The Mozhi team of Prakashraj, Radhamohan and Vidyasagar are back with Abhiyum Naanum (Abhi and I). Mozhi was one of the finest albums created by Vidyasagar. Let's us what he has in store for us this time.
Azhagiya Azhagiya Kili begins rather ominously, sort of like the climax of a Hollywood epic, which then morphs abruptly into a fast paced angsty number. There's too much sound and fury though. S P Balasubramaniam's voice, after a long time, still retains its youthfulness. The lyrics sort of remind you of early Rajnikanth songs, full of exaggerated pathos. It's loud, at times raucous and sounds almost as though it's the background score for a stage-play -- perhaps it is one. This one, undoubtedly, has to wait for the picturisation.
Kailash Kher's Chinnamma Kalyanam begins like one of A R Rahman's compositions from Kizhakku Cheemaiyile -- these rural tunes with an urban feel are now passe. Fortunately, it seems more in the nature of an interlude and in that light, is passable.
Violins begin Moongil Vittu Sendra, as Madhu Balakrishnan sings comfortably, following a casual rhythm. But this song reminds you of the Ilaiyaraja compositions of the nineties; melodious, yes, but rather dated. Worth a listen only for the nostalgia factor.
Ore Oru Oorile begins with Kailash Kher who mauls Tamil suitably -- it's weird to hear him try to sing in a rural inflection. The song relates a fairly simplistic, idealistic tale: the story of a loving father whose daughter is an angel on earth; its all cho-chweet. The beat is casual though images of a Punjabi countryside are uncontrollable -- but the melody is engaging enough, despite being an oft-heard one.
Intriguing notes begin Pachai Katre, and you're willing to lend an ear when Sadhana Sargam takes over. Bhangra beats make an entrance here again and there are shades of the Jeyamkondaan number Naan Varainthu Vaitha which was infinitely pleasing. This one isn't. Flutes make a half-hearted entrance. And though Sadhana does try to make it stick, you find your interest beginning to wander.
Rehan Khan's Sher Punjabi is yet another Bhangra number that's too short to really touch you.
Finally, when you're almost at the end of your tether, comes Vaa Vaa En Dhevadaiye, which, with its steady rhythm and simple lyrics, sort of reminds you of the Vidyasagar of yore. This Madhu Balakrishnan number also sounds dated, but at least it comes with a melody that keeps you listening. This one is most likely to appeal to parents with young daughters -- it seems the kind of number that will tug at their heartstrings the most. Easily the pick of the album.
Aside from the bit songs, the others also come with separate instrumental pieces, which, when listened to, scrape through.
All through, you get the feeling that Vidyasagar had somehow transported himself 10-15 years ago -- all the tunes seem to be from that period. Either he was satisfying those very specific demands placed on him (even so, his music falls short of the classic pieces of those times) -- or his heart was not in these compositions. Perhaps it was just an overload of expectations after the chart-busting Mozhi.
Barring infrequent flashes of his earlier works, there's very little to write home about. We can only hope Radhamohan's picturisation makes these numbers work.
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