It's cooking

The music's cooking! I'm glad!

Living my life....

We were just wasting time,
Let the hours roll by
Doing nothing for the fun
A little taste of the good life,
Whether right or wrong,
Makes us want to stay, stay, stay, stay, stay here for awhile

I am living my life. I was just talking to D about this in the afternoon: seems we are enjoying living. After a long while at that.
Thank you.

More funky MUSIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIC!

Between me and D, we have ALL the James Brown recordings, all the P-Funk albums, the Fishbone collection, everything from the Isley Brothers, Bill Withers and Marvin Gaye. AND some Average White Band!
Yayyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee!!!!!!!!!!!!!

What? Christmas?

I donno whether it's Christmas eve or whatever, my Mom said I need to wear leather gloves when I drive/ride. I'm not entirely sure which one she meant, because she just said 'gaari chalanor samay'. Hmmm.
This time last year, Sabir went all the way to Bombay to get a leather jacket sewn from the world-famed tailors at Dharavi. He wanted a B-52 bomber jacket (for anyone wondering what that is, Google's gonna be handy. I like clothes, but not that much to actually take printouts to show my tailor.) As it happens, the tailors fucked it up: made something that looked straight outta Govinda's wardrobe.
So Sabir went to Bombay again. This time, with the assurance of his uncle, who's a big businessman in that big boomy city. And this time, the tailors gor it right.
He had also got those leather gloves from Dharavi on that trip: a pair for Shweta, him, and myself. Very cool gloves. But it's not that cold in Calcutta. Yet.

For real?

Why do people bother to hide their real selves so much? What's with all the niceties, when all they are is jealous of another?

Back to basics

I picked up my hardware and snare from the band's pad yesterday, and set up my kit this morning. I tuned up properly, except for the 16" floor tom, which eternally seems to have an unwanted, added ring in all kits I've played. I guess it's time to think of some muffling with cotton and duct tape.
I was long planning to reschedule my practice discipline, and it seems things are falling into place. Apart from the Virgil Donati lessons, I've also picked up a few groove lessons from Weckl's video. Then there are always the conga patterns and drumset interpretations of the cascaras that Kochuda gives us, and right now, we are working out the rumba/guagauanco cascara, and it simply is an amazing groove. And Herman Matthews Jr: SO funky!
I also played to Living Colour's Love Rears its Ugly Head. Man, Will Calhoun just NAILS that groove! So much space, SO much groooooooove!
I'm getting back to rudiments, single and double strokes, and paradiddles. The difference is that I used to play these previously only on the snare; now I can play them more or less all over the kit, and with both my hands and feet. That is helping in opening up my playing.

PS: 'Serious Moves' by Dennis Chambers: that's some seriously different shit altogether. Some of the stuff is plain blinding-speed-and-precision. A very funky alien thang!

Bhuchu died

Bhuchu died. At 5.40 pm, just a little while after I made the blog entry about her being sick. She died in my mother's arms.
I could take everything, but I couldn't handle it when I had to give her over to the guy standing at the edge of her grave, layered with a bucketful of salt, and she was laid down. and she didn't budge: contrary to my hope against hope, she DIDN'T budge. I had to put the soil back on her limp body, her face, and her EYES. I was trying to be strong, but the tears just burst out then, you know. I am sorry.
I hope you rest in peace, and being the great daughter you were, I know you are in heaven.

A daughter and the family

My dog is sick. She's 14 years old, and she hasn't eaten one piece of bread in the past 17 days. For the last seven days, Bhuchu has to be carried: coz she doesn't have any strength to stand on her feet. She's on saline, and the doc diagnosed a liver infection. She is sleeping on my mom's lap, like she used to day when she was a month old and she didn't like dogs, but grew to love her like a daughter. Heck, she is the daughter in our house.
She has also not barked or even cried in the last 15 days.
My father wants to put her to sleep. I can't do that. My mother will not let that happen either.

Roggae

I listened to nothing but A Twist of Marley for the last three days. And it's showing on my playing.
There was some serious discussion about maintaining the band 'brand' if we do land up in Goa to play the gig for rich NRB people. Not that I mind a separate name, but the point is, when will we come to the point when language is no longer a barrier anymore for the music, and we can play Rajasthani folk songs with a reggae tinge or an Afrikaans folk ballad or lullaby arranged on the lines of a slick R'n'B song?
I will eventually do it, and right here in this city, in this country o'mine.
Good groovin'!

The Big Easy Beat

The Wikipedia provides seven sub-genres for soul music:

a) Blue-eyed soul
b) Detroit (Motown) soul and Northern soul
c) Southern soul
d) Memphis soul
e) Neo soul
f) Philadelphia soul
g) Psychedelic soul

And this is what it says of a different genre:

"Bauls are a group of mystic minstrels from the Bengal region, now divided into Bangladesh and West Bengal. Bauls are a part of the culture of rural Bengal. They are thought to have been influenced greatly by the Hindu tantric sect of the Kartabhajas. Bauls travel in search of the internal ideal, Maner Manush (Man of the Heart). ....it is widely agreed that is comes either from Sanskrit 'batul', meaning 'divinely inspired insanity' or 'byakul', meaning fervently eager."
"Baul music celebrates celestial love, but does this in very earthy terms, as in declarations of love by the baul for his 'boshtomi' or lifemate. With such a liberal interpretation of love, it is only natural that Baul devotional music transcends religion, and some of the most famous baul composers (sic), such as Lalon Fakir have been of Muslim birth."
I should start contributing.

