In a fabulous longread at reason.com, Peter Suderman observes the expansion of a new demographic in the US:
Since 2000, men in their 20s without a bachelor's degree are working considerably less and spending far more time engaged in leisure activities, which overwhelmingly means playing video games. Over the same time frame, this group of men has also grown more likely to be single, to have no children, and to live with parents or other family members.
The surprising thing about the stereotypical aimless young man, detached from work and society, playing video games in his parents' basement: He's actually happier than ever.
The unemployment rate in the US is quite low however, but it merely masks this effect:
The economy has rebounded since the great recession, and national unemployment now sits below 5 percent. But that figure only counts people who are actively seeking work. Even as the unemployment rate has dropped, labor force participation—the number of people who either work or want to work—has dwindled.
One would expect that such a lifestyle exposes its adherents to a lifetime of dissatisfaction and extreme unhappiness.
You might think that this would be demoralizing. A life spent unemployed, living at home, without romantic prospects, playing digital time wasters does not sound particularly appealing on its face.
Yet this group reports far higher levels of overall happiness than low-skilled young men from the turn of the 21st century. In contrast, self-reported happiness for older workers without college degrees fell during the same period. For low-skilled young women and men with college degrees, it stayed basically the same.
And further...
Research has consistently found that long-term unemployment is one of the most dispiriting things that can happen to a person. Happiness levels tank and never recover. One 2010 study by a group of German researchers suggests that it's worse, over time, for life satisfaction than even the death of a spouse. What video games appear to do is ease the psychic pain of joblessness—and to do it in a way that is, if not permanent, at least long-lasting.
A vast army of young, unemployed males hardly bodes well for social stability of a country, in particular since males exhibit more extreme behavior more frequently than females.
... men are more likely to exhibit extremes of character and behavior, both positive and negative. A whole generation of men obsessively playing video games during their prime decades of life may not be ideal, but most would agree that it is preferable to riots.
Indeed, a lot of commentators are now floating ideas about universal basic income (UBI) in anticipation of large numbers of people who will presumably be displaced from their jobs by advanced AI. As Suderman remarks, the main conflict lies in human notions of joblessness and its economic and social consequences. Some economists suggest that many such displaced people may turn to video games since they instill a sense of purpose, progress and accomplishment.
Even the most open-ended games tend to offer a sense of progress and direction, completion and commitment. In other words, they make people happy—or at least happier, serving as a buffer between the player and despair. Video games, you might say, offer a sort of universal basic income for the soul.
Such novelty features make gaming a complex social phenomenon since they increase the opportunity cost of both work (since jobs need to be "good enough" for people to quit gaming) as well as revolution (organizing against your meatspace overlords is far harder than nuking fictional ones).
Yet, one doesn't need to peer too hard to see the irony: "A game provides the sensation of mastery without the actual ability."
"It's a simulation of being an expert," Wolpaw says. "It's a way to fulfill a fantasy." That fantasy, ultimately, is one of work, purpose, and social and professional success.
What's happening in the US is yet-another by-product of technology reorganizing the marketplace in ways no one anticipated. Indeed, in a way, this isn't a new phenomenon at all — just like the Simpsons, Japan already did it — witness the continued relevance of the otaku and hikkikomori subcultures over there.
A fascinating read overall — do read the whole piece in full! Highly recommended.
Master of None: The Soundtrack
Much ink has been spilt on the excellent new show Master of None on Netflix and Aziz Ansari has richly deserved the tall praise heaped on both him and on the show. For the recently concluded second season in particular, the ending of "The Dinner Party" (S2 Ep5) stands out for being a stunning scene in itself. It's a single long continuous take of Aziz's solitary cab drive set to a killer background melody weaving itself seamlessly into the narrative of his dejection.
And so it's really gratifying to see Zach Cowie — the DJ cum music producer get such good press recently for an incredibly eclectic soundtrack that is in many ways, the soul of Master of None.
Here are some recent interviews with Vulture and the BBC. Even the impossible-to-please Pitchfork applauds.
