By Sonya Rehman and Khaver Siddiqi

“It was the best of times, it was the worst of times”. Charles Dickens’ literary masterpiece, ‘A Tale of Two Cities’ begins with these words. Though the novel has a theme of self-sacrifice and resurrection, the starting line of the novel can be applied here in Pakistan, to the two of its largest and most prominent cities; Karachi and Lahore.

Indeed both cities have seen the best of times and the worst of times, as far as the music industry is concerned, but how do these cities relate to one another? How does their music combine and form the modern music scene as we know it?

The music that originates from the Punjab is as intricate as its historic architecture. Lahore, the Garden of the Mughals, has seen a myriad of melodies, genres, and vocals alongside a variety of musical instruments (both new and old) over the past few decades. This has given rise to the city’s diverse sound of music and rapidly evolving culture.

From the earthy qawwals of Nusrat Fateh Ali Khan, the Punjabi ditties of Abrar-ul-Haq, the pop sensations; Atif Aslam and Ali Zafar, the underground Lahori grunge/rock revolution (of a handful of bands) in the early 90s and to the revolutionaries of yesteryear – Noor Jehan, Farida Khanum, Ustad Amanat Ali Khan and many more. In addition, the dhol maestro, Pappu Saien, and the master of the ek tara, Saien Zahoor (both of whom have shared their glory performing for people at shrines to concerts), to the fresh crop of commercialized Lahori pop acts (of both the past and today), to the jaded, angst-ridden rockers/bands such as Shahzad Hameed, Call, and eP…music from Lahore has been assorted at best. Infact the Lahori music scene has churned out so many musicians over the years that it would be almost impossible to list each band/musician down. Nonetheless, each has contributed to the country’s music scene on a macro level – making it what it is today; pulsating with promise.

Even though things have been on the downslide – given the worldwide economic recession and the security situation within the country – our local musicians have still managed to stay in the game by taking out albums (some of which are completely self-funded), and playing at concerts and gigs throughout the country.

Therefore, given the innumerable genres, the music from the Punjab cannot really be ‘defined’ as such, rather, just ‘felt’, and taken in. And perhaps this is what sets the city of Lahore’s music apart from Karachi’s music scene. Where Karachi carries its very own, signature sound, melodies from Lahore come wrapped in unrequited love, Sufi-istic devotion, and nostalgia – which oft reminds one of luminous diyas, and fresh jasmine.

On the other hand, Karachi as a city can best be described as a potpourri of people, traditions, lifestyles and history. This stepping stone of Mohammad Bin Qasim, a picturesque city of light and lightlessness, has its own distinct sound which permeates through the air and settles amongst its populace.

Music has been a vital part of this city, whether it is the sound of the drums at Abdullah Shah Ghazi’s Mazar or the tone of socialism in Faiz Ahmad Faiz’s poetry, the music (and its words) very much echo the mood of the city. It is somber and realist, laced with satire and melancholy. Karachi music has no definite history to speak of, such as Lahore has. This is because compared to Lahore; Karachi is a modern city with a modern sound. It is the sound of realism, sometimes the harshness of reality and sometimes an echo of its soul.

(Above: Abida Parveen)

The music from the city by the sea is gritty, real and often makes many political statements. ‘Social Circus’ by Ali Azmat is an album that, in recent times, speaks this city’s language. Take this album and drive along the streets of Karachi and you’ll find yourself traveling the city with an accompanying soundtrack. From the raging guitars of the intro track accompanied by the blaring W-11 and all, to the calming rushes of the waves at the coast, this album really does speak the language of this city.

But its not just Azmat’s album that beckons the sights and sounds of Karachi, bands like Strings and Junoon evoke a particular Karachi sound. In terms of heritage, giants like Allan Fakir and Abida Parveen evoke a rich texture unto the language of the entire province. Going further deep into heritage we come to the mazars of Karachi, most particularly the Abdullah Shah Ghazi, the monument that is perhaps the epitome of this land, long before our time and the British Raj. One will often find people from all walks of life loitering about the mazar; some simply paying their respects through prayer whereas others through their stories of song. And it is those stories of song that truly paint an unseen picture of the city by the sea. No matter where you are in the world, if you hear tracks by these artistes or the songs of these faithful, one would be compelled to think of Karachi.

Comparisons between Lahore and Karachi are ultimately inevitable. Though we are one nation and one people, we speak many languages and we have a collective history of many generations. Though the two cities are so vastly different, so vastly apart, they are indeed just branches of the one same tree.

In Pakistan, we have at our disposal, a thoroughly rich and diverse cultural heritage, which has blossomed over the decades, if not centuries. From almost every facet of what ‘art’ encompasses – such as; music, fashion, poetry, architecture and so on.

That being stated, there is a hidden but devastating war taking place. Unlike our neighbors that celebrate, support and cherish their culture, our culture is slowly being eroded by ourselves. Our children are more familiar with Miley Cyrus’ songs and Aamir Khan’s 15 minute memory that they are ambiguous and lost to the rich culture that is their own.

And what is the result of that?

The result is we are now on the brink of losing our identity. Our art and culture must be held on to with an unflinching zeal. It must constantly be nurtured, nourished and cultivated without letting and allowing ‘borrowed culture’ from overseas sully it. For in these trying times, art seems to be our only release, making everything, at the end of the day seem all the more worthwhile.

By Sonya Rehman

While some critics would subscribe to the notion that the local music scene’s growth curve has tipped its way into an abyss of ambivalence, the fact of the matter is that currently, a majority aren’t really aware – nor bothered – about the breaking and entering of music acts, both old and fledgling.

These days, unfortunately or fortunately, what really matters is how aggressively a musician/band is promoted. This is because no one really has the time anymore to flitter away the hours channel surfing local music channels. 

Because, quite honestly, instead of the tube, people are far more tuned into the World Wide Web. 