Lately....

Peace out. Long chain. Too many considerations. Bong song.

Repeat Effort

Okay I just lost an entire page of a post here coz my fucking connection snapped!
We saw 5 gigs in 7 days. And I was writing about that. And I don't feel like posting AGAIN now!

Work On Sale and other stuff

"The editorial staff of the Western Daily Press are offering the services of journalists about to be made redundant by owner Northcliffe up for auction on eBay.
Staff are facing the loss of a fifth of their number - around 36 posts - and are offering eBay bidders "one entire multi award winning regional newspaper team".

By 4pm today the online auction had attracted 14 bidders and the price offered for the Western Daily Press journalists had reached £22.

Wow.
Deepa mailed this to me, taken from the Guardian's site. So this is what it comes to, aye. Whatever.

In associated news about my life in general, I talked to Debu and Chiro as well. Debu was excited about my kit, but said he didn't buy anything to do with the natural finish because it is very difficult to maintain and keep dirt off the lacquer finishes. His Yamaha stage custom is a golden sparkle wrap.
I was supposed to call Chiro today at 10, but I simply woke up late. I hope the telephone conversation can be a little postponed.
D also contacted one of our old buddies from college about the Bella Fleck albums. I am psyched about the Beat Pharmacie record: being the rhythm section of the Black Eyed Peas must be a fun job!!
Oh, we also watched about five concerts in the last seven days: Pandit Debashis Bhattacharya and his brother at a private gig, the first. I was dumbstruck. Then on Thursday, we saw Jeff Sipe and Lew Hilt with guitarman Alex Macachek (this guy has a record with Terry Bozzio) and later on in the evening at the same gig, Tanmoy Bose, for whom I lost all respect because he played like a jealous kid instead of the tabla maestro that he is. We also watched Skinny Alley yesterday, who played some kick-ass music of their own despite the fucked-up sound, and threw in some Dan and even a suprise Screaming Headless Torsoes cover. And we visited Someplace Else to catch Orange Street. The polite gentleman that he is, Kaustav stood patiently for 15 minutes without budging, and was even mouthing out substituions to the guitar player's lines. After what seemed like an eternity trapped in rap-metal hell, he finally said, "Do you think we can walk out a little early from this show?" Funny kid!

Dashboard Confessional

My Greek friend mailed after almost 6 months. AND I finally sent my article to DRUM!
Ah...incidentally, boy-next-door was chucked. Seems he smokes too much weed, and is too into John Lord when all we wanted was chordal playing, let's say, like Bitches Brew.
I also picked up parts of Shout and Aida from Man with The Horn. Man, that thick, loose groove of Mr. Al Foster! Makes you wanna laze around an be stylish, all day. D also scooped out an old copy of You Are Under Arrest. Good for me!

The plot thickens......

A month back, I was whining on this blog about the absence of people to play with, carefully masking (or so I thought) my irritation. I think God heard me.
As it happened, we had arranged for the 'audition' (that's D's idea) of two guitar players on Thursday. Now, we knew one of the guys, and absolutely NO clue about the other: except his name and the fact that he stammered a little. But then again, he was the one Amytda had recommended. The other fellow is a bit of a smart-ass, and has been sending felers to us through P that he wants in. Naive as he is, P cannot talk him off, and so we decided for the two of 'em auditioning on the same day.
Well, new-guitar-player-in-question stood waiting for me in front of a cinema hall the other day. And I had a deja vu when we said "hi". Simple guy in a shirt and a half-sleeve sweater (no one wears half-sleeve sweaters anymore, at least the style pack). He reminded me of a scruffy, unshaven dear friend and beautiful musician; one whose melodeis would literally make me cry. I immediately warmed to him. The sense of this grew stronger when this guy plugged in and played. 10 minutes into the 'audition', he was in, no questions asked. He played clean, by the way: didn't even plug in his Korg effects rack.
On the other hand, the smartass plugged through a Morley wah and still managed to sound like a cocky 8-year-old with no sense of history. The tough job of saying 'No' fell upon me, and I did it.
But here's something even more interesting. Every night, around 8.30 when I finish practising by myself, the boy next door — now a college kid, I think — plays REALLY loud music. It isn't as if he tries to show me how loud his stereo can get vis-a-vis my really loud drumset, it is as if he tries to make me listen to his kind of music. Which is a lot of classic rock and blues. No, not nu-metal: but Purple, and Led Zep, and blues. I liked it in a 19-year-old.
The practice got cancelled today because P had some rather pressing social engagement from his wife's side of the family. However, D called me and gave me a bit of news that made me suspicious of God 'actually' taking note of my whining.
The new keyboardist is the kid next door.

Tom heads, 8" and 10"; a kick drum head 20", claws. Hm. Bring snare and stands everyday to pad. Hmmm. Guitar players not really into this music. Hmmmmm.
I am going back to school days, he he, what with all the elaborate planning. The only difference is that now I know my instrument, and I have a little more money than I used to. Otherwise, it's all the same. I love the mad rush of a band being born.

