Tamil Punk

The last rays of the sun suffuse the sand with a warm glow, and there is a murmur in the air, as a restive audience around waits for the next performer of the evening. I’m at Spaces, a one of a kind performance space in Besant Nagar, located right across from Elliot’s beach. Today’s event, the ‘Poda Poromboke’ concert, organized by the Vettiver Collective, is also one of a kind. The packed audience consists of a diverse range of people; maamis in bespoke madisars are rubbing shoulders with hip college students, while kids from the nearby fishing village run around excitedly. It strikes me that this kind of socially diverse crowd in one place is a rare sight, but it is exactly what the Poda Poromboke concert aims to do. Bringing together a wide variety of artists and musical styles – from the traditional folk style of vilupaatu, to Carnatic music and contemporary acoustic guitar music – the concert, a precursor to the annual Urur Vizha, is envisioned as a means to bridge social divides through the power of music.

A performance in full swing at the Urur Olcott Vizha. photo credits: The Hindu

The Poda Poromboke concert, like the Urur Vizha, for me represents a new and welcome means of engaging with some difficult questions on society and culture, that for far too long been brushed under the carpet. For me, it also represented a culmination of a long-drawn discussion on music and Tamil society, which had begun as a bunch of diary entries nearly a year ago, titled ‘What is Tamil Punk?’

In the process of writing this piece, I spent the longest time debating the various aspects of what is obviously a complex and multi-faceted issue – encompassing questions on culture, social structures, economics and politics. How would I present it? What had started out as a simple article on ‘protest music’ began to grow into something far more challenging – an enquiry into the identity of Tamil music itself – and this is an issue that I’m still grappling with.

In the end I have decided that I will simply lay out all my thoughts, and try and make a case for the importance of socially relevant music in a healthy society. But I admit that the essay also touches on various issues that I haven’t yet been able to tie into a coherent narrative. It has been is divided into two parts: the first part specifically focuses on the Tamil music scene – and examines the various issues around an indigenous independent music industry, in a cultural milieu that has historically been dominated by the film industry. The second part of the essay will focus on the various historical factors that have adversely impacted the growth of indigenous musical traditions, as well the potential socio-cultural impacts of an emerging independent Tamil music industry.

As a Tamilian and a music lover, I have often been disappointed by the limited options I have for enjoying good music in my own language. After a point, as one more koothu song on the radio, indistinguishable from the countless others, begins to chafe, I heave a sigh of frustration and turn the thing off. Popular music in Tamil Nadu is almost exclusively film-based of course, but did you know that many online playlists and song collections list Tamil music as a separate genre? It took me a while to realize how odd that is, as if all the music produced in that language should be of the same kind. But it is easy to see why one might think that. Despite the repetitive and overly commercialized formula that the film industry dishes out, it’s almost alarming when one realizes the absolute dominance that film music has in all aspects of our cultural life – a phenomenon that has left us with no room for any other form of music to emerge.

What really set me thinking about this issue was a chapter from ‘This is a Call’, Paul Brannigan’s excellent biography on former Nirvana drummer and current Foo Fighters frontman Dave Grohl. While relating his musical roots and early days as a musician, Dave recounts how he was influenced by the underground punk scene in Washington DC. 

Dave Grohl in his pre-Nirvana days, playing for the punk band Scream. Photo credits: Naomi Peterson

Punk music is in many ways the enfant terrible of the music world – a genre that has always challenged established norms and aesthetic values, and questioned social mores – right from the early days of the Ramones and the Sex Pistols. The underground punk movement in DC in the early nineties was no different – a rebellion against established order. Washington DC, nerve centre of the American federal establishment, was also unsurprisingly, a hotbed of political dissent and anti-government sentiment, especially among the younger generations. Anger, frustration, and pure absolute anarchy embodied punk music’s lyrics – and it lent a voice to an entire disillusioned generation. What stuck with me was Dave explaining how the Punk scene fundamentally influenced his worldview and political stance. Punk, despite its destructive image, helped a number of young people find their footing in a chaotic world and became an outlet for their angst. It was also culturally influential, shaping everything from fashion to environmental consciousness and political beliefs. In other words, I realized that music in that society played a role that I could never imagine in our own.

