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Long before Rahman emerged upon the scene, music director Ilaiyaraaja ruled the Tamil roost. To date, he has scored over 950 films not only for the Tamil market but also for Kannada, Malayalam and Telugu cinemas. Some of his most rollicking work between 1977 and 1983 is included on “Solla Solla.”
On this collection, rock and hi-hat/conga-heavy funk rhythms augmented with horns and early synth flourishes take a more prominent role than the ostentatious string arrangements of Bollywood. But at the same time, the masterful nuances displayed in the performances of singers like S. Janaki and the legendary S.P. Balasubrahmanyum suggests a robust connection to southern Indian classical vocal music. What might seem like a typical 1970s dancefloor-bomber subtly reveals itself as treatise in traditional vocal raag – as is the case with Balasubrahmanyam’s extraordinary timbral control over the modal funk of the title track and the frenzied “Vaa! Naailukku Naall."
From the first listen, it’s evident at least among these tunes that Ilayaraaja was far more liberal in his assimilation of western instrumentation, kitchen-sink arrangements and structures than many of his Hindi film contemporaries. “Raja Rani Jaakki” starts with a proggy bit that might not sound too out of place in a Van Der Graaf Generator leftover, before a vaguely Motown bassline/flute figure takes over, giving way to a much more traditional tabla interlude. Despite its title, “Disco Sound,” crooned mostly in English, evokes Blood Sweat and Tears (albeit with a scandalously breathy female vocal intro and weird - but equally lascivious - spoken interlude). Zippy, fuzzed-out slide guitar and synth drum fills drive the bouncy “Naanthaan Ungappanda,” which finds Balasubrahmanyam dipping into a throaty Satchmo register.
The shimmering synth intro of “Thithikkum” preludes a stomper driven by slashing wah-wah guitar and fuzzed-out organ swells. Sample English lyric (for which the Maestro gets an ‘A’ for effort): “Baby, shake it baby...I need you/I want to hold you tight/when you are in my arms I feel high...” “One and Two Chachacha” switches gears abruptly from, in fact, a sitar-seasoned midtempo cha-cha to a south-Indian bhajan-inflected interlude. “Kanavu Ondru” offers up a more introspective melody sung by S. Janaki over cyclical rhythms, space-age synths, piano, tabla and strings. The album closer, “Aadal Paadalil” pulls out any remaining stops, with a left-field take on big-band swing punctuated by thunderous percussion and rhythmic, basso profundo vocals.