it was dark outside. of course, it was closing upon midnight. he was still coming to terms with adjusting to the concept of daylight saving in this part of the world, but he did know that even though the sun may not go down as early as it does in his part of the world, midnight is dark. and tonight, the darkness had been lurking from dusk. or maybe since the time he thought dawn had broken. he didn’t really know if there had been a sunrise at all.
inside of course, he had stubbed out the sun shortly after it left its final traces during twilight.
sitting inside his studio, he felt like pulling the drapes aside to catch a glimpse of the moon’s reflection in the river running across the street from his apartment. but the river had run dry. there wasn’t moonlight either. “how silly of me! i took away the sun and still long to see the moon?”, and with a self derisive smirk returned to staring into the emptiness that glowed from the screen of his laptop. a solitary picture. taken just yesterday. which had meant so much then, had contained so much emotion. today, it was failing to strum any chord of passion in his soul.
the chords did strum somewhere in the background of his imaginings. or were they? ah, stan getz. yes, of course. he remembered how fondly they had got that player and how he had spent close to a fortune looking around for vinyls. all to experience that warmth in sound. the warmth was still there, after all the player was the same. but it wasn’t enough to get to the chill of his bones. but the music did pierce through to his soul. the last he remembered enjoying jazz was when he was cooking for a bunch, rather a trio, of his lovables. a much enjoyed casual weekend lunch filled with a laziness which is just what a saturday warrants. with the main course being named after the vital ingredient of jazz which infused itself into the dish too. all of which seemed like such a distant reality now. more like a dream wafting itself through the mists of fogged up memory.
but it was fusion-acid-jazz that day. and tonight, it was the plaintive wail of stan’s trumpet which harmonized with his soul. though he hated to admit it within the circle of his new found acquaintances in the new city, he was but a neo convert to jazz. the smooth talker he was, he could talk about jazz, just like mostly anything under the sun, with enough conviction to make the phonies around him begin to doubt their understanding of things.
tonight, he discovered jazz.
he had never tried making love with coltrane or davis filling up the room with their presence. he did seem to feel tempted to try it out each time he saw jerry maguire being handed over that tape of coltrane and davis performing in stockholm circa ’63. he never found the vinyl, maybe it didn’t exist. and he never tried making love with the help of jazz either.
“it may have been splendid.”
now that he had discovered jazz, in retrospect, the idea seemed very appealing. he knew that jazz reverberated with his soul only when he was swinging at the extreme ends of his emotion. joy. or like now.
nothingness.
something on the lines of ‘indian ocean has mostly used four instruments through their career. we urge you not to add yours’ flashes on screen. a message which elicits a smile and a quick glance to do a double check on my phone to see if its set on vibrate. its a small gathering at the cozy theater. maybe it’s the relatively early hour (6.30pm is early for a weekday) or it was purposely not publicized as much (as good humoredly admitted by the organizers - in a bid to make more people watch it by buying tickets in cinema halls). but then there aren’t as many people as you’d have expected, yet the theater is pleasantly filled up in a non-intrusive manner. and so it begins.
i don’t really need to say much about indian ocean, and their impact on the independent music scene in india. suffice to say, by far, their brand of music has been the most accessible kind to have been made in our country. steeped in modern western music grooves, yet rooted in rustic sounds from the deepest recesses of india’s soul. going down with equal ease with both an iphone toting, laptop carrying teen in delhi and a charming belle tucked away in benaras. an aging soul walking around hiranandani reminiscing his heyday and a long haired dude in adyar who has just picked his first guitar. a bearded skullcap in a hurry to attend to the call of prayer and a vermillioned forehead rising early to catch the first glimpse of morning. they have simply cut across everything, and made themselves, like i said earlier, the most accessible.
