Funk the Dumb Stuff

By the day of the event many variations of the ‘I don’t give a flying funk’ concert were coined. “What the funk...”, “funk it”, “funk the night”. Ignoring the fact that the moniker was a bit of a misnomer, the musicians in the backing band showed that they had the funk in them! In fact, 'backing band' doesn't do justice to the likes of Louis J Pinto aka Gumby and Omran Shaffique. For some of the tracks, the vocalists were almost unnecessary; audience response was a testament to that.

A few weeks ago, 'Summer Jam' had showcased some of the same musicians and the feedback and turn out were fabulous. 'I don’t give a flying funk' somehow didn't pull the numbers. Tail end of the Karachi summer; too many reasons can be cooked up. The venue was not packed but there was an interactive audience. Too interactive, one could say, as certain gentle?men did not know when to shut up!

Before other moments can be glorified or can be said to have rewritten lyrical history (Annie are you...), it has to be said quickly, like pulling off a wax strip, RachelViccajididnotdojusticetohernumbers. Or to the attempted backing vocals or the attempted vocal hijackings. Also, if you want to provide backing vocals, learn the lyrics! At the risk of sounding presumptuous, it can be said that she has a promising voice but lacks the 'feel'. Perhaps in the recording studio, with different takes, and with post production elements, a vocalist can achieve tonal variations, warmth and even emotion. Perhaps. On stage, where an audience engages with the senses of both of hearing and seeing, expressions play a big role.

According to one of the vocalists present that night, emoting is 80% of a live performance! A certain level of unease was present with Rachel Viccaji: her body language and her vocals did not engage the audience as well as perhaps the guitarist to her right.

When speaking of abstracts like “feel”, it is hard to communicate the exact meaning. On the other hand, one could point to Omran and his mug could be next to the word “feel” in the music dictionary. More than comfortable in his own skin, on stage Omran plays without pretensions and as his expressions reflect, he has fun up there. And to debunk the myth that those who play with feel do without skill, his talent is self evident: his skill is not in enacting complicated cold riffs but in manipulating all that he knows into this art form that carries those listening with him into another stratosphere.

Sharing such chemistry is the lean powerhouse Gumby, who with a flick of a wrist can silence a crowd or get them on their feet, dancing. Often while listening to other drummers in the industry, one is inclined to say oh, we have many great drummers. Then Gumby enters the house and casts a pretty tall shadow on the fraternity. He went through songs like The Pretender by the Foo Fighters, Baby Love by the Supremes, Get up, Stand up by Marley and Rock and Roll played on by Bonham. Need one say more?

There was an understated presence on stage, as often bassists tend to have. Khalid made every one of these songs possible: funk has bass with a punch and a curve. Keeping the rhythm section tight with Gumby is no mean feat and Khalid stands solidly on his own. Front of stage, the bass was a bit subdued though the genre the night subscribed to would demand otherwise.

Sheldon and Tanseer Dar were vocalists who had also performed at “Summer Jam”. Soulful, with the right bit of grit and oodles of fun to listen to, Sheldon hit the right notes with songs like Stevie Wonders’ Superstition and Rock n Roll. To slather on the cheese, Sheldon had the groove! Dar on the other hand rewrote lyrical history. For time immemorial, Smooth Criminal will be sung “Annie are you wonky”. Enough said. Though, Tasneer Dar did a good job with The Pretender, not many people can achieve that vocal tone. Just, all those vocalists out there: no newspaper reading of lyrics, if people take time out to come watch you, make the effort to learn the words!

A welcome addition to the line up was Taimoor Salahuddin from Lahore. Singing on “Come Together”, Taimoor did not leave the audience wanting. A tough song that seems deceptively simple, “Come Together” has a confusing set of lyrics that are hard to emote to and even harder to retain (This was witnessed in the pre-concert cramming!). Yet, this Lahori did more than justice to The Beatles. If he gets his own music together, this singer/song writer will be something to look forward to.

Published in Images on Sunday, Dawn on 30th August 2009

Number Ek Soh Chawalees

This is my monologue about a two way street which, by tradition is supposed to combine somewhere down the line into one warm fuzzy blurry road. Well, in my case, the two way street has always led to two different places. One of those roads inevitably leads to me, single, frazzled and free.

