Pecos: The Good Old Daze

The air is filled with cigarette smoke. Regulars snuggle in their usual corners quaffing their beers. Weekend revellers sway against each other on the packed floor, staircase included, mimicking the rough-hewn voice of Janis Joplin in Ball and Chain that crackles through the much-abused stereo. I stand in a corner, waiting for my nimbu pani. (Writing an article requires a clear head.)

Says The Good Old Daze:

"Probably the only pub that'll feel complimented if you call it a dead place. Problem is we play Grateful Dead so often, the regulars think they're in heaven."

"Upstairs to the loo. Downstairs for cigarettes. No wonder our regulars are so fit."

"Money can't buy me love" - Paul McCartney, 1964.
"Money can't buy me love. I'll take your credit card"- Paul of Pecos, 2003.

"Drink to the guys from whom Michael should learn to rock."

Read more here

Deep into The Wall

Bret Urick is a veteran Floydian from Albany, Georgia. Below is my interview with him on Roger Waters' magnum opus "The Wall". For more on The Wall, visit Bret's website

The Wall is timeless. It has come to be the mouthpiece of several generations. What are some of the things that make it so relevant today even after two decades of its existence?

"The Wall" is timeless simply because it tells a timeless story: Man's journey to find himself. Even if the specifics are different, the general story of the fictional Pink is one that we can all relate to in that we all at times have felt alienated from our loved ones, from friends, from authority figures and society as a whole. Oftentimes, as with Pink, it feels as though life conspires against us, and as a result we build up these massive walls, these psychological defense mechanisms to protect ourselves from being emotionally vulnerable. While these defenses help shield us from the pain, Pink Floyd has gone to great lengths to show the negative aspects of such self-isolation, namely a breakdown in personal stability due in large part to a lack of communication and connectivity to the world around us. It's for this reason alone that we may feel the concept of the wall can even be applied to societies as a whole, and how wars might very well result from such social isolation, even those being waged today. It seems Roger Waters himself felt that the evils of Nazi Germany were created by this same self-righteous detachment from humanity, this hiding behind a wall of xenophobia. War, hatred, and all the ills of this modern world seem to be the product of so many personal walls clashing with each other, refusing to allow the other in. t's a universal message that has been reiterated time and again throughout history: History is bound to repeat itself, personally and socially, unless we learn from our mistakes as individuals and as a collective society.
Put simply, "the Wall" is still relevant because it is about us, all of us, as individuals and a society. It is about our capacity for evil jut as much as our capacity for good. It is, in a way, the story of humankind. Stories don't get much more universal than that!

How unique would you consider The Wall to be in terms of a concept album (both before and since its release)?

By the time "the Wall" came out in 1979, the concept album wasn't an entirely new rock and roll form. Arguably, the Beatles had taken a shot at it with "Sgt. Pepper's Lonely Hearts Club Band", and the Who had already released two concept alums of their own, "Quadrophenia" and "Tommy." To me, though, "the Wall" marks a slight shift from these previous rock operas in that its subject matter is arguably more contemplative and grim, more universal and epic. I really can't think of any other album that manages to tackle many of humanity's most persistent philosophical questions quite as successfully as Pink Floyd's "the Wall". (What is the self? How much of a role does the past play in creating the present? Are we products of society or nature? How closely is reality tied up in our perception of things? What is the nature of war? Of good and evil? Where lies the dividing line between rebellion and conformity? etc.)
So while it is not entirely unique unto itself, "the Wall" manages to put a very grown up, philosophical spin on the concept album.

You might want to shed some light on a few insights that you might have gained into the persona of Roger Waters during the course of your analysis.

What struck me most while writing my analysis was his absolute love of all things cyclical. Evidence of this can be seen even in the previous works, the circular nature of albums like "Dark Side of the Moon" (which begins and ends with human heartbeat, suggesting the continuous flow of life and death), "Wish You Were Here" and "Animals" (both of which begin and end with different versions of the same song).

"The Wall" is no different, beginning and ending with the same music playing faintly in the background, along with the line "Isn't this where..." ending the album, and the rest of the line "...we came in?" beginning the album. The idea is that "the Wall" as an album and a philosophical idea repeats itself continuously, that when one person's wall comes down, another is building his or her own from the wreckage.

I get the impression that, for Waters, the cycle is a double-edged sword of sorts. On the positive side, life will always go on. But on the negative side, man's capacity for committing evil will also persist...unless one can break the cycle, so to speak, by learning from history.