(नोट: टाइटल अमृतलाल नागर की "एकदा नैमिषारण्ये" से चुराया हुआ है.)
...
अपने बैंड का नाम बहुत सोच समझ के रखना चाहिए. केवल धाकड़ नाम से कुछ नहीं होता है. केवल धाकड़ अर्थ से भी कुछ नहीं होता है. इस मामले का भी ख्याल रखना चाहिए कि बैंड खुद को कैसे देखता है - उसकी आत्म-व्याख्या क्या है? क्या बैंड के सदस्य खुद को और अपनी कला को बड़ी गंभीरता से लेते हैं? या फिर आत्म-व्यंग्यात्मक समझ की सम्भावना है? ये सब मालूम होना बहुत ज़रूरी है. (इस मामले में एक अच्छा भविष्यवक्ता बैंड मेंबर्स की काफी सहायता कर सकता है.)
अब पोस्ट-मेटल बैंड "आइसिस" को ही लीजिये - बिचारे अपनी संजीदा नामावली को कितना कोसते होंगे! अगर कोई हंसोड़ नाम रखा होता तो क्या ये दिन देखना नसीब होता? क्या कोई छिछोरा, आत्मोपहासी नाम-मात्र, आतंक-अवरोधी बीमा नहीं है? क्या कल को कोई आतंकी संगठन अपना नाम "बटहोल सर्फर्स" (अनु: नितम्ब-छिद्र अन्वेषी) रख सकता है? लेकिन "ऐन्थ्रैक्स" और "स्लेयर" जैसे नाम आतंकियों की लिस्ट में इज़्ज़तदार और हिट नामों में शुमार होंगे. नहीं?
मुझे तो लगता है कि आम तौर पे आर्टिस्ट जनता को खुद को सीरियसली लेना ही नहीं चाहिए; और ढिठाई और हलके छिछोरेपन की एक मोटी, पुष्ट चादर में स्वयं को लपेटे रहना चाहिए. ऐसा करने से बकैती में भी इज़ाफ़ा होता है - विश्वास न हो तो कुंदन शाह और कमल स्वरुप से पूछ लो.
वैसे पीकेडी लिखित, सत्यव्रत अनूदित "बह मेरे आँसू पुलिसवाला बोला" के बारे में सुना है तुमने? मेरे मुंह में तो पानी आ रहा है!
Attention Conservation Notice (h/t the great Cosma Shalizi): A (very, very) long, meandering, frequently digressive piece on, and an unapologetically hagiographic review-of-sorts of, Mani Kaul'sSiddheshwari; featuring factionalism in Parallel Cinema, Shahrukh Khan and self indulgent navel gazing (not in the same order). To expect a cogent, critical, objective analysis from this piece would be tantamount to expecting a leg break from Anil Kumble; or anything but from Venkatesh Prasad.
You have been warned.
(A part of NF still thinks ending the post here - right after detailed instructions on how to read it have been enshrined - would be cool (so second order meta!). Thankfully NF isn't a teenager anymore and has been declared free from cleveritis for some time now.)
...
Mita Vashisht as Siddheshwari
When someone asked him where they could find his films, he once said: “It’s good you haven’t seen them, but heard about them, you know; as time goes by the negatives of most of my films, which are in very bad shape, are getting worse, and there are very few prints anyway that are still alright…so, as I get more and more known, fewer people see my work. There will be a time when there won’t be any work left, and I will be gone, and people will be saying, ‘Mani Kaul, Mani Kaul, Mani Kaul’...”
NF has whined often about discovering his heroes only after they've been dead for a while - Nirmal Verma, Manohar Shyam Joshi, David Foster Wallace were all part of this list, which now has the dubious distinction of adding yet another newcomer: Mani Kaul (the only hero who has been spared this treatment has been William Gibson - forever long may he live). Truth be told, while NF got around to finally watching his first Mani Kaul film a few months ago, he had been meaning to do so for many years now - having bought a three-in-one DVD of his films (Uski Roti, Duvidha, Nazar) from NFDC a few years back. That DVD still lies atop his bookshelf - its dust-laden cover, having never been in danger of being opened. That his films are supposedly challenging and not for the fainthearted, filled the prospect of viewing them with dread and subliminal anxiety.