The big O

I went out with A after almost a decade today, and to my surprise, she asked the driver to drive to a Park Street bar. Wow. A going to a bar to DRINK, even if it is a Breezer, and then suggesting a visit to Someplace Else! Quite a surprise, I must say.
Women faking orgasms...our Breezer-table chat. I loved meeting up with A. She says I still look the same, that I've put on a little weight (wow, the gymming's taking effect:)). Actually she went on to say that I'm looking 'handsome'. Was it me or was it the Breezer??
A few days back, one of my friends said that women fake orgasms 95% of the time. Is that really it? I am intrigued: now how do they fake it? Surely, the female orgasm is quite a process, and takes time for two people to achieve some a course of time. So do they fake it then, as well? I am confused now.

The media shite

Does work shape character? At some point of time, I presume. And sometimes with funny results.
I was reading a fellow-journalist's (do I have the right to use that term anymore?) blog the other day. I realised, yet again, that the journalist is God. A megalomaniac God, more often.
Last week, I came across an interesting review of an indie band from the Capital. I say interesting, because the reviewer in question doesn't pussyfoot around with his choice of music (mostly Rolling Stones) and claims he's been a thoroughbred rocker all his life. Imagine my surprise, then, when he spoke well of a garage/alterna act.
However, he had much to say about the, I quote, 'cool pedal-playing', going on in the record, and wanted more searing guitar solos.
The point remains, while our respected critics croak sour on bands that DON'T play their own music, when some of them even DO that, their HAS to be comparisons with the Stones. Or the Joe Satrani band. Or Dream Theater. Why can't we accept the fact that we are Indian, and we play the guitars like we would, like what's intrinsic to our nature, and might NOT call for burnin' all the time? Isn't that a bias that we nurture as music journalists? On the flipside, isn't it a little unfair to expect the Jonas Hellborg Trio to play like Ravi Shankar's classical ensemble?
Incidentally, I'd like to know how much guitar has this hallowed name on the Delhi print circuit played in his entire life, as of today. I have not come across a record out in his name on the store shelves.
Putting forth opinions.
Things happen in this world despite the media's opinions and suggestions; things that are beautiful, horrific, immensely creative or ruinous?

Ps: I finished reading The Devil and Miss Prym. And now have issues with concepts of 'good' and 'bad'.

Here's to life's little moments......

I took a moment from my day
Wrapped it up in things you say
Mailed it off to your address
You'll get it pretty soon, unless
The packaging begins to break
And all the points I try to make
Are tossed with thoughts into a bin
Time leaks out my life leaks in

Not enough time

I need to go get my PF from my ex-ex office, my final dues from my last place of work, make drum cases, buy starter-line cymbals, and hire a kick drum to start practice with the band, properly. I also need to call 50 different people in a day. And practice by myself.
I thought I'll have enough time in 24 hours. He pleased otherwise.

Just a perfect day

Sundays are lazy. I wish I could get back all the lazy Sundays of the past five years, my past 5 glorious working years that matter more to other people than to me, when I missed the morning game at the YMCA, the first milky tea at the Maidan, the first chill setting in. And sleep getting more comforting.
Sundays, over time, have become symbolic of the small but extremely important things in life. Keys to peace of mind, happiness and creation. Not contentment, mind you; THAT can spell death, but happiness, yeah.
So I had a lazy Sunday today, waking up late, savouring Ma's luchi-alur dam, sitting through a reading of all the newspapers while my brother taught his students in the drawing room. I took time for a bath — even reached for the olive oil bottle, very uncharacteristic of me — and bathed Bhuchu. I shared the table at lunch with Dida and Ma, I guess after, what, 7-8 years? I had a great lunch replete with mutton and mishti doi. And I hit my bed for a siesta thereafter. And I played some music with two of my best friends later in the evening.
Considering that I'm totally idle (read 'jobless') at the moment, I'd say that's a nice way of spending a day. I remember wondering what my life has come to, after the pages went, looking at the same road and the same streetlights and the same skyline at 10.30 at night, with no sense of self-worth at all. I was being a robot, just another screw in a machine that is also generally useless in everyday, common sense life.
Does all this come with staying clean? I don't know. But the miracles are just beginning to happen. Maybe, just maybe, I'll listen to 'Perfect Day' with a different interpretation in my head, someday.

Jam Junky

Pearl Jam start their South America tour on November 22. And Eddie is looking like he used to when Ten came out. The new music is also supposed to be very raw and aggressive, which means not the stuff like Love Boat Captain. I am excited.

Death by Water

I am sorry about what happened in Jordan.
Making the World pages back in Pune, I used to wonder about the daily mass slaughter in Iraq, you know; car bombs, shootouts, mortar, the works. Our deputy editor was the one in charge on Saturdays, and he'd always look at the bodycount to even place news on Iraq on the page — which is normal in most newspapers; I remember our RE in Calcutta talking excitedly on the night of the Rajdhani derailment, asking for the bodycount every 5 minutes. Unless at least a hundred people died, it was not to be considered worthy of being on Page 1.
Is that what it has come to: just the bodycount? Like Sachin scoring a century?

Miracle 4

So we had a talk, me and Doi, and our band seems to be shaping up alright. I always wanted to play with Doi and Pupu again, primarly because the three of us know where we are musically. And that's on the same page. This much I know: it's gonna be a soul band. We kinda always wanted to play this music. Well, the day seems to have arrived.
Now we have to find the RIGHT guitar player and the RIGHT keyboard player. Man, that's a tough job. Especially searching for the latter, who'd keep his John Lord/Rick Wright influences at bay and agree to play just three tones: the piano, the Fender Rhodes organ, and the clavinet. As for guitar players, the influences, and their consequent effect on a guy's playing.....I'd rather not be talking about it.
We agreed about playing Marvin Gaye, Asha Puthli, the Neville Brothers, and, oh yeah, Seal.

