I feel overwhelmed.
By the grotesque manifesto of spreading hate for personal and political gains. By the ambiguity contained within statements made by political rookies and stalwarts alike. By the lack of adequate power in my voice and actions to do anything worthwhile.
Varun Gandhi may have made that acrimonious speech in Pilibhit as a grossly miscalculated move without imagining the magnitude of the repurcussions which would follow, or with complete calculation to launch his political career with sound advice by veterans. We would never find a definite answer for this, and I wouldn’t care for it either. What bothers is the fact that the deed is done, and even after all these years of independence and a democratic establishment, with incidents like Gujarat, Babri Masjid, 1984, Graham Staines, and many similar ones occupying tonnes of newsprint and facing huge public outcry, there is still one ace which politicians can’t seem to go wrong with. Who is to be blamed? The general public, which still doesn’t see through all this, and even now roots for such politicians, taking out rallies as they court arrest as if they were going to prison for a noble cause. Or the politicians, who rather than sensitizing the general masses to issues of a socio-economic nature which should occupy a larger interest in their minds, keep them confined to one sentiment which is closest to their purpose of existence.
Double entendre has always been the mainstay of politics; in India, it just assumes a bigger proportion. Varun Gandhi has been exemplifying this since the time he has been fumbling for excuses. First you deny, then you court arrest proclaiming to the world that you wouldn’t mind getting jailed for your ‘principles’. What principles would they be Varun?; it would be nice if you could kindly bring them out in front of the world. Clearly the case of a kid who sunk his teeth into a pie, biting off a piece so big, he doesn’t know whether to swallow (and how to?) or throw it away. The BJP, caught in a quagmire which seemed to have been spinning out of their control, initially steps back washing their hands off the incident having nothing to do with it (obvious reaction of a politically correct nature; after all, they have the garb of a broad based moderate now), then slowly backing Varun’s candidature, first by party spokesmen, and now even by their prime ministerial candidate, LK Advani – someone for whom the biggest achievement as part of a political career was the demolition of a mosque and the subsequent riots which consumed hundreds of lives. It shouldn’t be surprising if BJP shifts to retro gear and starts chanting its Hindutva manifesto once again as the race to the elections picks up; who knows, after all politics here is always a matter of speaking what the electorate wants to listen to. Once in power, governments have seldom been able to give anything anyway.
Who’s to be blamed? Us or them?
Election time, and the nation of a billion people get to witness the biggest and most gripping reality show ever. What we have now are mere teasers though. Politics has always been something which hasn’t gone down well, specially at this season. After all, it is one of the most ludicrous portrayal of the levels you could see fellow human beings stoop down to.
Youth – the next big thing to take over politics, with euphemisms of every possible manner being bestowed upon them, seem to be the buzzword on everyone’s imagination – after all, isn’t young blood supposed to inject new life? What we rather get to see are videos of incendiary speeches by an LSE grad! All of which is followed by a series of denials and half baked fumbling for excuses. And finally a condemnation by the EC. Is this the kind of youth who aspires to lead our nation, or are we naive enough to be lead by them?
Riots – and nobody likes getting the skeletons out of the closet. Justice though, is imperative. Even though the skeletons in this case may not be as figurative as they usually refer to in the adage. And a political candidate being termed a ‘terrorist’ by a court of law for leading a mob during one of the most heinous pogroms in the nation’s history.
Even then, we don’t get to hear any valid acceptance of a lapse anywhere. Just denials and a stance of being on the defensive. Why is it so difficult to admit that you fucked up? Unless of course, you are rotten fucked.
