When Ajaneesh Loknath walks into the studio, there’s an energy that feels ancient yet fresh—like a whisper from the forests of Tulunadu carried into a modern recording booth. After the thunderous success of Kantara, expectations for its prequel, Kantara: Chapter 1, have soared beyond imagination. In an exclusive conversation, the acclaimed composer opens up about how he approached the daunting task of crafting music for a story that delves even deeper into myth, faith, and human connection.
For Ajaneesh, this isn’t just another project—it’s a journey back to the roots of his musical philosophy. “Kantara: Chapter 1 is not about recreating what we did before,” he begins with quiet conviction. “It’s about understanding what existed before sound itself—what silence meant in that era, what rhythm meant to the people who lived with nature as their god.”
The Spiritual Core of the Soundtrack
Ajaneesh describes Kantara: Chapter 1 as “a sonic pilgrimage.” The first film, which was set in the 1990s, resonated deeply because it wove divine folklore into a visceral cinematic experience. The prequel, however, travels further back in time, exploring the origins of the legend. “This time,” he says, “the story is not just about man and divinity, but about how the first drumbeat became a prayer.”
To achieve this, he immersed himself in the ancient soundscape of coastal Karnataka—listening to temple processions, ritual chants, and the rhythm of Bhootha Kola. The result is a sound design that feels both primal and transcendent. “We wanted the audience to feel as if they were hearing the forest breathe,” he explains. “Each instrument—whether it’s the chende, kombu, or nadaswara—is treated like a character with its own emotion and backstory.”
Crafting an Ancestral Sound: Instruments of the Earth
Ajaneesh and his team undertook extensive research to build a sound palette authentic to the period portrayed in Kantara: Chapter 1. He recounts travelling to remote villages in Dakshina Kannada and Udupi to study traditional percussion techniques. “We didn’t want modern drums or electronic layers,” he says. “We wanted raw textures—wood, leather, metal—that echoed the heartbeat of that world.”
In the recording process, they avoided synthetic reverbs, relying instead on natural acoustics. Certain tracks were recorded in open fields and temple corridors, where ambient sounds—wind, birds, even footsteps—became part of the composition. “When you hear the score, you’ll sense that nothing is isolated,” he adds. “It’s all one living, breathing organism.”
Ajaneesh’s approach was to let nature dictate rhythm. “The rustling of leaves could become a rhythm. The sea waves, a bassline. Even silence has a tone.” This organic style reflects his philosophy that music should serve emotion, not dominate it—a principle that has become his signature across projects.
Rishab Shetty’s Vision and Creative Collaboration
Working with Rishab Shetty again was, in Ajaneesh’s words, “like continuing a prayer from the previous life.” The two share a synergy that goes beyond professional partnership. “Rishab gives me the freedom to explore sound as storytelling,” Ajaneesh says. “He never says, ‘Make it grand.’ He says, ‘Make it truthful.’ That’s a very rare kind of direction.”
The duo spent weeks discussing not just scenes but philosophies—about the nature of divinity, the essence of fear, and the sound of faith. “Rishab believes that divinity is not separate from chaos,” Ajaneesh reflects. “That idea shaped the tonal structure of the entire album.”
Each major theme in Kantara: Chapter 1 carries an emotional duality—devotion intertwined with dread, peace emerging from turmoil. “Our goal was not to make the music beautiful, but to make it truthful. If it’s haunting, it’s because the story itself haunts the soul,” he says.
Decoding the Layers of Emotion in the Score
The film’s soundtrack, as Ajaneesh reveals, is structured around five emotional layers, each symbolising a stage in the human relationship with the divine.
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Origin – The primal heartbeat of nature, expressed through rhythmic percussion and chants.
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Conflict – The rise of ego and struggle, mirrored through dissonant tones and irregular beats.
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Reverence – The surrender to higher power, marked by the use of the flute and human voice.
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Rage – The unleashing of divine energy, built through layered percussion crescendos.
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Silence – The ultimate return to peace, where all sound dissolves into breath.
Ajaneesh elaborates, “These stages are not just part of the soundtrack—they are part of human evolution. Music, to me, is the language of transformation. Every note carries a story of becoming.”