One other interesting trait about Waters is that, although many view "the Wall" as a very serious, almost pessimistic work of art, I think Waters himself is very much an eternal optimist. Despite all the maliciousness he sees around him, all the walls being built, I think Waters ultimately finds sparks of hope in mankind. The fact that Pink (the protagonist) learns from his mistakes, realizes that he is the author of his destiny (not just the victim of chance) and tears down his wall is incredibly promising. Also, that Waters chose to end the album with the song "Outside the Wall" also belies his more optimistic leanings; the message is that for every wall of isolation that is built up, there are just as many "bleeding hearts and artists" willing to make a stand and help tear down these oppressive walls.

The album has certainly come alive in its visual form through the movie, but would you point out any contrasting features that separate the movie from the album?

Considering that Roger Waters and film director Alan Parker often butted heads during the making of "the Wall" movie, I think the main contrasts between movie and album lie in this contrast of visions. That said, with the movie being such a cult classic, it's hard to imagine it as anything but what it currently is. Many feel that the movie isn't nearly as epic as the album; I definitely think that's a valid point. But at the same time, I think Parker's skills in film making helped give the story more structure and visual cohesiveness...something that was definitely needed in order to tame the more sporadic nature of the album.

Would you like to describe the role that Scarfe's animations -- hammers, dove, eagle, flowers -- play in shaping the idea of the wall?

As much as I admire Alan Parker's work, I think Gerald Scarfe's animations absolutely make the movie. Sequences like "Goodbye Blue Sky" and "What Shall We Do Now?" wouldn't have had nearly the same kind of visceral effect had they been regular film pieces. The brilliance behind Scarfe's animation lies in his ability to boil down some rather complex ideas and themes into a single animated "character." It's simply amazing how an image as simple as crossed hammers can invoke such a wide range of ideas and emotions in the viewer: force, violence, oppression, mob rule, brutal fascism, the Nazi party. The same goes for the flowers. It's hard to imagine getting anything out of a picture of two flowers, yet Scarfe somehow manages to encapsulate an entire history of love and abuse and violent sexuality within a sequence that is barely 30 seconds long. In this way, Scarfe's animation almost acts as another instrument in "the Wall", filling in some rather important and relevant information that the lyrics only hint at. Likening it to a person, "the Wall"'s live-action shots are like the story's exterior - the skin, the eyes, the hair, the physical qualities of the action - while Scarfe's animation is like the mental landscape, revealing an often sordid look into what's making this character tick.

Comment on Another brick in the wall.

"Another Brick in the Wall, Part 2" is pure rock and roll. It's also pure Pink Floyd. Throughout much of his artistic life, John Lennon was obsessed with advertising slogans. He loved the way that simple words could convey grand ideas. This idea was the impetus behind some of his most well known sons ("Give Peace a Chance," "Imagine"). I think the same idea lies behind "Another Brick." When you step back and look at it, it's a rather simple melody, a simple beat, and a rather simple and repetitive lyric. It's easily recognized and easily sung. At the same time, the simple lyrics hint at much broader themes, especially that of rebellion. And what could be more rock and roll than a song about rebellion, about standing up to the status quo!

What makes the song even more interesting is that, once you get past the exterior, you'll find an even more complex interior. The line "We don't need no education" is so anthemic that it practically lends itself to mass singing...which is exactly Roger Waters's ironic point. At what point does this mass singing, this mob rebellion, begin to resemble the very same mob rule that the singers are rebelling against? (Again, an example of Waters's circular logic.)

Going into my analysis, I might have believed that "the Wall" was a terrific rock album, but coming out I know it to be nothing short of a great work of art.

Autorickshaw - Jazz fusion

Ever heard someone scatting Sanskrit syllables while remaining true to both traditions — Carnatic and Jazz? Suba Sankaran, in her Canadian world-music ensemble, Autorickshaw, does it with a child's sense of wonder and virtuosity, in effect highlighting the similarities between the two forms.

She keeps the listener hooked, not merely with the panache with which she balances her hybrid vocals but also with her strong south Indian looks and a contagious smile.

Suba's musical talents and interests span a dazzling range: European Renaissance, jazz, Bollywood and Indian classical to vocals, piano and percussion. Daughter of the famed mridanga maestro Trichy Sankaran, Suba's family could safely be called the first family of Indian Classical music in Canada. "I was born with a perfect pitch," says Suba, who was able to identify and reproduce tunes from the age of two.

Starting young

"My dad used to come up with these complicated compositions on the mridangam and the kanjira. He'd then ask me to `Name that Nadai'," she says with a laugh.

Her first experience on stage was in the U.S. when she was only four. "It was for a Navarathri festival at the Wesleyan University when I was one of the four children selected for a solo-performance on stage, and I sang the hymn Santhanam Pahiman."

