A friend and I were having a chat about elections, the verdict, the debacle DMK suffered, and more; of course, we were going back and forth on the missed opportunity, the complacency demonstrated by some ministers, the arrogance shown by a few more of them, and how all of these perceptively made it seem like no good work had been done. More importantly, we were also discussing how we should have been more vocal and articulate about the fact that he and I are direct and/or indirect beneficiaries of the social and economic development championed by DMK (and also by AIADMK). Somewhere during this rabbit-hole of a conversation, he asked me a question that caught me off guard: "Have you ever felt guilty previously about not having stood with someone or something that meant much to you?" Without a second thought came my response - "Yes, Harris Jayaraj".
And, I meant it sincerely and remorsefully.
The music cassettes that used to play in our home when I was in kindergarten and early primary schooling were, of course, always albums of A R Rahman, who, without a doubt, has been and will be a legend in his own right. In fact, it is because of ARR's stature - and not despite - Harris' arrival with the absolute banger of an album in Minnale became so much more impactful. While hegemony is not the most appropriate word in this context, it appeared that someone with the soundscape of ARR but with a more pristine mixing, mastering, and engineering technique had arrived to challenge the dominance of the legend. And, I say this as a lifelong Tamil film music listener with the fullest awareness of the existence of Ilaiyaraaja (the bigger legend who continues to be a force to be reckoned with to date), Yuvan Shankar Raja, S A Rajkumar, Deva, Vidhyasagar, and many more talented composers who carved their own fame within the industry.
My initial interest in playing the keyboard blossomed after listening to Harris Jayaraj's songs. Not ARR, whose songs were a daily staple in our home. Not Ilaiyaraaja, whose songs were omnipresent in salons, buses, tailor shops, laundry shops, and mechanic shops. In fact, the first ever tune I played was the prelude of Nenjukkul Peidhidum from Vaaranam Aayiram. I still remember the keyboard settings in the Yamaha PSR E-313 I still own. You've got to set the rhythm to 'Guitar Pop' (#13 on the list of pre-programmed rhythms). You choose A major as the scale. Set tempo somewhere around 85, perhaps. And, play.
I did not know anything about the nuances of music back then - nor now (but at least I have shown iterative improvements) - but was able to feel the bass boost when Krish sings after the first charanam, "Mudhal Mudhalaaga Mudhal Mudhalaaga..." in Unnaale Unnaale. I could feel the beat drop in Manjal Veyil (Vettaiyaadu Vilaiyaadu). Of course, O Mama (Minnale) remained such a festival of instruments and vocals, and remains so. When the evergreen O Supernova dropped in sync with the Ayan title card, I remember literally going bonkers, in awe of the genius of the track. The guitar opening of Adiye Kolludhey was rousing, but the choice of genre for Uyirin Uyire blew my mind. Saamy Theme Music became a phenomenon in itself. And, Vaseegara (or Zara Zara in Hindi), for some reason, reminds me of the coolness of the monsoon season and the aroma of the soil; NOT a song with the lyric, 'Mazhai' / 'Baarish', but Vaseegara.
And yet, the constant refrain from relatives in a particularly Carnatic music-inclined family was, "This is just Church music." I learned to ignore those dismissive remarks and not pay heed to them, for fear of being tagged someone who did not appreciate puritanical tastes in music. My classmates in school kept trolling Harris as the guy who repeats his tunes; I never went on the offensive for the hesitation of being trolled. In fact, at some point, identifying myself as a Harris fan in public became an aspect that I did not want to display.
Then came the orchestrated trolling en masse on social media. Stand-up comics started making skits and scripts out of Harris. When Alexander Babu did Jesus, Harris, and TamChris, I laughed along as an audience. When YouTube comments and Facebook discussions started name-tagging Harris as 'copycat', I went silent. On the one hand, my personal cowardice weighed me down. On the other hand, I always imagined that real success would speak louder than trolls.
But, no. Harris started going out of market. And, it started looking like a schemed conspiracy. Those who stood in stages and talked rubbish about Harris never critiqued Anirudh or other erstwhile new-age composers for similar reasons. When director Jeeva passed in the midst of the Dhaam Dhoom shoot, Harris lost a long-standing partner. I was crestfallen when Gautam Menon decided to part ways with Harris and instead work with ARR, and then with Ilaiyaraaja, for his movies; this is the person who introduced Harris as a composer in Kollywood with Minnale. When the Vinnai Thaandi Varuvaayaa album became a blockbuster (of course, the ARR touch!), I felt so annoyed while secretly admiring the album. When K V Anand also passed, it felt like the rightful people who would have provided Harris an opportunity for a stunner of a comeback had all departed or moved on.
Harris Jayaraj defined my early and late teens. And, by no means is that an understatement. This was despite G V Prakash's early albums, including Veyil and Madharasapattinam. And definitely, this was despite a then little-known Anirudh arriving in the Kollywood music space with 3. Every composer's songs are in my playlist - no doubt - but my go-to is always Harris and his music. When he composed for Legend after what could easily be seen as a forced hiatus of sorts, I was the happiest to see glimpses of the man back. Mosalo Mosalu remained on loop for months on end, and it still happens to be one of the tracks to turn to. However, the Dhruva Natchathiram delays all but pulled the curtains on my last hopes of Harris becoming part of the Kollywood mainstream again.
For what Harris gave me - peace when I felt lonely; confidence when I felt I could never play keyboard; a sense of identity (that I had Harris' music to associate myself with), even if it remained secret - I will forever carry the guilt that I never stood for him nor did I fight tooth-and-nail with the narrative that created an illusion. I never spoke back to my relatives, "So, what if this is Church music? Music is music, and this is the most pleasant to hear." I never countered, "So, what if his tunes are a bit repetitive? There is magic in creating distinctions within similarities!" when my friends went about attacking his musical choices.
And hence, when I watch Reels of @imonishvlogs and @inba_personal decoding the layering in Harris' songs or the minutest details in his instrumentation and engineering these days, I am filled with a time that once was. Every time Harris goes with his army of singers for a live concert, there is an overwhelming feeling of nostalgia. Yes, this composer had his limitations and flaws, and his repertoire was definitely not as flamboyant as the new-age musicians. But none of these was reason enough to sideline him for years at a stretch. I am acutely aware that my - and that of other hard-core fans like me to whom Harris meant and means so much - silence had a significant role to play in making a phenomenon that is supposed to be 'current' and 'present' into something of a 'yesteryear' spectacle.
This is a regret I am not willing to experience once more. And so, despite the shortcomings of DMK (corruption charges, family politics, occasional arrogance) and possibly a Harris-ish repertoire (repeated refrains about philosophy and forefathers), I will be vocal in standing with the party. Even if fighting this fight means I am not toeing the line of my relatives and neighbours. Even if, just like GVM went away from Harris to partner with ARR, the alliance parties went to different camps for greener pastures.
This time, I am not stepping back. And, I know what I am doing.
