Walk down any street in any Pakistani city and ask a random person above the age of 30 to name at least one Hindi film music director from India. You will be treated to a recitation of not just one, but probably most of the big-name music directors of the post-independence period.
Repeat the experiment on the streets of India, asking about any music director from Pakistan. Unless you fortuitously chance upon a true film buff, music collector or Pakistani spy, chances are your query will be met with nothing more than a vacant gawp.
And what a pity it is that the likes of Sohail Rana, the Tafo Brothers, Nisar Bazmi, Robin Ghosh and Khalil Ahmed are not known, for they are responsible for vaults of wonderful film and non-film music, the best of which is equal, if not in some respects superior, to that of their more famous Indian counterparts.
M Ashraf was the most prolific and arguably most sought after musical director during the high noon (mid-1960s to late 1970s) of the Pakistani film industry. His scores were lively, his use of technology adventurous, and his sound instantly identifiable. Throughout his career, he discovered and introduced some of Pakistan’s biggest playback singers to the public. Every major star, from Noor Jehan and Shabnam to Ahmed Rushdi and Nadeem, wanted to sing or sync his songs.
Born in 1938, a few years before independence, into a family with musical pedigree (two relatives were musical directors including the early giant Master Inayat Hussain), Ashraf to a great extent helped create the post independence sound that young, modernising Pakistanis loved to hear.
Theme music of Man ki Jeet (1972)
This slice of sonic potpourri epitomises Ashraf’s attitude and philosophy down to the last, blasting trill of the trumpet. There is an eclectic borrowing of styles, be it the opening detective-thriller sound to the jerk-inducing strains of a disco dance. Add to that ample infusions of brass with sharp and unexpected squawks of trombones, and fast moving electric keyboards and stuttering squeeze boxes that echo galloping freight trains. Time signatures and tempos that shift for no apparent reason, and then careen back again to where they so recently left off were all trademarks of Ashraf’s style. This is head-spinning stuff, but entirely delightful.
Nahid Akhtar
Dear I Love You (Zanjeer, 1975)
Just as RD Burman found in Kishore Kumar a voice that captured his true intent, it was Nahid Akhtar who most effectively invigorated Ashraf’s genius. She sang so many of his songs it seemed they were a pair born in heaven. This number overflows with crackling electric riffs, but is made by the slinky-slidey delivery of Akhtar, which comes remarkably close to channeling the early 60s English pop star Lulu, as she croons, "Deeaar I love you". In between, one can pick up lots of smoothly blown electronic sounds as well. Pakistan’s economy was more open (liberalised in the modern parlance) than India’s at the time, allowing Ashraf and his frequent collaborators, the Tafo brothers, access to new instruments from the West with relative ease. As this clip demonstrates, they were always put to bold and good use.
Asad Amanat Ali Khan
Aakhen Ghazal Hai Aapki (Saheli, 1978)
Ashraf is best remembered outside of Pakistan for his irreverent and bold forays into what has of late been (wrongly) labeled as "Bollywood funk". His music reached hip appreciative European and American audiences with a couple of albums of Pakistani film music issued on a tiny British label several years ago. But back in the day Ashraf sahib was a stalwart of the Lahore film industry and as such was required to compose music in all styles, including those most familiar to and popular with the prime audience…middle class Pakistanis. In this lovely pop-ghazal Ashraf demonstrates his ability to compose a lovely melody as well as get the most out of one of Pakistan’s abundant stellar talents, in this case, Asad Amanat Ali Khan, son of the majestic Ustad Amanat Ali Khan of the Patiala gharana. That for years this song was a much-loved part of Asad’s concert repertoire, speaks to the enduring quality of Ashraf’s music.
Dama Dam Mast Qalandar (Dekha Jaye Ga, 1976)
This swimming pool scene is one of the grand prizes in the Lollywood-pop music crossover sweepstakes. Teen idol Nadeem regales a rather stiff looking audience (except for one swaying babe) with an unexpected, but amazingly successful mashup of the old Sindhi sufi "standard" in praise of Shahabaz Qalandar. Ashraf’s fingerprints are all over this masterpiece: from the iconoclastic forced marriage of spiritual and secular (not to mention East and West) to the rock ‘n roll tinged mise en scène and the English lyrics. Indeed, if there was one simple way to describe M Ashraf, you could say he was Pakistan’s original remix artist.
Dance Music (Arzoo, 1975)
Another mind-bogglingly cheeky composition from Arzoo. In an interview before he died in 2007, Ashraf sahib said that “background music is the music director’s trademark. Every scene and instrument has to be matched. A music director must understand how to compose background music.” Multiple rhythms, roaring heavy metal guitars, oddball vocalisations and his much loved loud (in some cases, nearly flatulent) blasts of brass, make this a perfect way to remember one of Pakistan’s greatest musical sons.
