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June 1943
FILMINDIA
in on the music director's field. Any Tom, Dick or Harry, be he the proprietor's son-in-law or an assistant make-up man, dialogue writer or camera boy, can poke his nose in the music room and offer suggestions in front of the producer— just to catch his eye, to show off or to give evidence of his own disinterested zeal. To judge from the number of people ready to make comments and give out their views on music, you would think that every johnny in the studio was an expert. Music seems to be a subject on which anyone can talk — they dare not make suggestions the same way about direction, photography or recording, but about music everyone of them is a scholar, and anxious to pass on his knowledge to the music director. That is the curse of living in a music-stricken land like India.
Innocent laymen may believe that, the music director is the man who judges what is to be sung, how it is to be sung, and who is to sing it, or in other words that the music director has a say as to the words and place of a song, its rendering and the choice of the singer. It is nothing of that kind.
As to the words, after the producer has approved the tune, the song writer makes up some sorts of lines not necessarily connected with the mood, the situation or the story itself; he has a stock of spare parts like 'sajan', 'piya'. 'balam'. 'koyal'. 'savan', 'birfaha', 'jiya'. 'andhera'. 'chunari' or 'rang'; according to specifications, the song writer may stick together such pieces and give you a choice of lines: "Mere anganame aye sajan", ro "Mere kalejeme aye sajan", or "Mere nainame aye sajan" or "Mere sapneme aye sajan".
Having done this he sits back and admires his handiwork. If the music director wants a little change here and there, the composer vehemently refuses — in the name of his 'chhand' or metre, but then let the producer ask for a change, and presto! The same composer will jump with al
most indecent alacrity to change over the whole song altogether — let alone a single word. Few song writers are found able to compose pieces that meet the demands of both music and poetry.
It would also seem incredible, but how and where a song is to be sung is a matter practically beyond the music director's control; sometimes a song may be redundant, all wrong and out of place, but the music director has no choice but to give it. After all, the story matters more than the song (a pity that a musicdirector has to mention this point, but there it is!) and if a song impedes the story it has to go. A good song can be killed by its own superfluity or absurd placing. Again, all the effect of a good musical piece can be destroyed by bad 'taking' or picturization, and when the producer's interference plays ducks and drakes with the music, even the best of tunes can ruin the picture, the artistes, the music itself — and the scapegoat, the music director, and give Baburao Patel an opportunity to write: "The music was tragic."
Who should sing his songs? The music director has no choice to say; he may have rejected an aspiring artiste today, but the next day he has to take him — because the aspiring artiste has come through some private influence and the producer wants nobody but him to sing. The aspiring artiste may sing out of tune throughout and destroy the correct play of a fourteen-hand orchestra — his songs and his alone must make the picture — and to hell with the music director's reputation! And it may not stop there, this self-same tuneless aspiring artiste may, on the strength of that single picture (plus the private influence) be himself a music director of his very next picture — this is no phantasy, it has actually happened!
To those friends of the screen, therefore, who would come down heavily on the music director for poor music in a picture, I would suggest that they keep the above state of affairs in mind; modifying the classic line of a popular story, T would say to them —
"Don't shoot the pianist — he is only doing what he is told!"
In "Nagad Narayan", the two men seem to be looking after their two "cases"
carefully.
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