Amar Singh agrees that they have all been responsible for fielding ‘controversial’ candidates, but now all the criminals belong to Mayawati’s party (NDTV 24×7, Left Right Center, 28 Mar ’09)! Even now, we are not spared the politics of mud slinging. We should really learn how not to leave focus from these guys! Best of all, Ravi Shankar Prasad, while taking out his resentment on Mani Shankar Aiyar, and blaming the Congress for all the ailments afflicting the country, mentions the issue of ‘economic downturn’. What could have anybody, let alone the Congress have done anything to avert this global phenomenon? And what is it that the BJP has on its cards that it thinks would brings the Indian economy (which has still been lucky enough to not have dipped to the levels of other more developed nations)? If it does, Obama’s administration would sure lend more than a listening ear for some sound advice.
Distressing – and disturbing when you think this is just the beginning.
I wrote sex, but then changed it to s-e-x remembering the manner in which Rasika of the impossibly plunging cleavage (which might have bared her navel if it would have been a couple of inches deeper and her shoulders if a few inches wider - all of which in a salwar suit) stressed upon the word by converting its monosyllabic status to tri-syllabic. After all, this is about Dev D, and as a friend of mind remarked a couple of weeks back, it was all about sex.
But is it? Or is it just a journey of hedonism by a self obsessed youth blinded by the glare of the gilted environment provided by a filthy rich industrial family; a self obsession which addled his mind to a sociopathic, narcissist status ? Or is it the rejection of a naive girl, which subsequently bought about the downfall of the suitor-turned-rejector? Or is it a portrayal of how society, and to an extent family despite being the primary support system shuns an individual’s lapse of judgement, not providing her with an opportunity for self abnegation?
Sex, being one of the strongest drivers just played its part, like it does in any normal individual’s life. Maybe.
Over the past close to a couple of decades, the Essex based trio comprising of one of UK’s biggest electronic act, the Prodigy have made themselves into one of the most essential ingredient for any rave act happening anywhere across the globe. Massive beats married to punk guitar influences, all of which built upon a pedestal which continually ascends your adrenaline levels before throwing you out into the wide open void of gravity defying mental states, have ensured that they continue to remain one of the most anticipated electronic acts in current times. And though ‘Always Outnumbered, Never Outgunned’ may not have been able to serve the same delectable feast as ‘The Fat of the Land’, foregoing the challenge of being a worthy follow up album, it does look like ‘Invaders Must Die’ might be quick to bridge that gap. As soon as the title track begins and the trio makes a vocal self introduction, you are assured of familiar territory in a feeling that pretty much stays glued on throughout the album. You just need to make sure you don’t suffer any flailing limbs while reverberating to the echoes resounding within you.
Working class America hasn’t had a bigger musical hero than the Boss, in whose songs they have found echoes of sentiments which seem to sear right through their hearts. Over the decades, he has sung for the people, and while quite a few of his recent ones painted pictures of a bleak rearing darkness, his latest album sounds just like it’s named. ‘Working on a Dream’ couldn’t have been more relevant except in the troubled times we (and specially America) now live in. And with the ascendance of a new form of leadership, which has been unknown in the US till now, the feeling of hope is something that everybody looks forward to. And what else could provide more solace than dreams where you can do as you will? Musically, Springsteen has spun together a web of emotions, which wails on ‘The Wrestler’ and runs amok with abandon on ‘Outlaw Pete’. The web continues to spin as you approach the poppish ‘Surprise Surprise’ and step back on good ol’ blues harmonica n’ organs on ‘This Life’. It’s just not him though; it’s everybody now, who’s working on a Dream.
Chris Cornell has achieved widespread recognition as one of the finest vocalists occupying the stage in present times. No minor feat considering the plethora of rock acts doing their rounds, which becomes all the more bigger taking into account the fact that he has been one of the most in demand vocalists for a period spanning more than a decade. His work with Soundgarden and Audioslave displayed a vocal range which could as easily take on metal chords and grunge spillovers. However, as with all artistes who feel the urge to expand the horizon of their creative pursuits, Chris decided to tread the solo route, which featured an ill fated cover of ‘Billie Jean’. Unscathed, however, he has come out with another solo effort by collaborating with the most sought after producers in a complete volte face to his past musical history. Working with Timbaland has ensured that the rock heavy sound has been bid adieu, and it is R&B influenced drum machines and synth lines which form the drawing board on which Chris uses his voice to sketch images of a ravaged rockstar who can still spawn goosebumps with his rough edged larynx.