That’s how musicians (and bands) like Zeb and Haniya, Sahil, Arooj Aftab (and countless others) got ‘discovered’ and hit the media jackpot as they were promoted by a host of newspaper agencies, radio stations and television channels. 

And with ‘13’, the story is somewhat similar. Not that these fellas have hit the media jackpot just yet, but they’re (hopefully) bound to. 

Above: Ian, Wahaj and Faraz

Comprising of Faraz Ahmed (a musician who has played with the likes of Mekaal Hasan, ‘The Trip’, and ‘Noori’), Ian Eldred (the golden boy of Shah Sharabeel’s musical productions – one of his finest roles which he played in ‘Moulin Rogue’), and Wahaj (who has musically dabbled in alternative acts such as ‘Azaish’, ‘New York Reflections’ and ‘Myle’). 

“The band ‘13’ was formed in 2006 with myself and Hassan Taimur”, Faraz states, “We’d been playing with a lot of underground bands in Pakistan such as ‘The Trip’, ‘Noori’ and Mekaal Hasan’s project ‘Bare Chords’, among the lot. In 2005 Hassan and I were asked to play with an American Opera singer called Heather Schmid who was touring Pakistan and raising funds for the earthquake victims at the time.” 

Soon after, Hassan left Pakistan to pursue higher studies abroad, resulting in the introduction of Ian and Wahaj to ‘13’. 

Interestingly, via 13’s internet promotion, I’d learnt that the band also included a young female drummer called Mehreen Baxm. 

“She’s Pakistan’s first professional girl drummer who is also involved in composing, lyric-writing, designing and promotions for our band”, Faraz states, “But currently she’s on indefinite hiatus due to a demanding program at a university in Georgia, United States.” 

So considering the band’s played at public and private gigs, do they plan on releasing an album (since that stands as Step Number 2 for any new band entering into the local music scene)?

“With there being only one major record label in the country”, Faraz answers, “The window of opportunity has constricted which means less variegation within the music industry. Foreign labels are a hard deal because without an agent most bands get lost in some corner of the information highway.”

Fair enough. But a music video, then? “Yes we plan to make a video for our debut song and we’re currently looking for sponsors, even though the rubrics most of these potential sponsors we approach are addling at best – for example we had two different people within one corporation tell us that our music was not commercial and grunge enough but yet was also too commercial in nature to be considered marketable rock/pop”.

Faraz then goes on to state something which has been echoed by our local musicians, young and old, over the years; “You see it’s a very discernible and disturbing phenomenon, if you want to be a sure fire hit today and have the backing of a host of sponsors then unfortunately you will have to sell your ideals and principles by letting go of the music that you truly want to play and share with other people. Eventually you must become a cardboard cut-out that can be stereotyped and easily packaged by people ‘showing you the money’. It is terribly deleterious and can only mean the slow and attritional emaciation of diversity and heterogeneity.”

Part of the rock scene in Melbourne, Australia (in the 90s), Faraz, on his arrival back in Pakistan joined the Lahori underground scene in 2001 (and played with a few bands as mentioned earlier). 

“Music had gall back then – from the late 90s to 2003”, he says, “Music was more then just an end to a means, it was collective consciousness, everyone was part of something, something that was just invigorating, facultative and binding. It wasn’t just a bunch of snooty-nosed kids playing guitars and indulging in all sorts of bourgeois nonsense”.

But of the music scene as it stands currently? Faraz remains optimistic. While the political and economic vista of the country may appear to be in shambles, Pakistani musicians – like each of us – have developed a to-hell-with-it attitude…carrying on with what they know best, yet dealing with it pragmatically on a day to day basis. 

So whether or not the returns don’t flow in as soon and/or as much as they should, and whether or not record deals are struck (or lost) the local music scene is and always will be, in constant metamorphosis. 

The Saturday Post & Sunday, Daily Times

By Sonya Rehman

This year – just before the curtains fall on the year 2008 – a whole new barrage of Pakistani music albums are set to be released.

Hadiqa Kiyani, the Mekaal Hasan Band, Raeth, Kaavish, Mauj and Rubberband seem to be running against time, in a bid to take out their albums either immediately after Eid, or within the next month or so after the end of October.

Speaking with Jafar of Kaavish about their new album’s sound and genre, Jafar stated: “This album will be more of a contemporary Western orchestral fused with Eastern classical music. I’ve always been into desi classical music actually – I sort of grew up listening to AR Rahman, and he really played a major role in influencing my tastes in music. Also, this album has been entirely played live, and it caters toes.”

‘Gunkali’ – the name of Kaavish’s new album – is actually the name of an early morning raag which denotes a new beginning.

Considering ‘Gunkali’ (due to be released a month after Eid) will be a fusion of East meets West, it’s bound to be a new start for Kaavish in terms of where musical experimentation is concerned.

Raeth on the other hand, are taking their album out in the first or second week of January. “We haven’t decided on the name of the album yet”, band member Wajih says, “But the genre of it is going to be a lot like our first album – pop/rock. We’re carrying forward the same genre and just as the first album encompassed the theme and message of love, the second album too, will be of a similar theme. We’ll also be releasing videos for ‘Mein chala’ and ‘Wadah’ pretty soon as well.”

Planning to pop their rock album – unofficially titled ‘In technicolour’ – into the hot little oven of fresh new albums, Omran Shafique stated that Mauj will probably release it by the end of October. In addition, ‘Awaz’ one of their latest videos, directed by Zeshaan Parwez must be looked out for at all costs.

‘Saptak’ – meaning a musical octave – is the Mekaal Hasan Band’s latest offering which too, is due to be released locally and in stores by the end of October.

Speaking with Mekaal who was in Karachi at the time – judging a national music competition, he stated: “Saptak is more up-tempo compared to our previous albums. It’s infused with Sufiana qallaams and infact; it also carries an unplugged version of ‘Sawan’”.