Letterhead

I talked to Barbara for over an hour in the evening, which was 6 am in the morning for her.
I have finished reading four volumes of Sharadindu in the past two months, including the historical novels. My grandmother got turned on to the Byomkesh stories, which is a great thing.
I also finished reading Maximum City, and for some reason, started Prozac Nation. Don't really know whether I'll be able to go through with it, though.
Has anyone ever realised how much time we spend sleeping? Is this happening to me because I'm waking up till dawn every morning to finally prepare to roll up the blinds, till the letters on the page themselves seem of some strange, blurry shape?
I used to read The Old Man and the Sea when I couldn't concentrate on anything because I was angry.

Play

For the past few weeks, I have been so down in the dumps that I almost gave up hope of creating any music with anyone, anywhere, at any time. Okay that's a bit too harsh: maybe musicians from this city. But whoa! I get a call at 8 in the morning from a good friend and an excellent vocalist/percussionist, and he wanted to meet me about a project in the evening. Two hours later, S called me, just to say Hi and confirm whether I'll meet him later on. Another half-an-hour later, I get a call from my friend the bass player, and he asks me: "Do you wanna jam?" (And now I just have a jam block and an old ride to play with!)
Is this God's handiwork? I guess. Mysterious ways, alright.
I decided to call up G and just tell her that I'd like to speak to her, once in a while, at least. Haven't done that yet. Let's see. Gabloo must be having a fabulous time at the Dhanaulti Rock Festival. I am proud of him.

SLAM junk

"This is the place where all the junkies go,
Where time goes fast and everything gets slow……."

'It has been a hard day, for strange faces swam by in my dreams tonight. Known, yet distorted faces, broken with some pain or another, weeping faces, angry faces — and faces with eyes that don't speak, dead-fish eyes. Eyes that are smacked out, eyes on heroin.
The light of a matchstick, and the coiled silver foil pipe — discoloured through use — turns into a tunnel of pleasure. Thoughts calmed, the body slacks down to take in this moment. Through the rolled blinds, I see a tiny girder of the morning light kiss the edges of the worn-out divan.
This morning, the weather looks better. Another day. These days that thought translates, straight away, into the number of hits, and more importantly, the money to buy them. Plans are hatched on the shitpot.
This morning, the weather looks better.'

(I wrote this in NOVEMBER 2004, just before hitting the Delhi convention. Almost a year down, I should stop bothering about the Freudian interpretations of a storyline about using, and let it be that: just a storyline.)
This reminds me: the shots of the dissolving scag inside the syringe in Requiem were very cool. Quite an editor.
{Boring aside}: I also visited the all-important 'work office' to offer a CV, after five days short of two months in my jobless stint. I was telling this to Sujoy the other day, but I've kinda developed a hatred of coporate offices. The smooth-talking types instantly begin to tick me off! There's not much I can do about it, though. Practising powelressness on a daily basis in real life is a fucking difficult job!

All About You

I heard a simple McFly song the other day on the telly. Sometimes, simple things can make you relise the deepest truths. Well, this one just goes: "It's all about you,/It's all about you baby".
So yeah, it is all about you. But you're too angry to even answer.

Supersong 1: The Stone

The first time I heard The Stone was in the university, trying to smoke my way through the grades. It was at a friend's place, one who favoured jam bands, and I was all for the shindig. I loved DMB, but I had little money to buy a tape that'd cost Rs 125 at that time.
The first thing I remember about The Stone was its eerie but simply superb violin intro. Later, on CDs, I could make out the pull of Stefan Lessard's bass and Tinsley's sax that launches the song into its groove.
Ah, the groove. Six-eight is an uncanny groove, for lack of a better term — eg. Red Prophet, from Milagro — and Carter Beauford does all justice to the eeriness of this one. It builds to a perfect cascade, to descend into a crystalline pool of a chorus with 'I was just wondering if you'd come along…. I love the violin outro as well, is a melody in its own.
Contrary to popular beliefs, this song is FAR from being about a heroin trip.
Dave spoke about 'The Stone' on "The Charlie Rose" show, and pointed out that this song is about his sister, Anne. She was murdered by her husband in Africa. This brother-in-law also committed suicide thereafter. 'Under the Table and Dreaming" is dedicated to Anne.
Dave is reportedly always emotional while playing 'The Stone' live.

Groove Relations

One of these days, one of my brother's students asked me about reggae. Now, being the strict teacher, my brother often gets irritated at my fun way of just passing on the little that I know, and even playing, at times.
Right, to get back to where we started....it often struck me that the essence of reggae is a slow, churning groove. When I caught on reggae, I think I was attracted by the drums — for that matter, most KINDS of music I have been attracted to have been because of the drums — which were quite different. Actually, it was the snare tone —a clangy, metallic 'thang' that was VERY different from the Lionel Richie records that Choto Kaka played on the beat-up gramophone. Technically, it was the slippery hi-hat pattern — more slippery for a more accomplished player, so you have Stewart Copeland doing all the things in Tea In The Sahara — and the bass drum on '2' and '4' instead of '1'. This latter thing changed meaning, though, once I realised what the groove was all about, the scooped-out feel of it. Reggae is particularly enjoyable when played with an able percussionist. Oh, the splash accents!


PS: I know Gabloo actually enjoys it all.

