It’s only while watching Famous, I realised, that golden phase was merely between 2012-2014. Badshah perhaps became the new Honey
Yo Yo Honey Singh: Famous
Yo Yo Honey Singh: Famous
On: Netflix
Genre: Documentary
Dir: Mozez Singh
Rating: 3/5
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Nothing is usual about hip-hop star Hirdesh Singh. Starting with his stage name, Yo Yo Honey Singh, that I don’t know where he picked up from.
Particularly the two Yos. Perhaps inspired by the double honorific, Sri Sri (Ravi Shankar); who knows?
What we also didn’t know, for sure—until the latest Netflix documentary—is how this music sensation fell through the cracks, altogether disappearing from the scene, while at the peak of his career, as India’s richest rapper, back in 2014.
That’s the point of Yo Yo Honey Singh: Famous, piloted by Oscar-winning doc-producer, Guneet Monga. That point also makes one wonder about other things that this film could’ve been.
To begin with, it’s not a hagiographical biopic. The only other doc on a Punjabi hip-hop star that I’ve watched, AP Dhillon: First of a Kind (Prime Video), was one such—to the extent that they ought to have tagged ‘paid partnership’ to the title, for fair disclosure.
And just as most meetings are actually emails, and all emails should be WhatsApp texts—there is a tendency to pass off straightforward interview/s as documentaries! Notably, the last Netflix, desi pop-culture flick, Modern Masters: SS Rajamouli.
The camera in Famous seldom zooms out for a wider social perspective. Whether that be exploring the larger, lively hip-hop scene that curiously birthed in West Delhi in the 2000s (may I recommend you Google a piece from Caravan magazine on that).
Honey is from Karampura neighbourhood in the same area. He shows you around, going, “Ma city, ma hood…” Awrightie, yo!
The windowless home he grew up in, that you watch in the film, modelled on a train compartment, is modest alright. In contrast to his African-American bling, fast-car, designer-label, derivative image. But it is still middle-class. Hardly rags, even for the riches that followed.
The film’s commentary is chiefly restricted to two voices, that’s it.
One’s a music critic, Bhanuj Kappal, who I enjoyed listening to. Wherein he frames Honey’s early career through a series of experiments, with an eye on audiences—“Bhagat Singh thing, hip-hop, Eminem-style gangster rap, party rap…”
Until he arrived at the most acceptable, new sound, with folk into the mix. Hence, Honey’s debut studio album, International Villager, that made him, overnight, a national star.
Kappal calls out the misogyny in Honey’s songs. He firstly got accused for a track ‘Mein hoon balatkaari’ that he evidently never sang.
There’s another track on female anatomy, attributed to Honey’s band/platform, Mafia Mundeer, that he says, never released. Honey has his say on the matter.
I remember defending him before news anchor Arnab Goswami in 2012, after the Nirbhaya incident, when mainstream media were looking for convenient villains to nail for a gruesome crime by deranged maniacs.
The issue with burdening entertainment with societal ills, besides being left with only bores on this planet—you will find an easy solution, you still won’t know the problem. Not that this debate ever ends.
I recently found myself on a TV station arguing against Telangana government banning songs to do with alcohol, from Honey’s former colleague Diljit Dosanjh’s concert-playlist.
I mean, seriously? Forget Harivanshrai Bachchan’s Madhushala, what about gazillion ghazals, in praise of booze—where do you start from, let alone end up with.
The only other commentator in Famous is actor Salman Khan. Not a surprise.
Maybe the empathy comes from personal experience, he has a thing for getting behind fallen stars—TV host Kapil Sharma, when he was struggling with alcohol; or actor Sooraj Pancholi, embroiled in the Jiah Khan suicide-abetment case.
There’s a fine moment in the film, when Honey gets sent a scratch from Salman. The track (Twinkle twinkle little star) is ready. Salman asks Honey to add rap portions to it. He stars in the song sequence, with Salman, in the film, Kisi Ka Bhai Kisi Ki Jaan (2023). It’s Honey’s Bollywood onscreen comeback of sorts.
The way Honey and his homies insert a chorus to that number is a delight to savour. It’s these in-studio BTS footage that make music documentaries so alluring for the outsider’s eye. If only there were more such, even if from archives.
Now that we’ve delved enough into what Famous, competently directed by Mozez Singh (Zubaan), could have also been, let’s shine a sincere light on what the film is.
It is tight, and to the point. It sharply zeroes in on perils of extreme fame.
I don’t think any young human is capable of indifference, when God-like status is thrust upon them, suddenly, by a fawning public, while they’re basically talented plus lucky musicians or sportspersons, at best. Surely that takes a needless toll.
That said, and this is unrelated to fame, per se—what the documentary draws you in with are aspects of mental health. Honey fell off the map, because he got diagnosed with bi-polar disorder, with psychotic symptoms.
He stayed in for over three years. Doing nothing, after dominating India’s soundscape, where he could do nothing wrong.
It’s only while watching Famous, I realised, that golden phase was merely between 2012-2014. Badshah perhaps became the new Honey.
Diljit is the reigning Badshah. Karan Aujla is probably the new kid on the block. Music, in the age of 15-second Insta Reels, seems the shortest-lived game, ever. Honey looks lost; says he wants to return with Dr Dre, at some point. Who knows?
*YUCK **WHATEVER ***GOOD ****SUPER *****AWESOME
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