Interestingly, regarding Rubberband’s to be released debut album – ‘Feedback’ – things have been pretty rocky. “It’s been ready for a year now”, vocalist Ahmed Ali Butt said despondently, “It depends on the record labels, there’s just no money left in the industry anymore. All the big names in the industry got sponsors, but the sales were nil. We may just wind up releasing ‘Feedback’ online. We’re also planning an international release as we’re in talks with some international labels. Our tentative date for the album release is November though.”

Currently, Rubberband’s single ‘Chal’ – an edgy rock song – directed by Ahmed Ali Butt (with DOP Bilal Lashari) has been doing the rounds on a majority of the local music channels.

The band is due to release their second video right after Eid as well, to keep the buzz of Rubberband alive.  

Contrary to what people may think, Ahmed Ali Butt was right. The local music scene vis-à-vis record labels, seems to be standing on shakier feet than ever before.

And that coupled with the preponderance of bomb blasts and bomb threats within the country is putting almost every artist between the devil and the deep blue sea.

Musicians simply don’t have any way of making two ends meet anymore.

But local musicians’ suffering at the hands of Pakistani record labels isn’t new. One has heard of countless failed deals, delayed payments, bad returns, disrespectful treatment and zilch royalties. It seems as if a lot of musicians within the country pump in more money than they actually receive – some barely even managing to break-even.

No wonder then the decision to go across the border in search of greener pastures. Can one blame them?

But then again, on the other hand, even the Indian music industry isn’t all that it’s made out to be.

If Pakistani musicians are willing to churn out Bollywood dance numbers, they’re in for the great ‘ka-ching’ – if not, then well it’s back home…back to the old drawing board.

Images, Dawn

By Sonya Rehman

Who would’ve thought a multinational would wind up launching a project which would bring together a variety of local musicians together – on one sole platform – to sing, dabble in musical experimentation and fuse their genres of music as one?

To me, like many others, it comes as quite a shocker really. This is because; much in the past (and not so much in the recent present) has been said regarding the role of multinationals and the exploitation of local musicians. And rightly so.

From blatant and rather shameless advertising of a sponsor’s brand infused into a musician’s music video, CD cover and the likes, there is a certain disregard for those artistes who ‘go the distance’ by way of becoming thoroughly ‘commercialized’.

But frankly let’s get one thing straight: audiences at large, don’t really give a fig about how an artiste is ‘packaged’ and how so-and-so has undergone a metamorphosis into a walking/talking bubble brand…the ‘masses’ only ask for good music. Whatever ‘good’ encompasses is not your business, nor mine.

If Annie’s little shakey-shake ‘Mahiya’ ditty or Ali Azmat’s raw ‘Gallan’ rocks a listener’s boat, then so be it.

(Above: Ali Azmat, Rohail Hyatt and Rahat Fateh Ali Khan)

You cannot dictate what a listener should be hearing, and what he/she should not. It’s pretty pointless.

That being stated, whether or not an artiste is ‘underground’ or directly under the media spotlight – by the end of the day, it’s the music that matters. And that, in itself, speaks volumes. It always does.

That’s how different genres of music are born – if people like it, there are chances it’ll stick around for decades.

Therefore, Coca Cola’s topical endeavour, this year, to put up televised gigs infront of a live studio audience (in Karachi) – under the banner of ‘Coke Studio’ has (hopefully) kick-started and further reinforced the beauty of fusion music – the harmonious dance of genres.

With well-known music producer Rohail Hyatt (that light-eyed young man of ‘Vital Signs’ of the yesteryear) leading the colourful little Coke Studio bandwagon, it comes as no surprise, the quality of music which has so far been whipped out.

(Above: The Coke Studio crew!)

Among the featured local talent are; Rahat Fateh Ali Khan, guitarist Omran Shafique, crazy rocker Ali Azmat, drummer extraordinaire Louis J. Pinto (better known as ‘Gumby’), Ustaad Hussain Gullo Baksh, the lovely duo called ‘Strings’, Ali Zafar, bassist Kamran Zafar, turntabelist (and music video director) Zeshaan Parwez, the Abdul Lateef band (earthy drummers from Lyari), throaty back-up vocalists Saba Shabbir and Selina Rashid, and many more.

Coke Studio truly is a synthesis of diverse melodies and genres. Take for instance the Rahat Fateh Ali Khan and Ali Azmat episode in which both sang and experimented with Azmat’s pacey number, ‘Garaj Baras’! What a whopper, that one. And then other episodes featured Tufail Ahmed and Ali Zafar – on the very same stage – singing ‘Allah Hoo’, and Strings and Ustaad Hussain Gullo Baksh fusing their own genres!

Coke Studio has, in actuality, put out some fine musical experimentation for local audiences.

So much so that each episode can give one goose bumps. Why? Because the experimentation of each song is so very varied and just, well, ‘different’.

(Above: The ‘Abdul Latif Band’)

This is not to state that just because the sound is distinctive, Coke Studio has mesmerized audiences – sure for the most part it has done just that, but the fact that it has provided a dais for both commercial and classical musicians to come together and simply jam it out together has been much needed, in the local music scenario, for a long time now.

Perhaps what would really set Coke Studio off is if they continuously feature hand-picked classical musicians from around the country, discounting the fact if they’re well-known or not.

I’d like to see an abundance of bass flutists, tabla players, saxophonists, sitar players, dhol-wallahs and others who’ve never had a chance to be featured on television. Now that would be something.

Because to keep alive the true spirit of fusion music – one must always aim at experimenting with undiscovered, raw, classical talent, and then blending it with modern-day, contemporary tunes.

That really is the only way the dance of genres can truly take flight into a dove of melodies so that it may soar freely in each chamber of a listener’s heart.

