But the music of Kaadhal Virus redeems things to an extent. The soundtrack was released in late 2002, and because it was on Sony music, it was to be found everywhere – somebody in RMIM actually found the cd in Amritsar and had to ask people for translations of what was written on the CD, because the brilliant people on Sony had obviously forgotten that people outside Tamil Nadu do not necessarily read Tamil, even though they listen to Tamil songs.

This album came as a bridge between two Rahmanian “generations” ( Remind me to explain about Rahmanian generations sometime ), the folksy strains that started with Taal, continued with Mudhalvan, and attained its peak in The Legend of Bhagat Singh had started to give way to a more experimental, contemporary feel, with a lot of club-based electronica ( we Indians put this genre of music into a basket called “Techno-trance”), Baba being the first of this particular generation. Kaadhal Virus goes a step further.

For example, look at Ye Ye Enna Aachu, the first song from the album. It begins with a beat that’s actually following the female vocal pattern ( Vasundhara Das ), that in turn is a series of hip-hoppish hooks, heavily filtered to sound as if it’s actually being sung in an echoeless chamber. And suddenly the song begins, with a rush of multiple female voices, the familiar harmony Rahman indulges in, and a very peppy orchestration, none of the instruments sound acoustic, by the way. But surprise, surprise, the song’s main chorus segues into a flowing melody. Almost melancholy, if you listen to it the first time. Then the orchestral violins ( conducted by the very able Srinivas Murthy) kick in, and they lead the first interlude, right until the second verse. It’s crazy, actually, as the song makes you want to bounce around and then suddenly, “stop bouncing, here’s a beautiful violin solo for you.” The second interlude uses a Nokia ringtone on the left channel , which makes first-time listeners jump and look around for a ringing cellphone.

Vasundhara Das obviously did not sing it at a go, the cut-and-paste job makes itself obvious with the layering of the vocals. The female chorus is, frankly put, astounding. How do they practice?

Nifty touches: Ringtone in the interludes. Vasundhara’s “ungh-ungh-ungh” between lines. The unnamed female voice that sings the second last line. The song beginning and ending with an “OK” by Ms. Das.

Sonnalum, the second song, is what most people would call “vintage” Rahman, the only track on this album that reminds one of familiar paths, beautiful use of traditional Indian instruments like the Mridangam ( or is that the Thavil? ), the veena and the flute. My personal liking for this song stems from the fact that it has Harini and Unnikrishnan singing together, oh, glorious voices. Again, the “base” of the song is a synth-bass line that bubbles and churns and trickles its way into your brain like the best of Rahman hooks, and the orchestral violins. The female chorus, again, enthralls. Or bores, depending on which mood you are in. Sometimes the music threatens to overshadow the lead voices. The percussion is western, with the mridangam used at stray points.

Nifty touches: The bass line. Harini’s voice.

The third song, Vaan Nila is why I listened to this album again recently, and subsequently wrote this (uh?) review. First thing, there is just too much to this song to write about. People have tried to generify this as a “jazz” song. Bull, I say. This song has touches of jazz, the drum-sound absolutely kosher, none of that artificial clanging anywhere, the piano twinkling around the vocal bits ( ARR himself on the keys? ), the trumpet and the saxophone used to stunning effect. The melody is absolutely unconventional, not something you can hum in the bathroom without being yelled at by your flatmates. Hummable bits at times, but in all, a complex composition. If there were a rating for Enthu-factor of Rahman songs, this one would get a 9.5 for sure. Karthik and Srinivas do exactly what they do everytime – sing their hearts out, and do a stunning job of it.

Nifty touches: the drum sound. Inspired use of the piano. Inspired use of the acoustic guitar. Nicely merged voices. The distorted guitar ( in all probability a synthetic sample ) that pops up at times. The trumpet segment in the first interlude.

Baila More is the perfect example of the out-and-out Electronica-driven AR Rahman and a worthy precursor to “I Wanna Be Free” from Tehzeeb and “Fanaa” from Ayutha Ezuthu. A female voice whispers phrases in pseudo-Tamil and French, and the three male singers iterate the Tamil lyrics. This does not feel as much as a song as a background piece for a Fashion show – in other words, it totally rocks.

Nifty touches: I loved the morphing on the vocals when the singers sing Azhagae. Female voice used to devastating effect.

Of the other two songs, Yenthen Vaanin features SP Balasubramanium on vocals, and I must say that the Man has been criminally underused by Rahman in recent times. The song is perfect, right from Swarnalatha’s vocal humming to the use of the Chinese flute on particular phrases. A beautiful melody, which probably suffers from being a situational ( read: lyric dependent ) song. The other, O Kaadhale has Mano singing his guts out very literally, with the singer going into a coughing fit towards the end of the song! The percussion towards the beginning is basically the same as Uyirae from Bombay played a little slower. The interludes show some variation, the tabla used very effectively, along with a lot of ‘tronic drums. The orchestral violins get a little too heavy midway. Overall, pretty good, except for the coughing bit.

Well, I have this thing for “sad” songs. Sue me.

All said, this album absolutely begs to be rediscovered.

Dear people who run Sony Music,
there is this album that has come out on your label for which I have been waiting for quite some time. It’s called Lakshya. I was actually planning to buy it, but now I won’t. I have decided to wait until someone from my office gets the mp3s. You know why? Because, you stupid father-buggers, it’s “copy-protected”. Which means YOU shitheads did something which makes it playable ONLY on NEW music systems unless I spend my precious marker ink drawing black circles on something I paid 125 rupees for. This also means that unless I spend some more of my precious money buying Sony music systems, it’s highly unlikely I will ever buy a “copy-protected” CD released by your friggin’ company. You know, it’s a not a nice feeling, buying a cd and then listening to it on tinny earphones on a discman while the 5.1 speakers that I bought for Rs 10000 ( along with the 5.1 Soundcard) on my Personal computer lies unusable.

Congratulations, you have made piracy acceptable again.