When something falls into place, it is easy to call it a ‘miracle’ or a ‘generational event’ and move on without understanding the true nature of the incident. On May 14, 1976, when theatres across Tamil Nadu blared out a debutant’s songs, not many would have realised that they were the initial audience of a musical revolution. One that began with Ilaiyaraaja, a charismatic ‘young king’, deciding to change the music’s soundscape. The age of that soundscape is now…50.
But things fell into place in the 70s, when Tamil cinema underwent a silent shift in power centres. Younger filmmakers with visionary ideas came into picture. Filmmakers like Bharathiraja, Mahendran, and Balu Mahendra sought to introduce a new visual grammar to Tamil cinema, and they needed an aural grammar to draw audiences. They found their sync in Ilaiyaraaja, who was raring to redefine the soundscape that was toeing the line of Hindi cinema aesthetics. He spearheaded a movement that changed Tamil cinema in the 70s, 80s, 90s, 00’s, 10’s, and even in 2026.
Destined for disruption
Although his debut album Annakili was a breakout in every sense, Ilaiyaraaja was seen more as a disruptor for a while. Songs like ‘Kettela Ange’ from the Sivakumar-starrer Bhadrakali (1976) and ‘Oram Po’ from Ponnu Oorukku Pudhusu (1979) were banned on All India Radio. The latter is of particular interest because there were attempts to sabotage it both locally and nationally for its perceived ‘crudeness’ and ‘unartistic’ nature. However, the song served as an attack on caste hegemony and a fitting response to Ilaiyaraaja skeptics who refused to accept that he was here to stay. Interestingly, it found support from former CM J Jayalalithaa, who wrote a piece condemning All India Radio for banning it.
Almost a decade later, he initiated a similar disruption with Sindhu Bhairavi (1985). Carnatic music purists weren’t pleased with Ilaiyaraaja composing a Tyagaraja keerthanam, ‘Mari Mari Ninne,’ with a different raga from the one it is usually sung in. The criticisms notwithstanding, Ilaiyaraaja walked away with his second National Award for Best Music Direction for the film, and it was also just the second time a Tamil film won this distinction.
Raaja, for one and all
The star stature of the protagonists of his films never really affected the quality of Ilaiyaraaja’s work. In fact, it is his music that has been instrumental in cementing many a superstar’s legacy, right from Kamal Haasan and Rajinikanth to Mohan and Ramarajan, and even Vikram and Vijay. In the 80s and 90s, his music enriched the careers of young actors such as Sathyaraj, Sarath Kumar, Murali, Suresh, Pratap K Pothen, Ramesh Aravind, Pandiyarajan, Bhagyaraj, Pandiyan, Parthiban, and Rajkiran, among others. It won’t be a stretch to say that many of these actors are remembered less for their films and more for their songs. Even in 2026, he is composing music for Lenin Pandiyan, the debut of legendary superstar Sivaji Ganesan’s grandson Dhaarshan Ganesan. His love for the art, irrespective of the scale of a film, was the stuff of legends. There are many anecdotes from various filmmakers who used the name of Ilaiyaraaja to sell their films in the market. ‘Music by Ilaiyaraaja’ became a currency that enabled many young actors and filmmakers to pursue their tinseltown dreams.
Flair beyond films
In his 50-year career, which once saw him compose for over 50 films in a single year, it is clear he was never satiated. In fact, if his film career wasn’t enough, he also took detours that gave us beautiful non-film music, too. How to Name It, his first non-film music album, came out in 1986. He came up with a 10-song crossover album that fuses the Baroque-style of Western classical music with Carnatic music. He has also produced several devotional albums, including Geetha Vazhipadu, Thiruvasagam, Raajavin Ramanamalai, Baba Pugazh Maalai, and Divya Pasurams. Another epoch-making feat in his inimitable career came in the form of symphonic music. This is a fascinating aspect of his career, as he did not use orchestras in film songs. Still, he ventured into full-fledged Western classical composition, a rare accomplishment for an Indian composer. One of his ambitious spiritual-classical works was Thiruvasagam in Symphony. Though not a Western symphony in the strict traditional sense, it is an oratorio — a large-scale orchestral and choral composition. In 2025, he performed Valiant, a 77-piece orchestra following a four-movement structure atypical of European symphonies, becoming the first Indian to do so.
Electrifying innovator
He also introduced avant-garde technology. He moved film compositions that largely relied on analogue instrumentation and simple orchestrations toward sophisticated sound engineering, electronic instrumentation, and layered orchestral arrangements. One of his major innovations was the extensive use of multi-track recording and complex orchestration. Among many firsts, Ilaiyaraaja was the first Indian composer to record a soundtrack on a computer for Vikram (1986). His songs in films such as Mouna Ragam and Nayakan showcased a level of orchestral layering and stereo clarity uncommon in Indian cinema in the 80s. He also popularised the use of synth, electronic rhythm programming, and digital sequencing while retaining the emotional depth and melodic richness of Indian music. His innovations not only modernised Tamil film music but also raised the technical standards of recording and background scoring across Indian cinema.
The misunderstood trailblazer
In recent times, nothing has divided the Tamil film buffs as much as the controversy surrounding Ilaiyaraaja’s legal battle over copyright claims for the use of his songs. Whenever he knocked on the court’s doors, people, including music artistes, were made aware of intellectual property rights. The observations made on his cases will be entered into the books that explain intellectual rights. The cases threw light on composers’ royalties, moral rights, legacy music catalogues, streaming-era ownership, and reuse culture in modern cinema. The disputes went to the heart of India’s older film contracts and their ambiguity regarding future digital rights, streaming, remastering, and international licensing.
Through this battle and his music Ilaiyaraaja has done what he has always done: Improve on the past, develop the present, and look out for the future of music. The legend also became one of Indian cinema’s most consequential legal trailblazers, forcing an entire industry to rethink who truly owns a song long after it leaves the recording studio — ever the man for the ages.