The Travails of Hindi Cinema: Part 5—No support from Music

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In the last four parts of this analysis, we have seen how an assortment of causes—human or human-driven—have resulted in disaster-time for Hindi cinema. Trade and industry sources are ga-ga over the fact that Chhaava is a mega-hit, but ruefully admit also that 2024 saw only four films do good to great business out of about 70 theatrical releases!

We have already mentioned the dubious role of the media and the apathy of the cinema-going public in the prevalent travails of Hindi cinema. The scenario is making us sadly aware that films are lacking that vital initial buzz. This necessary buzz was procured by print advertisements appearing daily (newspapers still matter in India!) which have stopped completely, many more hoardings and—let’s not forget!—lovely songs that were situational and whose lyrics reflected a mood relatable to the listener.

Definition of a Hindi film song

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The last three words in the above caption is strictly because no other regional cinema’s music has lost its musical identity as much as India’s collective pride and glory—the Hindi film song.

A classic such song is created for a story and situation within a film. It can be composed before the words are written or vice-versa, cerebrally orchestrated and recorded by proper singers with correct diction. It is then filmed as per the vision of the filmmaker, and oftener than not, lip-synched by actors.

This kind of film song, written for what lyricist-writer Javed Akhtar revealed were essentially only 10 to 12 basic situations with its film-specific variations, created the magic for over 80,000 songs from 1931. But with alarmingly decreasing quantum in the last 15 years!

With Hindustani (a comprehensible everyday mix of Hindi and Urdu) and an occasional smattering of English or regional languages, these songs were the best trailers for a film when they were blazed on radio, their albums promoted and finally, in the TV era, when shown audio-visually.

To name just four examples, the all-pervading hysteria around the songs of Aradhana, Johny Mera Naam, Mera Naam Joker and Bobby is a matter of childhood memories for me. And mind you, Mera Naam Joker even flopped as a movie then. But each film has songs that live on even today and their contribution to not just the people’s interest, but also the film’s opening and sustenance (I am sure that many music lovers must have repeated …Joker multiple times in its short spell in the theatres!) was tremendous.

In short, great music created repeat value for a film even if there was no star in it or if it had ordinary content. More than the film, it was the music that resonated with our emotional chords. And globally, music too has been the signature of Hindi cinema since decades.

And this critical part of our cinema started witnessing a slow death from the 1990s when a few things happened.

Change in the air

With the big-time arrival of music channels and Indipop as a genre, videos became “in”. Earlier, after a short dazzling spell of success, the ghazal and bhajan wave in the mid-1980s had started ebbing under the avalanche of some masterly film scores, but those were purely “audio” times. In the video era, we got filmmakers thinking “video”—this meant songs filmed lavishly, often in foreign or other spectacular locales, which had no connection whatsoever with the storyline. Ram Gopal Varma (Rangeela) and later many others like David Dhawan began using this formula more and more and gradually, the Hindi film song became something to be “seen” and not just heard.

As such songs had nothing in common with the film’s plotline, the lyricists had nothing close to life to write and words began losing their importance and thus depth. Later, even the song’s meaning was not needed as much as a catchy hook as we could now make ringtones or caller-tunes from them where everyone earned money!

And then came some more lethal blows: a craving for “variety” that led to the miasma of multiple music makers coming into a single film as employee music suppliers rather than one entity involved with the script. Many such music suppliers were not even people who had studied Hindi film music or trained under pandits, ustads or senior composers. And were considered “experts” at a particular kind of song.

Another evil that surfaced and became a Frankenstein was employing the complete packages of old classic songs given a new orchestral, vocal and sometimes lyrical garb—the re-creations.

Lyrical mayhem

But perhaps the greatest damage done was to the words. Punjabi, the language that like many other Indian languages was a spicy, saucy or sweet part of occasional songs in the past, grew to mammoth portions. So what if most of India could not understand the meaning? A song was no longer a part of a story or character’s feelings. Even on-screen it was either a dance thing or a non-lip-synch expression of superficial thoughts or a paean of torment. Irrespective of whether the characters were Gujaratis, UP denizens, Bengalis, Maharastrians or Rajasthanis, the lyrics (often in entirety) were in Punjabi!

In India, instrumental music has few takers as we need words to connect. And here we had words only to dance to but not retain in memory like with earlier songs. And how many understood the language anyway?

As a humorist and screenwriter commented on his own social media, “At the rate Hindi films are having Punjabi songs, I hope that at least Punjabi films have Hindi songs now!”

Top lyricist Irshad Kamil, who hails from Punjab, himself rued (a full 20 years ago to me!!) that Punjabi was being corrupted no end by wrong grammar and gender!! Imagine the murky scenario today.

And as the popularity and appeal of film music declined, the progress in technology and the opening up of new horizons for music saw the sparkling rise of independent music.

The time when we wanted to watch a Tum paas aaye (Kuch Kuch Hota Hain) or Tere mast mast do nain (Dabangg) on screen and in context, and also savor those entire albums seems to have gone. All we can do now is enjoy the occasional Teri baton mein aisa uljha jiya (from the film of that name) and Aaj ki raat (Stree 2).

I end with the statement of veteran distributor and exhibitor Raj Bansal, which is endorsed by trade analyst Taran Adarsh, “Songs are important even today. If you look at the biggest hits in the last two years, you will know what just a hit song or two can do to the business of a film.”

All I will add is: Yes! But what could have happened if these films could have had more than just one or two hits? The films would have hit the roof! And Chhaava, with atrocious music, is that unmusical exception that proves this rule.

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