which makes it a reason good enough for someone to engage in an endeavor to put together the snippets of the band’s journey over the years. and that courageous someone is jaideep varma, who through a meticulous method of interviewing the band and all people associated with it over the years, has crafted together a non-fiction film titled ‘leaving home’, which provides quite a good insight into facets unknown to most fans. the film begins with sights and sounds which would be familiar to any living soul of delhi, and gradually reaches the courtyard of a house nestled in the lanes of karol bagh. a house which has been home to indian ocean over the past many years. the walls of which would contain within them echoes of the sounds created by the band for generations to come. chronicling the band’s coming of age, each band member shares their thoughts at various junctures in their timelines as they struggled for survival and then later, grappled with stardom. aiding the four protagonists (asheem chakravarty, rahul ram, susmit sen, amit kilam) are various family members, ex-band mates and numerous associates (anurag kashyap, sudhir mishra, rabbi shergill, shubha mudgal), each of whom help to provide a perspective which adds an unsurpassable element of honesty to the film. a liberal interspersion of live footage of some of their best known songs – both in concert, as well as during their jam sessions – provides that ubiquitous element which the band stands for.
mind you, this is not a feature film. nor is it a documentary. it’s a non-fiction film which documents the travails of the band. so don’t expect any fussy frills to excite you through your viewing. considering the fact that it would be a low budget independent film, the film has been made very well. the concept, though not exactly novel, has been executed in a very justifiable manner. though the editing could have been slightly slicker; post production could have smoothed out some of the rough edges. the sound, however, makes up for everything, picking up each subtleties of each nuance music and pronoucing it – something extremely essential to a film of this nature. despite all this, any indian ocean fan would relish the entire experience of reliving the band’s story. but then this is it. the film, in a certain way, may not really strike a major chord with people uninitiated into the blend of the band. a novice may not necessarily end up becoming a convert and try to delve deeper into exploration, if the movie is his maiden experience with the band. i may be wrong (and honestly, i’d love to be proven wrong), but i guess this is something that would be best left to time after the movie has seen a major release.
but above all, owing to the soft spot i have for the band and indian independent music as a whole, i feel that irrespective of anything else, the thought, feeling and effort which went into making this is definitely commendable. it makes me feel proud. and it makes me want to grab every lover of indian ocean and ask him to watch it.
The Canadian duo of Jesse F Keeler (better known as the unimaginative, yet obvious, JFK) and Al-P, in the short span that they have been together, managed to carve out a niche for themselves as one of the most sought after remix artistes. Though they may not have received much applause for their debut album ‘The Looks’, they have refined their sound since then to incorporate metal influences on a dance punk base to create a sound which is going to make for some really groovy house beats to move the party. ‘Vuvuvu’ builds a space barrier all around itself and transports itself on an alien UFO to the outer recesses of consciousness, which is something that comes naturally after you have been treated to thick beats on ‘It Ain’t Love’ and ‘Bounce’ both of which features rappers like Lil Mo and NORE. The album is held together tight by these tracks, although it does feel a bit lacking when the sissy ‘Heartbreaker’ exposes you to the voice of John Legend (of course he is a great vocalist, but then his voice is meant to wobble knees; not jam knees as this album supposes to do). Pick it up if you want to pump up the tempo at any of your house parties. And did we forget to mention that the album artwork warrants attention too with the fingers of a fist made out of women’s asses and legs.
Creating fusion music, especially when considered in conjunction with Indian classical music is akin to walking on thin ice – the effect of a single strain at the wrong spot, and you run the risk of going down under. Thankfully, Delhi based band Advaita has been providing us with doses of raga based music, in a manner which has been more like gliding on ice. Boasting of fairly large eight member lineup (which of course is required, considering the necessities of spatial creation of the sounds of the tabla, sarangi, and a classical vocalist, besides the conventional guitars and drums), they have blended genres to create a work of art which spellbinds with an exuberance, which paradoxically soothes you. Their debut album, ‘Grounded in Space’ is an experiment in psychedelia floating around you in colourful notes, which begins with ‘Rasiya’ showcasing the talent of their classical singer as the sarangi plays melancholically in the background, builds up at ‘Miliha’, reaches a crescendo with ‘Ghir Ghir’ (a recounting of the much adored feeling amongst classical musicians for the monsoons) and eases out by the time you reach the final track ‘Hamsadhwani’. A sound which should find widespread acclaim amongst an eclectic audience, and release on a major label should go on to make sure this is one of the milestone albums this year.