Chaos ensues as the Melvins begin their set at Houston, TX. Photo credits: Daniel Jackson

Why could there never be a Tamil Punk? More specifically, why hasn’t anything resembling a cultural or artistic movement, spurring new modes of musical expression, occured within the context of Tamil music? The idea seems alien, almost laughable – but it leads us to question the historical, social and cultural factors that have shaped Tamil society’s attitudes and engagement with music, and the arts in general. The first and most significant point to discuss is the dominant role of film music in our society. In ‘The Eye of the Serpent: An Introduction to Tamil Cinema’ Theodore Baskaran delves into the historical processes that have led to the dominance of film music in Tamil Nadu. In many ways, this is unique among music cultures around the world, and it becomes interesting to see how this has affected the cultural significance and modes of engagement with music.

‘The dominant hold of film music in society has hindered the development of any other kind of popular musical expression outside of cinema.’ (Baskaran, 2013) Following Baskaran’s observation, the first point of my argument is that the pervasiveness of film music, backed by a robust and commercially oriented industry, has reduced popular music to a superficial form of entertainment, leaving no scope for anything like Tamil Punk to emerge. The second point is that the role of the musician as a cultural figure has been relegated to the background, which in itself diminishes the power of music to directly engage with society.

Creative limitations on film music:

As Tamil music is largely produced in the context of cinema, music itself automatically begins to play a secondary role, supporting or adding value to the visual medium, rather than as a distinct aesthetic form to be enjoyed in its own right. Since the subject matter of film music largely depends on its relevance to the narrative of the film, this begins to limit its aesthetic boundaries. As Baskaran describes, songs ‘are featured in stock situations in films,’ and as commercial Tamil films themselves largely depend on a formulaic themes and plot structures – the subject matter and style of the songs also become standardized and predictable. An assistant director friend of mine once confided that discussions on music for an upcoming film often begin with a list like this:

Hero introduction song

Romantic song

Item number/Party song

Gaana/ Folk song

Feelings song

Etc.

This list is laid out before the script is finalized, and then modified to suit the theme and milieu of the film. Since the songs themselves are rarely ever relevant to the narrative, one could replace a romantic song in any one film with another, and it would make no difference. I must clarify here that I am not commenting on the quality of the music, only on the scope of subject matter and musical styles that film songs are limited to. I am not denying that there is plenty of good music out there, with many talented musicians working in the film industry. However, as Baskaran comments, ‘songs for the most part are socially and politically superficial in content’. There is a common perception that music is solely for entertainment value, so it rarely, if ever, confronts issues important to society.

We are still a society that doesn’t like talking about its problems, of course, so our music involves flights of fancy and extravagance rather than trying to be relatable. Kaber Vasuki, vocalist of Kurangan, one of the bands performing at the Poda Poromboke concert, mentions in an interview that this was one the reasons that he began to write his own songs. “Basically adolescent love or hero worship is something cinema music does well, other than that it doesn’t do much. I wanted to write songs that connected with me,” he says.

This brings us to the crucial point – that music in Tamil culture has failed to become established as an aesthetic form with a cultural role independent of cinema. There exists an entire paradigm of music that Tamil music has never engaged with – music for protest, political criticism, music of despair, of rage, or that which engages with social issues. Similarly the music’s ability to be personal, acting as a conduit between the musician’s emotions and the listener, is also diminished (There are exceptions like AR Rahman). In short, the impact that music is capable of making as an art form remains severely underexplored.

Tamil film music is often used as a platform for promoting hero worship

Film music’s specific requirements also mean that since commercial prospects override any artistic considerations, there is no scope musical experimentation, challenging aesthetic norms, or freedom for the musician to innovate. This is perhaps one of the biggest tragedies of our society, Imagine a band such as Nirvana, or even a Tamil Tupac rapping about poverty and crime in the slums – imagine the power of Dylan’s protest music to galvanize young people. Where are the songs of oppression or social inequality? Imagine for example, our very own fisherman’s blues, sung by someone from a place like Urur Kuppam, which remains at the fringes of the city despite existing long before Chennai did. Music in many situations can be powerfully cathartic – to oppressed communities it is a form of resistance; to confused and angry young people, it becomes a means to channel their conflicts. It becomes a platform for social commentary or political dissent. None of this is possible in a cultural landscape monopolized by a commercially oriented industry.

The Secondary role of the Musician

Like music, the role of the musician has also been relegated to the background, secondary to the actors of the film. This explains the curious lack of musical idols in our society, whereas film stars are blindly worshipped. Again, it has a lot to do with the dominance of the visual medium. Since film songs are always accompanied by dancing or some other performance by the actors of the film, the song becomes associated with the movie or its actors, rather than the actual musicians, who remain in the background, left out of the visuals. Of course it seems to matter very little who was actually producing the music – because the focus was never the music itself.