Suba carved her own path at an early age. Her musical identity is derived from her Indian roots (her mother is Telugu and father Tamil) as well as the diversity of Canadian culture.

Starting at age six, she studied piano at the Royal Conservatory of Music in Toronto for over 15 years. Her vocal virtuosity comes from singing with madrigal choirs; she is part of Voyces Past, a Renaissance music group. She shared the stage with her father from the age of 16 and they formed an Indo-jazz fusion ensemble called Trichy's Trio.

But he wasn't the only one who led her to Indian classical. "Throughout the year, visiting artistes from India stayed at our place during festivals and performances. I had the privilege of studying under many of them."

Among these artistes are celebrated musicians like T. Vishwanathan, K. Subramaniam and N. Ramani. She studied jazz at York University and completed her M.A. in ethnomusicology in 2002. As if that weren't enough she sings 80s pop hits in a-cappella (voice without instrumental accompaniment) with Retrocity, and Bollywood numbers with the Hannaford Street Silver band. Oh, and she loves busking (those informal street performances). "It's such a fun thing to do! We even used to sing Christmas carols. " A few years ago, though, she busked for a purpose. "It helped me make money to release my first album (with Autorickshaw)."

"Autorickshaw is a dream come true for me and Ed Hanley," says Suba, whose husband Dylan Bell is the touring India with the band. "It is our musical vehicle."

Ed, who plays the tabla, had approached Suba with the idea of forming a world-music ensemble. "It took us about 30 seconds to realise that it was like looking in a mirror."

This ability to analogise various traditions from a classical perspective chiefly came from a solid four-year training in Carnatic vocals by Sankari Krishnan in Chennai.

"I was able to paint more of a picture of where the music came from rather than just read notes on a page."

She is strongly influenced by R.D. Burman and Asha Bhosle apart from fusion artists like Trilok Gurtu, U. Shrinivas and Shakti.

The song "Ganamurthy," from Autorickshaw's second album Four Higher (yes, a take on For Hire) was inspired by U. Shrinivas's rendition of the paean for Lord Krishna.

Suba also composes music for radio and has worked with Deepa Mehta on a radio play called Funny Boy. She directs choirs, performs jingles, sings for films, and even doubles as a part-time faculty at York University.

Suba Sankaran and me at KCP

Michael Schiefel

Jazz vocal artiste Michael Schiefel demonstrates the dynamism of repetition in his music with his loop machine

Michael Schiefel: ‘I am like a parrot, but a little more creative’

“Repetition is an integral part of music,” says German jazz singer Michael Schiefel of the most basic element rampant in his music – loops. Looping has, in recent times, evolved into a musical form in its own right wh at with the works of minimalist composers like Terry Riley, Steve Reich and Brian Eno, and Robert Fripp of King Crimson and Guitar Craft fame.

Schiefel, however, demonstrates the dynamism of the music with his loop machine in a manner hitherto unseen. His avant-garde use of mimed and played-back beats, sounds and melodies, all fashioned by his vocals, form a brilliant mélange of pop/jazz moods and rhythms.

“It was the piano that drew me into jazz,” says Schiefel recounting his foray into jazz in his late teens. But having learnt the jazz piano only as an accompaniment instrument, there was a dire need to express himself through his voice. “I was always singing and I found that improvising on the piano was tougher than improvising with my voice.”

Soon he began developing a highly androgynous voice from soprano through baritone and even bass. “It wasn’t hard for me to sing and imitate artists like Ella Fitzgerald, Bobby McFerrin, Billie Holiday and Dinah Washington.”

Having moved to Berlin in the early 90s from his hometown of Weimar, Schiefel was suddenly exposed to the burgeoning post-Wall cultural scene in the city. But the 21-year-old soaked in the atmosphere and soon began his musical career. “There was a mixture of East and West jazz scenes and a new scene was emerging with influences from as far as America and Eastern Europe. The time and space felt very creative.” With places to learn and play jazz sprouting up rapidly, Schiefel started gigging at small clubs around Berlin with his band JazzIndeed. As the cultural awakening slowly changed from an underground subculture to an established tradition, Schiefel joined Berlin’s University of the Arts and worked under the tutelage of noted composer David Friedman.

It was here in the conservatory that he chanced upon a prototype loop machine. “The idea of playing with this machine emerged as I started toying and having fun with it,” says Schiefel. With a dynamic vocal range, he was soon experimenting with linear melodies and repeated musical phrases using them as a background for extended solos like in a small jazz band and developing a three-dimensional vocal architecture. And another chance encounter at the annual Loop Festival in Berlin with the machine’s (called Echoplex when released) inventor Matthias Grob set the ball rolling for Schiefel.