Or another analogy that I felt rather fitting, keeping in mind one of my relationships, its like watching an HD screen with bold beautiful colours, great definition and a great surround sound, slowly become duller, the sound murkier and eventually all you are left with is white noise and really tired eyes and ears.

Oh and I do not know how it gets to that point! I do not even pretend to untangle that mess. It has become this great hard sticky furball that once began with a simple knot and a few strings attached.

From Jaani, I miss you already to Jaani, let’s cuddle and not talk to Jaani, we need to talk: who needs that transition? Alas. Most of us do. As far as I can tell, one in every two girls needs to, has to, dies to be in a relationship. And that ladies and gentleman is what sinks the ship of straight, successful, single womenkind.

I think it’s indoctrinated in us from childbirth. Or inoculated, right along rubella, measles and mumps: the man shot.

Every now and then we get the booster shots: boyfriend, boyfriend, crush, lust, boyfriend, fiancé, boyfriend, husband, boyfriend. No one ever thinks of boosting our immune system against the institution of chronic togetherness.

I don’t propagate celibacy or isolation: I just think that we should think more often. If men are accused of navigating life using a sex-radar, it is only fair if women acknowledge that they have similar radars: the potential-couple-detector.

What is the harm in wanting to be with someone, to want to not be alone? I am asked this question from those who are married, those about to dive into that pool or those who are simply looking for an occupant for their pink bubble. I always answer that there is no harm in wanting anything. It is the steps that we take to get what we want and that spiralling of desire into desperate need that is injurious to health. More carcinogenic than a pack everyday!

The lesson I have learnt from my limited experiences: appreciate the flora and fauna that only a single person can truly enjoy. Spend sometime smelling the roses, and not nurturing the pot! And then step towards another flower, smell that and so on. Get high on all the variety. Go through the gardens and the forests, appreciating but growing yourself as an individual. When you have absorbed what is out there, and spent enough time nurturing yourself, then you might have a fair chance at an equitable relationship that can be sustained.

I have three different sets of friends. Other than three who are married, everyone else is single. And everyone finds it very strange that they are in this “predicament”. I think it’s because as I mentioned earlier, when you are given the man shot on a regular basis, to see that it does not work as effectively when there are no tailor made men around is albeit confusing. They promised us that finding the right man and settling down will be as easy as you see in the movies. Those who bought that line are now bitter and almost defiant in their singledom.

This piece of writing does sound like it could be shoved on a Self Help section in a book shop. That is not the intent. My randomly stringed thoughts should not be taken as the last word on the topic, or the starting point towards any success.

Look at it as just one female sharing some experience with other people. With the hope that we stop institutionalising all human interactions in the same fashion that Europe did with all independent thinkers, eccentric people and mildly disturbed people in the middle ages. Shoving every thing into neatly outlined categories defies the very purpose of human experience. There is no sequence to putting your life into order, certainly not your love life.

So, I say, spin the bottle. Watch where it stops and take it from there. Instead of a boy, it might land on a book. Finishing it cover to cover is immensely more pleasurable than going through a man end to end! The book will not crumble to pieces if you reach for it again and again.





Published in Chay Magazine on 1st April, 2009

The Darker Side of Light

Two bands. Two sounds. Four musicians. Having organized a few concerts in Pakistan, it seemed sponsors and some event managers would forget to do their math and assume that if one would ask co-VEN to play, that set list would multiply to include Mauj. It took some time for the market to absorb the fact that these two bands come with very different sound concepts, and sharing a line up is by no means tantamount to sounding the same. Just a look at the names of the bands significantly discerns identities.

Flip. co-VEN. Hamza Jafri on lead vocals and guitar, Sameer Ahmed on bass, Sikandar Mufti on drums and percussion and Omran Shafique on guitar. Flip. Mauj. Omran Shafique on lead vocals and guitar, Hamza Jafri on guitar, Sameer Ahmed on bass and Sikandar Mufti on drums and percussion. Toss it up; shake it around, play word salad.

