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.