“Matthias was impressed by the experimental jazz work that I was doing on his instrument and agreed to help me make it more versatile and portable.” Soon Schiefel launched into a solo career and began touring extensively with his loop machine. His three solo albums among other collaborations include “Invisible Loop” (1998), “I Don’t Belong” (2000) and “Don’t Touch My Animals” (2006). “The instrument is no more just an effect device that it was intended to be,” he asserts.

Schiefel claims that the inspirations and influences in his music are as random as they can be. “I am like a parrot, but a little more creative,” he quips. “I listen to stuff all around, play it in my head and try to reproduce it. It is much less systematic than what it seems.” Of course, his stylistic flexibility and the dynamic nature of his vocals are indelible on the listener’s mind.

In addition to his solo performances, Schiefel is also noted for his numerous collaborations: with the classical-inspired big band Thaerichen’s Tentett, modern jazz with David Friedman, Balkan music with the German-Bulgarian quintet Batoru, and also as a guest artist for the Goethe Institute.

It was as part of his Asia tour organized by the Institute when Schiefel recently performed in the city. So how do audiences across the world take to his kind of music? “It is a small stream within jazz music,” he says. “Audiences are actually not that different from each other when it comes to experiencing new things. Some simply leave, but most are willing to experiment.” Schiefel claims that people often dub him as an alien. “I’m new and weird every new place I go to,” he smiles.

Bernard Herrmann

Ever imagined what cinema would be like without music in it? Would our collective cultural psyche still be hooked onto the “Wizard of Oz”, in the way that it is today, without the classic work of Herbert Stothart? Would ‘spaghetti westerns’ still possess their quintessential charm without Ennio Morricone’s parched-atmospheric compositions, like in “The Good, The Bad and the Ugly”? How stark would the “Star Wars” series be without John Williams’ triumphant score, or, “Jaws” without his legendary ominous two-note motif? Or, in more recent times, how well have Howard Shore’s operatic and thematic scores complemented the enchanting grandeur of the “The Lord of the Rings” trilogy?

Cinema is unimaginable without such prodigiously talented composers. But since the time French composer Camille Saint-Saens composed the first original score for “The Assassination of the Duke of Guise” (1908) and the ‘talkies’ arrived soon thereafter, there is one man who still reigns supreme to this day: Bernard Herrmann. Even over thirty years after his final score for Martin Scorsese’s “Taxi Driver” (1976), no one has been able to set an atmosphere for the movies with their compositions quite in the way that the master American composer did.

Herrmann, who would have turned 96 on June 29th, with his novel and often-unexpected orchestrations, made background scoring a highly integral, if not indispensable, part of the motion picture experience. His affinity for dark, brooding motifs that remarkably captures the film’s narrative delving into the characters’ minds is the stuff of legend. He was among the first to remark with any authority: “It is almost impossible to make movies without music. It is as important as the photography.”

Gail Hart, a documentary film-music composer opines that, as simple as Herrmann’s scores were, they consistently set rigorous standards in the movie industry. “You simply cannot imagine scenes without his music in it,” she says. “The bizarre and freaky alien scores from ‘The Twilight Zone’ (the science fiction anthology television series by Rod Serling), and his scores in movies like ‘Vertigo’ and ‘Psycho’ have all become part of the musical lexicon today.”

Herrmann’s entry into films first began when he secured an apprenticeship with the radio. As the staff conductor for the Columbia Broadcasting System (CBS) Symphony Orchestra in the late 1930s, Herrmann was able to pursue his passion of being a conductor (that, interestingly enough, remained intact throughout his life even after receiving widespread acclaim as a composer). He slowly began composing for a number of radio dramas that eventually laid the foundation for his illustrious film career. It was thanks to his scores for the Orson Welles radio adaptation of H.G. Wells’ “The War of the Worlds” (1938) that he immediately moved to Hollywood.

Herrmann’s association with the master of suspense Alfred Hitchcock is one that has elevated the director-composer partnership in cinema to another level altogether, and en route, has come to be a part of cinematic folklore what with its own thrilling highs and lows. Right from their first venture “The Trouble with Harry” (1955), through the highs of “Vertigo” (1958), “North by Northwest” (1959) and “Psycho” (1960), till the box office failure of “Marnie” (1964) and the disaster that befell them in “The Torn Curtain” (1966), the Herrmann-Hitchcock partnership could easily form the script for another ‘Hitchcock’ for the world. But Herrmann would soon and with renewed energy find his artistic inspiration after this break-up, with a variety of new-age directors: Ray Harryhausen, François Truffaut, Brian De Palma, and Scorsese.