The front man is where a band gets its soul from. The front man is not necessarily the lead vocalist (Bela Fleck is a banjo player); he or she could be the bassist, the guitar player. The position they occupy in the band is only as relevant as the influence they extend over the feel of the band. Whether they can colour in the sound, the genre, the concept. What makes these two bands completely separate entities are the front men.

co-VEN took off in 1991 initially, with a different set of musicians , including Hamza Jafri. In 2001, co-VEN regrouped sans Omran who was in Houston working on Mauj, and had briefly met Hamza in Pakistan before heading back. Omran used to play with Hamza's elder brother Mohammad Ali Jafri before Hamza had even started playing the guitar and in 2001 when Hamza asked Omran to work with co-VEN, Omran had heard Hamza's work and was sufficiently impressed. As Omran puts it, there was mutual respect and admiration between the two, which, eventually led to working together with the two bands.

With socio-political upheaval catching the world off guard, the music that co-VEN creates is what artists have been doing for centuries: reflecting society and its myriad complexities. In current times, these complexities seem simple enough: political manoeuvring between terrorism, poverty and economic disparity, and co-VEN, with their aggressive sound, is the rock band with “an agenda” to spread the message. This is especially true of their new album waiting to be released. "Ready to Die" , their first single release from the new album, is expressive of co-VEN's desire to bring these problems to the forefront, in bare naked words, folk guitar and drum parts, and punch driven bass lines. All lyrics, written by Hamza Jafri, mince no words and their sardonic nature is highlighted with beautiful arrangements that slip from tense aggressive rolls, into free flowing rock licks.

"gonna tell the government, to inform the president, he's been watching cnn…send the entire regiment, get the media to cover them…down from the mountains on their feet, sir the militants have multiplied…"

co-VEN's two-volume first album was more nostalgic and had a mellow feel with clean groovy bass lines and jazz, folk fusion drums. For a chunk of the listeners, Hamza’s vocal style was unusual and with lyrics in English, made the album slightly unpalatable. Though the second album is also in English, the compelling melodies and the powerful globally relevant content ensure that the songs stay in one’s head. The music has progressed as the boys matured in terms of playing styles, influences and a sensitivity to their surroundings.

Mauj is the antithesis of the social sword being brandished; it is music for everyone to sway to. But make no mistake; the music is not to be underestimated. Sitting in Houston, Omran Shafique decided that musicians were taking themselves too seriously. At the other end of the spectrum, the music that was made for mass appeal was underestimating the audience. Mauj actually was one of the first bands after Junoon that spoke a language which the masses could relate to, with melodies that were easy enough to follow despite being a complex amalgam/combination/fusion of funk, reggae, and rock played with no excuses. For that is the real challenge for Omran: "I can write a complicated rock song that I can get off playing, but to write a song that everyone can bounce their heads to and sing along with the melody...even the serious musicians."

When Hamza asked Omran to come down to Pakistan to record a session with co-VEN, Omran decided to record a video for the first Mauj single, "Khusfehmi" in the same trip. The album had been recorded in USA, but was remixed in Pakistan. It is set to launch in feb/mar 2009, after the second video "Mona" is completed.

For Mauj, Omran is the sole leading force. Mauj is Omran and whomever he is working with and wherever the chemistry is taking them. Mauj has an “irreverence behind it, no posing and doing the rock star thing” and it is this irreverence and a cocktail of funk inspired fun and solid rock that makes the debut album highly awaited.

Two bands, one great bass player, one drummer with jazz hands and two front men with no strings attached. Each band has its own time frames and for as long as the two vocalists can accommodate the other project; this great marriage of convenience will produce diverse musical progenies that will scale different heights.


Published in Rolling Stone, India in March 2009

Pulp friction

“lt’s a concert, not the Oscars!” Having said that, I shall go on to explain where the need to clear the confusion arises from. In the great dense city called Lahore, almost every event has conceptually merged into a glamour-oriented phenomenon. Perhaps the corporates are partially to blame, or the ever-present underestimation of the audience.

Whichever way the blame game might unfold, it is important that one understands that each artistic venture should not only have its own signature style, it should also compliment the art that it is showcasing. Red carpets, celebrity lists, media hounds, paparazzi-style press are not the trademarks of concerts. In the global market, even corporate honchos will respect each art and entertainment niche by not pushing or moulding it into one generic hybrid.

When the Minute Maid invite reached people, it discreetly mentioned the artistes performing, while containing the rest of the elements of a product launch. Most of the journalists invited were confused about the true nature of the event — was the music just a small part of the night; was the red carpet of a pre-event nature? All the queries boiled down to one main question: Was Catalyst, the sister concern of Catwalk owned and operated by Frieha Altaf, going to follow the predetermined fashion industry pattern of events, or was Zeb & Haniya going to be the main act of an actual concert, and not a celebrity gala?

