It's a curious composer choice. Ram Gopal Varma, who usually turns to men like Sandeep Chowta to pack his music with 'punch,' hands over the baton to Khosla Ka Ghosla co-composers Bapi-Tutul for his upcoming slice of close-up commercial masala, Sarkar Raj. What are the results? Well, the lads might have talent, but this is an unimpressive album they'd rather forget.
Also See: Sarkar Raj, a sneak peek
Despite the thudding rhythm, opening track Jalwa Re Jalwa somewhat suffers from Kailesh Kher's now-predictable vocals. Kher is a talented singer with range, but this is clearly meant to be a gimmicky rabble-rouser track, one that has the tough job of being able to pull off the Govinda-Govinda chorus and still be fun. It tries, with a saam-daam-dand-bhed undercurrent that sounds like John Woo ordering in parathas, but thanks to an attempt at actually trying to sound like a genuine bhajan -- and this is where they should have hired a rapper, not an actual devotional singer -- the track flounders between irony, idiocy and hymn.
Interestingly, singers play against type in Jhini Jhini. Roop Kumar Rathod sounds less maudlin than he has in ages, and Sweta Pandit goes nasal enough to be called tinny. The music itself features nothing to recommend it, however, except for an I-miss-Ramu feel pervading the synth-heavy, violent rhythm.
Also See: The Sounds of Sarkar Raj
Jalte Rawan is a decentish rock track with good vocals from Abhishek -- not Bachchan Junior, clearly -- and thanks to a smartly used chorus, this is the song that one can imagine Ramu setting hardcore visuals against and really making it work. Not a montage though, please.
Track 4 is the scary one, for those of us still reeling from the Govinda running through the background score in the first Sarkar. Quite alarmingly called The Govinda Theme, the composers bravely tackle this one themselves, accompanied by a chorus. The sound is campy and kinda 80s, but -- what with all the wailing, and the occasional staccato 'Govinda!' standing out against the choral Go-vinnnnn-das -- it seems intentionally bizarre, as if Amitabh and Abhishek were duking it out in a cathedral, or -- better yet -- a belfry. It's purely background score, though.
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The funereal keyboard tinkling continues as the bewildering Chaah Bhanwar Trishna (sung by Sunayana Sarkar Dasgupta -- how apropos that middle name, no?) starts, a bhajan set to a piano providing a two-fingered -- ooh, we're so dark! -- bassline-substitute. There's a bunch of muddled lyrics trying their best to sound profound, and this song about sleeplessness is what one can envision brooding closeups pre-climactically set against. Blah. It doesn't build up to much.
Subah starts off with Jhini Jhini again, set this time to a slurring guitar. Pamela Jain has one of those high-pitched voices that ensure you don't ever accompany her in a roller-coaster, but there isn't that much of her in this reprise. Again, the bass is monotonous, and despite much varied string-work, it's another been-there-slept-to-that kinda track.
A drum roll kicks off Saher Saher Ke Hajharon Sawal menacingly, but then there comes that omnipresent word. By itself, Saher Ke Sawal might have been interesting -- a curious ditty about a curious city -- and Sandeep Nath's lyrics finally bring out a smirk, but there's too much Govinda again, relegating the song itself to no importance. Not to mention that the much-caricatured Amitabh 'hain' almost seems to be running in loop alongside the Govindas. I kid you not.
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And then -- perfectly on cue -- the Bachchan baritone takes over and repeats what is clearly being marketed as the line of the film, the I-do-what-I-want Sarkarism that the filmmakers hope will make it to t-shirts. What's this one called? The Govinda Chant. No, really. Yup, again.
The rest of the album is mired in more of the same. We have Saam Daam, which we heard in track one, now getting its own track (but no additional lyric) and far too much tambourine for its own good. And then there's more G-force(d upon us) with The Govinda Groove -- that same Bachchan line repetitively set against a dull bit of electronica -- and The Govinda Trance -- which actually momentarily has enough trance force to even enliven Govinda-Govinda, but the parts sans chorus work best.
The album is capped off by The Jalwa (Club Mix) which takes its own sweet time getting over the saam-daam before hitting the drumpad, and doesn't do anything particularly inspiring after that either. GovindaGovindaGovinda, no matter just how you slip it into a song, isn't ever going to have the dancefloor force of a Hare Krishna Hare Ram.
All in all, this is a repetitive album. There are times it tries to be quirky -- and there's a definite Phantom Of The Opera sense to it all, which is interesting -- but ultimately every track here is pure background score, unable to stand on its own without Ramu's meticulously-crafted frames to make the audio effective. Even if the film is a smash hit, this CD will still be a rare curio running on a few car-rides, to turn a track on and smile at before putting on actual music.
And if indicative of the film to come, this is indeed an ill portent. Even if you close your eyes and try to picture the almighty Amitabh doing his thing against the soundtrack, this really is Govinda-overdose like never before. What's next, boss? Bade Miyan Chhote Miyan 2?
Rediff Rating: 
