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Eye of the storm
Mekaal Hasan’s guitar playing is both delicate and ferocious in the same breath. The dream of every player is to make their instrument talk, and Mekaal has largely succeeded in making his axe cry, wail and holler with joy, along with an assortment of other emotions. His primary weapon is not speed, rather, what is known in musicians’ jargon as ‘feel’: his playing is chock-full of it. And earlier this year he translated his fiery/cool playing into recorded form with Sampooran, his first album with his self-titled band. Yet, more than six months down the line, it is still difficult for the ace musician to score gigs in this country. The reason being ... he plays real music.
“I’ve actually been surrounded by music since childhood. My father, a huge jazz fan, has one of the biggest record collections in the country, with close to 5,000 long players. At the age of 11, I started piano lessons, but it wasn’t till I was 16 that I held my first guitar,” Mekaal started off, kicking back in a Karachi apartment, his unruly mane tied in a neat ponytail. He went abroad, to the prestigious Berklee College of Music in Boston, to study jazz composition, but left his degree halfway because he felt he wanted to spend his money on something he could apply practically in Pakistan. So, in 1995, he set up his own studio in Lahore, Digital Fidelity, which has truly helped many of today’s top popsters in creating the perfect beast as far as recording quality is concerned.
Considering his music is so guitar-centric, it is surprising to learn that over the past four years or so, he’s stopped listening to guitar players for inspiration.
‘I don’t really care if this record sells or not. I care that the record is heard by people who value music. You can’t please everyone. I believe there are plenty of people in this country who don’t want to listen to hip-hop, or techno-tichno. Not everyone wants to listen to Limp Bizkit. The people who want to listen to my record are probably in their 20s, not some 13-year-old’, says Mekaal Hasan
“I can still appreciate good guitar playing, but now I’m mostly listening to singers and other instrumentalists. I love the flute, as it is a very expressive instrument. I also love keyboards. To be honest, I just like music. I don’t particularly think that you should only listen to the guitar. The problem is, every person who plays the guitar listens to the guitar. I think that’s very limiting. After all, the guitar is playing the same surs as other instruments.”
When he came back from the States, Mekaal immediately started working on an unreleased instrumental album, Square One, which took about four years to record. In 2000, he travelled to London, where he hooked up with percussionist Peter Lockett, who is heavily featured on Sampooran. A request was put in to the British Council and to Mekaal’s surprise, a tour was arranged and Lockett joined him on the flight back to Pakistan.
“I wanted to write something where we could utilize his knowledge of the subcontinent and of western drums, and then utilize that with our own musicians. I thought it would be really stupid if I brought over a foreign musician and had him play with just me, because I don’t consider myself a very eastern player. I play pretty much as the goras do. There are other people here who are more traditional, which is more interesting for everyone else. If a gora comes over, why would he want to play with a western-based player? That’s when I thought that I should form a band where I write all the material and then pick people who are trained in certain styles so I can write around what they do,” the guitarist said, talking about the genesis of the Mekaal Hasan Band.
Many people in the local industry claim to be doing fusion music but make no mistake, Mekaal’s the real deal. It is a sound equally steeped in the cool, smoky environs of western jazz clubs as it is in the haughty, earthy tones of eastern classical music. Think, if you will, of a tie-died mind-trip that incorporates the free-form Latin fury of early Santana, mixes it with the psychedelic flavourings of John McLaughlin and the Mahavishnu Orchestra, and while coming down for a final approach, swoops low over Ustad Fateh Ali Khan’s territory. The man has, in short, created a sound that is passionate, controlled and incredibly fluid. There are no immediate hit singles; no danceable party tunes to shake your rump to, and definitely no slick videos with pretty little plastic men jumping up and down. Rather, there are deep, sonorous tracks that cover a gamut of feelings. The heartfelt Sanwal; the depressing Raba; the parched Darbari and the powerful mankabat, Ya Ali.
Mekaal holds himself responsible for all the stages of creating a record, from conceptualizing the tune to mixing the album to giving videos the green signal.
“The rest of the guys in the band are not interested in the rat race. They just want to play. I’m pretty much doing everything. Which is fine, because then they can concentrate on their playing and I do everything else. The problem in Pakistan is that we have very few serious players, about three or four to be honest. If you’re not utilizing these guys, you’re short-changing both yourself and them. I’ve done it, Salman (Albert, member of EP who moonlights with Mekaal) has done it, Gumby’s done this ... we all end up playing for each other,” he says, commenting on the transitory nature of musicians in the local circle.
“Every instrument on Sampooran is live. The reason why the record sounds totally different is because these are people playing, not machines. These are not computer programmes. What you hear on record, you hear live,” Mekaal adds, with a not-too-veiled attack on the Cakewalk and Fruity Loops culture that dominates music worldwide.
Mekaal Hasan is happy doing what he’s doing, and basically flips the bird at all those who think he should do otherwise.
“I don’t really care if this record sells or not. I care that the record is heard by people who value music. You can’t please everyone. But I believe there are plenty of people in this country who don’t want to listen to hip-hop, or rap or techno-tichno, whatever you call it. Not everyone wants to listen to Limp Bizkit. The people who want to listen to my record are probably in their 20s, not some 13-year-old. This album is not meant for kids! But at the same time it should not be kept away from kids either. Let’s put it this way: if you eat a cheeseburger, there’s instant gratification. However, a gourmet meal takes a little longer to make, but it tastes better,” he says.
He also understands why the record — otherwise superb — has not been appreciated by the masses.
“I think the album can do very well with the masses. People just need to open their minds a bit. People approach things with preconceived notions. They freak out when they hear a seven-minute song. ‘Songs are only supposed to be three minutes!’ they say. But it’s not the peoples’ fault. They have been exploited. Artists are to blame. If an artist is willing to take a bold step and try something different, there will be results. If you want good surs, sing them, if you want good guitar playing, do it. Why are your compositions weak? Because you don’t try. One shouldn’t be blaming people. There’s just a lack of commitment. If the commitment is there, one day you will see the result,” he hisses, mincing no words in his contempt for whiny pop stars.
In conclusion, Mekaal Hasan emphasizes the need to incorporate traditional musicians into modern forms of music if either of the two are to survive.
“People have to join hands to create something worthwhile. But we have to start incorporating our traditional musicians, or else we will suffocate and die. You’ll be copying someone else’s work. You cannot produce original work without embracing local music.”
Considering the fickle tastes of the global record buying public, the local market is no exception. It’s no surprise that most other bands, with their limited scope and hackneyed playing, are reaping the benefits of lifted chords, counting their ever-growing mounds of dough thanks to sponsored shows and big money endorsements from candy makers, soda pop dealers and makers of other useless consumer crap. While on the other end, genuine players like Mekaal are struggling to get shows (some, such as Amir Zaki are even contemplating leaving the country). Such is the sad plight of our true artists. The poseurs are king, while the true kings wallow in the shadows. But despite all the hoopla, despite all the roaring crowds and flashy music videos, the feeling of catharsis one gets at a Mekaal Hasan show once the feedback has died down and the amps are quiet is quite unlike anything the horde of lame duck popsters provide.
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