True to the tradition of treating the music industry as a tributary of fashion, the launch was not the perfect venue for the female-fronted band. While the girls backed by the co-Ven boys and Fahad Khan took the stage with understated confidence that might soon be a trademark, the rest of the venue became frenetic with multiple distractions, including the stormy weather.

There was a red (read orange) carpet, where the camera crew for some channel had a celebrity hound (one of those flunkeys who have a distinct sense of smell to sniff out where relatively famous people might be hiding in mock modesty). This orange travesty was a cause of constant distraction as throughout the night people were being pulled, cajoled, coerced, etc, into standing against the unsteady orange backdrop on the orange carpet. And of course on the way to their ‘minute’ (pun intended) of fame, people would stop, convince more people to go pose against the tangerine backdrop.

This entire masquerade went on till well after the concert when finally the elements intervened and with their pragmatism blew away the orange carpet, camera crew and celebrity hound et al, a la Dorothy in The Wizard of Oz.

The orange cough syrup that the soft drink corporate giant will now use to further establish their market presence within another Third-world country (where a soft drink is more expensive than a labourer’s meal), was stacked in lovely vintage crates at the entrance, going beguilingly well with the wooden tables and the artfully orange flower arrangements.

So what kept it all from being visually cogent? The velvet upholstered semi-circular lounge arrangements in front of the stage! From the natural wood to the elegantly ornate, it did not work. Again, it must be mentioned, it was a launch crossed with a fashion event crossed with Zeb & Haniya. The guests, after rubbing shoulders with whoever knocked into them on the way to the orange carpet, would come, comfortably recline on the sofas and fall into the daze that background music and chilled stormy breeze tends to induce.

The music itself was far from subservient to the rather confused ambience. The musicians could not see much as the lights were strong and at close range, and the rest of the world was blinded out. As one of them noted later, not being able to see the audience worked out very well — it felt like they were in the comfortable confines of a jam session!

Zeb, Haniya, Hamza, Sameer and for that night, Fahad Khan gave a sample of what contemporary local music in Pakistan can encompass if each individual plays with an integrity to their skill, to their musical preferences and yet have compositions that are pleasing for a large cross-section of people.

The advantage Zeb and Haniya have over regular Pakistani pop is that musically they are not simplifying their work to fit a predetermined, mass-multiplied sound. Haniya on her acoustic with her ‘feel’ vocals distinctly stands apart on timbre, tone and stylistic inclinations from Zeb.

Add the co-Ven boys to this band and suddenly Zeb & Haniya are doubly a force to be reckoned with. When Hamza, Sameer and Sikandar had their first concert after many years of being in different countries, everyone knew who they were, though many did not remember how their music used to sound. The co-Ven firmly re-established their presence as boys who played for themselves before conforming to anything with their very funky covers (read ‘heard it through the grapevine’) and rather unusual originals. Now when they stand with Zeb & Haniya, they do not discard their co-Venness, in fact it is that very essence of a very tight knit band that gives Zeb & Haniya an oomph and a punch. And together, they all have a sound that means business.

Their trademark song Chup, along with Aitebaar and Paimana Bitte fell a little flat in the vocal section. Chup with its arrangements and its playfulness made up for where the vocals lacked, while the other numbers did not fare as well.

Towards the end of the show two things were ascertained: Zeb, who has a beautiful, very distinctive voice was not in full form. Even though there were moments when her vocals stood out brilliantly, she fell a little flat. The second thing would be that even though on stage, the co-Ven boys assume a muted physical presence; their music makes them stand out.

The girls, together with co-Ven, can create a stir if they do not fall into a rut that many musicians who are newly famous are prone to; diva attitudes, diminishing energy, redundancy and repetition. Right now what they do have are strong vocals, a good range of compositional elements, great arrangements, mass appeal and approachability — all the makings of a successful band.

Published in Images, Dawn on June 15 2008

The Rockstar and the Mullahs

Music, man and maker.