Working Title

Read an interesting Guardian piece by Amina Taylor about posthumous releases today: which builds from a B.I.G single, lifted from a Marley track. Any thoughts?
I miss the profiles, particularly the 'This Much I Know' columns of Sanjeev Bhattacharya (he profiled Carlos Santana and Slash), since, of late, Alexis Petridis seems to have taken 'criticism' to new heights of settling personal scores, which makes for boring, convoluted copy.

If I Could

I retrieved Junta, Hoist and Rift from the moth-eaten cabinets that have been snorting dust ever since I left for Pune last year. Come to think of it, except Rift, I hadn't touched any of the other (post-'2000) albums in way too long a time. So running those tapes — oh yes, I still have 'em on tape, Maxells are sturdy ones — was a little tricky, but all of them survived, and HOW.
There would be a time when all we did was listen to Rift, I know all the songs by heart. This album would, without a doubt, be on my list of 'Intelligent and Tasteful Album Art of All Time'. Even last night, I got goosebumps listening to the 'maniacal laughter' on My Friend My Friend.
Phish is releasing 4/26/96 via LivePhish to benefit musicians adversely affected by hurricane Katrina.

PS: Now that I know what Fish plays on The Wedge, it's double the fun.

Pujo, junkies, caffeine

Pujo was fun. Heck, Pujo is always fun. I must say I'm beginning to like clean Pujos.
I couldn't really sit and chat with Bugi. Maybe I've changed, maybe he has, whatever.
The coffee sessions were great, I like this CCD at Lake Road, it's spacious and spread out and the waiters are smiling all the time.
Okay, so I sat through repeat shows of Requiem and Maria Full of Grace again, but it's nice to know that Sanjoo's developing a good habit. He even got Spun. Vicky refused to watch Cheech & Chong, though.
Watched The Motorcycle Diaries.
And I missed Gudiya while watching A Clockwork Orange again.

The Stalker

Hmmmm... I have a stalker. She's called Jospehine, and the unpublished author of children's picture books. Interesting.

Check this out......

How to make a spikemytea

Ingredients: 3 parts pride 1 part courage 1 part joy

Method: Combine in a tall glass half filled with crushed ice. Add a little cocktail umbrella and a dash of curiosity

Username:

Personality cocktail
From Go-Quiz.com

Contacts

Lala commented on this blog?? Hmmm...well, if you'reading, lala, you can post up at spikemytea@gmail.com.

No work, no pay

It's been 15 days since I quit. And though I'm enjoying the freedom, there's a nagging sense of insecurity creeping up every now and then, which I guess is 'normal'.
Met up with Sujay who gave me some very valuable tips on doing your own thing. I don't really have an idea of exactly what that would be in a month's time, but I guess it doesn't entitle 15 hours of sleep in a day. Okay, okay: I shall NOT sleep so much tomorrow, come on, I was watching Back to The Future till 6 in the morning!
I'm still waiting for my drums.

Blogger's bloc

Am blogging after almost two months, so forgive me if I go a little overboard with the posting.
It's needless to talk about the workplace, so I'll skip that part. What else? The music, of course.
The first time I played In My Place with Rohan, it just felt right, you know? I always knew him to be a very chilled, cool character, and he turns out to be just that and some more. He is fun, open, and a good human being. I hope he sticks around.
As for Jarvis, I can't really help him as of now. I might be quitting myself day after or even tomorrow, so I can't promise him a job and/or money. But it sure will be a waste if he only works in Kathmandu and doesn't sing with anyone. I've told him that I'll be on for anything he wants, and now it's up to The One.
It's really nice of Devdulal to help us out though. Let's see where we can take it from here.
I like the name Lotus Bends. Good recall. Cool logo should be happening too.

Music

I have a new band. It's called Lotus Bends. And Jarvis is leaving Kolkata, for good, again. He'll be flying to Kathmandu tomorrow.
That makes it, um, three of us, stuck without a vocalist. Tilak has reason to be pissed, but I don't know why Nondon-da thought we're 'too professional' to compete in the SPE band hunt. Whatever it is, it's cool to play with Rohan. I hope he likes what he hears. We can now move on, officially.

London

(All these posts are backdated: so please excuse me. I can't seem to get the dates right).

The Guardian quote......
"The Metropolitan police confirmed 35 deaths in the three tube blasts, and two further fatalities on a double-decker bus gutted by a bomb. The London ambulance service said it had treated 45 people with serious or critical injuries, including burns and amputations, and another 300 people with minor injuries. London hospitals reported treating hundreds of wounded. Police said the overall number of wounded was as high as 700"When will we learn?

Leaving

I am gonna leave this city in another 48 hours. I'll catch that train, and be done with it. Or will I?In the univ days, I always looked forward to the journey back home, always wished for the days to pass a little faster, especially before Pujo. It's not the same this time: Ma was right, I ran out from the house on Wednesday because it would have hurt like hell to go away, leave that place, leave a home. And then the people....maan!But I guess I have to move on. Somewhere, somehow, her face keeps popping up; the sweet smiling face. Ma said she cried at the temple.