The Scandinavians have usually been better known for their brand of hitting heavy metal in our part of the world. But then they haven’t just confined themselves as far as genres go. Finnish band His Infernal Majesty, better known as HIM, have kept themselves busy over the course of their career making a brand of music they call ‘love metal’. With their seventh album, “Screamworks: Love in Theory and Practice”, they have once again picked up the subject which has most often been the favourite of artistes, irrespective of medium – love. Largely the outcome of their frontman’s breakup, the songs deal with the loss of love set amongst the framework of some incredibly catchy hooks. Listen to the crushing feelings on “Venere Veritas” or “Heartkiller”, which just weigh you down with their emotion. It does get a bit mushy at times, which is quite a different kind of an experience when you have metal tunes playing. But then, there is always something new to be learnt.
The Animal Collective has steadily grown in stature as one of the most avant-garde electronic acts. Much of the credit for this goes to their last release, “Merriweather Post Pavilion”, which has constantly been creating waves since the time it came out. But the Baltimore based band still seems to hark back to the time when fame was something which was still a few light years away. They have of course evolved a few generations since that time, but then it does make for an interesting listening session when you happen to go through “Campfire Songs”, which is a reissue of their earlier album. The album was recorded in a fairly unconventional method, outside the confines of the four walls of an acoustically designed studio. They took off with their musical instruments and aspirations and set themselves upon a porch on a presumably cold winter morning, which probably explains the name of the album. In fact they even succeeded in making those songs to have the right mix of ingredients to make a campfire get together in winters quite enjoyably warm. “Queen in my Pictures” is subliminally satisfying with a virtually non existent presence before it actually comes to your knowledge – perfect for getting the party in the right mood. The dreaminess continues on “De Soto De Son”, which interweaves itself continually between light and dark. Vocals also play a game of hide and seek. “Two Corvettes” intersperses with its other worldly vocals and “Moo Rah Rah Rain” plays pitter patter with its whispers. Some of the best moments on the album are present within the most painful ones. Bemoaning the loss of a favourite pet, “Doggy” contains an overbearing quality which conveys a sad counterpoise, yet conflictingly doesn’t crush you. Recording it on an open porch has added a feeling to the album which is quite familiar, with the ambient sounds in their surrounding landscape finding their way in between the tracks. For those who are their fans because of “Merriweather Post Pavilion”, this is essential. And if you have been unfortunate yet, this is good enough to convert you too.
Stardom is good as long as it doesn’t allow you to overstep your capabilities. Lil Wayne, with the phenomenal success of the “Tha Carter” trilogy behind him, and with self proclamation of being the best rapper around had definitely cut a meaty place for himself in the hip hop galaxy. This was all the more commendable considering this young age, in an industry in which most of the ‘reliable’ artistes are either touching or are over the 40 years age bracket. But then high of stardom does make you do take steps in directions you thought you knew like the back of your hand. Only to end up where we all best know. His latest album “Rebirth”, unfortunately, fits itself into the same category. Frankly, its an album which isn’t just somewhat, rather mightily confused. Lil Wayne had started out to make a rock record, which considering his hip hop roots, may or may not have been a really good decision. After all, there has been a fairly common ground between both genres too. And a good one at that. But you don’t expect a heavily tweaked Autotuned voice clambering for attention on a rock record. Rule number two is that you try to stick to a genre on an album. Not put in elements of every possible genre you could try – funk (“Da Da Da”), 80s synth led pop rock (“On Fire”), post punk (“Knockout”) – plus everything sounding like any other post alternative, hip hop rock group you would have ever heard. So much so that by the time you hear Eminem on “Drop The World” you have given up. Stick to your guns Wayne!
Managing to create seven records over a musical career is quite a feat in the industry. And if they bear a hallmark of consistency, it becomes all the more commendable. Spoon, the indie band from Austin has done just that with their latest record “Transference”. In fact, they sound much better this time around. Something to do in large part to the fact that they took to producing the album themselves, making them sound much tighter than previously. The splendid acoustic sound on “Before Destruction” immediately sets you into the groove for what has to follow through the remainder of the album while the spasmodic quality of the guitar “Who Makes Your Money” lulls you into silence, which is topped wonderfully by “Out Go the Lights” which excels with a quality hypnotic enough to bind you as you exit the song with its lengthy exit on minimal instrumentation. Melodic piano accompaniment exudes simplicity into the texture of “Goodnight Laura. But the surprise element comes in the form of the funk bass notes and synthetic drum sounds on “Nobody Gets Me But You”.