When T2F sent an email regarding the screening of The Rock Star and the Mullahs, a documentary by Ruhi Hamid, the title piqued my interest before I read the documentary revolved around Salman Ahmad. Even though Junoon by far is the only band in Pakistan that truly deserves the accolades that befit true rock legends, after the band broke up, Ali Azmat seemed to be the true survivor of the three. Yet, reading the credentials of Ruhi made watching the relatively old documentary a must.

Released in 2003 on BBC, the documentary was originally the project of Angus Macqueen, a multi-award winning director and producer. Ruhi, who was in awe of his work, was much surprised when he called her to assist in the project, which came with Salman as a pre-requirement.

What was the project? Through Salman, the veritable “rock star” the contradictions that in Pakistan live in juxtaposition would be highlighted such as extremist elements, burgeoning musicians, banned musicians, presidential accolades to artistes. The conflict between music and Islam.

The rock star would be pitted against various religious schools of thought regarding the very existence of crafted music. To what desired outcome? According to Ruhi, the journey of the documentary was organic, changing and evolving according to the environmental and situational tangents cropping up; hence, there was no pre-seated expectation for a specific end. There was no script for the documentary. Salman would engage on screen ad hoc, according to his personally derived arguments regarding the subject that was close to his own heart. He travels to Peshawar and then to Lahore and in both places engages in dialogue with people of faith. The documentary takes one to different madressahs where students, young and old, are confronted with the question of music and its place in Islam and to conversations with MMA representatives in the then government, the Minister of Minority Affairs, Mullah Hafiz Akhtar and one Mullah Bijli, named so due to his electrifying sermons.

As this documentary was shot at a time where a coalition of Islamist parties had formed part of the government at a provincial level, many bans had been implemented in the Frontier, the validity of which was upheld by using Islamic law as the baseline.

Music was not allowed: Musicians were arrested, threatened by the police, their families harassed. Shops selling music were forcefully shut down, as were cyber cafes. None of the music confiscated was destroyed — as mentioned in the documentary, the tapes and records were taken for personal use by the very people who banned them.

The irony of the situation was that the MMA had strong-armed one part of the nation to blindly follow the new laws and no one understood why. Perhaps the one area where Salman actually achieves to show the audience something that they could take home with them was when his conversations on a bus in Peshawar and again in a madressah reflected that these men had no idea why music was banned and whether Islam actually supported this newfound law.

Another generalised propaganda in the middle class came through in the documentary: Anti-American sentiment. Not only were the Taliban seen trumping up western ills and evils, footage of the elementary section of Bahria College, Karachi, displays how ill-placed words can create uneducated ideas and opinions. Little girls spout regurgitated ideas of the widespread ills of America that surely were caught from discourse of brainwashed adults.

While there is no doubt in my mind about the imperialist and inhumane foreign policy of the US or about the brilliant in-house hogwash they feed their own citizens, there is also no doubt that the anti-America rhetoric in the street in those days had little sustainable logic, even in the minds of the most calm haters of Americanisation. Perhaps the mullahs rode the wave of anti-American sentiment while trying to “purge” Pakistan of catastrophic “evils” like a simple chord structure.

Footage of the then Coas President clapping on stage with Junoon was perhaps the only point where nauseous was a better adjective to explain how one felt, though the arts did see support and patronage from the trailblazer of “enlightened moderation”.

Visually, the strongest shots were those in the very beginning of the documentary where passionate fans of Junoon head banging would fade into shots of hafiz-i-Quran moving their heads and bodies in similar synchronisation with their chanting of holy words.

Shots of Junoon in its glory days, video snippets from concerts and casual time spent together were bittersweet and nostalgic in the wake of bitter members of the now broken up band. Areas that did not work out were shots of Salman praying and his blatant disregard of the madressah students’ discomfort at his singing a verse of the Holy Quran on their premises.

An improvement would have been more musicians, even if it were short snippets. Having only Salman to represent music placed limitations on the audience’s interpretation of how musicians in Pakistan actually perceived or dealt with the music versus Islam conflict. His Sufi manifesto automatically places him in a relatively small minority; the rest of the mainstream musicians address the conflict with different dialogues. The fact that Sufi rock was a Junoon identity discredits his actual inclinations, whatever they might be.

Post-screening, the Q&A had one very common concern arising from the audience: Where were the moderate and educated Muslim scholars? As Ruhi mentioned in the course of conversation, one of the reasons to take up this documentary was to show the West that in Pakistan, people other than extremists existed. It did seem remiss to not include an educated scholar of Islam who would not only bridge the gap but represent the millions of moderate Muslims in Pakistan, who do exist, just quietly, unlike the rock star or the mullah.