The Friday Times 

By Sonya Rehman

Think about it; the vocalist – to the average listener and viewer – is always in the spotlight. Therefore, the vocalist’s persona always seems far more ‘tangible’ somehow, rather than the guy who holds the bass guitar, the flute, the saxophone, or the guy seated behind the drumming kit. 

Audiences can be pretty one-dimensional like that. The media – at large – too. But that’s just the way it is. And at concerts and gigs no one’s focusing on the drummer or guitarist…no one cares about their chord dexterity, or how well each is contributing to the song at hand. It’s the vocalist, and the vocalist alone whose stage presence far outweighs the rest of the band members on stage.

And in retrospect, that’s pretty darn sad. Because the media will rarely give a flying aubergine about putting the spotlight on modest session players and musicians who prefer focusing on their music, rather than climbing the unstable and fickle social ladder. 

This brings us to Waqar Ahmed Khan, one such musician, who the media has rarely batted its pretty little eyelashes at. 

Standing as one of the few drummers the country has to offer vis-à-vis mainstream music, Waqar (or ‘Wacky’ as he’s fondly known as), truly has his act together. 

Having worked with bands such as ‘Paradigm’, ‘E.P’, ‘Call’, ‘Jal’, the ‘Mekaal Hasan Band’, ‘Rubberband’, and a sprinkle of low-key cover bands (as a session player), Waqar re-caps his introduction to drumming fondly; “Xulfi [Call’s band member] taught me the basics of drumming initially. We used to be class fellows actually. After I got the hang of the basics, I began practicing on my own.”

But Waqar’s journey through the world of drumming was far from a merry little hop, skip and jump down the yellow brick road. Far from it actually. “To tell you the truth”, he says animatedly, “I got kicked out of fifteen places where I used to practice playing the drums. I first began jamming in my basement but it was an absolute nightmare for my family – and initially my family opposed it. Then, I decided to rent out a space in Raja Centre [in Lahore] to jam, and I remember this one time (late at night) when a guy (whose office was next to mine) got so ticked off by the noise that he locked me in by closing down the shutters! I was stuck there for an hour till the guard came and got me out. This was in 2003”. 

But Waqar remained undeterred. That was just one incident out of “many others”, because as mentioned before, he was booted out with his drumsticks and drum kit in tow…did I mention, FIFTEEN times over? 

Another time, hilariously enough, while practicing with Hassaan [E.P’s ex-bassist] in an open plot near Hassaan’s house, a foreign lady decided to go ape-like and bonkers when she threatened the boys to ship out or else she’d set loose her dogs on them! What a riot. The price one has to pay to jam and that too, in peace. 

“To play the drums”, Waqar says, “One needs a conducive environment…because drums are loud, and you need sound-proofing”. Like hell you do. But what about now, does Waqar still have to scuttle, run and duck for cover when he thrashes his drum kit during a practice session? “I have my kit at Mekaal’s studio”, he answers smugly. 

Having put his MA in Telecommunication Networks (from Australia) to good use, Waqar is currently working with a well-known telecommunication company as an Executive, and in addition, finds ample time to juggle projects – related to music – pretty effortlessly. 

He works with Ahmed Ali Butt’s pet project ‘Rubberband’ (due to release its album soon), the Mekaal Hasan Band, Fawad Khan’s solo album (surprise, surprise!) and on a freelance basis with a few cover bands – one such being, ‘Lemon Fuzz’. 

“For my long-term goals, one of them is to create a facility in Pakistan where people can learn music and different instruments”, Waqar states, “Because right now, we don’t quite have anything like that”. 

Surprisingly, I learn that for Waqar, “session playing isn’t all that great. There’s too much monetary negotiation involved, and it just doesn’t pay well”. The trouble area? A “lack of ethics in the [local] music business”. 

In addition, “people get pretty stiff about accepting new ideas. When I was in Australia, I recorded two albums for these two Australian underground bands. What was amazing was the fact that they accepted my input without letting their ego come in the way. They trusted and appreciated my participation, they weren’t the least bit threatened. Here, in Pakistan, it’s completely different”. True that, because locally the trouble is just this: big egos and stunted foresight.

Recently, roughly about two months ago, Peeru’s Café in Lahore hosted a gig (like it often does) which featured a drumming face-off between both Gumby and Waqar. And both drummers remember the event with a lot of fondness.

“When I first heard Waqar in 2003 during his E.P days,” Gumby tells me, “I thought he was a regular, non-serious drummer type. But over the years as I’ve gotten to know him, I’ve realized that Waqar is the perfect example of someone who works incredibly hard. He has a great approach to things. I remember this one time when I was at Mekaal’s studio and he rang me up and asked if he could meet me to get some tips on drumming. I was impressed. Wacky really is one of the very few musicians who believes in rehearsing…someone who’s motivated about playing. It really is a lot of fun playing with him. Waqar’s a simple, honest guy. He’s not complicated…he’s very black and white.” 

So the next time you go to a gig or a concert? Shift your focus from the vocalist to the other players for a change and appreciate their role in the band, because without them, the vocalist on stage is really just the guy with the microphone. 

By Sonya Rehman

Simply put, Ali Azmat’s latest music video from his album ‘Klashnifolk’ has to be the coolest thing since Praline ice cream.

Directed by Zeshaan Parwez, ‘Gallan’ is one heck of a tripped out video – but in a good, fun and bizarre way of course.

Featuring Ali Azmat being accosted by three thugs namely; Omran Shafique of ‘Mauj’, Gumby and well-known bassist Mannu, things teeter far off the edge when the three hooligans transmute into a gigantic…get this, ANT!

“Oye kya scene hay”, the ant asks Azmat nonchalantly, its eyes slightly menacing. And with a cigarette dangling out of its mouth, its large (and oddly freaky) paper cut eyes staring at Azmat, the big black ant begins chasing its prey (Azmat), who – while singing – puts on the most hilariously terrified expressions while singing and running for his dear life.