In an eerie twist however, when he did finally see Siddheshwari, his universe was so jolted, so awestruck he was that he felt paralyzed to get the word out, since a post about the film, with an even remotely similar scope felt intimidating beyond belief. And hence this post has been more than two months in the making - the fact that it's finally being put to paper isn't about slaying personal demons or climbing mount impossible; but is more of a mad rush for self preservation - the sooner NF gets it out of his head, the quicker the end of his obsession with the film. It probably also has to do something with a newfound ambition NF's been suffering from, which causes him to think he can do justice to the subjects he's going to write about, making said prospect of writing filled with the aforementioned dread and subliminal anxiety. (There are some other posts several months in the making too - the utterly, utterly delightful Frances Ha being another one of them, with NF given to swooning over the mere mention of Greta Gerwig - levels hithertofore reached only by the likes of Fatima Bhutto (O heart, do be still!).)
NF finally took the plunge after watching Bollywood celebrities pay their respects to the great master soon after his demise. Rajat Kapoor, Anurag Kashyap and Mita Vashisht, straddling arthouse and commercial cinema alike, were natural candidates; but it was Rakesh Omprakash Mehra's account of stumbling on to Siddheshwari at a local theater that gave NF courage. Unaware of Mani Kaul and being a fan of Siddheshwari Devi - the legendary thumri singer from Benaras - he went in hoping to see a documentary (which the film ostensibly is); and so transfixed he was by what he saw that he watched it again and again and again obsessively - about six times in over a month!
This was the final push NF needed.
Table of Contents:
Ostensibly, Siddheshwari is a 1990 National Film Award winning documentary about the life of Siddheshwari Devi - a famous classical singer from Benaras; but this sentence might just be the most misleading description of the film ever - as Rakesh Omprakash Mehra was to discover. Mani Kaul preemptively assuages the lay viewer who is soon going to be hit with a barrage of wantonly, obscenely beautiful imagery, the meaning of which will be forever, maddeningly out of her grasp, by including a very helpful 'Table of Contents'. Urvashi curses Arjun for scorning her and then relocates to earth as a Gandharva; Siddheshwari's childhood with her mausi (maternal aunt) who trains her daughter (though not Siddhi) in classical music which Siddhi osmotically absorbs, eventually astonishing the guru so much that he takes her under his wing after Siddhi is evicted by the aunt; her musical peregrinations (literal and metaphorical) over boat rides over Ganga due to the patronage of the local ruler; and eventual fame and acclaim.
This table of contents is absolutely key to understanding the film - so much so that its exclusion will result in complete and utter bafflement - and yet its importance is easy to miss on a first viewing, as NF was to discover. In fact, NF strongly suspects that this table of contents was the stand-in for a screenplay - Kaul's untethered, rich, insanely imaginative visuals seem impossible to be tied down systematically in a detailed script. If so, he wouldn't have been the first - Wong kar Wai - another example of an ultra-stylish director prioritizing lush visuals over plot, relies only minimally on detailed screenplays.
The film is a radical inversion of what a documentary supposedly is and arrogates to itself the right to reimagine the idea of being Siddheshwari. More a montage of exquisitely beautiful images in motion tied only loosely by chronology, mythology and musicology, it feels like a plotless, surreal dreamscape propelled only by the powerful voice of Siddheshwari Devi; and an impenetrable-at-first internal logic that begins to make more sense on repeated viewings. NF has no hesitation in acknowledging it as the most formally inventive, authentically avant garde Indian film he's ever seen, with its slow-swooping camerawork, cinematographical wizardry and all round technical excellence putting to shame even current films - commercial and arthouse.
Fact, fiction, myth, music, the impossibly narrow gorgeous alleys of Benaras, whispers, oblique dialogues - all meld together in a jumbled, impressionistic collage to induce a state of mind that affects you viscerally - on a level so low that conscious thoughts find the gates barred for entry. The camera lingers on its subjects' profiles, then languorously shifts its gaze to the ghats and steps of Benaras and the richly hued doors and windows it houses, acquiring sepia tones when transgressing reality; donning rich colours when merely accentuating it. Mita Vashisht is impossibly ravishing and looks every bit the Urvashi whose curse would turn Arjun into a eunuch. The style is dazzling; the effect, hypnotic.
