CHENNAI: In the alleys of Tamil indie music, Kaber Vasuki has always been more of a phenomenon than a conventional artiste. He’s the kind of musician whose songs seep into your soul during long midnight drives, his lo-fi charm unspooling stories of vulnerability, and rebellion. For ten years now, since the brilliance of his debut album Azhagu Puratchi, Kaber has been crafting a soundscape that feels as intimate as it is experimental.
With his new album Kaalame Kalipputhaan, a four-track EP featuring the songs Thirikilli, Varamum Saabamum, Ragasiyangal, and Naan Yen Ippadi Irukken, Kaber continues to redefine the contours of indie music.
On December 25, the music video for Varamum Saabamum, featuring San-T, directed by Balaji Kombiah, is set to drop on KYN Records. “I think it’s going to be a treat for Tamil indie music lovers. The song already has an excited fanbase, and I’m pumped for everyone to experience the video,” Kaber shares.
Beyond this, he hints at a packed 2025, filled with indie and cinema releases that promise to push the boundaries of his artistry further.
Excerpts:
You draw inspiration from lyricists like Kannadasan, Vaali, and artistes like Green Day and Kanye. How do you balance these vastly different influences while keeping your work authentically Tamil?
My mother’s ‘thalaatu’ when she nursed me as a baby was in Tamil. My father sang Kannadasan and Pattukottai songs to me when I played catch with him as a kid.
My grandfather quoted Bharathiyar and Valluvar while helping me on my 23rd attempt to build a hovercraft out of packaging thermocol and spare parts from broken toys. When I make love to my wife, it’s in Tamil. When I cuddle and kiss my children, I tell them the world is theirs — in Tamil.
No matter how comfortable I am thinking and conversing in English, my default mode is always Tamil.
The things that are authentically “you” don’t require thought or effort — they are simply there, always accessible and at hand. It takes effort to pretend or cover up; being authentic is actually the easiest thing to do. If you find yourself in a place where you can’t be yourself, the question to ask is: why?
As for inspiration: people are people. Regardless of background, education, or culture, our emotions and feelings affect us the same way. When Kannadasan says, “Maaperum sabaigalil nee nadanthaan, unakku maalaigal vizha vendum,” and Kanye says, “No one man should have all that power,” they’re essentially tapping into the same core ideas — just from different eras and perspectives. Both lines make the hair on my neck stand up when I hear them. They energise me.
All artistes and creators aim to tap into the same emotional neural pathways, but they discover new routes to get there. The excitement isn’t just in finding the treasure — it’s in charting a new path.
Your music resonates deeply with people, especially during difficult times. How does it feel to be considered a “healer” through your art?
Song-writing is cathartic for me; it helps me process my emotions, especially during difficult times. I think what you put into your work is what people take from it, and maybe that’s why I’ve fallen into that “healer” archetype for a lot of my fans. When people share their personal stories with me, it does affect me.
I naturally empathise and, occasionally, need solitude to recover. But I understand why they share — it’s because they find a safe space in my songs, and I’m grateful they do. Knowing my work helps in any way is a blessing. I thank the universe every day for that gift.
At your concerts, the audience often feels more like collaborators than spectators. How do these interactions influence your performances and writing?
When you’re on stage and a thousand people sing every line with you, there’s no greater satisfaction as a songwriter — I live for that. Sometimes, when I write a good line, I can already hear the crowd singing it back to me. That anticipation gives me an instant dopamine hit.
You’ve spoken about asking yourself, “Is this who I am? Is this what I feel?” before releasing music. How do you maintain this authenticity in an industry that often demands trends and compromises?
I divide my work into two categories. When I’m working on a movie or commission, my only goal is to make the director happy and elevate the story. Whether I’m a composer, lyricist, dialogue writer, or singer, I surrender to the director’s vision and focus on helping them achieve it. Cinema is a director’s art form, and everyone else is a tool in service of that vision.
When I work on an indie project like Kaalame Kalipputhaan, it’s about being as true to myself as possible. In this space, I’m the artiste, and the story I tell is the one I feel most deeply at that moment.
How do you approach working with other artistes and adapting your style to fit different creative visions?
In cinema collaborations, the guidelines and requirements are usually clear — defined by the director or music director. My focus is on delivering what’s needed and making them happy.
For Kaalame Kalipputhaan, I worked on my parts first and and let the collaborators bring their unique energy to the tracks. I believe collaboration is about finding the right people and giving them the space to do what they do best. That’s the approach KYN Records and I took, and everyone brought their A-game. It was incredibly fun, and I hope to do many more collaborations of both kinds in the future.
A decade since Azhagu Puratchi...what do you see as the defining moments in your journey so far?
Any creator measures themselves by the full potential of their vision, but the world judges us by the outcomes we achieve — and rightly so.
For me, the most defining moment came a couple of years ago when I accepted reality, put my ego in check, and committed to improving my craft. Only in 2024 do I feel like I finally understand the controls in this cockpit. It feels like I’m just getting started. Maybe, in another decade, I’ll have a different perspective. Who knows.
You’ve said, “I want to create music that connects with people emotionally, even after 10 years.” How do you envision your legacy in Tamil music?
I feel there’s still so much more to do, so much more to give. It’s too early to think about legacy. For now, I’m focused on working, and I hope the world lets me keep creating for years to come. When writing songs, I aim for timelessness. We still listen to music recorded 50 years ago because it has a certain enduring quality, and that’s what I chase. It’s more of a feeling I strive for every time I write than something I can fully articulate.
You once mentioned barely passing your class 10 Tamil Board exam despite being a gifted lyricist. What does that journey from struggling with Tamil as a student to mastering it as an artist mean to you now?
I’m a much better student of Tamil literature, poetry, and history now. Back then, the education system and I had different approaches to similar goals. I was already attempting poetry in class 10, but my teachers and parents didn’t have the tools to nurture that. The board graded me on how well I could recollect information — which, to be fair, is important too.
Well-functioning systems rarely have the flexibility to nurture nascent creative spirits. Their strength is their efficiency. That’s why creatives need to build their own systems, and I think I’ve done that to some extent now. But the pursuit never ends.
If you had to describe your music career so far as a Tamil film or song title, what would it be and why?
I’d go with my latest EP’s title: Kaalame Kalipputhaan. Your perception of time shapes your reality, and then one day, you die. It feels like a joke sometimes.
What’s the one question you wish people asked you in interviews but never do? How would you answer it?
When I was younger, I could’ve written a novella in response to this question. But as I’ve grown older and gained more experience, I’ve become more process-oriented than outcome-focused.
To be honest, I’m getting bored of interviews. I’d rather spend time working on the next track, the next script, or the next lyric. Constantly dealing with expectations from your work — being tossed between elation and disappointment — is exhausting.
Now, I focus on doing my best, putting it out, and moving on. Every now and then, I reflect on what I could’ve done better, and that fuels the process. Shifting from a fixed mindset to a growth mindset has helped me immensely. I’m more sure of who I am, and other people’s opinions don’t bruise me the way they used to. I’m learning to time the tides and let go of assumptions.