But that’s not all, upon reaching a little lodge – where Azmat seeks refuge, he tells his friends – Omran, Gumby and Mannu – all lounging on a couch, to look outside the window.

When they do, all slightly bamboozled, they notice the ant – which by now has reached the lodge and is breaking its way in.

Now, if you think THAT’S trippy, read on because the moment the black ant breaks into the lodge, and knocks over the front door – Azmat gives his friends a ‘let’s kick some a**’ expression, clasps his eyes shut – and Power Ranger style, the four friends morph into a….GIANT GREEN ANT!

The comic-book ‘fight scene’ towards the end of the video which ensues is hilarious as it depicts a green ant walloping the living daylights out of the black ant.

In a nutshell, Parwez’s final product is retro, campy and a whole lot of fun. So how long did the entire video-making process take? “Four months”, Parwez answers, “I took my time on this video”.

Interestingly, a certain percentage of the video – I’m informed while speaking with the director – is primarily worked out of paper animation.

“We shot the video at Ali’s studio on a chroma set screen, and then later, printed over one thousand images from the video stills. I think they were about one thousand and six hundred stills in totality. Then what we did was, we scanned each print back onto the computer and developed the video from the prints.”

Parwez – along with his team – also developed miniature sets of buildings for the street scenes, in addition to the construction of two plasticine and aluminum foil ant models. The ant models were then developed using ‘Stop Motion’ (a thoroughly interesting and somewhat imprecise technique animators use to give still objects movement).

And voila – Parwez’s awesomely over-the-top storyboard gave ‘Gallan’, Azmat’s fast-paced and edgy rock/pop ditty, a bizzarely enjoyable tweak vis-à-vis the video.

“With music videos”, Parwez states, “I always feel that they should either be performance-based or should be based on a storyline which goes from point A to point B. I avoid mainstream stories…and make stuff that can be derived from the weird”.

And the weird is always so much more interesting. “But the arty”, Parwez enunciates, “sometimes can become pretentious as well.”

No doubt about it. But concerning the video for ‘Gallan’, the director wanted to bring to light a theme which was totally out of the box – something similar to what Parwez did with Ali Azmat’s ‘Teri Parchaiyan’, in which a young boy goes in search of his parents – in a deserted, eerie and ‘end of the world’ type of scenario.

“When you see the three thugs with their angry faces standing on a hill, you wouldn’t expect them to form as an ant and then speak Punjabi”, says Parwez with a laugh.

So true, because the video truly works on an entertaining ‘shock and awe’ strategy, where it’ll flip, twist and turn around into an aluminum foil ant when you least expect it!

Images, Dawn

By Sonya Rehman

It all started with a dream. A dream which Saien – at the tender age of seven – could not yet comprehend the implication of. And it was this very dream, which changed young Saien’s life forever.

Seated in the Rafi Peer Workshop’s office in Lahore on a humid Saturday afternoon, Saien Zahoor – in all his glory – sits before me; his frame petite and slim, his fingernails painted orange (with fading mehndi) and his stone and zircon encrusted rings (one on each finger) glittering ever so often.
His black turban is set firmly on his head, under which a dark and slightly greasy mane of hair just about touches his narrow shoulders.
Saien’s face is dark and weather-beaten, with deep lines that seem to speak of voyages (both internal and external) and eyes – deep-set, kohl-rimmed, astute and alert.

“Beti”, (daughter) he answers, “it is a very long story”, when I question how his path led him down that of the ‘ek tara’ (the traditional instrument that Saien plays) and the ‘dervaish’ way of life.
Tasneem Peerzada (one of the directors of the Rafi Peer Theatre Workshop) is sitting with us as a translator.
This is because Saien speaks Punjabi – the pure and thait kind – the kind that I understand little of, and the kind that Tasneem converses and understands with ease.

“I was seven years old”, Saien elaborates, “When I started seeing a hand in my dream…a hand which would emerge from a grave. And after the dream, I wouldn’t be able to sleep. My parents would scold me and get angry – they would ask me; ‘Why can’t you sleep son? What bothers you at night?’ But I never told my parents about the dream and would pretend to sleep straight after. And every night for seven continuous years I would have the same dream.”
Relaying his mother’s reaction with a tinge of comic, Saien says: “my mother used to hit me and say; ‘Are you a jinn born in this house…the ONLY one, having THESE dreams?’”

Was he afraid of the dream and what it depicted? “No, I never felt any fear because it was continuous – I used to see it every night for many years”.

During this time, Saien met a dervaish who lived in a graveyard. The dervaish would play the ek tara and sing. He “had magic in his voice”…so much so, that it mesmerized the young Saien, who began sitting with the dervaish in the graveyard (much to the dervaish’s vexation as he thought the little boy was too young to sit in a graveyard!) and contended himself by learning the ek tara from the dervaish.
What sort of songs would he sing and play at the time? “Oh they were songs about pain and loss”, Saien states, “They were folk tales which I would sing only in Saraiki [a dialect spoken in the region Saien was brought up in].”

Since Saien had told the dervaish about his recurring dream, the dervaish advised Saien “to look for a darbar” and when Saien would find one, he would then understand the significance of his dream.
“I kept looking for this particular darbar, and in the process I came across many dargas, and eventually I found a darbar at Uch Shariff – which also had a grave. So I sat there and started playing my ek tara instrument.”
Days which slid into weeks, weeks which fluttered into months and months that danced into years – Saien’s travels, earnestness and hard work eventually paid off when he met Dildar Bhatti (now deceased).

Dildar, at the time was a very well-known compere on PTV who helped Saien strike a deal with the channel, and this resulted in a recording (of Bulleh Shah’s poetry) sung by Saien that was telecast across Pakistan. Three additional programs for PTV followed swiftly after the success of the first.

