January 1, 2006

Compiling ‘best of’ lists can be both a pleasure and a curse: a pleasure in the sense that these lists are oodles of fun to read — only if someone else is compiling them. Yet as some sort of rock critic, I now take upon myself the onerous responsibility of giving you our very own top 16 Pakistani records, along with the top 16 western records at this moment in the time/space continuum. So make like M/A/R/R/S and pump up the volume. In no particular order …

Nazia-Zoheb, Young Tarang: Quirky synth-pop, an England-based Indian producer named Biddu, martial law and the brother-sister duo of Nazia-Zoheb: end result; a cracker of a Pak-pop record. Young Tarang is and will continue to be a hallmark where the local pop industry is concerned, with its clinical hooks, saccharine melodies and the siblings’ innocence-tinged, slightly impish lyrics. Tracks like the fiery Aag, child-like Dam Dam Dee Dee (with its brilliant Samurai-in-winter video clip) and Ankhein Milaney Waley, are local FM staples to this day.

Mohammad Ali Shyhaki, Ali in Action: A pumping disco synth-pop score by Jawed Allahditta and the oozing machismo of this Iranian émigré ensured this lost classic would not be forgotten by connoisseurs of the local pop scene. Our friend Shyhaki might have slipped into pop oblivion, but his evergreen tunes live on, especially, the ones from this landmark record such as Ja Ja Ja Meray Bewafa and mellowed-out ballad Yeh Mausam.

Alamgir, Alamgir 1: The guitar-slinging balladeer might have bid Pakistan adieu and settled in the US in search of greener pastures and possibly a green card, but his songs provided the blueprint for the modern pop movement in Pakistan. And his first album, considered by many as his finest, now long out of print, exemplifies his greatness as a crooner of the filmi tradition who crossed over with seamless ease into the pop domain. The fact that he also paved the way for characters like Hasan Jehangir, we won’t hold against him.

Hadiqa Kiani, Roshni: Once upon a time a bubbly young lass had crafted a fine post-Nazia image for herself, which was also part Whitney Houston, part Kylie Minogue. Then she saw the light … figuratively, of course, and the end result was the radiant Roshni, Ms Kiani’s finest hour, one she hasn’t been able to top yet. But, there is lots of time ahead as the pool of young female pop singers in this country is so horribly inept, Hadiqa won’t be overtaken for a while to come.

Junoon, Azaadi: Before Sufi Sal was desperately trying to find cures for horrible diseases like Aids, polio and scurvy, he – along with former token gora Brian O’Connell and sensitive singer-songwriter reborn Ali Azmat – made great records. And it doesn’t get much greater than Azaadi, which was nothing to do with the sacred, mystical arts of Sufism, but everything to do with acoustic easternized blues. Though one may not think much of Salman Ahmed’s guitar-playing abilities, he is a brilliant songwriter, and the soulful odes on this album are proof of that. A keeper.

Sajjad Ali, Babia ’93: A street-smart, intelligent pop record, if you suspend your disbelief of the fact that Sajjad ripped off the title track from Khaled’s international smash, Didi. Regardless, Sajjad Ali can sing like nobody’s business and the arrangement of the tunes on this record ensures that this goes down as a pioneering album that helped herald the second wave of Pakistani pop.

Vital Signs, Volume 1 and Hum Tum: Though many of today’s kids dis the Signs for not being able to play their own instruments (allegation more than fact), history says otherwise. Both these records broke new ground and have largely, single-handedly shaped the form of modern Pakistani pop. True, Shoaib Mansoor was shadow emperor of the Signs’ domain, but when the time came to release their swan-song, Hum Tum – the single greatest Pakistani pop record to date – VS had matured into a polished pop machine whose influence reverberates to this day in any and every new manifestation of local pop.

Karavan, Safar: Asad Ahmed and Co. released three phenomenal (phenomenally underrated, that is) albums, and chose to rest on their laurels. But this record sports a somewhat raw sheen, as Najam Shiraz had bid the band goodbye, while Tanseer Dar wasn’t exactly embraced by the fans (he still isn’t). Asad’s Kiss-inspired riff-rockers (Aaja Meray Paas, Beqarar) as well as moodier musings (In Makanon Mein) are definite landmarks in Pakistani popular songwriting. Too bad the band is nowhere. But please, no pity.

Strings, Duur: The boys have become local pop’s elder statesmen, but if it wasn’t for this massive comeback record, they’d probably still be in advertising. Spawning a bevy of hit videos, Duur ensured the band would take their rightful place amongst the leaders of the second wave, and their return to the limelight is a pop success story fit for a VH1 special. Any takers?

Najam Shiraz, Khazana: In plain speak, his best work to date, and a real treasure-trove of melodic gems. Najam displays his considerable vocal talents on this record with the tender synth-pop refrain of Aajana, the uplifting In Fizaon Sae, the crowd-pleaser In Say Nain and of course, the crowning glory of the album, Sona Chahta Hoon. Najam delivered solid records after this (Jaisay Chaho Jiyo) but he has yet to equal this masterpiece. Perhaps if he eased off the preacher man business a bit he could get back to making great tunes. But who are we to rain on his parade?