Be somebody

Never realised that a week's stay home can be so refreshing, especially with all the music that I played.
A refresher course with Kochuda, getting to SEE the band (for the first time, I wasn't forced to see Rahul's ass while the band played), jamming on Shadowchase, meeting Jarvis.......all of it was a BLAST!
Tilak had an accident yesterday: I was supposed to be the pillion, but thanks to the jogging spree, I fell asleep after a nice lunch. Seems his bike skidded as a Santro refused to let him pass, and stubborn as Mr. Majumdar is, he kept on racing at 95 kmh. Result: a broken shocker (of a bike that was taken newly serviced just the day before), a back injury (thankfully, NOT as serious as I feared) and being hospitalised. A six-week bedrest is recomended too...sigh...there goes my funk bass player.....
I landed up on Tupshi's blog by accident, on a 'media' search on blogspot....I posted too, wishing her luck...now, she didn't like it, which is okay. What I had a problem with was this fairy called Samit, posting back on MY blog with warnings...beat that! So I posted a hate comment on his..though I guess that was a little unnecessary....
Anyway, I'm gonna meet Jarvis and the guys soon, and Rahul recommended a Mizo guitar player for our yet-to-formed outfit.
The only hitch is the transfer WITHING the company to Calcutta: praying that it happens soon. Otherwise I have to head back to Bombay.
The Yamaha Stage Custom.......65 grands.....hmmmmmm

The sky is crying, just by the touch of your hand

It rained today. The first rains at any place tastes pure. I remembered the time we ran from the hostel to the park to catch the first drops: a beautiful, mad rush.
The rain carried mixed feelings: I will be heading home soon, after 8 months or so, which is an exciting thought. Meeting up old friends and being able to play are reasons to be happy. On the other hand, I realised I won't be a part of this city anymore. Thanks for all the Phish.

In tide country

Thanks to Mixie for leading me on to the The Hungry Tide. I started reading it last night while waiting up for him, came back today and bought it, and finished it up in one go: which is pretty amazing for me.
The book brought back some vivid memories.
Bishupishi was posted in Goshaba for a WHO assignment when I visited the Sunderbans with her, for the first time, probably as a 12-13-year old. I was transported back both to that time, and the more recent trips through 2002-'03. The novel brought it all rushing back.
Have you ever experienced night? ASfloat on the Raimangal on a moonless night, sitting at the bow of the steamer that was our home for three days on water, I understood a little of what a 'night' can be. It is awe-inspiring, terrifyingly, but it's also supremely beautiful. The darkness that descends on the creeks and the rivers of the Sunderbans is almost sexual. It is its own, something that can never be found in any other forest in the world. Untamed, uninhabited, untouched by civilisation. It's pure: the pull that you feel here comes from the gut. The "Tide" delivers that pull.

Things we said

Past three days since I came back have been a bit of a daze: I slipped and fell on the bathroom floor yesterday, too weak coz I almost skipped food for the last 48 hours altogether.
Took the mag's number from Dhananjay, also have an appointment fixed with Sudhir on Wednesday.
A different city, a different life. And what have I become but a sucker for experience? New sights and smells and touches and tastes.....and things we said.
Tutu called me, said she wants to talk to me about a lot of things. Was busy on the page: couldn't talk to her.
There's an old D-for Brother tune that's racing across my mind, donno why: it's called I'll Always Be With You. It's like a lullaby, you know, caresses you to sleep. I miss my room and my bed in Kolkata.

Always With Me, Always With You

Saw Satch live last nite at Bombay. Worth the three nights of no sleep, a confused head, a flat broke pocket, emotional upheavels and being COMPLETELY alone at a gig of this stature. Worth every damn second of it all.
At over three hours, this was Satch's setlist (approximately):

Up In The Sky
House of Bullets (segues into)
Cool #9
Satch Boogie
Time
Up In Flames
Always With Me, Always With You (Makes me wish I'd chosen the guitar as an instrument; live, that wish TREBLED)
Hordes of Locusts
Summer Song
(normally, this is where the intermission in Joe's gigs come up, as mrte informed sources say. There was NO intermission in this concert!)
Sleepwalk
Starry Night
Moroccan Sunset (I was thinking...."I love Manu's groove better on the record..")
Bamboo (Immediately after that comment, Jeff makes me eat my words with a hi-hat pattern that flips me over!)
Strange
Searching
Hands In The Air
Psycho Monkey (Aggression, yeah?)
Is There Love?
War
(encore)
Flying In A Blue Dream (Classics they come)
(one more encore)
Surfing With The Alien
(yet one more....)
Friends

Met Rishi at the queue. Didn't know Carnage was his band. Wanted to meet Dwight, but ultimately couldn't manage it. Also couldn't meet Mixie.

Being real

Question: How do you express care?
Answer: By being real. Being true to what I want to do in life, loving all the things that are my real company: my sticks, the hats and pedals. The smell of new brassware, oiling the hi-hat clutch and the boom arms, polishing the chrome surface. My magazines that teach me lessons and exercises, the tapes and CDs that teach me all the time. And somehow, somewhere in between, I know I made the right decision. Time heals.