Saien’s path then met with Taj Naseem Aqsi, who put him through to art councils (one major one being the National Arts Council) and Lok Virsa where he performed countless times.
These performances – which raised Saien’s popularity to considerable degrees – led him overseas, where Saien would perform at festivals.
From America, Canada, India, Europe and Japan – Saien performed everywhere, and continues doing so ever since he began working with the Rafi Peer Theatre Workshop in 2000.

And in 2005 – recognizing Saien’s gift of music, BBC Radio awarded the musician its prestigious World Music Award, which further set in motion Saien’s expedition of his career in music.
Not that award titles and publicity would matter to Saien – since he is in essence, a true dervaish who sings Baba Bulleh Shah poetry for the love of it – yet, the recognition from a foreign media corporation to a humble, Pakistani artiste can be quite encouraging.
“I sang one of Bulleh Shah’s verses on love and devotion”, Saien states regarding the song which managed to bag him the BBC award. “When you sing with sincerity, the message gets across to anybody – whether they understand it or not”.

This year in 2008, Saien’s debut album (all songs of Bulleh Shah) was released by the Rafi Peer Theatre Workshop.
How long did its recording take? “Only one and a half hours”, Saien tells me proudly, “but it took nine days for the video shoot”, he says with emphasis all the while making several clicking gestures with his fingers.

Regarding local music, what does Saien make of it? He ponders a little before answering: “I love and appreciate music about God. But for me – music about people or worldly things denotes greed…which I don’t like to be honest. But any song which carries with it the name of the Almighty and His praise, I love.”

Through the interview I realize one thing; and that is that Saien Zahoor is an incredibly simple man. He’s no sage. He’s just an ordinary man, a dervaish – with an exceptional voice. Hear his music and you’ll know what I mean. It’s the kind of vocals and music that hits you – like one of those sturdy, antique sling-shots (that you get up North) – right in the heart.
“In this Sufi line of work”, he tells me, “Your love, passion and devotion is all-consuming”.

Much later, towards the end of the interview I learn that Saien cannot read nor write. How then, does he learn to sing and memorize Bulleh Shah’s verses?
“I draw them” he states simply. I am incredulous. Tasneem hands him a piece of paper and a pen – and within five minutes Saien draws four lines of verse.
They are chubby stick figures with round heads – some smiling and some sad – while other drawings denote flowers and pathways.
After Saien is done drawing, Tasneem writes the verse in Urdu just below it. After she’s done, I fold it neatly and tuck it into my purse.

From darbar to darbar, and now to his frequent globe-trotting for Sufi festivals – how has the experience been for Saien so far?
Answering in the affirmative, Saien went on to narrate an unpleasant incident which he finds hard to forget.
“On one of our trips – we went to Denmark, Brussels and Belgium and from there straight to England. We did a show there, and during my performance I started spinning. Before I knew it, two foreigner girls had grabbed me by both arms and started spinning with me. At the time I was actually singing a verse about being very close and connected to God. Therefore I immediately stopped performing. A man from the Pakistani consulate then took me aside and threatened me…he said if I wouldn’t dance with those girls, things would get ugly for me. But I explained that I was a dervaish, and that what I was doing was spiritual – and this did not permit me to dance with women. But the man threatened me, and I was scared, and therefore had to comply. I had to dance with the girls by force. That was the only program of mine which made me feel terrible. Otherwise I feel elated during my performances.”

As stated above, this is exactly what I meant about Saien being a humble and simple man.
When dervaish artistes such as Saien Zahoor come into the spotlight, almost anyone can get away with throwing their weight around, threatening and victimizing them on a monetary and even, emotional level. And when that realization hits you, smack in the face – it feels grossly discomforting.

“Music is nutrition for the soul”, Saien says, “I can perform all night. Once you start reciting the Sufi qalaam, you forget your physical being”.
Apart from performing every Thursday night at Peeru’s Café, is Saien due to go on tour again anytime soon? “I get a lot of calls”, he tells me, “But I cannot tie deals over the phone – only in person”.

And what about the dream that he once had as a child – has it stopped? “Yes it has, but the blessings of that dream continue till this day,” Saien says, his eyes lighting up like fireflies in the dark.

Images, Dawn

By Sonya Rehman

For the first time in Pakistan, a podium for the classical music maestros has finally been provided. And we’re talking a pretty big podium here.
Launched this year by the Rafi Peer Theatre Workshop (RPTW), ‘Peer Artist Management’ (PAM) brings forth a substantial goody bag for the country’s renowned (and upcoming) classical music gems and devotional music experts.

So what does PAM encompass you’d ask? Set up primarily to sift out rare talent all across Pakistan, this independent body will also act as an intermediary between national signed artists and international agents for exciting collaborations at festivals overseas!
Metaphorically speaking, PAM is quite like a colossal sieve – which filters local musicians (from every nook and cranny of the country) into the genres of Classical, Devotional, Sufi, Folk, Instrumental and World music.

(Above: Arif Lohar)

With an all-inclusive slim file that carries a booklet (complete with scores of artists’ pictures and their profiles) and two audio and video DVD’s of the artists, PAM is currently in the process of dispatching the file to a plethora of agents overseas – in the hope to get their featured artists gigs and shows abroad.

And that’s not all; PAM has also launched ‘The Pakistan Music Awards’ which has been initiated with the main motive of recognizing talent which for years has been (unfortunately) overlooked (rather, ignored) by glitzy, air-headed, local music awards.

Quoting PAM from its press release, it states: “The Pakistan Music Awards will be staged as an annual event honouring artists who have achieved highest performances of their work and excellence in their craft over the years. Some of the award categories will include: Best Composer, Best Song, Best Classical Singer (male/female), Best Song Writer, Best New Artist, etc”.