Lily Allen is one pop princess who tries everything possible to break that stereotype of how a pop princess should be perceived. So instead of basking in self imposed glory of the aura of a star soaked in beauty, she goes ahead and calls herself ‘uglier than Winehouse’. She also manages to get into a drunken altercation with Elton John onstage while slurring expletives laced with copulating references. Yes, that’s what she is – thrashing her own public image in an attempt to flee from what she walks towards herself. A paradoxical cliché is probably what would sum up the situation in which she has embroiled herself. And though she may try with each such instance to distance herself from her supposed fear of fame and its accompanying accoutrements, she ends up receiving the exact opposite of what she wants. Which is all the more bizarre, because even though she acts the part of the tart, she ends up being this ‘un’-stylized priestess who possesses an elfin charm, which you might want to discipline, but can’t do so because of a high factor of adoration. Lily has a way with story telling, which was displayed well on her debut album ‘Alright, Still’ which was released to much critical (and controversial) acclaim in 2006. In much the same way, Lily has taken her narratives to another level on her second album ‘It’s Not Me, It’s You’, which is full of references which are sure to make a lot of people wag their head in contrite disapproval. For of course, not many people take very well to a precocious 23 year old telling tales of dealing in drugs, dysfunctional families and of being a hag sexpert. The lead single for the album ‘The Fear’ which was released last year has already generated quite a stir over the airwaves and the video has garnered heavy playback on most video channels as well, partly in reason due to minimal pop beat playing mid tempo which makes for easy listening, and mostly because of the manner in which she paints an abhorrent picture of a media crazed socialite. Sarcasm is Lily’s weapon, and she brandishes it with aplomb throughout the album on each successive lyrical composition, applying it to things of an everyday nature, creating the effect of an affinity which builds up in the listener in a very natural way. An empathetic feeling, which develops as she talks about how easy it is to adopt the shortcuts to fame (I’ll take my clothes off, and I will be shameless / ‘coz everyone knows that’s how you get famous), how stars need to be constantly under the greasepaint of glamour maintaining that shrink-wrapped image for eternity (But it doesn’t matter ‘coz I’m packed in plastic / and that’s what makes my life so fuckin’ fantastic) or just how people just can’t seem to get enough and the endless demand for scoop worthy incidents in her life (and I’m a weapon of massive consumption / and it’s not my fault, it’s how I’m programmed to function), ‘The Fear’ is a slap on the face of this behemoth bazaar of a never ending hunger for pop star antics. Images of growing up years figure on ‘Everyone’s at It’ where she deals with her drug addled years and the fact that this isn’t something which is meant to be shoved under the carpet rug in your drawing room, but ecstasy is something which still evades her as she talks on ‘Not Fair’ about a boyfriend who she does have a thing for when she looks at his eyes, but then he’s just not good at taking care of her needs (oh you’re supposed to care / but you never make me scream), a feeling which might find a resonant chord within the heads of a lot of girls. But it isn’t all so personal after all, because there is something in the name of social sensitivity as well, with politicians getting the boot on ‘Fuck You’, which is sung in such a caramelized tone, that it hardly looks sounds like what it says. Which is what makes it all the more lovable. Electropop, with roots lying within her rocksteady and ska origins define the sound her producer Kurstin (Bird and a Bee) developed, and it does make for aural pleasure which would go on for a good time, at least till her next, hopefully.