If there is any musician who gains some kind of recognition, then it is the ‘playback singer’, whose voice naturally gives the song its identity. The playback singer also plays a far more important role than the accompanying musicians because Tamil musical tradition, even historically, has been largely a vocal tradition. This can be traced back to the influence of literary forms and poetry in the early days of Tamil cinema, and the importance of the spoken word – in the form of speeches or debates – to Tamil culture in general. But again, playback singers also face limitations in the industry. Singers are chosen largely chosen for their voice and vocal style, and rarely have an opportunity to compose their own music. This is usually the work of the lyricist and composer. The composer also arranges the other parts of the music such as melody lines and interludes.

Playback singers such as SP Balasubramanyam have gained recognition for their work

In this hierarchy, studio musicians are the most neglected lot – contributing very little to the creative process, and usually playing standard, industry-prescribed styles and orchestration. There is a big disjoint between their musical skills and the scope they have to utilize these skills for creative exploration and innovation. A number of them are very talented, with a breadth of musical knowledge, and yet they have no recognition. In a recent film awards show, a music composer who had received an award had to remind the audience to not just applaud for him, but also the many great musicians who made the music possible. However, they remained unnamed and invisible. In the larger cultural paradigm, the act of making music itself is under-appreciated, because there is little widespread knowledge about how music is made and limited exposure to live performed music (except vocal concerts, where the musicians are herded in a corner and continue to play second fiddle). I am going to argue that if an independent music industry is to grow and thrive, the musician has to come into the forefront in popular consciousness, and begin to play prominent cultural roles in society.

Reasserting the Social Power of Music

Bob Dylan and Joan Baez in concert in 1982. Photo credits: Scott Harrison

Here, socially relevant music is often misconstrued as ‘protest music’. Of course protest music can be influential – a lot of Bob Dylan’s music is considered protest music, and his concerts draw massive crowds. Music can catalyse social change, but protest does not have to be the only mode of socially relevant engagement. What has been more significant about Dylan is his cultural and aesthetic impact on an entire generation. Social relevance is first and foremost about bringing the musician to the forefront of popular expression, rather than the specific message or style of their songs. That’s why Tamil Punk’s relevance is only what it stands for and not indicative of any particular genre. When the musician is an identifiable figure that people can relate to, the music itself makes a personal impact. The musician through performance brings the act of making music back into public view, and in response people begin to take ownership of the act of making music, allowing for it to become an integral part of our daily life and modes of expression. In a society where the act of making music is democratic and widespread, music becomes capable of rising above mere entertainment and becoming more meaningful as a whole. Such a society also provides the space for independently made music to experiment and evolve, allowing for a constant exploration of musical forms that could give rise to new indigenous genres. Democratize the means, make exposure to such music more widespread, make musical instruments and music education more accessible – and we will start to see a change in the way music is made and enjoyed.

The closing act at the Poda Poromboke concert, Kurangan, the Chennai-based acoustic rock band, offers perhaps the most tangible example of how a new mode of cultural engagement is possible. The crowd that night went crazy as the band members came on stage, and it is clear during their set that most people in the audience are familiar with their songs. Again this fan base cuts across socio-cultural divides, and appeals to a wide range of audiences. Kurangan’s stripped down singer-songwriter aesthetic and vocalist Kaber’s singing style may seem unusual for Tamil music, but that is exactly what makes it work. Even if the musical style is unfamiliar, it is easily embraced when the music is authentic –the lyrics are unique, meaningful, and have an impact on the audiences. This combined with Kaber's gift for writing catchy hummable tunes and guitarist Tenma’s great acoustic guitar playing combine to create a compelling musical experience.

Kurangan’s act represents the potential for Tamil music to appropriate new forms and establish a new kind of relationship with society and music. Through performance, they have been able to connect more closely with people. Through their musical style, they open up the possibilities for new forms to emerge, while remaining rooted to their context. Can this small, but growing movement in the independent music scene usurp the hegemony of film music? Certainly not immediately, but already a new cultural paradigm is beginning to emerge - one that blurs social barriers and brings a new identity to Tamil music. Kurangan’s success may spur the growth of other independent musicians, setting in motion a movement that will only gain in influence in the coming years, and perhaps come to represent the new face of Tamil music.