The sheer density of visual poetry per frame in the film is unprecedented. It is gloriously, glacially, majestically, powerfully, stunningly beautiful. It looks the way Nirmal Verma reads. NF finds it useful to think of Siddheshwari as a ninety minute long thumri music video with visuals so lavish and style so breathtaking that it'll turn Tarsem Singh, Chris Cunningham and their ilk green with envy.
And what an inconceivable, perfect, even subversive ending that inverts, yet again, the identities of subject and object. The only other equally satisfying, artistically impeccable ending that shook NF to the bone was Kieślowski's Three Colours: Red's. Indeed, in terms of technique, the only valid comparisons to be made are those with Tarkovsky and Bela Tarr; and heavily biased as NF is, he feels the former's Stalker and Kubrick's 2001... to be the only films that are as visually powerful and formally accomplished. The magnitude of the achievement is every bit as stratospheric as Ray's Apu Trilogy - among the greatest that Indian cinema, arthouse or otherwise, has ever produced (though on an artistic spectrum, the farthest possible from Ray's Indian neorealism - quite self-consciously as it turns out; for Ray was famously dismissive of Kaul's "anaemic" and "aesthete" brand of filmmaking).
(For those who would think that Indian parallel cinema was a monolithic movement against formulaic, popular cinematic traditions will be sorely disappointed. Not only were there several parallel movements, there wasn't much love lost between them, though it is said that there were two towering masters - Ray and Ghatak - who along with their numerous disciples (Kaul and Shahani were supposedly in the Ghatak zone) dug themselves in two camps: neorealism (Ray) and non-neorealism (!) (Ghatak). Shyam Benegal and Govind Nihalani despaired over Kaul and Shahani's branding as 'parallel' filmmakers, Kaul thanked Ghatak for curing him of the 'disease' of realism.)
Normals and Tangents
This brings NF to the curious case of Amit Dutta who's fast become the Ted Chiang of avant garde filmmaking - a bona fide freak as far as prizes per unit artwork is concerned. His short FTII thesis film Kramashah (tr. To be continued/In sequence) was introduced to NF by Somnath Pal - an old friend and budding filmmaker whose fan NF's been for years. By the end of the film, NF sat thoroughly destroyed and completely bewildered by its sheer brilliance, being totally unable to get a handle on what the fuck it is and how the fuck is that even possible.
Not many can take out 90 minutes to watch the dazzling brilliance that Siddheshwari is. But to not take out 20 minutes to sample how truly path breaking Kramashah is, is simply inexcusable. Here is the full film, with subtitles:
Siddheshwari however, is the rosetta stone that helps unlock Kramashah. While substantially original, it bears Kaul's distinct cinematic stamp - gorgeous shot selection; exquisite camerawork; a preoccupation with Indian folk tales and myths; elliptical, oblique dialogues and slightly out-of-phase whispers with their curious mix of literary and folk Hindi; and an unabashedly (for lack of a better word) avant garde sensibility that remains obdurately, authentically Indian. Kramashah could not have been possible without Siddheshwari in the same way Smells Like Teen Spirit would've been impossible without Surfer Rosa. This is not to deny Amit Dutta his fiery originality but to underscore that flying off a rooftop to aim for the moon often ends with you legs up in the garbage dump, as Rajat Kapoor's short Tarana (Kaul's Dhrupad's bad copy - that it won the National Award is a scandal!) reminds us. It took Rajat Kapoor twenty more years to craft an homage that is true to the spirit of his mentor in Ankhon Dekhi. NF admires his tenacity and persistence since most ordinary mortals would've jumped off a cliff after the embarrassment that Tarana is.
Amit Dutta (in general) and Kramashah (in particular) are spiritual successors of the legacy of Mani Kaul (in general) and Siddheshwari (in particular).