Heavy Metal has seen widespread resuscitation in the past years on American soil; it has however isolated itself from its cousins across the Atlantic by featuring a much more groove heavy sound which first found favour amongst the Texan cowboys, Pantera. Carrying forward that standard bearer wasn’t an easy task, yet Lamb of God has done much in its years to make metalheads utter their names in hushed awe and exulted growls at the same time. Their latest album, ‘Wrath’ possesses all that you would expect from anything having a synonymous moniker. Brilliance is splattered across as you navigate your way through the unending twists of Mark and Willie’s strings as they make for space between Blythe’s vocal magic and Chris’ paddling prowess. And in a time when there is a dire need for metal bands which would force you to overcome you inertia in order to headbang, it is but extremely kickass when you listen to metal which spellbinds you into forgetting to headbang.
Chennai bred rockers, Junkyard Groove are no newbies as far as fame goes. Performing alongside biggies like Incubus at Dubai Desert Rock, and winning the Shaman contest was a feat which bought them to the forefront of the Indian indie music fraternity. After countless gigs (which have always been a pleasure to witness) and numerous attempts at releasing a full fledged album, they have finally come out with a recorded release in the form of their EP ‘Nicer in a Minute’. And as soon as you play the first track ‘Please Don’t Wake Me Up’, that ethereal pleasurable feeling sinks in which you don’t want to let go off, as you are lead on by staccato guitar beats from Sid’s strings while Ameeth extols you to ‘close your eyes’, an act you perform involuntarily. The feeling continues as Craig announces his entry on the bass on ‘Let You Go’, a song about a relationship which is at crossroads, but you renounce it as soon as the tone turns to heavy guitar distortion on ‘Thank You’, an uptempo tribute to the One (?) who made them who they are. Before you know it, its time to ‘Say Goodbye’, the penultimate track about estrangement with a wallowing chorus, but these guys know how to leave you asking for it by saving the best for the last. ‘Save Me’, a track which has seen hordes of teens jumping around in ecstasy, just leaves you with a sweetly aching longing in haze composed of lots of funk based acoustic pop rock. More something like you were about to hit the top and had to stop. And we would sure want to hit the top soon.
Studying the history of movements, is not without its fair share of incidents which manage to leave your face with a twisted smirk when you compare the antecedents and their resultant outfall in the events following up to shape the nature of the movement. Hip hop has almost always been regarded as the bastion of the Black American populace, which provided them with a mouthpiece for channelizing the vociferous amount of discord for civil society they contained within themselves. And though we now have the odd Slim Shady who emerges, and reruns of talent shows looking for seemingly ‘white’ rappers, most folks don’t realize that some of the most definitive direction accorded to Hip Hop was provided by a trio whose skin was white. It’s a different story though, that they had souls which would probably put the blackest nigga homie to shame. Beastie Boys are probably the darkest secret within the hip hop industry. When they erupted on the scene 20 years back with their debut ‘License to Ill” (produced by Def Jam’s legendary owner and producer Rick Rubin), they quickly ascended the charts to become the fastest selling hip hop record at the time, and the first to have topped the charts. A falling out with their label though bought along mixed feelings, and though they were still eons ahead in their musical latitude, they forced themselves to take a deeper creative plunge on their next album. Teaming up with the Dust Brothers, they announced to themselves that the task set upon them was to make a record like none other. And thus they did, with their second album ‘Paul’s Boutique’, which had a sound that built some of the illest beats hip hop has known till today. The Dust Brothers played a major influence on the sound, by pioneering a deeply multilayered, sample heavy sound, something which is now a standard on pretty much every track we hear now. The samples in themselves contained a smorgasbord reference material of popular American culture not seen or heard any time before; after all where else would you have heard a 100+ samples on a single album, with cultural references as diverse as Fred Flintstone to Bob Dylan to Elvis, from Louis Vuitton to Gucci to a 7-11 store, with the odd Taxi Driver thrown in – this is one piece of work which can act as a guide to what was pop at its time.
You've Come a Long Way, Baby - Fatboy Slim
Radio Afro Mexica - B Side Players
Of the Blue Color of the Sky - OK Go