To ensure emotional authenticity, he worked with traditional folk artists from Karnataka, some of whom had never entered a professional studio before. “Their voices carried centuries of emotion,” he says with reverence. “You can’t replicate that with technology.”
The Challenge of Creating Mythic Music
Composing for a mythological drama that straddles realism and spirituality came with unique challenges. Unlike the first Kantara, which balanced folklore with modern storytelling, Chapter 1 dives completely into the realm of myth and legend.
“How do you score something that is beyond time?” Ajaneesh asks rhetorically. “You can’t rely on cinematic tricks. You have to build emotion from elemental sounds—fire, water, wind, and breath.” He experimented with unconventional recording methods—using the resonance of earthen pots, shell horns, and even bamboo flutes tuned to ancient scales.
The background score, he says, won’t be loud or ornamental but immersive and atmospheric. “You’ll feel like you’re walking into a temple, not watching a movie scene,” he smiles. “It’s about respect—for sound, for silence, and for the sacredness of art.”
Reimagining the Divine Sound
Ajaneesh speaks passionately about redefining how divine music is represented in Indian cinema. “Often, film scores treat divinity as something loud and golden,” he says. “But what if divinity is quiet? What if it sounds like a mother’s heartbeat or a forest at dawn?”
He reveals that one of his favourite pieces in the score is a lullaby sung by a temple priestess, composed in an ancient Tulu dialect. The lullaby, layered with gentle percussion, transitions into a haunting orchestral motif that represents both creation and destruction. “It’s one of those pieces that made even the technicians emotional,” he recalls. “You could feel the energy in the room shift.”
This sensitivity towards spiritual music has made Ajaneesh one of the most respected voices in contemporary Indian cinema. His work blurs boundaries between folklore and philosophy, elevating background music into an experience of devotion.
Technical Experimentation and Sound Design
While rooted in tradition, Ajaneesh didn’t shy away from using modern tools creatively. He experimented with microtonal layering, where slight pitch variations created an ancient feel. He also collaborated with international sound engineers to fine-tune ambient effects that preserved the rawness of field recordings.
“The challenge was to make high-quality sound that still feels imperfect,” he laughs. “Because perfection is not divine—imperfection is. That’s what makes it human.” He also used binaural sound mixing techniques, allowing listeners to experience a three-dimensional auditory world through headphones. “If you close your eyes, you’ll feel the forest surround you,” he promises.
This balance of ancient and modern defines his approach: blending the soul of folklore with the precision of technology. “My goal is not to impress the audience,” he says. “It’s to make them remember something they’ve forgotten—their connection to the world around them.”
The Emotional Impact on the Team
According to crew members, the music recording sessions for Kantara: Chapter 1 often felt like rituals. Many described moments when the studio atmosphere turned deeply spiritual. Ajaneesh himself confesses that certain compositions moved him to tears. “Sometimes, while listening to the playback, I felt like the music wasn’t coming from me—it was coming through me,” he says softly.
Rishab Shetty reportedly called one of the background pieces “a conversation with God.” That emotional intensity, Ajaneesh believes, is what makes Kantara different from other films. “We are not creating entertainment,” he insists. “We are creating an experience of remembrance—of our roots, our myths, our truths.”
Carrying Forward a Cultural Legacy
For Ajaneesh, Kantara: Chapter 1 is more than just a sequel—it’s a cultural responsibility. “We are custodians of an ancient story,” he says. “Our duty is to honour it, not embellish it.” The composer hopes that young musicians will see projects like this as proof that traditional sounds can coexist with modern storytelling.
He believes Indian cinema is entering a renaissance where regional identity becomes global artistry. “When people abroad hear our folk drums or temple chants in Kantara, they’re not just hearing music—they’re hearing India’s heartbeat.” He smiles as he adds, “That’s the true power of sound. It transcends language.”
The Power of Sound and Silence
Before wrapping up, Ajaneesh reflects on the spiritual dimension of his work. “We live in a world full of noise,” he says. “But in Kantara, silence speaks. The spaces between notes carry more truth than the notes themselves.”
He pauses for a long moment before continuing. “When the final frame fades and the last sound dies, I want the audience to sit in that silence—and feel something ancient awaken inside them.”
That, he believes, is the true essence of music. Not applause. Not recognition. But connection. “If even one person feels that connection, my work is complete.”
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