On a somewhat tangential note, Shahrukh Khan produced and Amol Palekar directed the remake of Mani Kaul's 1973 Duvidha, in turn adapted from the cult Rajasthani writer Vijaydan Detha's short story. The same SRK was no stranger to Kaul's art by the way. Back when he was a mere mortal, his repertoire of films comprised an incredibly artsy portfolio - ranging from Pradip Krishen's oddly titled (and somewhat pretentious, though don't just take NF's word for it) In Which Annie Gives It Those Ones (starring Arundhati Roy as the protagonist Annie), Ketan Mehta's Maya Memsaab and Mani-fucking-Kaul's Ahmak - an adaptation of Dostoyevsky's Idiot (no NF hasn't seen this yet). Here is a completely unbelievable news item from 1992 (archived from 2012) on Shahrukh Khan's then incipient rise and features this golden gem from SRK:
"Yaar," he says, laying bare his carefree air, "shooting for Mani was something else. I didn't understand the movie but I loved the art film environment..."
Silencio
Watch Kramashah, it's only 20 minutes long and is gloriously, unforgivably gorgeous. If it's up your alley, be fearless and take the plunge, for Siddheshwari is a high risk high return proposition - if it's a miss, you'll know it after having watched Kramashah, if it's not, it'll be a film you will never forget for it will paralyze you with its beauty. It will make a fan out of you of Mani Kaul, of his vision of avant garde cinema; and not least - of Siddheshwari Devi's mesmerizing art which you, like NF will begin listening to on a loop. Of so much ink that NF wasted in this post, not one sentence was about how Kaul uses Siddheshwari Devi's divine thumri to devastatingly good use. NF just hasn't developed the vocabulary for that. If you don't think you can watch Siddheshwari, just to sample what you've missed, watch this stellar, stellar scene where the guruji lays supine on this bed and plays the sarangi; and just observe how slowly, lovingly the camera moves around the room, as if sculpting in time.
It's a terrific essay and thank heavens that much like pornography, you know great writing when you see it.
Examples: Here's the confusion that swept over devoted fans:
Whether you loved or hated Kid A, it gave undeniable entertainment value. All through the miserable fall of 2000, the debates raged on. Is it a masterpiece? A hype? A compendium of clichés? Will it stand the test of time? Why aren't "Knives Out" or "You and What Army" on this album? Where'd you park the car? Is Al Gore blowing it on purpose? Why didn't the umpires toss Clemens after he threw the bat? Where's "Pyramid Song"? Who let the dogs out? When is the second half of this album coming out — you know, the half with the actual Radiohead songs? How did they get away with that in Florida? Is this really happening?
Understandably, there was initial bewilderment and backlash:
The funniest review came from Select, the best Britpop mag of the era: "What do they want for sounding like the Aphex Twin circa 1993, a medal?"
However, only Radiohead could pull it off:
That was part of the romance of loving Radiohead — this band always did have a tendency to over-egg the pudding. I mean, if the trees you're singing about are "plastic," you probably don't need to add that they're also "fake," least of all in the title. But it's that hyper-adolescent overstatement that makes the "fake plaaa-haaastic trees" line — and the song title, and the song — so emotionally powerful. "Fake Plastic Trees" would have been easier to take if it had been called "Green Plastic Trees" or "Blue Vinyl Trees" or something — more subtle, more adult, more intelligent. But it would have been a lesser song...
At that point, it seemed like Radiohead were the only Nineties band left who still wanted to be a Nineties band —
The entire article glows with several such rare gems and has been casually, effortlessly sprinkled with deep observations about the then ascendant alternative scene.
Do read the whole thing.
(Those who know NF personally, are probably aware that he's a massive, massive fan of Radiohead in general and Kid A in particular. Indeed it was Kid A that personally got NF through six weeks of his only foray into real life inside a Fremont cubicle. (He'd listen to it on a loop and would often gaze longingly at the clock, willing it to tick faster.)
Sadly though, Radiohead is his only favorite band he hasn't seen live yet. (GY!BE check, Mogwai check, Pixies check.) Circumstances seem to be conspiring to make this permanently so. Boo.)