Bollywood music composer Sandeep Chowta, acknowledges Herrmann as one of his primary inspirations, and in his account, is still as contemporary and relevant today as when he was alive. Chowta cites the background score of “Taxi Driver”, a combination of two conflicting themes that remarkably capture the mindset of the loner cabbie Travis Bickle (Robert De Niro), as his favourite Herrmann score. “A new-age Herrmann is whom we see here”, he says, likening it to, “An experience of how Jimi Hendrix would’ve sounded if he was alive today.”

Describing the role of music for the movies, Chowta illustrates, “Music should accentuate the scene and enhance the film without being conspicuous. Effect-and theme-based background scores should carry the film forward even without the protagonists playing a real part in the movie. This is crucial in capturing audience interest.”

Herrmann’s creative genius was such that his film scores not only created an interest in film but are also worthy of appreciation and performance in their own right. Herrmann once said famously, “The best film music should be able to stand on its own legs when detached from the film for which it was originally written.”

His music certainly did, and his recordings have a much greater scope than just film.

Talvin Singh

BRAND NEW FUSION Talvin Singh: `When you live outside the country, somehow you feel more passionate about the country's culture and do not take things for granted'

He is a DJ spinning electronic dance music records at nightclubs in London on the one hand and a Hindustani traditionalist playing the tabla on the other. He is the pioneer of a new brand of fusion that is famously known as Asian Underground — an innovative-derivative outcome of his two primary interests.

Talvin Singh believes that his music has a universal appeal. "The ingredients of my music may be territorial but the music itself isn't," he says. Talvin's magnum opus Anokha - Soundz of the Asian Underground (1997) is still seen as a landmark release. His `tabla-tronics' that drew exciting parallels between `drum-n-bass' and Indian percussion, was not just a staple at desi clubs in the UK and US, but also a wild craze in the South Pacific regions, especially Australia and New Zealand. His solo works Ok (1998) and Ha(2001) further illustrated his versatility.

"When you live outside the country, somehow you feel more passionate about the country's culture and do not take things for granted," says Talvin who was born and brought up in Leytonstone, East London, but had a strong and traditional Indian lineage. In fact his passion for Indian music was so profound that even after having been exposed to the vibrant London music scene in the 70s and early 80s, Talvin, at the age of 15, took his exams early so he could leave school for India to learn the tabla under Pandit Laxman Singh.

But on returning to the UK there was another problem. "There have been times in my life when I just wanted to play Indian classical music but that's where my identity crisis kicked in," says Talvin. "I didn't feel it was really me."

It was also a time when artists were experimenting with new sounds.

"London, in the late 80s, was celebrating its diversity and was witness to an integration of musical cultures. There was an open air for music and art all through. So, I of course had to be a part of it." It was thus that Talvin ventured into fusion.

Talvin's collaborations with artists like jazz composer and `cosmic philosopher' Sun Ra, Bjork and electronic music duo The Future Sound of London among others ensured that his brand of music was no more "underground" as it quickly broke through to the mainstream.

Various artists soon began using Asian instrumentation to liven up their music. But it was Talvin's efforts at the now-legendary Anokha club night, East London's Blue Note 1996-97 that took his music to the world and ensured his global recognition. His solo album Ok also went on to win the Mercury Music Prize in 1999.

In the city as part of the Submerge series of events (see box), Talvin's gig last week at Fuga showcased cutting-edge trends in electronica hitherto unseen on the Indian club circuit. "The idea of dance music in India is very different from elsewhere," he complains. "It's got to do more with drinking and bar culture than with music." Talvin also believes that the existence of an underground `posse culture' is essential for the growth of art forms. "Back in the UK, this is what helped me derive my own identity, but here, I simply do not see any solid platform for alternative forms," he says even while acknowledging the efforts of Submerge in breaking this rut.

Talvin also believes there is a similar problem haunting Indian Classical music. Having been closely associated with the Punjab gharana and other Hindustani traditions for many years now, he says that there is definitely more talent within than what is seen outside.

"To me the Classical structure seems a bit contrived. It is taking the character of a trade in recent times," he says. "I'd like to hear new musicians who don't necessarily come from privileged backgrounds."

As for his progressive fusion music that many still label as "ambient", Talvin is certain it is more subjective than anything and does not like his music to be pigeonholed.

"People who listen to Himesh Reshammiya might call my music ambient, but the ones who listen to Brian Eno might not think so," he smiles. "But on a more serious note, I like to think of my music simply as mood evoking. There is a space and colour to my music that is different for each listener."

