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If you lived in Chennai during the mid-2000s, you’ll remember that music wasn’t just something you listened to; it was something you experienced. Film songs played on loop in buses, college bands battled it out at IIT Saarang, and weekends were incomplete without a live gig at a cosy café or the Unwind Center.
Landmark and Music World weren’t just stores but sanctuaries for melomaniacs. You would spend hours flipping through CD racks, headphones on, discovering new sounds one track at a time. Picking up the latest AR Rahman or Green Day album and walking out with that unmistakable Cheshire Cat grin was sheer joy.
Come December, Margazhi transformed Chennai into a city of music, with the rustle of Kanjeevarams and the promise of a two-and-a-half-hour Carnatic concert. Outside, people queued up for hot, crispy vadai and steaming cups of filter kaapi between concerts, debating ragams.
Fast forward to 2025, and it’s a different tune. Music is at our fingertips—on-demand, endless, and algorithm-fed. Live concerts span every genre, almost every weekend. But somewhere between swiping and scrolling, what did we lose, what did we gain—and what do we miss the most? We rewind and fast-forward through 18 years of sound in Chennai’s ever-evolving music scene.
Sounds of yesterday
“Back in the mid-2000s, college bands thrived, especially at events like IIT Saarang, with clear genres and fierce competition,” begins playback singer Rahul Nambiar. “Today, genres have blurred, and audiences are more scattered. Film music dominates the live scene, thanks to massive marketing, while smaller, intimate shows were common 18 years ago.”
He adds that the entertainment scene back then was a bit more relaxed. “Audiences had the time and attention to enjoy weekend shows. Venue halls were more affordable for indie gigs, ticket prices were lower, and newspapers, billboards, and wall posters were the main ways to reach local audiences. Now, social media vies for attention with endless content streams.”
Live music boom
Meanwhile, the live-show boom is transforming the music scene, and musicians are the biggest winners. Rahul explains, “While major shows are still mostly composer-led, there’s growing excitement around smaller bands and intimate venues. My band, MAKKA—a six-member group featuring three prominent playback singers—is exploring this trend, and we’re constantly brainstorming how to make our performances unforgettable while keeping things simple on the logistics side. The potential this format offers is exciting.”
However, Krishna McKenzie of Puducherry-based band Emergence offers a sobering perspective. “Fifteen to 20 years ago, we performed regularly at venues like Bay 146, Hyatt Regency, and Phoenix Mall. Now, similar opportunities are returning, but the live music landscape hasn’t improved much—in some ways, it’s tougher. There are fewer clubs supporting live music, and those that do often lack the budget for professional bands. With expenses like transport, accommodation, and sound, it’s almost impossible for seasoned musicians to perform.”
Clicks over concerts
“The rise of the internet, YouTube, and Instagram has completely transformed how we consume entertainment,” avers Rahul. “But this shift has also shortened attention spans, impacting live shows in unexpected ways. With hundreds of micro-celebrities popping up, the concept of celebrity itself is fragmenting. This changes how fan followings form and weakens the deep passion audiences once had for individual artistes. Today, artistes often find themselves fighting algorithms just to get noticed—a battle that’s only getting tougher, especially on tight budgets,” says Rahul.
Mahathi adds, “Audience attention spans have shrunk dramatically. We’ve moved from watching full concerts to scrolling through 60-second clips. YouTube shorts and Instagram reels now dominate. People struggle to stay focused on a video longer than three or four minutes. Naturally, music has followed suit—it’s become faster, flashier, and more fleeting.”
The Carnatic musician points out that while Chennai has excellent sabhas hosting high-quality festivals, attendance is often low—not due to lack of access but mindset. “Watching concerts from home just doesn’t capture that energy. Artistes invest years perfecting their craft, and it feels wrong for people to watch these performances for free at home. COVID accelerated this trend, normalising live streams, which can’t replace the sacred experience of being at a concert.”
