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STATIC
Come in here, dear boy, have a cigar.
You’re gonna go far, fly high,
You’re never gonna die,
You’re gonna make it if you try,
They’re gonna love you
—Pink Floyd, Have a Cigar
Never has a more scathing critique of the music ‘industry’ been penned than in 1975’s gem of a song by the mighty Pink Floyd. Have a Cigar was a smartly written cut, voiced by British singer-songwriter Roy Harper (the only time anyone from outside the band has sung lead vocals for Floyd). It can be found on Wish You Were Here, perhaps the most perfect album ever cut. It was a deeply melodic, darkly groovy and almost flawless record, the type which has very rarely been done, and perhaps never will be done again.
The message of the tune is as relevant today as it was in the mid-70s: the music industry (since there is no music industry in Pakistan, the corporate sponsors are the next worst thing) is a mutating behemoth that survives by simply sucking the blood of artists and promoting talentless pygmies, while true musicians wallow in the shadows, eventually overdosing on their drug of choice or blowing their brains out with a shotgun (Kurt Cobain, anyone?) At least that was my interpretation of it.
But I must digress. At least in the West, the industry has developed to a state where alternative sounds and serious musicians have somewhat of a voice, however inaudible. That’s why while the mainstream might be overflowing with the dead and dying sounds of all the Britneys, Maroon 5s and Puddles of Mudd that are out there religiously spreading their racket, more non-conformist artists still manage to make it through the cracks. That is why some of us here in Pakistan are lucky enough to have been treated to the astral sounds of Karsh Kale, Nitin Sawhney, Talvin Singh, or the righteous growl of Fun-Da-Mental, all proud members (whether they agree or not) of the incredibly innovative Asian Massive movement.
Getting back to Pakistan, we must consider ourselves lucky that the robber barons who control the music distribution business here have even released albums like Mizraab’s Mazi, Haal, Mustaqbil, Rushk’s Sawal 57:34 (was that even released?) and the Mekaal Hasan Band’s Sampooran. Yes, we are lucky because these folks have made conscious efforts to cut records that actually dare to stray from the lame formulas we love to promote. Speaking of Mekaal Hasan, the dude was in Karachi recently and sat down with yours truly to talk about what he’s up to next.
Our pal Mekaal was adamant he wasn’t disbanding his group (MHB from henceforth), contrary to what’s been floating around media circles, basically because of his temporary (is it?) assignment with Junoon. Mekaal insisted he had no intention of offering fateha for the MHB. Instead, playing with Junoon offered him a chance to promote his own band, along with earning a bit of cash on the side as well. He’s also planning to shoot his next video, Ya Ali, one of the most powerful cuts on Sampooran, with buddy and video director Sohail Javed. It’ll be a very basic, performance-based video. That’s music to my ears, because live performance is actually MHB’s forte.
Also, considering Challi Ray, a preview single from MHB’s new record that the band performed at one of their Karachi gigs opening for Junoon, didn’t quite make an impression with this critic, Mekaal previewed a few more songs from the upcoming record, which should be out in early 2005. Needless to say, considering it is a musician of Mekaal’s calibre behind the wheel, the two songs I heard, Kinara (or was it Kinaray?) and Payal, were spectacular, quite in the vein of what one expects of MHB. Payal was particularly enchanting, a sort of raga rendered in Yes’ dreamy, prog-rock style.
The guy hasn’t quite sold out, but he’s attempted to make a record with more mass appeal, so that the average listener might be pulled in by songs like Challi Ray and into deeper forays of sound like Payal. Sounds like a perfect plan — hook, line and melodic sinker. Let’s see if it works. After all, pleasing us critics will get you rave reviews, but will it put food on the table? Maybe not. So take your pick: starving artist, or somewhat bendable wheeler-dealer musician? Catch-22?
Goher Mumtaz and his band — the official Jal — were also seen around town. Looks like the Lahoris are descending upon Karachi with a vengeance. They were seen at a trendy new cafe frequented by the city’s quasi-hipsters (there are just too many trendy new cafes in this city) socializing and spending quality time with the people. They were eventually coaxed into belting out a few tunes, which they did. As Atif Aslam, the artist formerly known as Jal, already has his record out, the Jal wars are heating up. Get some popcorn and pull up a chair.
Oh yeah, while at that trendy cafe, I also chanced upon a poster for an upcoming Karavan concert. Wow. That’s something you don’t see too often. Karavan and concert. Stranger things have happened. I didn’t think Asad and Co. were still at it. I have to say, their live sound has suffered immensely since Alan Smith left for greener pastures (Junoon). That guy was one classy drummer. By the time this hits the newsstands, the concert will already have happened. Maybe we’ll dispatch a post-mortem after the show. If we get round to it.—QAM
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