Ruhi Hamid is a documentary maker whose work reflects an eye for humanity where others avoid and stumble. Her body of work is mostly regarding conflict areas or human interest stories where her subject is an ordinary person in extraordinary circumstances.

This documentary was a rare addition in her work subject matter and methodology wise. From her being the camera woman as well as the director, here she had a crew and a subject that was current and vast and had important people featured. Whereas this piece of work is old and could need some updating, it did bring an important subject within reach for many: the misuse of religion to control society.

The evening ended with Ruhi’s husband, DJ Heretic, at his turntables. Interestingly, not from Pakistan at all, he mixed house music with very old funky desi numbers. The music had a jazz and funk feel fused with some latino beats.


Published in Images, Dawn on July 27, 2008

Three Senseless Acts Of Terrorism, One Effective Action

"Before recession could hit Pakistan, terrorism did.” — Saadaan Peerzada

When an event has not only been sustained for 25 years but has improved since inception, it seems only natural that the government takes a measure of interest in it. Since the festival encourages the culture of Pakistan and solders ties on an international level, it makes perfect sense that the government, often isolated on the international front, would want to become a stakeholder in it.

It was learnt from reliable sources that the Governor House in Lahore this year maintained an austere front in terms of helping the arts. Khalid Maqbool was also seen at the World Performing Arts Festival (WPAF) 2008 buying tickets for his family, participating in whatever capacity he could. However, no one even heard the sirens of the entourage of the new Lahore Governor graze past the Alhamra. According to Saadaan Peerzada, one of the directors at RPTW, Shahbaz Sharif helped in terms of venue and security and personally assured the Rafi Peer Theatre Workshop (RPTW) of full support after three explosions took place in close proximity on the second-last night of the festival.

What was reassuring for the Peerzadas was the presence of the public as families were present at the venue in tow with children the very next day. These were the people stereotyped to be at best not interested enough. They came to light candles, watch puppets and to show they were not scared. RPTW is a family affair. It is run by the Peerzada brothers with their sister and their next generation either working for it or contributing to the arts. It is a rambling organisation sprawling all over the performing arts.

Alena Peerzada, Saadaan’s daughter, is the director of programmes at the theatre company. Young, rather fierce and completely in control of any situation, she was seen busy coordinating visas and travel plans for an upcoming sufi festival in France. An antithesis to his daughter, Saadaan is fluid, energy simmering under the surface, bubbling over every now and then when he speaks of ideas or plans. As this was the 25th consecutive year the festival, there were grand plans, plans that never saw the light of day due to the declining economic and political situation throughout the country. Speaking to father and daughter individually, one could feel the fabric that held the festival tightly together was home spun, which was why the problems that the festival faced seemed shared.




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So why did the Peerzadas decide to take on the last night of the festival after something as serious as three explosions? The answer is simple — to cancel the show was to let the terrorists win.




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Inviting hundreds of foreign delegates every year, the festival turns out to be more than a pinch on the pocket. Prior to 9/11, Saadaan said that most international delegates required no airfare as they would reach Pakistan and then the festival would house them, feed them, entertain them and provide transportation. Since then, RPTW arranges for visas, pays visa fees, schedules flights, covers airfare and then from the moment the artistes land to the time they take off, their expenses are covered. And of course, each act is paid for performances on stage.

All these costs climb every year with raising foreign currency exchange rates and the nuisance cost of getting anything done in Pakistan. Even year when the WPAF has a sponsor, the latter acts as a partner since a tremendous portion of the cost is still incurred by the theatre company. This year, the year of their grand celebration, the corporate industry had a few minor glitches of its own (strange, as their massive ad campaigns never reflected any issues whatsoever with cash flow).

For Alena that was a glaring issue. She admitted that taking on such a festival cannot be a sole venture. In her opinion “multiple small support systems in the form of organisations and the government can offer help in a myriad of ways.” To her disappointment no one stepped up. If the festival changed its flavour to a more Bollywood event, the corporate interests would change, she added. Since the event is oriented towards promoting performing arts of all kinds, especially those stemming from multicultural heritages, it is not viewed as glamourous as are the many black-tie balls held in Lahore that sell one ticket for one night worth twice the combined value of a ticket for all the music nights at the WPAF.