Mekaal Hasan Band, Sampooran: I have written about the timeless, earthy quality of this record innumerable times. So why repeat myself? One of the greatest Pakistani records ever produced, able to compete with the best of the best the world over. Let’s hope there’s more to come from Mekaal and his band of merry pranksters.

Aamir Zaki, Signature: It’s a crying shame that the eccentric genius of this country’s greatest modern musician has failed to shine through on his only official release. And the scary thing is, he has gotten 20 times better then he was when this record came out in the early nineties. Regardless, Signature is a chilled out blend of smooth jazz and modern blues, though some have blasted it as mere muzac. To them I say, it’s the tip of the iceberg. If Zak ever comes round to dropping his next record, which has been a decade in the making, the foundations of the local pop edifice shall be shaken to the core. Again.

Abrar-ul-Haq, Majajni: Face it kids, it’s not EP or Fuzon that’s listened to in the hinterland, it’s this man right here. Without a doubt, the much-maligned Abrar is an explosive wordsmith and his witty observations in colloquial Punjabi engender themselves even to those who don’t quite totally follow the language. And this, his follow-up to this breakthrough debut, is his moment of glory.

Aaroh, Aaroh; Mizraab, Maazi, Haal Mustaqbil: A tie for 15th and 16th record because though both these albums are extremely good, leaving one out at the expense of the other would not have been too cool. Aaroh delivered a solid pop-rock record anchored with eighties Van Halen-esque riffs, while Faraz bhai, who had been part of the scene for ages, finally delivered his debut with Mizraab. Props to both.

Led Zeppelin, IV : With the right mix of white man blues, Tolkien-esque Middle Earth mysticism and a track list that boasts of some of the biggest epics of the rock’n’roll universe, this 1971 record’s a keeper. Heck, there was such a mystique surrounding its release that people didn’t even know what to call it. That’s perhaps because the group didn’t feel like giving it a conventional name and instead, used four runic symbols. But who cares what it’s called? With tunes like Stairway to Heaven, The Battle of Evermore and Zep’s cover of When the Levee Breaks, it might as well have been called chicken soup and it wouldn’t have made an iota of difference.

Pink Floyd, Wish You Were Here: Seldom is any record classifiable as perfect. However WYWH proves to be an exception to that rule. The magnum opus is the Floyd’s emotional, honest tribute to their comrade Syd Barret, victim of LSD. The 1975 record has not one lame note on it. From the mammoth soundscapes that both open and close the record (Shine on You Crazy Diamond Pts. 1-9), to the wry, devastatingly venomous critique of the music industry (Have A Cigar, with guest vocals by Roy Harper) to the gut-wrenchingly emotional title track, WYWH is unparalleled in style and pure emotional magnificence. A masterstroke.

Kraftwerk, The Man Machine: This, right here, is the blueprint for all electronic music to come. Decades ahead of its time, released in German as Die Mensch Maschine, this 1978 record by the technocrats from Dusseldorf critiques the dehumanized mass that is modern society in cold, calculated and subtle tones, anchored by the machines of loving grace – synthesizers, used to their utmost utility. It was a contradiction of sorts: painting a bleak picture of a heartless future with the very machines that have helped erode our humanity. Only Kraftwerk could have pulled it off. From the dystopian gloom of Metropolis to the zero gravity propulsion of Spacelab, the worth of this record is perhaps still not realized. The robots have it.

Depeche Mode, Violator: Pure electro-gloom atmospherics mixed with dark, tempestuous lyrics: that can mean only one thing; a Depeche Mode record. And perhaps out of their entire catalogue, this off-kilter 1990 number stands apart. The album is a full-on confessional, with Martin Gore pouring his insides out on tracks like Enjoy the Silence, Waiting for the Night and Blue Dress, one of my favourite love songs, mainly because the protagonist is actually asking his lover to put on clothes. Come again? Reach out and touch faith.

Black Sabbath, Paranoid: Once upon a time metal mattered, and that was largely due to one single group: four oddballs from Birmingham known as Black Sabbath with a penchant for the occult and American blues music. And this, their 1971 moment of glory, is the benchmark for all hard rocking dudes till Kingdom Come. Sure, 1972’s Vol. 4 was a vast improvement in songwriting, but did it contain tracks like Jack the Stripper/Fairies Wear Boots? I don’t think so. A hugely underrated record from four scary old men.

New Order, Substance 1987: Yes, I know it’s a compilation. But it’s not like your run-of-the-mill compilations because back in the day, it was almost impossible to keep track of New Order’s singles, because they often weren’t included on studio albums. Plus this one contains new mixes, as well as the full version of The Perfect Kiss. From Blue Monday to True Faith, this double disc is easily the best introduction to one of pop’s most enigmatic and darned creative outfits ever. Touched by the hand of God? Listen, and find out for yourself.