So what does he have in store for his fans? "I am scoring music for Deepa Mehta's film "Republic of Love", working on a tabla solo album that is slated to release this October and music for a few short films." This is apart from being on the road for over seven months a year! And where does he believe electronica is headed today? "To be more in commune with nature — more natural sounds, minimal in style and tending towards acoustic and folk."

Still in the Pink

POWER PLAY The operatic visual extravaganza that spawned an entire industry.

A musical outburst of a “soul in torment” or a grand theatrical experience – inspire you as it may, Pink Floyd’s landmark 1979 release, “The Wall” continues to grow in stature. With hit singles like “Hey You& #8221;, “Comfortably Numb”, “Young Lust” and the anthemic “Another Brick in the Wall (II)”, it continues to rake in millions (both in terms of money and audience numbers) all over the globe. This tremendous outreach of “The Wall”, is largely due to its mastermind, George Roger Waters, who turns 64 today.

“‘The Wall’ has come to be a mouthpiece for several generations,” asserts Soumitro Mukherjee, guitarist of the Sarjapur Blues Band and faculty at the Bangalore School of Music. “It is infinite in scope and concept, and immense in execution.”

Bret Urick, a veteran Floydian from the US and author of one of the most visited websites on “The Wall”: www.thewallanalysis.com says via email: “The Wall’ is timeless simply because it tells a timeless story: man’s journey to find himself.” In his account, it is about as universal as a story can get. One could relate with the fictional Pink in terms of alienation from friends, loved ones, authority and even society as a whole.

Ajay, ad executive says: “The wall is a powerful symbol of alienation. And breaking down a wall is equally evocative of bringing down boundaries – think of the Berlin Wall. And now this whole idea of selling bricks from the Indian Institute of Science seems to me in some perverse way linked to education, alienation and making loads of money!”

“Pink Floyd has gone to great lengths to show the negative aspects of such self-isolation that comes with these massive walls built as psychological defence mechanisms.”

Roger Waters.

One of the definitive features of the album, that comes to one’s notice, is the open-endedness to Waters’s work, or as Bret puts it, “his absolute love for all things cyclical” to the extent that it actually prevents one from criticising the subject. Writer Anand S. says “The Wall” is really more about discovery and finding out, rather than of breaking out. Stemming from profound cultural changes in England in the 50s, 60s and 70s, Anand says “The Wall”, far from being an opinion, is in fact a poignant representation of British life as a result of these changes.

This ability of “The Wall” for philosophical insights as a concept album, says Bret, is path-breaking in its own right. “In the late 60s and early 70s, although the idea of the concept album was shaping up with albums like ‘Sgt. Pepper’s Lonely Hearts Club Band’ (The Beatles), ‘Tommy’ and ‘Quadrophenia’ (The Who), ‘The Wall’ marked a shift from such rock operas and concept albums (both before and since its release),” he says. “Its subject matter is more contemplative and grim, more universal and epic.”

Soumitro, who shares a similar opinion, points out that the album in itself does not have any distinct divisions. “It is really not a song album despite all the hit singles. It’s an idea that segues from one song into another.” If Waters’s magnum opus acts as a perfect soundtrack to the angst of a rock starthen his collaboration with director Alan Parker in the movie version of “The Wall” (1982) is an explosive visual depiction of this anti-hero (played by Bob Geldof).

Although not a commercial hit like the album, it is Gerald Scarfe’s brilliant animations that make the movie the timeless cult classic that it is. The marching hammers, the flower and bird sequences et al exemplify his ability to boil down complex ideas and themes into exquisite animations.

Bret remarks: “The Wall’s live-action shots are like the story’s exterior – the skin, the eyes, the hair, the physical qualities of the action – while Scarfe’s animation is like the mental landscape, revealing an often sordid look into what’s making this character tick.”

Whatever it is that “The Wall” holds for us, it is best seen today with how our collective cultural psyche still remains hooked onto the one defining line in the album, with its catchy melody and simple lyrics that speak of rebellion:

“We don’t need no education”. Soumitro aptly observes, “Pink Floyd has tapped into one of the most fundamental human responses irrespective of the milieu – that of angst. “The Wall” shall be remembered as a classic forever.”