There is a reason the explosions have not been the highlight of this article as it seems a shame to hand over attention to the events that were supposed to deter people from partaking in the performing arts. Saadaan was asked to list problems that this year’s festival faced, terrorism was the first one on the list. “Before recession could hit Pakistan, terrorism did,” he said. So why did the Peerzadas decide to take on the last night of the festival after something as serious as three explosions? The answer is simple — to cancel the show was to let the terrorists win.

Published in Images, Dawn on November 30 2008

Star Struck

The Rock Night at the WPAF 2008 brought together some of the best in music

All pretences wiped away, I admit that while growing up, Ali Azmat was the one musician or Junoon was the only Pakistani band that I thought deserved true homage. At that age, when idealism is the biggest turn on and music a very raw sensory stimulus, Junoon defined a generation. This year at the World Performing Art Festival, while bombs were dropping in Bajaur, nostalgia swept me off my feet in Lahore.

I will not keep the best for last; I will start with Ali Azmat. If I begin with anything else, the pages would crumble with the acridity of my ink.

Omran Shafique on lead guitar, Kamran Zafar (Mannu), on bass, Waqar Ahmad on drums and Ali Azmat on vocals. Would it be fair to compare Ali and his work today with Junoon? I think not. It’s a different sound, coming from a completely different place.

Even though Overload, the band right before Ali’s performance took its sweet time wrapping up their long set, people were there. Not as many as there would have been if Ali had performed in safer times, or on a warmer night, so in relativity many did wait. None were disappointed.

How could they be? Here was a band where the bass player actually moved with the groove, where his slap-plucking techniques stood out with the composition and his energy defined the rhythm section. Speaking of which, Waqar, the drummer, a relatively new component, had the energy which numbers like Garaj Baras needed and the aesthetics that Pappu Yaar needed. Then there is Omran, who as a part of Mauj and Coven is the very definition of “tight knit” and owned the night with his fills, leads and moves on stage. Ali did the Ali thing: He came to a slightly disheartened audience, he saw their mood and he conquered with jibes and song alike.

I do not need to say which song was sung better or which one had better instrumentation or even point out the one where someone messed up because the feeling with the last note hanging in the frosty night was of adrenaline flowing. The feeling that in Pakistan is missed out on, as no one really holds the concert quite the way Ali can and has for years now.

The boys that head bang to Akaash or Jal, come watch this entourage. The difference between Ali and the rest: The moment where your body aligns itself with the music is imperceptible yet when the performance ends, you are tachycardic — your pupils dilated and you would not feel the cold, in essence you would be tripping on Ali.

Rock was an expression of the free swinging ’60s and ’70s. The unkempt big hair, the clothes, the sex and the drugs, all were a reflection of a generation trying to escape the harsh realities of the Vietnam War and the post-WWII depression. The music was raw, rebellious and often psychedelic in tone. Shehzad Hameed brought back some of that feel on Rock Night.

The slight man with the grand locks made an impression. Even though the sound was slightly cheesy, the lyrics slightly out there, it was full of the idealism of dreams and the stinging bitterness of reality that pushes through the surface every now and then.

The vocal tone and the progression in most songs were instrumental in bringing together the feel that made the performance unexpectedly fun. It seemed that Shehzad had a bass player who also shared his energy: Farhan Ali. Post-performance, Farhan admitted that he enjoyed being on stage with Shehzad though it was sad, he said, to see such few people when last year the same night was a full house. Like most musicians and artistes these days, he admitted the socio-political situation in the country was just not helpful and it was upsetting to see how difficult it had become to hold such events.

The flip side of this raw rock energy driven by unrealised dreams was Overload. The divas of neo-electronica percussion-oriented rock (yes, I just made that term up) were in full swing with a recovered Mehmood in tow. Thanks to the rapidly deteriorating sound quality of these events, Farhad had to spend a good 20 minutes in a post-sound check sound fix. Once things were in order, Overload delivered as promised. Their set list had a punch and having Misha on vocals adds to the diverse experience that is Overload. Her voice compliments the electronica feel and her physical presence is of course always appreciable.