The Clash, The Clash (US Version): Why the US version? No, not because we love America, but because the later release has a much better selection of tracks than the UK version. Released in 1979, two years after the original and produced by reggae uber-producer and certified weirdo Lee ‘Scratch’ Perry, this is the greatest punk record. Ever. And I’m willing to risk my piggy bank on it. From the pummelling assault of Clash City Rockers to the dubbed-out funk of Police and Thieves, this album may well motivate you to get a purple mohawk and start rocking battle fatigues. If you get the crap beaten out of you, I take no responsibility.

Talvin Singh, OK: Mahaguru Talvin put the Asian in underground and truly brought intelligent Asian dance music to the world, resulting in the re-christening of the genre as ‘Asian massive.’ The notoriously reclusive prodigy has put out very little studio output and prefers to kick it live. But this, his Mercury Prize winning 1998 debut, shattered all previous stereotypes of how eastern classical music could be heard, melding the ancient sounds of the orient with the hyperfast breakbeats of drum’n’bass and chilled out atmosphere of ambient electronics. Talvin charted a brave new world for Asian artistes. Too bad he doesn’t get the respect he deserves.

REM, Automatic for the People: This 1992 album by the iconic American group is both dark and lucid in the same breath. At a time when the pop industry was experiencing profound changes with grunge exploding, REM brought over a decade’s worth of alternative credibility to the pop charts. Forget credibility, this was a hauntingly beautiful record that is till this day unparalleled. The second in the glorious arc, which included Out of Time and Monster, these ageing hipsters from the American south gave us beautifully obtuse lyrics cushioned on a shimmering bed of arpeggios. Believe the hype.

Nirvana, Nevermind: For Generation MTV, the day Kurt Cobain blew his head off with a shotgun was the real day the music died. But back in 1991 when Nevermind was released, the music was very much alive and changing the music world, wiping the floor with overblown hair metal. Thanks to the explosion of global satellite television, this trio’s grungy power chord musings from the American north-west would become anthems for bored youth from Kansas City to Kampuchea. Here we are now, entertain us.

Wu-Tang Clan, Enter the Wu-Tang: 36 Chambers: Representing Staten Island, New York, which the Clan dubbed Shaolin out of reverence for seventies martial arts flicks, this is arguably the best rap record of all time. Sure thing NWA had kicked out the jams with Straight Outta Compton and Public Enemy had earlier brought the noise, but the Wu changed the rules of the game. Everything about them was mysterious: the members, the creaky, almost Gothic samples they used, and of course, their pseudo-mystical lyrical matter, inspired by the black American cult, the Five Per Cent Nation. Kooky mysticism apart, this record kicks mad flavour in your ear.

Rush, Moving Pictures: This one was tough. How does one rate the best from a band whose whole oeuvre can serve as a college course for students of rock and/or roll? Regardless, this 1981 album captures the band’s finest moments both lyrically and musically. From the menacing synth intro of Tom Sawyer to the epic abandon of Red Barchetta to the monster of an instrumental that is YYZ, Rush show the kids how it’s done.

Yes, Fragile: Though hated by many for being too ‘pompous’ and overblown, as far as versatility and musicianship goes, this 1971 record by these progressive rock journeyman stands way, way above the competition. Every member of this band was a master musician, and while the lyrical themes might have been immersed in fantasy and make-believe, they are by no means crude or shoddy. Is it a crime to aim for perfection? The revealing science of God as manifested in Yes’ music, specifically on Fragile, obviously proves that it isn’t. We have Heaven!

The Who, Who’s Next: Track for track, the Who’s moment of truth. An album so chock full of varying emotions, themes and arrangements, it reveals Pete Townshend’s unabashed genius in all its wild glory. Opening with the piano-and-synth anchored Baba O’Reily, closing with the tremendous Won’t Get Fooled Again with stellar tunes like Bargain and Going Mobile sandwiched in between, these quirky London mods have given rock a record that will continue to sound as fresh and as ferocious as the day it was released in 1971.

U2, Achtung Baby: Bono learns how to use irony as an effective poetic device and with a little help from his friends (Daniel Lanois, Brian Eno and Flood) his band delivers a magnificent masterpiece of industrial-lite, avant-rock show-tunes that – like all the rest of these records – changed the face of rock. After listening to this, hell yeah I’m ready for the gridlock. Bring it on!

David Bowie, Let’s Dance: The Thin White Duke is a most prolific artiste, yet it was this 1983 record, featuring such top musicians as Nile Rodgers and the late Texan guitar virtuoso Stevie Ray Vaughn, that brought Bowie to the world at large. Standout tracks include the title track, the orient-inspired, drug influenced China Girl and album opener Modern Love. What does this prove? That weirdo cross-dressing Brits with glass eyes make marvellous pop records.

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