This is how journalism is meant to be. Read the piece and feel its pulse. It's alive and it'll kick some serious ass yet.
जिस हिकारत से इस गाने में 'हट, हट' का नाद होता है और उससे श्रोता में जिस सहज प्रकार से रोमांच उत्पन्न होता है वह हमें फिल्म की, और ख़ास तौर पर एक परिपक्व कलाकार की, डरावनी ताक़त महसूस करवाता है। गुलज़ार की कविता और विशाल भारद्वाज का संगीत और निर्देशन - दर्शकों का गिरहबान पकड़ के उन्हें झकझोरने के लिए इस बेहतर टीम का मिलना मुश्किल है। कुछ मिसालें:
तेरी लोहा लाठी नहीं चलेगी
तेरी हेकड़ी हाठी नहीं चलेगी
अब चले हथौड़ा, हथौड़ा
हथौड़ा और दराती
हट लूटणे वाले
...
जिसकी खेती उसकी ज़मीं है
बाबाजी की धौंस नहीं है
जिसका गन्ना उसकी गंडेरी
हट, हट, हट
...
हम बीज न देंगे
हम ब्याज न देंगे
रे कल का दर्जा
आज न देंगे
तेरी छतरी ले कर नहीं चलेंगे
अब धूप में तेरे पाँव जलेंगे
जो खोदे कुंवा उसका ही पानी
हट लूटणे वाले (हट, हट)
हाल ही में, अपने 'हिंदी बेल्ट' के छह हफ्ते के प्रवास के दौरान इस फिल्म को सिनेमा हॉल में दो दफ़ा देखने के बाद नंगा फ़क़ीर के मन में यह विचार आया कि कहीं ऐसा तो नहीं कि श्याम बेनेगल और गोविन्द निहलानी ने सत्तर और अस्सी के दशकों में बनायी अपनी यथार्थपरक, संजीदा और बेहतरीन फिल्मों को बनाने के बावजूद कहीं कोई गलती तो नहीं कर दी? आर्ट फिल्मों को उबाऊ मान कर लाखों लोगों ने इनकी और देखने की ज़हमत नहीं उठाई; लेकिन उन्हीं बातों को व्यंग्यात्मक तरीके से, एक ज़बरदस्त साउंडट्रैक के माध्यम से औरों तक संप्रेषित करने का बीड़ा जो निर्देशकों की इस नयी फ़ौज (न्यू वेव) ने उठाया है, कहीं वह एक बेहतर विकल्प नहीं था इन जम्हाईपरक, गंभीर बातों को कहने का? (ज़ाहिर है की यह बहुआयामी समस्या और जटिल है: श्याम बेनेगल ने कई बेहतरीन और बेहद मज़ेदार तरीकों से इन बातों को कहने की कोशिश की है, ख़ास तौर से "वेलकम टु सज्जनपुर" और "वेल डन अब्बा" में; और ऐसा नहीं है कि इस न्यू वेव की हर इस कोशिश को दर्शकों के पैसों की पुचकार मिली हो - आखिर "मटरू की बिजली का मंडोला" जैसी धाँसू फिल्म भी 'हिट' फिल्म का लेबल नहीं जीत पाई।)
हम इस विषय में जो भी कह लें, इस बात को हम कतई नकार नहीं सकते हैं कि इस न्यू वेव ने हमारी हिंदी सिनेमा के मौजूदा फोर्मूलों को ही खींच तान कर
नयी हिंदी फिल्म को जो नया अमलीजामा पहनाया है, वह पहले कभी देखने में नहीं आया। फ़िल्मी संगीत को कथानक का सारथी बना कर अपनी बात कहना - यह तो निश्चय ही सत्तर-अस्सी के दशकों के समानांतर सिनेमा ('पैरेलेल सिनेमा') के आन्दोलन में नहीं देखने को मिला था। इसी फिल्म को ही लें, तो प्रेम देहाती के ठेठ हरयाणवी लोकगीतों का ऐसा फ़िल्मी, किन्तु सशक्त प्रयोग करना हिंदी सिनेमा के विकास-क्रम में एक नया अध्याय है। (ऐसी नव-प्रयोगवादिता मध्यवर्गीय भारत की अधिक सम्पन्नता के कारण ही फल फूल पाई, इस अर्थशास्त्रीय कारण को भी कला के विकास के कथानक से भिन्न कर के नहीं देखा जा सकता।) न्यू वेव के सांगीतिक अनुदान को हम ज़रा भी नकार नहीं सकते हैं - विशाल भारद्वाज के नेतृत्व में अमित त्रिवेदी, स्नेहा खन्वल्कर, राम संपत वगैरह
नए संगीत निर्देशकों के संगीत ने फिल्मों की पटकथा को एक नया शब्दकोष दे दिया है।
हालांकि इस प्रयोगवादिता का प्रारम्भ व्यावसायिक सिनेमा में राम गोपाल वर्मा की देन है, सच पूछिए तो जिस फिल्म ने हम सबकी चूलें हिला दी थीं वह थी ओमकारा। इस विषय में, फिल्मों में संगीत की इस नयी भूमिका के बारे में, और ख़ास तौर पर 'गैंग्स ऑफ वासेपुर' के बारे में और बहुत कुछ कहना है, लेकिन फिर कभी।
