It's Asha unlimited
ANJANA RAJAN
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Be it film music or pop, ghazal or geet or jiving remixes, Asha Bhonsle is game for them all. Here she is with her latest album, Asha.
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I realised early on, what incensed the elders went down just fine with youngsters.
MESMERISING MILLIONS Asha Bhonsle is at home with stalwarts and youngsters alike. Photo: S. Subramanium.
Many believe arts bring longevity and health. Scientifically approved or not, this view seems to crop up in connection with Asha Bhonsle, debatably the doughtiest of the evergreen queens of India's music industry. Unfazed by the regularity with which people ask the `secret' of such lasting youthfulness in voice and manner, the 1933-born Bhonsle, whose latest album of ghazals, Asha, has just been released by HMV, smiles, "Truthfully, I don't really know!" but adds, "I look after my throat, and I practice daily for at least two hours." Classical singers, she advises, do need to practice five or six hours a day, but a light singer can maintain a good standard with two hours.
Surely in her case it's not merely a technical matter though. From the very beginning of a playback career that started with the film "Chunaria" in 1948, this singer has made it a habit to chart new paths. Therein perhaps lies the strength of this lady who epitomises moving with the times, and who comes across as a blend of feisty daring and disarming hesitation.
Loved by the young
She is always just a little nervous about breaking the mould, yet revels in being loved by young people. "I realised early on, what incensed the elders went down just fine with youngsters. I decided they were my audience."
Credited with ushering in the remix trend, the veteran recalls how she was chastised. "They said I had ruined Pancham's (R.D. Burman's) songs. I explained, these songs were made for the films, and their length fits the scene. When listened to at home, they need not be so long."
Similar easy listening logic applies to her latest album, with ghazals originally sung by Farida Khanum, Ghulam Ali, Mehdi Hasan, Jagjit Singh and others. While the tunes are more or less original, the orchestration and treatment are by Somesh Mathur. "These songs are easy but also beautiful," she explains. "The music is modern, with instruments like acoustic guitar, flute, saxophone. These are all very good ghazals, but if I were to sing them with just tabla, sarangi and peti, only the old style listeners would appreciate it. So I had to break the trend. Now people of all ages love it. My three-year-old twin grandchildren sing `Aaj jaane ki zidd na karo'. It is a universal emotion."
It was a challenge, says the veteran, "both to emulate such big singers and to improvise." Take Ghulam Ali. "He is unassailable both in voice and rhythm. "
Bhonsle, a disciple of her father Pandit Dinanath Mangeshkar, is no walkover as musical grounding goes. "In 1955 I brought out two albums of my father's natya sangeet - Marathi theatre songs. They are still popular. If God grants me the time, I intend to record the treasures I still have with me," she says.
But musical re-creations imply Asha Bhonsle can be considered a greater master than the ones whose gayaki she is presenting in a nutshell. Mathur certainly concurs, though Bhonsle, with the impeccable breeding of the old school, remains her humble self, essentially willing to lend her prodigious talents to execute the ideas of various composers. "I told her, people are not going to remember in the end who sang them first. They will only remember Asha Bhonsle. She is the last prophet of Indian music," declares Mathur.
For his part, Mathur has no qualms in admitting that he opted for a remix formula rather than original compositions as the way to "establish it very quickly".
Interestingly, across the world popular music is belted out in full-throated glory. Asha Bhonsle remarks, "It's only in India we sing in a false voice, subduing the sound (gala dabake)." But despite the hold of what is sometimes called the `Lata style', she reflects, "Nothing remains stagnant. Things will change."
Track recording
As for change, the music industry has changed the definition of group singing. "I never see the people I sing duets with, nor the chorus or orchestra," she says, referring to the advent of track recording that obviates the need for all musicians being in the studio together or even rehearsing together. The old way was more fun, she concedes. "We could improvise. There was sawaal-jawaab with your partner. Like when Kishore Kumar sang, `Eh, aao na dil hai beqarar' he added that dramatic lilt on the spot. That way you are inspired to respond similarly. Now there is no life. If there is no one to give you the sawaal, where will the jawaab come from? The track is readymade. Only Rahman doesn't make the tune beforehand. He gives us the tabla and sur and asks us to improvise on the mukhra (refrain), records it till he has enough, then asks us to sing the antara in the same way. Finally he cuts and pastes on his computer and comes out with something wonderful."
Yet even this relative freedom is not quite like the old songs, one would venture. She wonders aloud, "I don't know why today's songs don't have staying power, mine included. At any show, whatever I sing, there are requests for `Piya tu', `Jhumka gira re', `Dam maaro dam' and other old hits."
Yet with digital technology taking over, there is little chance of the old days coming back. "Today's studios are not even as big as our bedrooms. There is no question of fitting the orchestra into such a space. We just sing by ourselves and go home," she says, sounding a trifle wistful despite her talent for reinventing herself.
Today aspiring playback stars emerge every week through televised talent hunts. "There were talent hunts earlier as well. We had the Murphy contest. Arti Mukherjee and Mahendra Kapoor were its discoveries. Today's youngsters have the advantage of TV exposure. But it is one thing to memorise film songs. What the composers on the panel of judges should do is to make up a song for them to render. That is the real test for the singer to establish an individual identity."
She may have been the first with remixes, but she doesn't approve of everything that goes out. "They don't take into account the mood of the song. They ruin the most beautiful lyrics with obscene images." Recalling that she used to object if the lyrics were indecorous, she points out that film music gives a vocalist the chance to bring in expression. "The sur is always pure - pak. It is never bad."
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