Bhabishyat

Bhebey-bhebey ekta jinisher kono kinara holo na ostaaaaaad: amar bhabishyat sammandhye ami chhara shobai chintito!!! Jatteri!
'Bhalo thakte gele aj thekey thaktey hoye'

Raving

I went to see an exhibition today. Rather, to review it.
There's a difference when one goes to 'see' a display, and to see it to 'review' it. The last time I remember going to an exhibition purely for the purpose of soaking in visual pleasures was last year, sometime in March, jobless as I was, me and Dungri loitered into the Academy. There was no pressure of deadlines, no responsibility of gathering prints. Come to think of it, no sour-faced artist to encounter later.
Some of the artists I know and consider friends are more dynamic people, not afraid to bond. True, criticism has to be unbiased, where such relations should never hinder judgement. As far as art is concerned, though, it's always the work as a separate entity from the artist that seems to work for me. The writing, in turn, becomes a reflection of my honest feelings about that work, a personal reaction.
They say the trick is to find the balance between these two. I'm still trying.

bosch

"Think of mixing Fellini with David Lynch, sprinkling in a little James Joyce, and having it all put on canvas by Salvador Dali."
— Carl Linfert, Hieronymus Bosch, 1989

"The master of the monstrous... the discoverer of the unconscious."
— Carl Gustav Jung, on Hieronymus Bosch

....Get the picture?

So here's the funk......

The following lists my present collection of funk records......
The J.B.'s
Parliament
The Ohio Players
Funkadelic
Cameo
Mandrill
George Clinton
Jimmy Castor
The Brides of Funkenstein
The Fatback Band
Dyke & the Blazers
Brick
The ADC Band
Zapp
Slave
P-Funk All Stars
L.T.D.
B.T. Express
Con Funk Shun
Average White Band
Level 42

soul

Asha Puthli, Right Down There.....and Science Fiction Sessions, of course..Amazon doesn't even list her he he....
The new Johnny Lang record leapt at me from the speakers..
I wanna play deep-digging slow funk, with dollops of blues, like Robben Ford and the Blue Line. Tommy Brechtlein is just such an amazing drummer: it's unbelievable hearing him with Ford and then with Al Di Meola.
I also wanna play behind a Siedah Garette. Anyone listening?

Uberjam

Like his most famous employer Miles Davis, John Scofield has had his own classic band eras. With Bill Stewart, Marc Johnson and Joe Lovano, he used his characteristic playing and compositional skills to bring a freshness to the straight-ahead jazz quartet sound. On his 1987 Pick Hits Live, he and cohorts Dennis Chambers, Gary Grainger, and Robert Aries used a piercing intelligence to temper fusion's athletics.
His more recent funk efforts have suffered; some from the sensitive but 'grease'-deficient work of Larry Goldings and some from a general excess of politeness. Bump was an interesting foray into modern hip-hop grooves, but hitting the road in front of the jamband crowd has forged that sound and his road band into something to be reckoned with. It is no accident that Uberjam is credited to the John Scofield Band; the title tune was created by the members over three years of road dates. Far from being a pastiche, it demonstrates the cohesive unit that this group has become. Whether it is rhythm-guitar wiz Avi Bortnick adding Indian samples to Jesse Murphy's dub bass on Acidhead, or former Average White Band drummer Adam Deitch laying in the phat-ist of phat grooves, it is apparent that Scofield has come up with another classic ensemble.

Hike hai...

I wanna trek to Bhor and back......
On second thoughts, it's going to be too hot now.
Guess I'd wait for the rains to set in..

Tchphunkta

Single-strokes on a cracking snare, single-strokes on a cracking snare, a little bass-drum rooting, alternate left-foot on the 'and': that's Johnny Vidacovich doing the Cissy Strut with John Scofield: man, have you ever felt hot wax on your skin? The feeling's the same, only, this stuff is hotter!
Found a website for reading-challenged drummers: http://www.purechristians.org/Drums.html. The key in this method is say'n'play, as in mouthing out a DIFFERENT sound for EACH drum/cymbal you hit. Can get a little complicated when you're playing a songo, or let's say, any groove with ghost notes, like the one cited above, he he :).
Also on my hitlist:
Red Baron
— Tommy Bolin-Jan Hammer-Billy Cobham;
Chameleon
— Herbie Hancock & the Headhunters, Harvey Mason;
That's The Ticket
— Bob Berg-Don Grolnick-Will Lee-Mike Stern-Robby Kilgore-Peter Erskine;
Thunder from Down Under
— Frank Gambale-Stu Hamm-Greg Bissonette

quote

Boy George on a Guardian interview.....

"And what are your thoughts on heterosexual men?
All men are gay until proven innocent"

S-t-o-o-o-o-o-p......Traffic!!

Funny, just read a TOI piece on a new breed of concert-goers who are apparently called 'concert junkies', and interestingly, have NOTHING to do with music, nothing much, except sharing that 'fraternal feeling of travelling together, lining up outside the gates and that big roar when the house lights go off'. The music, it's quoted, is "irrelevant". The quoted text, o Deadheads, is that of a 26-year-old software pro from Pune. 26????? Incredible India! I am so thankful not to be a part of you!
The idea of having fun, at least as far as listening goes, seems to have undergone a sea-change. Searching for Heavy Traffic at the store from a pile of a thousand LPs was fun. It still is. Finding out lyrics to Traffic songs, in times when there was no Google search, was fun.
Sitting and analysing them over some killer weed was even better, though we'd run the risk of getting the words completely wrong sometimes.
But that would be fun, you know: the mere idea of sitting in that 6"x4" room with that line of vinyl, searching, choosing, discarding, often just staring in awe at the brilliant artwork. I dived into acid lettering because of those album sleeves. If you ain't seen a blooming rainbow mushroom on an Allman's album, you ain't no flowerchild, he he.