(Above: Goonga and Mithu Saien)

Given the handful of national music awards which limit their scope to a few genres of Pakistani music, The Pakistan Music Awards will come as a much-welcomed ceremony. This is because, instead of skimming over and fishing out from the country’s (vast) talent pool of music, The Pakistan Music Awards will set its foot firmly on a holistic and rather mass level – in a bid to give undiscovered, humble musicians a platform for recognition at home – and possibly abroad too.
Much-needed as it is, and as it has been for decades, PAM’s yearly music awards, according to Faizaan Peerzada will give the artists “mainstream exposure with strong cash awards, will recognize and award legendary Pakistani musicians and will possibly include celebrities from across the border”.

(Above: Misri Jogi)

Were the artists that the RPTW has been in touch with over the years (for its annual festivals) excited then, about the launch of PAM and the all-Pakistan awards?
“They were very excited”, Faizaan said.

(Above: Sain Zahoor)

And who wouldn’t be? Someone had to acknowledge the country’s local artist pool and who better to do so than the Rafi Peer Theatre Workshop?
Given that they’ve interacted and worked with artists such as Sain Zahoor, the Nizami Brothers, Goonga Sain, Arif Lohar, Sher Ali Mehr Ali (and many more) over the years, the relationship is bound to be one based on a strong foundation of trust.

(Above: Krishan Lal Bheel)

Explaining why the RPTW deemed it necessary to launch PAM, Faizaan stated that “Pakistan’s important music sector was getting neglected” while local, popular music was “under multinational patronage”.

Seated at the RPTW’s rather colourful headquarters (here in Lahore), Faizaan went on to enunciate that multi-talented musicians at the grassroots often go by unnoticed…like Sain Zahoor for example.
“We discovered Sain in 2000 – when he used to go from shrine to shrine playing his music”. And amazingly enough, in 2005 Sain won BBC Radio’s World Music Award, which further kick-started his journey of music around the world. Furthermore, the RPTW also released Sain’s first-ever album this year (a double audio and video CD) of six, soulful tracks.

(Above: Ghous Buksh Brohi)

“Infact he’s due to play at the University of Bradford on the 28th of June this year”, Faizaan said smiling broadly, “the University’s also agreed to display his CD’s, so hopefully we’ll get a couple of hundred copies flown across”. And for all those drumming/dhol devotees out there, the next CD according to Faizaan will feature hardcore dhol music. Now wouldn’t that be something else!

Having taken a year to conceptualize and develop, Faizaan stood by the fact that PAM and its activities would not be branded.
Explaining why, he stated: “When you’re selling a deep-rooted link to culture, branding drowns it”. Also emphasizing that PAM does not bind its artists, Faizaan affirmed that “there won’t be any contracts. PAM will act solely as the artist’s friend – only for promotion”. 

Given the immense media mileage, acknowledgment and support that will be generated for the artists working in collaboration with the Peer Artist Management, the best part about it is this: the awareness factor for those countless, undiscovered local artists who will now have PAM as a guide into maximum exposure for their art.
And this perhaps, will truly be the best thing to come out of an endeavour such as PAM – to give underprivileged artists a spotlight of recognition, and a tangible dream – just within reach!

Images, Dawn

By Sonya Rehman

Released in 2007, in India, ‘Charkha’ – Rahat Fateh Ali Khan’s debut album – has been met with standing ovations…both at home, and abroad.

Comprising of eleven soul-stirring compositions, Charkha takes its cue from the intense, Eastern-classical genre of music. But that being stated, Rahat’s sophomore effort is anything but over-powering.
Just like his renowned Uncle – the great Qawwali maestro – Nusrat Fateh Ali Khan (under which Rahat received tutelage for his art), Rahat’s vocals are gentle, and soothing almost, straying far from an overbearingly passionate territory.

Infact, the accompanying compositions, run almost parallel with the singer’s vocals – striking a rather perfect symmetry of sound.  
Suited best for easy listening, with hints of melancholy here and there, the album’s first song (also called Charkha) sets the pace of what is to follow. A nostalgic number that speaks of loss, Charkha is a mesmerizing track.

Interestingly, if listened to at one long stretch, the album flows forth like a story – where each song’s compositions are concerned.
Nothing too loud, no instrument too powerful, Charkha’s numbers are light, yet almost hypnotic. Just like song number two, ‘Ang Ang’.
Even though it wouldn’t be fair to draw comparisons between the Uncle and the nephew (Nusrat and Rahat respectively), it must be stated that Rahat’s vocal delivery is much like that of Nusrat Fateh Ali Khan’s.
They may not sound completely alike…yet, you will notice instances during listening to the album when Rahat will sound exactly like his Uncle. Differences arise, however, when Rahat hits a high note – his voice sounds huskier and raw – whereas Nusrat’s seem steady and somewhat fervent – almost spiritual.

From the misty ‘Rang Rangeela’, to the forlorn ‘Tere Bina’, Charkha comes as an aural treat for the mature, classically-inclined listener.
‘Dunga Pani’, Charkha’s sixth, portrays Rahat’s vocals much like the hit number (‘Jiya Dhadak Dhadak’) he did for the 2005 Bollywood film, ‘Kalyug’.
Compositionally, ‘Dunga Pani’ is a true winner – as it transcends into a wonderful, pacey, almost Western-classical beat.

Others such as ‘Aj Hun’, ‘Janay Kahan’ and two remix versions (of ‘Tere Bina’ and ‘Charkha’); Rahat Fateh Ali Khan seems to have hit it big.
Following in the footsteps of his celebrated and legendary Uncle, Rahat appears to be making waves in India and beyond.