The Freedom Jam: How it all began

www.freedomjam.net

Pics 1 - 3: The Bangalore Music Strip. Some of acts that jammed at the Strip included "Bharat Mata Nach Kud Baja" a.k.a "Mother India Jive Band" (famous for its dead man's beat, locally known as the 'Thapan Kud'), "The Chronic Blues Band", the outrageously named punk band "Dr Dong & the wrinkled scrotums", "Human Bondage", "Hot Rain" and "Stylus".
Pic 4: Radha Thomas and Babu Joseph (with shaker) of Human Bondage.
Pic 5-6: The Freedom Jam at The Club. (2004)

"To foster a creatively explosive, original contemporary music scene one needs an appropriate space -- where there is freedom to express oneself, no commercial bias, non-judgmental ambience, and a receptive, music loving audience. The Freedom Jam is such an oasis." – Gopal Navale.

The Bangalore Music Strip (1983 – 1986)

In 1983, Bombay businessman Shorab Rubina brought down renowned London theatre artists Laura and Geoffrey Kendall to the city to stage 'Dear Liar: A Comedy of Letters' at Chowdiah Memorial Hall. Using street music as a novel promotional ploy for the play, Rubina decided to have a few city musicians come together and jam on the embankment on M.G. Road -- making it 'The Music Strip'. But the then police commissioner denied permission, and instead, allowed Rubina to use Cubbon Park. It was thus that the grassy area between the Ashoka trees behind Queen Vicky became known as the Music Strip.
With the play having done remarkably well, Rubina donated Rs.5000 to his friend Sunbeam Motha asking him to further the strip before he left for the States. In his words, "Musicians should run the Strip all by themselves and only for people who love music." Motha along with his friends Peter Pires, Michael Furtado and Geoffrey Pope soon registered as 'The Bangalore Music Strip Trust'.

The Great 80s Jam

"The hangover from the hippie movement in the 60s and 70s, the thirst for 'live' music and a musician's need to share his experiences with like-minded souls were some of the forces that had Sunbeam and his friends organize this unique commune." - Gopal Navale.

"Although highly disorganized, the music scene was most fun back then in the 80s," says guitarist-turned-poet Jeet Thayil. "The Music Strip is unforgettable; petromax lanterns and amps set up on the rocks in Cubbon Park, a bunch of freaks gathered for the music, smoke rising into the night sky. I remember jamming with Peter Isaac's Chronic Blues Band and, later, with the Baja."
If Woodstock was where it all happened in the 60s, then here in the city, the Music Strip was where it was all at in the 80s. The scene was set every Friday and Saturday evening for one hell of a jam. Musicians (and non-musicians) lugged their acoustic guitar, mandolin, flute, tabla, didgeridoo, bongos, maraccas, harmonica and what have you to entertain all and sundry at the Strip. A collection hat -- into which some blithesome Strip-per would drop a hundred-rupee note -- would be passed around to raise funds for the music equipment. On Sundays, the Strip-per crowd only got bigger as the jams went electric thanks to some beat-up battery-powered amplifiers lent by Reynolds. And who do you reckon, prepared and sold coin pizzas and sandwiches at these jams? None other than Konarak Reddy! "I had to stop doing it once it got political," he laughs.
The Strip-pers also included travellers and tourists (largely from Kodaikanal and Goa) who got wind of the Strip. Visiting bands (invited to the city by USIS, MMB and AF) were often asked to perform here after their scheduled shows. Almost invariably, local musicians would jam with these bands. Says Konarak, "The intimacy between the musicians and the audience helped them understand the city and its people better."
The Strip had, within a few years, become these pearly gates that led its hippie souls into an almost-utopian musical paradise where everything just seemed to flow in the right direction. In Motha's account, "The freakishly informal set-up was just perfect. It was sort of a neutral place in between City and Cantonment, so there were no cultural problems."
But not for too long. As the Strip grew popular, local authorities and groups often linked the Strip with western decadence, and the Strip had to be discontinued. A beautiful dream had come to an abrupt end. But as it would soon turn out, it was only the beginning of a new dawn.

The 90s Revival – "No Bread, lots of Jam"

August 1997: Heavy-duty rock riffs grab everybody's attention on the city streets. The Navales are driving with a young 'Malleshwaram gang' at the back of their funky open jeep with an electric guitar amp-ed to… the jeep's battery! Speeding away just before the cops arrive, the guerrilla entourage snake their way from Malleshwaram to MG Road via Cubbon Park handing out fliers and announcing the first all-night Freedom Jam at Samsa -- the outdoor arena behind Ravindra Kalakshetra, on the eve of Independence Day.

