The music by UK-born M.I.A. blends the angst about the state of the world with hip hop, pop, reggae, Brazilian carioca, et al. But, at its core, it tells a refugee’s story.
How do you talk about the struggle if your entire life is subsumed in it? You find moments of relief where a voice can reach out. And when you have enough courage, you give voice to others’ struggles, too. In doing so, you aim to “pull up the people, pull up the poor.” In today’s world, consumed by war, how poignant would the realisation that “every gun in a battle is a son and daughter too” be? Mathangi ‘Maya’ Arulpragasam will undoubtedly secure her place in history as a rebel. Her rebellion is accompanied by a melody or an eclectic mix of melodies. Maya goes against the grain. Growing up in circumstances that many can barely imagine, M.I.A. channels her experiences into her music. Her work is by no means a seamless blend; that is where her power and skill as a creator lie. Her music, much like her experiences, may seem jarring and ill-placed on paper, yet it feels fitting. In her compositions, she finds a voice for herself and the marginalised.
Born in London to Kala and Arul Pragasam, Maya’s life was profoundly influenced by her father’s choices, even in his absence. Arul founded the Eelam Revolutionary Organisation of Students (EROS) in London, which supported the Tamil separatist movement in Sri Lanka. Maya was barely six months old when her father persuaded the family to move to Sri Lanka, then a hotspot of the Tamil-Sinhalese civil war. Arul was deeply involved in the armed struggle and had ties with the Liberation Tigers of Tamil Eelam (LTTE). When she was around 11, Maya, along with her mother and siblings, had to move again, first arriving in India and then settling in London as refugees. For many years, she would not see her father, who remained an elusive presence in her life as she grew up. Her debut album, Arular (2005), is a testament to this complex relationship.
A rebel in every sense
A year shy of Arular’s YouTube release, The Guardian ran a long-form story about how terror groups benefited from pirated DVDs. On Halloween of the same year, American DJ and music producer Diplo and M.I.A. distributed DVDs of their mixtape, Piracy Funds Terrorism. The logic was to combat piracy by making music free. The mixtape included some tracks intended for Maya’s delayed debut album, Arular. Galang, one of its tracks, burst onto the music scene. Slang-filled and upbeat, it was unapologetic in its social connotations. Referencing The Clash’s London Calling, it shed light on the UK’s growing drug abuse. The song Bucky Done Gun touched upon the gangster culture in the music industry and opened with the lines, “London, New York, Kingston, Brazil/ Quieten down and I need to make a sound.” And the sound did she make! Galang, Bucky Done Gun, and Sun Showers became her breakthrough tracks.
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In London, Maya’s foray into video documentation began with a school assignment. Videography soon became her means of expression. A video camera was perhaps the most prized asset she took to Sri Lanka to film her family and the civil war. Around the same time, a cousin’s disappearance inspired her to adopt the name M.I.A. With a phonetic resemblance to Maya, M.I.A. also represents the Tamil identity in Sri Lanka.
M.I.A.’s intended debut, Arular, was released the following year. It was named after her father, with whom she had had no contact for a long time. She hoped that when her father searched for his name on Google, he would instead find her music, which she believed would prompt him to reach out to her. An email from her father expressed how proud he was of his daughter but asked her to change the album’s name. Twenty years on, the album remains Arular.
Arular did more than urge her father to contact her; it made a huge splash on the music landscape. A blend of reggae, dancehall, pop, and hip-hop, neither M.I.A. nor her music can be easily categorised. Teen parties in the UK and around the globe blasted her tracks. M.I.A. had brought discussions of world and human issues to the dance floor. She wove global concerns into memorable tunes, proving herself to be a rebel in every sense.
Paper Planes: An anthem for immigrants
2008 saw the release of M.I.A.’s biggest track to date, Paper Planes. Featured in A.R. Rahman’s Slumdog Millionaire soundtrack, Paper Planes became an anthem for immigrants. Laced with satire, the song challenged the misconceived stereotypes surrounding immigrants. Incorporating sounds of reloading and gunfire, it portrayed the vilified image of immigrants. Another track, O Saya, from the same album earned her an Oscar nomination. In a similar vein to M.I.A., Rahman incorporated the sound of a train running on railway tracks for the song.
M.I.A.’s second album, Kala (2007), named after her mother, was initially intended to be produced in the United States. However, she was denied re-entry into the country due to her profile, which authorities likened to that of a terrorist. Consequently, M.I.A. travelled and recorded her music in India, Angola, Australia, Trinidad, and Jamaica. The music from these places pieces together like a jewelled tapestry — contrasting yet unmatched in brilliance. “Every song has a layer of some other country on it,” Maya noted. “It’s like making a big old marble cake with lots of different countries and influences.”
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Jimmy, a rendition of the hit from the Mithun Chakraborty-starrer film of the same name, was a nostalgic walk down memory lane, drawing from her childhood memories of poring over DVDs of Bollywood movies. One of Kala’s tracks, Bird Flu, has 30 percussionists playing the South Indian urumi, a temple instrument that found its place in M.I.A.’s international repertoire.
Incomplete reflections of home
In 2013, Bad Girls made waves, set against a backdrop of whitewashed brick structures in a desert. The artistic visuals evoked the bright Middle Eastern morning, with M.I.A. adorned in jewel-toned attire and Arabic gold jewellery. Confident Arab women surrounded her, taking the driver’s seat in a powerful assertion of autonomy. The track itself was a banger, instilling a sense of confidence akin to a battle car— a women’s declaration advocating for fundamental rights, such as the right to drive. At the time, Saudi Arabia was one of the last countries to prohibit women from driving, a restriction that was only lifted in 2018.
While many artists shied away from addressing the political state of the world, M.I.A. was ahead of the curve; she wrote, performed, and released the music video, five years ahead of the Saudi government’s eventual decision. However, critics questioned whether she was stereotyping the Middle East through a Western lens. The portrayal of men clad in Bedouin attire in a stereotypical Arabic setting raised eyebrows, leading some to speculate whether she was capitalising on the Arab Spring.
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What happens when one subaltern stereotypes another? M.I.A.’s music often feels like an incomplete reflection of home; it captures the essence of various cultures but remains a refurbished version. It can be seen as a quasi-expat interpretation, as though M.I.A. carefully plucked musical elements, beats, and concepts from their original contexts to present them on a Western canvas. Yet, if this isn’t the immigrant experience, what is? In this sense, M.I.A. remains true to her identity. Her sixth studio album, Mata (2022), is an audacious exploration of identity, culture, and the complexities of modern life. A kaleidoscope of sounds, seamlessly weaving influences from various genres, and with songs like The One and Beep, it reaffirms M.I.A.’s position as a fearless innovator.