Repeat the experiment on the streets of India, asking about any music director from Pakistan. Unless you fortuitously chance upon a true film buff, music collector or Pakistani spy, chances are your query will be met with nothing more than a vacant gawp.
And what a pity it is that the likes of Sohail Rana, the Tafo Brothers, Nisar Bazmi, Robin Ghosh and Khalil Ahmed are not known, for they are responsible for vaults of wonderful film and non-film music, the best of which is equal, if not in some respects superior, to that of their more famous Indian counterparts.
M Ashraf was the most prolific and arguably most sought after musical director during the high noon (mid-1960s to late 1970s) of the Pakistani film industry. His scores were lively, his use of technology adventurous, and his sound instantly identifiable. Throughout his career, he discovered and introduced some of Pakistan’s biggest playback singers to the public. Every major star, from Noor Jehan and Shabnam to Ahmed Rushdi and Nadeem, wanted to sing or sync his songs.
Born in 1938, a few years before independence, into a family with musical pedigree (two relatives were musical directors including the early giant Master Inayat Hussain), Ashraf to a great extent helped create the post independence sound that young, modernising Pakistanis loved to hear.
Theme music of Man ki Jeet (1972)
This slice of sonic potpourri epitomises Ashraf’s attitude and philosophy down to the last, blasting trill of the trumpet. There is an eclectic borrowing of styles, be it the opening detective-thriller sound to the jerk-inducing strains of a disco dance. Add to that ample infusions of brass with sharp and unexpected squawks of trombones, and fast moving electric keyboards and stuttering squeeze boxes that echo galloping freight trains. Time signatures and tempos that shift for no apparent reason, and then careen back again to where they so recently left off were all trademarks of Ashraf’s style. This is head-spinning stuff, but entirely delightful.
Nahid Akhtar
Dear I Love You (Zanjeer, 1975)
Just as RD Burman found in Kishore Kumar a voice that captured his true intent, it was Nahid Akhtar who most effectively invigorated Ashraf’s genius. She sang so many of his songs it seemed they were a pair born in heaven. This number overflows with crackling electric riffs, but is made by the slinky-slidey delivery of Akhtar, which comes remarkably close to channeling the early 60s English pop star Lulu, as she croons, "Deeaar I love you". In between, one can pick up lots of smoothly blown electronic sounds as well. Pakistan’s economy was more open (liberalised in the modern parlance) than India’s at the time, allowing Ashraf and his frequent collaborators, the Tafo brothers, access to new instruments from the West with relative ease. As this clip demonstrates, they were always put to bold and good use.
Asad Amanat Ali Khan
Aakhen Ghazal Hai Aapki (Saheli, 1978)
Ashraf is best remembered outside of Pakistan for his irreverent and bold forays into what has of late been (wrongly) labeled as "Bollywood funk". His music reached hip appreciative European and American audiences with a couple of albums of Pakistani film music issued on a tiny British label several years ago. But back in the day Ashraf sahib was a stalwart of the Lahore film industry and as such was required to compose music in all styles, including those most familiar to and popular with the prime audience…middle class Pakistanis. In this lovely pop-ghazal Ashraf demonstrates his ability to compose a lovely melody as well as get the most out of one of Pakistan’s abundant stellar talents, in this case, Asad Amanat Ali Khan, son of the majestic Ustad Amanat Ali Khan of the Patiala gharana. That for years this song was a much-loved part of Asad’s concert repertoire, speaks to the enduring quality of Ashraf’s music.
Dama Dam Mast Qalandar (Dekha Jaye Ga, 1976)
This swimming pool scene is one of the grand prizes in the Lollywood-pop music crossover sweepstakes. Teen idol Nadeem regales a rather stiff looking audience (except for one swaying babe) with an unexpected, but amazingly successful mashup of the old Sindhi sufi "standard" in praise of Shahabaz Qalandar. Ashraf’s fingerprints are all over this masterpiece: from the iconoclastic forced marriage of spiritual and secular (not to mention East and West) to the rock ‘n roll tinged mise en scène and the English lyrics. Indeed, if there was one simple way to describe M Ashraf, you could say he was Pakistan’s original remix artist.
Dance Music (Arzoo, 1975)
Another mind-bogglingly cheeky composition from Arzoo. In an interview before he died in 2007, Ashraf sahib said that “background music is the music director’s trademark. Every scene and instrument has to be matched. A music director must understand how to compose background music.” Multiple rhythms, roaring heavy metal guitars, oddball vocalisations and his much loved loud (in some cases, nearly flatulent) blasts of brass, make this a perfect way to remember one of Pakistan’s greatest musical sons.
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