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STATIC
I can see clearly now, the rain is gone
I can see all obstacles in my way
Gone are the dark clouds that had me blind
It’s gonna be a bright
Bright, bright, bright
Sun-shiny day
— Johnny Nash, I Can See Clearly Now
If you’re the reflective type and tend to ponder over things endlessly, birthdays can be mighty depressing. But not ours. That’s right friends. On July 25, 2005, Static turned one, as the inaugural edition of this column was printed on exactly that date in 2004.
And that’s why we decided to start off with a happy song for a change, none other than Johnny Nash’s mellow ode partly reproduced above. Despite all the prophecies of doom and gloom doing the rounds, it’s good to keep a little glimmer of hope somewhere in the background, even if just to reassure yourself. Straying from our jokey, sarcastic and at times downright dastardly tone, I want to do a more reflective, sombre piece.
Introspection can be a taxing pastime. But some of us can’t help it. Why was Static started and more importantly, why is it still around? Well, credit must go where it’s due and to be completely honest, I was shaken out of my usual slumber by my editor and urged to fire up my (extremely limited) grey cells and think up a format for a new music column. I was in a real fix. I’d actually have to work for a living now. Drat! I thought. But the possibilities were quite enticing as one felt a positive change could be brought about at least in the consciousness of readers. As for the music industry, we had no illusions of a grand revolution overthrowing the established order simply because of this column or a few impassioned write-ups. The dinosaurs would die their natural deaths and nature would take its course, but we could sure help speed up the process.
I guess change, readability and positive criticism were the three driving factors behind this column. And not just criticism in the sense of tanqeed baraye tanqeed (criticism for the sake of criticism), as complaining and criticising without cogent reasoning is a hallowed Pakistani pastime.
Rather, we sought to criticise constructively (and at times a little destructively) so that those reading could realize that perhaps if certain measures were enacted, this industry could bloom. We never claimed to have any magical solutions or all healing panaceas up our sleeves. Far from it. Matter of fact, a lot of the advice we doled out might have been total codswallop, but it was intended in good faith and we’ve been told since childhood that the Lord above rewards good intentions.
So I’m still waiting for those millions to be transferred into my bank account. To sum up this column’s raison d’être, we wanted to offer something readable in a frank, colloquial tone that would be a departure from the drab, often anodyne style that was in vogue. Did we succeed or did we join the ranks of the very dinosaurs we sought to neutralize? You tell us.
Looking back over some of the stories we’ve covered in the column, the first was, of course, Brian O’Connell’s rather messy departure from Junoon. The firangi bass player for Pakistan’s most loved band first claimed that he was ‘fired,’ an assertion that was later retracted and in a follow-up interview O’Connell gave to Images, he delivered one of the most immortal lines ever in the history of Pakistani music journalism, one that will surely be written in verses of gold: ‘My position in Junoon is temporarily non-existent.’
Then there was the issue of the first Indus Music awards, which were held in Lahore. By a stroke of sheer genius, IM invited everyone but Dawn and in return, we gave them a no-holds barred critique in Static. (The result: this year we got an invite : ). But that’s besides the point, as the awards were fraught with controversy, and to a large extent, continue to be, though the 2005 edition was a tad bit better if you take into account the IM policy: please everyone by giving everyone and their relatives an award. Seems to be working.
Then there have been the more abstruse topics we have broached, ones such as the normally lowly quality of local music videos (conceptually speaking), the limited reach of our lyrics (95 percent based on ishq, mohabbat, apna pun), and the low level of tolerance for criticism our popsters have. Though this writer has received bouquets and brickbats in almost equal measure, the remarks from readers have been generally very encouraging. And here I don’t aim to toot my own horn. I myself loathe the day when Static becomes an unreadable bore, hence the pressure is nearly always on to stay current and maintain the standard of this newspaper. So when people appreciate what we write and there appears to be a genuine following of this column, the feeling is truly delightful.
FM stations and all their antics have again been a favourite topic of ours. And speaking of FM stations, City FM89 has just also celebrated its first birthday. Three cheers for both birthday boys. For better or for worse, it has definitely brought about a change in the local radio landscape with its accented jocks and varied playlists. Today I even heard two back-to-back Urdu songs. Surely, the times they-are-a-changin.’ The station has its core market across the country and it wants to cultivate it, which it has every right to do.
As for the masses, well, they can come to the party if they want, since no one can actually control the airwaves, but let’s just say no one will be waiting for them with a huge welcome sign. It’ll be interesting to see how the station fares as the competition grows and radioland gets more and more competitive. Remember when there were only two FM stations in Karachi? Life was simple, once upon a time. Now the airwaves are agog with frenzied voices and blaring beats fighting for your ears and the contents of your pocket.
How much of a shelf life does Static have? Well, to be honest I don’t know. It could wrap up next week, or it could (horror of horrors) continue for the next 10 years. One of the only certainties in life is uncertainty, so cherish what you have today because as Joni Mitchell said, ‘you don’t know what you got till it’s gone.’ So there. If you’re reading this with half a smile almost breaking out and thinking for even two minutes about both the genuine and bogus problems that face the local music industry, then I think we’ve done our job.—QAM
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