Ilaiyaraaja: I Keep Thinking About Music

Ilaiyaraaja, who turns 76, talks about his early years as a music director and why his tunes hold a unique place in the hearts of both commoners and connoisseurs. 

Asia’s first symphony writer. 1,000 films. 8,000 songs. 20,000 concerts—and still counting. 

Ilaiyaraaja’s game-changing journey began after the 1970s, and each of his compositions is a journey into eternity. Take Janani… Janani from Thaai Mookambikai (1982), for example. Could anyone other than the maestro have brought out its nuances so effectively? I doubt it. 

His obsession with perfection is legendary, and singers who have performed his compositions would vouch for it. The genius transformed the soundscape of film music forever, without compromising on the pronunciation of Tamil words. 

In fact, no other composer’s career symbolises the popularity of film music as his does. Ilaiyaraaja’s music defies classification and never follows a predictable format. It charms everyone. It would not be an exaggeration to say his music has been the driving force behind the success of many films at the box office. 

It is a busy evening at Prasad Studios. Singers and instrumentalists rehearse timeless melodies for a concert. Singaari Sarakku from Kamal Haasan’s Kaaki Sattai echoes across the walls. 

“Yesudas may come in anytime, but we can start the conversation,” smiles Ilaiyaraaja, looking relaxed.

For a fangirl, this interview seems like a good excuse to have an in-depth chat with the “God of film music.” 

Excerpts from the conversation: 

Even today you use your old harmonium while performing concerts or composing a song. 

 

Certain things never change. (Pauses) The harmonium knows it better. I did not go near it during my younger days. I was scared of my brother, who feared I would spoil it. Slowly, I remember playing it in his absence. (Laughs) 

Music is the culmination of the saptaswaras, and good music (folk, tribal, Western, jazz) can be made from any instrument. 

All forms of music are one. Your understanding depends on your ability to perceive it. 

What makes Ilaiyaraaja, Ilaiyaraaja? 

You should answer that. I am not in awe of my own songs. To you, I am Raja sir. But I always have to think about my next composition. It is a constant renewal process. 

Can someone make music for 24 hours straight without getting tired? I can. Because I do not “work”; I enjoy what I do. 

It is not like a regular job. I make music for my fans, and it touches their emotions. When I create music, it is mine; the moment it reaches them, it becomes theirs. Rather, they make it theirs. 

People forget themselves in my music. It is amazing. 

Once, I was composing a tune in a hotel. A Russian woman who was passing by entered my room after hearing it. She asked me to play it again. She was in tears. Despite not knowing the language, she was moved. 

How does that happen? 

I let things be. It is never a process. Birds do not plan before they fly. What I do is somewhat similar. If I put in effort, it will lose its soul. 

Music should happen. That is what you call “magic.” Something happens between me and the harmonium. It is difficult to explain. It is an emotional experience. 

I am like a drop of water in a vast divine ocean. Everyone’s music is shaped by life experiences. For me, music is a spiritual pursuit that takes one to unknown levels. 

In my early days, I would stay in the studio until 11:30 pm; return home, shower, and write music until 2 am. I would wake up again at 4 am, continue composing, and be at the studio by 7 am. 

Music is everything to me. I keep thinking about it even in my dreams. Every time a filmmaker narrates a situation for a song, I begin humming the tune. They trust my ability. 

How? 

I am still figuring that out. (Smiles)

You have experimented with different genres. You have not yet presented a full-fledged Carnatic kutcheri. 

I do not believe in classifying music. But if the right situation comes, why not? 

Tell us about your first guru. 

I am what I am because of my brother-guru Pavalar Varadarajan. He understood the pulse of the audience so well and earned their applause. “Maatuvandi pogadha idam ellam kooda, enga paattu vandi poyirku...” (Our cart of songs has reached even places where bullock carts cannot go).

When Communists became prominent in Kerala, he supported propaganda by singing revolutionary songs. He was very spontaneous. I never realised I was learning from him, but I was. I learnt how to improvise songs and captivate audiences from him. 

He also made me realise that cinema is a powerful medium. I left my brother in 1967, as I felt I had to do more as a musician than be part of a propaganda troupe. 

We came to Madras knowing no one and having no place to stay. We were left with Rs 400, which my mother gave us after selling our home radio. We knew things would work out somehow. 

Your first stage?

We sang on pavements. It was not easy. Eventually, destiny brought me to Master Dhanraj, who trained me in classical music. Later, I took the exam at Trinity College London and topped in classical guitar. 

When Annakili happened, did you expect to become a phenomenon? 

No. I struggled to understand how film music worked. It was the toughest phase of my life, but also a great learning experience. 

I used to walk along Santhome Beach. As I walked through the streets, radios in every house would play songs from Annakili (1976). The feeling was profound because I had never promoted my music then. People embraced it on their own. 

Did you ever feel pressure after success? 

Success and failure are for materialistic people, not me. I always give 100 per cent in whatever I do, regardless of how others view it. 

People call your music timeless...

Music itself is timeless. The challenge is to create a sense of freshness every time it is heard. When that happens, people remember you. 

You are often described as a misunderstood personality. 

 

(Laughs) Yes. What I say is often misinterpreted. But only I know my intentions, and they are genuine. It is unfortunate how quickly people absorb negativity. I feel hurt when that happens. 

You are fiercely protective of your songs these days.

Copyright and related issues did not exist when I began. I spent all my time making music and did not think about them. Better late than never, right? Only I hold the rights to my songs. They are my creations. If someone earns from them, I should receive my due share. How is that wrong? 

Fans are happy your spat with SPB has ended. 

I am glad. 

When the world is low, it finds comfort in Ilaiyaraaja’s music. Whose music comforts you?

(Grins) World music. If you want names: Johann Christian Bach, Joseph Haydn, Johannes Brahms, Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart, and Ludwig van Beethoven. 

What is your greatest fear? 

I do not fear anyone. I fear nothing in life from birth.

I can smell bondas and bajjis. What’s your favourite food?

(Laughs) We were just distributing snacks for those in rehearsal.

I’m not really a foodie—curd rice is enough for me.

Pleasure meeting you, Raja sir. 

Thank you.

(The original piece was published for The Indian Express in 2019)