Funky turn

Just before the corner where the road takes a turn into the upmarket bustle of Lindsay Street, a series of quaint gramophone record-players lure passers-by. Often, when the MTV-friendly trash on the CD systems get boring, the 76s circle out interesting tunes: standards, really old blues, screechy motown, the odd Elvis, sometimes Marley, Dylan or The Meters. Anyone who has ever had anything for a record player knows the sound of a well-oiled one, and these shops maintained theirs' well enough. That was one funky corner of town, in the real sense of the maligned word.
Chacha's shop had the best of these players. Some were even up for sale. When I think back now, it seems easy to understand why Chacha could afford to pile up such a huge LP collection in the first place — he had the best players to run those babies.

On cobbled streets

Do you have an affinity towards things forbidden? Well, I do.
At 17, I liked the sight and smell of forbidden things. I looked out for them.
The neighbourhood in which LJS and I would loiter once had cobbled streets. To this day, some patches of that surface break out through the asphalt. These are streets burdened with too much traffic over too much time, and sometimes, they sigh. If you're at ground-level, dozing off with nose to the surface with the last chase on blackened foil, you can hear their sighs.

Back to reminiscence

So much for the digression into the Dels....just feltl like it...where were we? Oh yeah, Free School Street: that dappled neighbourhood of Jesuit preaching and whorehouses, seedy beer bars and sportsgoods shops, roadside junkies and NA meetings. Have you ever wondered how much the smells of a particular area define its character? I picked up that scent pretty early. Free School Street would give off the aroma of cheap kebab shops, the slick smell of automobile lubricants from its various garages, the pungence of attar from its mehendi-laden Muslim salesmen, the dusty, warm smell of bidi factories. It would all mingle to form a single, heavy musk....

ze dels

Kinda strange that I should start a blog with a post on Del Amitri. There aren't that many Del fans I know. In fact, in my vicinity, there are none, unless one of my superiors or colleagues turn out to be closet listeners of Some Other Sucker's Parade. By the looks of it, that seems unlikely.
Anyway, to get down to business. The title of this particular blog isn't terribly imaginative, but I hope it serves the purpose. It is for me and you to write what you feel about music that you like or don't. Mind that — not anatomical, cold reviews — but what it makes you feel. Few people know of the Dels, and the band name comes across some kind of Italian author's to most I have mentioned them to. That doesn't stop me from loving them: they're one of my favourite adult alternative (or whatever you call them) rock bands with a flair for bluesy hooks that just seems missing from on-air radio or music television. And,they're VERY catchy. Oh, they're also Scottish. No, they don't have a Seattle connection, though their music can be melancholic. As Currie puts it..."We are pragmatic, cynical Scottish people, we just don't buy into any of that shit". I like that. My first Dels record was Change Everything. In spite of the funny, seemingly uncool band name — my friends shunned the band and some great music to opt for, let's say, Faith No More — I stuck with them. Not that I mind: the Dels play very personal music, with some very personal subjects. I had faith in them.Can You Do Me Good was picked up in 2002, and quite for a lark. I had almost given up on new Dels releases, since it had been over five years without any studio cut.Again, it took two days for this record to sink in: the muted piano-organ and cascade-guitar of Just Before You Leave isn't any rocking album opener. Then again, the words are what got me. Like a lot of Del songs, this song was about a break-up. But it isn't so simple: here, Justin Currie (vocals, bass) imagines how his former lover might feel like just before she leaves her present fiance. Er, "off-kilter", you say? Well, he also talks of specific situations: 'Do you still storm away, do you slap him just to see/ If he hits you back or backs away,/ Or panics, just like me?' And then some: 'Don't you always fall in love again just before you leave?'I was talking to a musician friend of mine about how every Del Song is a finely-crafted story, at times, even a movie script, frame by frame.This song is a great example: except that it's in flashback.The Les Paul lines come back with Cash & Prizes. Surprisingly, few reviews mention this track, and I'm a little irked by that. It's an askance look at a celebrity millionaire who longs for fulfilment: and it's a brilliant look. And what a guitar line. Iain Harvie is the bluesman for this band, and in all likelihood, this is his line.

Zapped

Obviously, these journeys would be fuelled by strange hallucinogens. Dosage A, before getting on the bus. LJS was the Chemistry student, the drugmeister. Pop one, suck it with a li'l sugar...t-h-e-r-e you GO! The busride would be over in a flash. On reaching Free School Street, we'd stop at a tea store and chill for a while.

Zzzzzanti paro na!

How many lies does a liar make? Zzani na..but a single truth can save you.
Everyone's excited about catching Mark Knopfler live...I'm sure it was beautiful. Strange, though: I've kinda shut myself up, deliberately. I refuse to feel crappy about not being able to play, so there! In the meantime, there's a chance to realign songs and melodies and meanings. And read up.
Talking to Sarika, I thought about Chacha's fantastic record store on Free School Street, probably because she was so earnest in talking about music. It remains an ironic image of almost physical purity, in a period when I was probably the most tripped out (because I was just starting). Not surprisingly, the best memories are of winter afternoons in Kolkata. Probably because we like to imagine the nip in the air. LJS and me — for it was always me and him when I was 17, me the eager student, he a little mocking, but always patient, teacher — we'd put on our best winterwear and hit the road.
Any given day, when Kolkata would sink into a comforting siesta, LJS and me would take the Jodhpur Park-BBD bag mini and head for The Zone: Park Street and the adjoining maze of lanes and bylanes. Only true Xaverians know the short-cuts in that zone, just like we'd know the stretch from Bowbazaar to Hedua and beyond. He was a true-blue Xaverian.