From working with Rohail Hyatt to accomplished Western producers and to Bollywood hits such as ‘Mann Ki Lagan’ (from the film ‘Paap’), ‘Naina’ (from ‘Omkara’), ‘O Re Piya’ (from ‘Aja Nachle’) and many others, including riveting numbers for ‘Om Shanti Om’, ‘Jhoom Barabar Jhoom’, Mel Gibson’s jaw-dropping flick ‘Apocalypto’ and more recently, ‘Main Aur Mrs Khanna’, Rahat is leaving no stone unturned.

But coming back to Charkha, the album itself, if I were to rate it; I’d give it an honest four stars out of five.
This is because Rahat’s vocal adroitness seems to be gifted, natural and raw – without having to try too hard.
Being emotive, passionate and pained where necessary in his songs, Rahat’s approach to singing is humble and unassuming…they almost never manage to scream out: ‘Look I can SING’!

Truly a treasure for Pakistan – as far as the art of local music is concerned – let’s just hope Rahat continues to balance his time between work in Pakistan, and abroad. And in addition, let us hope he’s given the respect and admiration (that he so rightfully deserves) in his own home country as well.
Charkha will stir your spirit with its eclectic concoction of soul-stirring numbers, therefore for each and every Eastern-classical music aficionado out there, give it a listen.

Newsline

By Sonya Rehman

What do you get when you take two Pakistani Marxists, a guitar and satirical poetry? The answer: a toe-tapping number sautéed in irony that hits close to home.
Penned by the eminent, Leftist Urdu poet, Habib Jalib, ‘Main Nay Kaha’ was written “in response to a conversation he [Jalib] had with Hafiz Jalandari during the time of Ayub Khan’s dictatorship”, puts forth Taimur Rahman.

Composed in four hours flat by Taimur (a young Political Science lecturer at LUMS) and sung by Shahram Azhar (an Economics grad student at Warwick University), under the banner of ‘Laal’ – Taimur and Shahram’s band – the video of ‘Main Nay Kaha’ has been raking up quite an excited little tizzy over Youtube and Facebook.

(Above: Taimur and Shahram)

Produced two months ago, on a shoe-string budget, and shot in barely a few hours, ‘Main Nay Kaha’ depicts Pakistan through the black cloud of riots, despair, a brutal assassination, a crippled judiciary, and the much-awaited elections through the edgy months of December till mid-February.

We’re talking real footage, tongue-in-cheek lyrics, light vocals and a teasingly upbeat composition. ‘Main Nay Kaha’ couldn’t have been released at a better time.
While the dust may have ‘settled’ since the country sighed 2007 away to make room for a slightly more ‘hopeful’ 2008, the song comes as a gentle reminder of what had transpired.

Self-proclaimed Marxists, Taimur and Shahram “have been engaged with working class politics and the Communist Mazdoor Kissan Party for a long time”, states Taimur, “ten years for me and six for Shahram. We have been very active in organizing protests in Lahore, Rawalpindi, and London for the restoration of democracy. Music is another way for us to reach people in order to bring about a positive social change in society.”

So when was ‘Laal’ the band initiated? How did it all transpire? “I have been playing guitar for quite a while. When I teamed up with Shahram (a student of mine at LUMS), it took our music to another level. Shahram has by far the best most trained voice I have ever heard in my life”, states Taimur, “we began to play at various locations. Sometimes in workers rallies. For instance, once we put loud speakers on a dala and went to the workers rally on May Day giving them a mobile concert (the workers loved our Punjabi songs). We played at LUMS for my students, and we played in London. Recently, however, some media people (Aliya Salaudin and Taimur Khan) took an interest in our activism. We invited them over and as is usual played a few songs as the evening wore on. They were so excited that they immediately asked us to record the songs and produce a video. Although we had been playing for years, this encouragement gave us just the push we needed to raise our game that extra notch. So ‘Laal’ is very much a product of our work as grassroots political activists of the Left. But it got its name in connection with the recent movement for democracy in Pakistan. What distinguishes ‘Laal’ is the fact that we are interested in playing music of resistance, struggle, and emancipation.”

(Above: May Day rally in 2006 Taimur (standing) Shahram 4th from left)

While the concept of Pakistani songs with social messages isn’t new, they still are pretty few and far between.
For instance, in the beginning of 2007,  EMI released ‘Yeh hum naheen’, an anti-terrorist song which was produced by Shuja Haider and sung with the likes of Strings, Shafqat Amanat Ali, Hadiqa Kiyani, Ali Haider, Ali Zafar and Haroon.
A simple video depicting Pakistani’s from every walk of life – ‘Yeh hum naheen’ was produced with the primary motive of making a statement against terrorism in light of the ongoing ‘war on terror’.

And then there have been other socially-conscious songs such as ‘No More’ by Junoon, ‘People are people’ by Amir Zaki, ‘Beirut’ by Strings, and others churned out by Pakistani musicians that have incited the Pakistani public at large to think, become aware, and set free the heavy shackles of rigid reflection. 

But coming back to ‘Main Nay Kaha’, Taimur anticipates a positive response to the song. One question springs forth though, given the socialist nature of the song, was ‘Main Nay Kaha’ produced with any aim in mind? Was it primarily for personal catharsis or perhaps for mass awareness (at home and abroad)? “It was produced with one aim in mind”, Taimur affirms, “to raise awareness about political issues – about democracy, about the class divisions in our society, and the need for the struggle against them. It is simultaneously an expression of our feelings about our country as young people and a call to the people to struggle for their rights. All our work is for the people, where ever they may live. It is for those people whose voices are ground down under economic oppression and political despotism.”

To kick-start the wheels of change back into gear, one has to have a vision – always. A vision so internally inspiring and stimulating, that it can be manifested into the external world – set free, to take shape, and a life of its own.
And music, one of the most stirring and powerful tools of art, can propagate and grease the wheels of change.
‘Main Nay Kaha’ is a creditable endeavour; now let’s just hope it hits the local airwaves soon, so that its essence can contribute to the ignition of a holistic awareness.

The Friday Times