Tamil tunes take over
Music may be available at the push of a button, but DJ Sparrow, who’s been behind the turntable for over 13 years, tells us that it’s Tamil tracks that are turning up the volume. “When I first started out, spinning only Tamil tracks at a club was the quickest way to kill the party,” he recalls. “But today? Tamil tracks are setting dance floors on fire—from Chennai to Dubai to Australia. Tamil Night isn’t just a theme anymore; it’s a global movement.” So, what sparked the shift? “People finally started owning their identity,” Sparrow says. “They are no longer shy about celebrating their culture. It’s about pride, power, and pure joy. Our beats are unstoppable—people are dancing without hesitation. Even at Bollywood nights, Tamil tracks are getting requests. Because if we don’t celebrate our music, who else will?”
Classics get cool
Augustine Paul of the Madras Musical Association (MMA) has witnessed a quiet revolution of sorts in Chennai’s Western classical music scene, one led by the youth. “Until around the year 2000, Western classical music in Chennai was the domain of the older generation, and choral music ruled the roost. But today, that’s changed, and it’s the youngsters who are changing it. What’s noticeable is the emergence of Western classical orchestras and Western classical soloists and operas.”
Augustine adds, “Chennai is known for its deep-rooted Carnatic legacy, which has a great patronage. Western classical music, in contrast, still draws smaller crowds, but they are faithful and passionate. A full house in a venue like the Museum Theatre, even with just 500 seats, is a big deal. These are intimate concerts, where musicians and audiences really connect. And that connection is growing. Our orchestra is active like never before. We perform several concerts each year, and the support has been tremendous. The MMA itself hosts 3-4 classical concerts annually, and they’re always well-attended.”
Rhymes of resistance
Meanwhile, Tamil hip-hop is on fire, with trailblazers like Hiphop Adhi, Arivu, Asal Kolaar, and Paal Dabba shaking up the scene and taking the genre to bold new heights. But even with the genre’s explosive rise, deep-rooted challenges persist, especially for artistes from marginalised communities.
“That’s because we have been made to believe that some kinds of music are superior to others,” says rap artiste Therukural Arivu. “There’s a stark difference in how a parai musician is seen compared to a classical singer. That’s a social construct we need to tear down. We’ve broken barriers, yes—but we still have a long way to go.” For Arivu, the climb has been akin to finding a needle in a haystack. “Reaching this point wasn’t easy. If you come from privilege, art and music surround you. For someone like me, it’s a fight just to be heard. Hip-hop wasn’t just a choice—it was the only path that made sense for people like me, who hail from marginalised backgrounds.”
Roots go viral
Folk artiste Anthony Daasan tells us that the Chennai Sangamam in 2007, organised by the Tamil Nadu government, was a game changer for folk artistes like him. “That platform brought nearly 2,000 of us together. For many of us, it was our first real stage. I was introduced by Chinna Ponnu akka of Nakka Mukka fame, and today, I’m doing the same, taking the tradition forward by introducing young, talented singers. From writing and recording folk songs and selling music cassettes, I’ve seen this journey firsthand. Today, our music is on TV, social media, and the silver screen. The support of the Tamil Nadu government, the internet, and social media have played a pivotal role in taking art forms like gaana paattu, parai, and other traditional art forms to the masses. But we have only begun.”
He adds, “Villages are the backbone of this country, and folk arts are the soul of those villages. If that soul fades, we lose more than just a performance; we lose a piece of our identity. Artistes and the government must work hand in hand to pass this rich culture to the next generation. Schools, colleges, and private institutions—everyone must make space for gramathu (rural) artistes. Art isn’t just for applause; it’s a legacy. And it’s time we treated it that way. Tamil Nadu has a unique cultural identity. It’s in our songs, our movements, and our rhythms. Let’s preserve it. Let’s celebrate it. Let’s make sure the next generation doesn’t just remember it; they live it.
Echoes of nostalgia
And what do these musicians miss the most from the days of yore? “I miss the music stores where you could browse and discover new music in person. That experience created a unique connection—with limited content available, it gave us the space to relax into each song and form a deeper bond with the music. Chennai’s smaller venues for local bands were also a highlight—a great, fun spot to hang out and catch up with friends while enjoying live music,” says Rahul.
Mahathi sums it up, “I miss the concert culture of the late ’90s and early 2000s—two-and-a-half-hour performances where the music was immersive, unhurried, and sacred. And I believe we must find our way back to that.”
sangeetha.p@newindianexpress.com
@psangeetha2112
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