A few old-timers -- comprising Guruskool trustees Gopal and Geetha Navale, Bajaa member Siddhartha Patnaik and blues-fusion player Michael Sorenson -- had revived the 80s jam culture in '96. The Sunday Jam revived the Strip spirit with its 'No Bread' motto. Furthermore, the organizers put a high premium on originality. Many local bands responded, a small but growing number of whom performed their 'own comps'.
Soon the local music scene burgeoned with live gigs at the Sunday Jams (held on the first Sunday of every month) and the annual all-night Freedom Jam. Goodwill gestures from music lovers, including Colin Timms of Pecos and Dr. Thomas Chandy of Hosmat, helped raise funds.
Some of the bands that made a name for themselves here were The Sarjapur Blues band, Gopal Navale's Esperanto, Dr. Chandy's Jazz Revival, guitarists Gerard Machado, Amit Heri and Konarak Reddy, drummer Roberto Narain, and Babu Joseph's Human Bondage -- the highlight of the '97 Jam. Music festival organizer Srinidhi Anantram who sponsored the '97 Jam was instrumental in bringing down the members of Human Bondage from as far as Spain, Germany and the US as they came together solely for the Jam.
Abhijit Tambe, who performed with his band Jamtree at the '97 Freedom Jam and is now the lead of Lounge Piranha, says, "It was a cool thing. People simply got on stage and jammed for as long as they liked. There were very few rehearsed acts."
Soon the jams became not only a hotspot for local college bands but also a launch pad for most up-and-coming acts. Practically every local band has performed in the jams at some point in their musical careers: Thermal and a Quarter, Threnody, Kryptos, Galeej Gurus, and what have you. It wasn't just rock, but every genre of music: Hindustani, Carnatic, jazz, and forms from all over the world.
Over a thousand people communed in 1999, when the Freedom Jam moved to Navales' farm some 30kms from the city. Recounts Gopal: "There was no sight of the colored Khaki then; just a campfire, music, and the rain…nothing else." All this was set to change at the turn of the century.

The Consumerist Millennium – "Win Bread, then Jam"

"Every passing musician somehow ended up at these jams. I remember a couple from a village in Karnataka who did an aural history of Bangalore in Kannada, a Spanish lad who played the Sarod, a group of Columbian jazz guys, and even a John Coltrane who wanted to stay at Navales' farm. There was a strong spirit of adventure to these jams; many funky and innovative things were happening. Everyone had a place here to make it his or her own." - Film music composer Gail Hart.

August 2001: It is 2 a.m. on the morning of Independence Day. A long trail of cars and bikes follow the NH4 highway for about 25kms from the city then cut into a small rugged dirt lane near Nelamangala. With the number rising to a few thousands within the next hour, the ensuing chaos does enough to disturb the peace in this village neighborhood as residents sit up and take notice. One among them is a cop who follows the vehicle trail and finds himself bang in the middle of a 'live party': loud rock music, a startling number of revellers, with a sizable number (not surprisingly) intoxicated. Enough reason to set the alarm bells ringing at the local police station. The 'party' is soon busted, and the sound equipment, seized.

This was how the Freedom Jam at Navales' farm would end that fateful night. It was effectively, as many old-timers would have it: "The death of the Freedom Jam." As it turned out, it wasn't so much of a 'death' -- thanks to The Club on Mysore Road opening its premises for future jams and UB stepping in to sponsor -- but the jams would never remain the same again.
The event got bigger and better every month. College bands from all over the country could simply not let go of an opportunity to perform at the annual event. Even as established bands slowly began to distance themselves, and a strong nostalgia of the 'jams-gone-by' crept into the evenings, they were steadily becoming the 'official posse phenomenon' for the youth. There was no way any corporate bigwig would leave this awesome market untapped. In swooped Levi's in 2004. The Freedom Jam was now re-christened, "Levi's Freedom Jam", and the Sunday Jam, "Levi's Sunday Jam"; they will remain so, till at least 2010.

Reactions to Sponsorship

"The Sunday Jams would have preserved their purity and sanctity if they remained at Samsa. The Samsa atmosphere could never be duplicated." –Raghupathy Dixit

"It was a mistake that the jams were sold out. The lookout should always have been towards the safeguarding of the interests of musicians, music and even instruments." -Konarak Reddy

"In spite of all the pressure the Freedom Jam still stands for original music and jam sessions. The 'free spirit' of the old days cannot be justified today when there are tens of bands waiting to take stage. Furthermore, Levi's lets Guruskool handle the jams entirely on their own. So, the freedom still remains." -Abhijit Tambe

Last Word
"The Navales and the jam organizers have truly created a unique and special place for local musicians. Their passion, energy and commitment in keeping it going from the time they revived jam sessions in the 90s is amazing. Commercialization had to happen sooner or later. But the spirit of the Strip still exists." - Sunbeam Motha

(Photo Courtesy: Sunbeam Motha, Peter Pires and Guruskool)