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Static
No reason to get exited
The thief he kindly spoke
There are many here among us
Who feel that life is but a joke
But you and I we’ve been through that
And this is not our fate
So let us not talk falsely now
The hour’s getting late
Bob Dylan/Jimi Hendrix,
All Along the Watchtower
Greetings friends. Hope all is well in the land of the three Eids. I gotta say, hearing of this somewhat notorious feat was extremely rich. Well done. Now that we’re the laughing stocks of the Muslim world, I hope we’re pleased with ourselves. But hey, look at the bright side: since Eid prayers were offered on three consecutive days in Pakistan, the total cumulative Eid days celebrated add up to nine instead of the usual three. Beat that! We’ve somehow managed to outdo the previous best of just two Eids. Not that I’m actively encouraging this incredibly unhealthy trend, but perhaps our learned divines might push for four next year? Don’t hold your breath.
But I sincerely hope everyone had a good holiday season. Most likely (I give my example first), after a month of spiritual retreat and reflection, the majority of us probably stuffed ourselves silly with all the gastronomic delights the Eid season has to offer. And why not? After a month of fasting, penitence and denial, a little overeating never hurt anyone. Did it? Wait. What denial? Last I remember of Karachi, the lavish Iftar buffets, overflowing with mountains of food, each one claiming to outdo the other, did little to reflect the austerity the holy month is supposed to foster.
Anyhow, correct me if I’m wrong, but I doubt I’ve paid a proper homage to the master of the Stratocaster in the roughly two years that I’ve been writing this column. For those not in the know, I, of course, refer to Mr James Marshall Hendrix, one of the most gifted musicians ever to pick up the guitar. And there’s a reason I’ve credited the opening tune to both Dylan and Hendrix. Because though Bob Dylan, that other icon of modern popular music, wrote the darkly spiritual All Along the Watchtower, it was Hendrix, who covered the song on 1968’s Electric Ladyland, who made it his own.
Whereas the original was an acoustic meditation melding modernity and tradition (supposedly inspired by Dylan’s reading of the holy Bible at the time), Hendrix breathed into it a new life powered by a tumultuous wah-pedal and a blistering arrangement that placed Hendrix’s incendiary solos front and centre. To this day, whenever I hear that song, it gives me goosebumps and I envision an ancient, timeless epic unfolding in my head, conjured by the confluence of three chords and maximum wattage. A great many other artistes have covered Watchtower. Most notable of them probably U2. But none have come close to Dylan’s spectre-like intimacy, or Jimi’s lustre and swagger.
Though I do remember that locally, that great enigma of Pakistani music, Aamir Zaki, plays a mean, mean cover of Watchtower. I fondly remember one gig a friend and I attended, in shalwar kameez no less (it was a Friday). The most notable memory of that night, apart from the performance, was that we were stopped at the door of some poseur Defence restaurant/club (I shan’t name it, for reasons of good taste) because of our sartorial inferiority, even in spite of being guests of the band playing (Karavan).
It was good to know that even in spite of the events of 1947, we were still slaves — slaves to convention, to other peoples’ expectations of propriety; slaves to alien cultures. Slaves, because being in our own country, we were ostracised for wearing what is supposed to be a national costume, a representation of every man. Yet, if we were probably geared up in western dress, loyally emulating the master, we would probably have not been given such a hard time.
Anyhow, getting back to the story, after some cell phone theatrics on my behalf, one of the band members actually came out and ushered us in, revealing to us that we were not being let in because someone in the management said we looked like a bunch of badmaashes (I apologise for this brutalisation of the Urdu language, but I wanted to relay the event verbatim). I’ve been called a lot of nasty things in my day, but badmaash was a first. I hold it up as a badge of honour. Right, I’ve lost track of reality again.
The point was, the boys from Karavan were putting on a pretty decent show. That was until Zaki saheb, who was lurking in the audience, was invited on stage for a cameo. If I remember correctly, Zak took Asad Ahmad’s Les Paul and proceeded to rip through an absolutely wicked version of All Along the Watchtower, which actually overshadowed Karavan’s performance.
Zak pulled out all the stops: playing behind his back with his teeth, the solos disappearing into the ether of the night, refusing to be forgotten. For myself and my buddy, it was an eye-opening experience, as we sat, drop-jawed in the aftermath, gathering our wits as Zak finally took a seat. But that wasn’t the end. Zaki saheb has made the tune something of a concert regular. When and if he plays. Last I heard, he was somewhere in Canada and then back again. That’s okay. We all gotta be somewhere.
I hope you got something out of my long, winding anecdote. If you did, come out onto the streets and make yourselves be heard. If you didn’t, read another column :-) Seriously though. Through this incidental irreverence, we hope to say something profound. Just a little bit. What it is, I can’t exactly tell you, as different people get different things out of this and most anything else. Forgive me, I ramble again rather aimlessly.
Well friends, till next time, hang loose and keep hope alive. Till all are one. —
QAM
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