After ten back to back episodes of The Dewarists you are left with the impression of having seen a very well made, slick series. It was heartening to see so many of NF's favorite musicians featured on one program - from Indian Ocean, Mohit Chauhan (of that legendary Silk Route), Rabbi and Shubha Mudgal to Midival Punditz and the Raghu Dixit Project. Some of the collaborations come off well enough; and that's more than what you can ask for. Personally, Papon (of that fabulous East India Company fame - nods to Somnath) and Swaraatma come off as minor discoveries of sorts, as NF promises himself to pay more attention to their music in the future.
The otherwise topnotch series has some irritating moments in between when the hostess Monica Dogra (of Dhobi Ghat fame) is compelled to add her private commentaries on the nature of music and life in general in the most cliche-ridden voiceovers ever (though truth be told, she's not the only one guilty of this misdemeanor). One comes off of this series strongly suspecting Monica Dogra of being a hack - albeit a very cute one.
Thumbs up overall though!
...
It's that time of the year again when Nanga Fakir visits home. All those brave souls who haven't quite forgotten him and can spare some precious, precious time are enjoined to visit Lucknow any time during the first two weeks of January.
Godspeed You! Black Emperor (henceforth referred to as GY!BE) start from where Echoes left off. That, however, is not to deny them originality or to comment on some supposed derivativeness or undue Pink Floyd influences. Their long, unending, grandly ambitious instrumental sagas with somewhat minimalistic, vaguely relevant found footage films running on projectors in the background (see picture) to which their music seems to provide a narrative of sorts; resemble Floyd only in the most superficial way.
Almost classical in scope (Shekhar used the word 'meditative'), with none of their songs-with-no-vocals clocking in less than ten minutes, they can seem to be an acquired taste - especially their meandering, experimental, purposeless-on-the-surface initial phase jamming which will then suddenly gel together to form an intricate harmony in which the projectionist's footages of panoramic views from trains/arbitrary industrial landscapes suddenly seem to acquire a meaning of their own.
Although musically the band they might resemble most is Mogwai, it is easy to see that they transcend their predecessors by focusing not just on creating "serious guitar music" but by also incorporating sounds from instruments not generally associated with rock music (the eight person band (?) has members playing violins, cellos, two sets of drum kits and at least three guitars).
When the venue's Terminal 5, a good vantage point is of paramount importance. With the ever-resourceful Shekhar at his side, NF was lucky to have found that and a set of very comfy ass-rests. The mild state of buzz - courtesy the beers - and the background GY!BE footage viewed through the partially filled mug, added to the ambience and sprinkled a dash of good weirdness (in the form of inebriation) to the already very heavily atmospheric music.
And GY!BE? They didn't speak a word. No hi, no bye, no sorry, no thank you.
They arrived, they played, they fucking destroyed!
