Every time I chance upon a video of S.P. Balasubrahmanyam speaking about his work, I am reminded of how little we speak to our artistes in this part of the world, especially about the processes that make up what we know as their technique or mastery. Thanks to those few interviews, mostly from the latter years of his career, and his comments on reality shows, we continue to get some precious glimpses of the incredible artiste he was.
SPB, who passed away in September 2020 following COVID-19 complications, would have turned 78 on June 4. Attempting to unpack his genius as a playback singer is a delight, even if we merely scratch the surface of his staggering body of work, of tens of thousands of songs, spanning languages, genres, decades, and generations of composers. You invariably find something new, something that floors you.
What was so incredible about SPB? Was it the sheer number of songs he sang? His unmatched consistency and adaptability? His voice texture? Skill? All the above and more. If one were to speak of vocal music, the technique is key. It is broadly about vocal range, precision in hitting the notes, pitching, breath control, modulation, ability to stick to tempo, and versatility in voice production and effects.
There is the technique, and then there is SPB. His mastery, arguably unparalleled in Indian playback singing, is to do with how he approached technique. Over and above the enviable tone and timbre of his voice, and his command over it, his ability to emote with the voice was unique and indeed special.
S.P. Balasubrahmanyam with R.D. Burman.
| Photo Credit:
The Hindu Archives
In a 2012 interview with The Hindu, SPB spoke of possibly having an edge over other singers because he was a good actor. “I can emote very well physically and my ability to emote with voice is only an extension of that,” he had said.
Thinking about it, SPB was a master storyteller who could hold listeners captive. His voice and artistry became formidable tools aiding his communication. The brilliant M.S. Viswanathan lets us savour this characteristic of SPB’s voice in his composition for Varumaiyin Niram Sivappu in 1980 for actor Kamal Haasan. The lines, from Subramania Bharati’s Theertha Karaiyinile, pack much intensity around a loved one’s failure to honour a promise. Offering a masterclass in restraint, MSV uses chords very minimally in the background and centres the human voice to convey betrayal and agony in this moving composition. When you listen to “vaarththai thavarivittai kannamma, maarbu thudikkudhadi” in SPB’s voice, you can’t but feel that piercing pain and resignation.
I tried to imagine how SPB, then in his thirties, might have recorded this song at MSV’s studio, at a time when retakes were sulked upon, and piecemeal edits were unheard of. He must have read the lines, got to their meaning, sympathised with the situation and character, learnt the tune from the composer, and practised it by applying different voice effects such as say, a sustained breath, a delicate vibrato, a gentle lowering of volume, and then finally gone with the version that MSV cleared. With experience and time, he would have had to try out fewer variants before finding the most appropriate one.
Read | ‘With SPB’s voice for company and comfort, peaceful solitude seemed overrated’
Kamban Yemandaan from Nizhal Nijamagiradhu, 1978 is another fascinating composition by MSV. Speaking to pianist Anil Srinivasan in an interview some years ago, SPB highlighted the different ‘Yemandaan’s that MSV came up with, including one to connote certainty or finality. SPB could hardly hide his admiration for the composer’s ability to conjure up musical phrases to convey a particular idea. Equally evident was his keen observation and appreciation of the idea, that he grasped and so effectively echoed in his own singing. In a fitting compliment to the singer, Kamal Haasan said in a television show some years ago, “You just listen to SPB’s voice and then acting [in a song] comes automatically. You just know how to emote”. SPB and Kamal Haasan demonstrated this chemistry with a few lines from Kamban Yemandaan.
For a listener, there is much excitement in the anticipation of this signature emotive component of SPB’s singing. It is not only in poignant numbers. Fans wait for SPB’s voice (including speaking voice) to emerge from heavily orchestrated, jubilant songs too, like the iconic Ilamai ido ido by maestro Ilaiyaraaja (Sakalakala Vallavan, 1982).
It entails little suspense, as you know exactly when that will happen and how delightful that will sound. But every time you wait for that moment with eager anticipation, for that energy that his voice carries and unfailingly transmits to the listener. There is excitement, but there is also security. Like that feeling when you spot a familiar face amidst a huge crowd.
The Ilaiyaraaja-SPB combination is a remarkable one, creating one of the most illustrious chapters of Tamil film music history. If Ilaiyaraaja brought a radical newness and richness to sound, that would at once democratise music by widening its appeal, and expand its ambit by introducing varied flavours and emotions, SPB was his lead singer. Ilaiyaraaja’s astonishing musical brain found an ever-responsive consort in SPB’s enticing voice.
The charanam or the paragraph beginning men panju megangal in Oh vasantha raja (Neengal Kettavai, 1984), a sparkling example of that collaborative creative energy. Another favourite number is Rojavai thalattum thendral from Ninaivellam Nithya¸1982. These are romantic duets that are expectedly romantic. But even when Ilaiyaraaja came up with Kadhalin Deepam Ondru, a daringly novel take on a romantic solo for actor Rajinikanth in Thambikku Entha Ooru, 1984, SPB’s voice responded with equal conviction.
There are innumerable examples of the two partying away in peppy numbers. En Jodi Manja Kuruvi from Vikram, 1986 is one. It was a video clip from SPB’s live performance that showed how demanding the song is, in terms of jumping octaves and switching moods because you actually see one man doing all that.
A.R. Rahman’s entry into the industry with Roja in 1992 brought a whole new sensibility to Indian film music. The splendour of his compositions, only enhanced by his astute use of technology, exposed us to a new degree of finesse in sound production. Rahman’s studio did to SPB’s voice what sophisticated cameras to do stunning landscapes, capturing even minute voice dynamics and nuances. There is that much more beauty and joy to partake in.
S.P. Balasubrahmanyam and A.R. Rahman
SPB has been part of Rahman’s journey right from his debut, with Kaadhal Rojaveand got a big canvas with a composer known to encourage his singers to improvise. And we got one hit after another, such as Pennalla pennala oothapoo (Uzhavan, 1993), where you hear a very smitten SPB, Kulicha Kuthalam (Duet, 1994) in which he is flirting away, Minnale nee vanthathenadi (May Maadham, 1994) where he voices heartbreak, and a very majestic Oruvan oruvan mudhalaali (Muthu, 1995). These are just a few examples of SPB effortlessly traversing different emotions and styles, all in a voice that stubbornly refused to age.
Listen to en kadhale (Duet, 1994) where he brings in passion and pathos in equal measure. At one level, a student of music can break down the effect in terms of how he sustains the notes, uses his breath, and employs a mild tremor as the character in the film tears up while singing. One could try, and perhaps even successfully imitate those elements from his technique. The effect, at best, will be somewhat similar, but never the same. After all, there is technique. And then there is SPB.