As one of the foremost entertainers of the past decade, Usher has cemented his position as a modern day entertainment machine. Though his forays into displaying his histrionic abilities may not have found much notice or critical success, this can be discounted as one of the effects stardom usually has. Nonetheless, as far as his musical career goes, he has been extremely consistent in the past few years, with each of his albums achieving platinum status – even diamond status in one instance. Though his early work on “My Way” and “All About U” helped him achieve a mainstream following, it was through the 2004 album “Confessions” that he really made it big time. Not only did that serve as a fantastic follow up to the stir he had caused with his past two albums, this album catapulted him into the R&B elite. But then as with all stars, not all has been going well with him on the personal front. With his impending divorce with Tameka Foster, it seems things have taken a hit at his end. This has however spelt into new material for his latest album “Raymond v. Raymond”. Usher had been sending out discrete signals that much of the work which would featured on this album would have to do with his relationship with Tameka, and how things went wrong. Anybody who would have heard the single “Papers” from this album would immediately agree to the fact. Usher portrays himself exceedingly well in a vulnerable position as a man who was hopelessly in love, and though he may have been a superstar, ultimately, he is a human being and has his weak spots too. Of course, the title of the track alludes to the divorce papers he signs. He continues on the topic of the vulnerability of love on the swaying R&B moves of “There Goes My Baby” and “What They Gon Say”. Both the songs display his longing, and while “There Goes My Baby” is a mellow serenade, “What They Gon Say” puts in some elements of groovy world music in the form of the tabla and duff to make a track good enough to shake a leg to. A defining high point of the album is in the form of “In My Bag” on which he teams up with T.I. Synthetic keyboard sounds, bass notes, mechanized drums and the occasional screaming guitar make this a song worthy of making a haul worthy of a king’s booty on the streets. Though, it would be fair to say that the king of this track is T.I. with his unswerving swagger on the rap verses, as he relegates Usher to the background, who unfortunately gets just a few sporadic moments on this one. His Super Bowl performance was topped by the catchy pop tunes of “More” which is a decidedly racy endeavour on which he extols the virtual of not being content. The big boss of production, Polow Da Dan, pitches in with his trademark horns, bells and beats on “Hey Daddy” on which Usher drips honey with his smooth as silk vocals. A similar treatment is meted out to “Certified” on which he teams up with Pharrell, in a style which is quite reminiscent of old school hip hop. Early on in the album, he gets into a funk induced haze on “Cruisin” with chiming bells and staccato guitars in the background as he goes into a reverie. If you don’t shake a leg to this, you seriously ought to get your mojo tested for potence. But while you do move to these, there are some weak points too. The rag tag of “Blockin” and “Traffic” fail to elicit any response. “Rock Band” falls absolutely flat on its face with its unstirring song writing and an annoying sample of crowd response to a live performance. This is an album where you see the Usher you would have till now, but then there is a side of Usher you haven’t seen as yet. And though the album has its high points, the sore ones aren’t small enough not to impact the overall album quality.
Not many bands have been able to mash together different genres of metal and been successful at it. Fear Factory, with its brand of music picking up in the nineties, proved itself to be contrary to this popular belief. Combining death, groove and industrial metal, they made a pioneering statement during their heyday. Band bickerings, split and legal disputes later, they are back this season with “Mechanize”, which is an album in five years. They can understandably be pardoned for this gap. Not just because of their internal problems, but also because they have crafted a fairly above average slab of metal. With Gene Hoglan as the drummer, founding member Dino Cazares has recruited a formidable weapon into the band. Hoglan pummels the skin with such intensity that it has lent a whole new dimension to the sound of the band. The energy of the skins channels itself through the rest of the sound as well, with guitar riffs seen with ferocious intensity rarely witnessed before. The initial sections (“Mechanize”, “Industrial Discipline”) may start sounding slightly monotonous. Just wait till you get hit by “Powershifter”, which sweeps you right off your feet, and makes you land square on variations of “Oxidizer”. ”Final Exit” with its gradual descent into ignominy from a crescendo serves as a perfect final song too.
Fantasy Ride - Ciara
brooklynati - tanya morgan