This year’s Rock Night had an unprecedented act: Borstel Escape. They were perhaps the youngest musicians ever seen at the WPAF. Even though their dedication was admirable and their energy unmatched (who can match pubescent fervour!) one would ask, did they truly belong at a festival of this level? It is perhaps the largest audience that comes together annually for a show. Musicians who take that stage should have paid their dues. And that does not always come with age as there were other acts that night older than Borstel Escape that needed to work much harder before taking the same stage as Ali Azmat or Overload or even Shehzad. Borstel Escape was, however, noted by one of the drummers who performed that night: “Their attitude and aggression must be appreciated, although the drummer could have done a better job.”

Everything before these acts is a discordant cacophonous blur and a waste of good ink space: With all these global warming warnings, I am all for protecting the environment from deforestation and sound pollution.


Published in Images, Dawn on November 23 2008

NATURAL HIGHS

The eleven days of plays, puppets, dance, comedy and music — every last dreg was needed to drown away the blues that Pakistan is going through. This realisation hit me when I was standing in front of the stage on the rock night.

The brilliance of the World Performing Arts Festival was and always will be that it provides an array of entertainment which appeals to a large range of audience. Ghazal, pop, rock, classical, world music; all these nights provided ample opportunity for everyone to dress up, sit in the open-air theatre at Alhamra, and for three hours forget that there were problems to be dealt with.

The interesting thing about memories is that they are strongly linked with the sense of smell. Each of these nights had a distinct odour — the ghazal and folk nights smelt of paan mingled with the overpowering smell of excitement; rock night was visited by the perfume of Mary Jane and world music night tantalised the teetotalers with the sweet overripe smell of sugar whisky.

The most iconic moment of the festival in terms of music was Abida Parveen bowing to a standing ovation on the mystic night. The euphoria that often follows charged sermons by great figures was reflected everywhere — Abida’s control of the crowd with a drop of her voice in the middle of Mast Qalandar, the stupor that overtook everyone during the crescendo of her songs and the way everyone greeted her post-performance backstage. It was a performance that in retrospect overshadowed the explosions and the memory will be held precious for a long time to come.

Saieen Zahoor, who performed on the folk and mystic nights is always noteworthy. Even though his repertoire of songs is now slightly frayed and threadbare, his vocal range and timbre are worth catching at every performance.

The ghazal and pop nights were confusing this year. The family of Amanat Ali Khan and Hamid Ali Khan was all over the place with performances on both nights. Some would say that the pop night presented them with a commercially viable option, though both nights seemed to pander to similar aims. The night was saved from abject repetition by the graceful performance of Tina Sani. Paying homage to poet Faraz Ahmad, she reflected what can be termed a “complete product” as her musicians were colour-coordinated, the orchestration was very pleasing to the ear and the entire performance was an ode to smart business moves.

Contrary to the rock night, the pop night was a parallel universe where bad music was good, where ‘live’ meant ‘playback’ and where comic attire was confused with couture and fashion. Up close and personal, the person behind the lens can observe more than the artistes imagine and Circle of Trust seemed to be singing or talking into a mike that was switched off.

Aaroh from Karachi performed for the first time at the festival and their performance was defined by the energy of the lead singer. Farooq was all over the stage, bouncing like a pogo stick, leaving no corner ignored. His act was in stark contrast to Strings’ who were supposed to be the highlight of the night.

Faisal Kapadia and Bilal Maqsood are certainly a well-turned-out duo, which is recognised on an international level and they have won many an award. Yet watching them live on stage felt more like coming across them on television as it seemed recorded, complete with post-production and camera moves. Not that they sounded anything less than what is expected of them. Sadly Mekaal Hasan’s performance on the fusion night was cancelled on account of the explosions; otherwise the audience would have had an opportunity to see the difference between a live performance and a great live performance.

The second world music night hosted two very noteworthy performances. The improvised instrumental between Shallum Xavier, Ingrid Kindem, Farhan Ali and a flutist was by far one of the noteworthy fusions heard this year. It had great underlying potential, yet was too short to reach even a buildup.

The other act that everyone should have heard was the group of Argentinean musicians from France. Manosanta was literally the “magic hand of the shaman” that soothes troubles away. At the festival with an awesome session bassist, Marco Jabea who had double-jointed hips in addition to his groovy bass, Manosanta consisted of Louis Pousa as the earnest songwriter and vocalist Thomas Huet, the very sweet drummer and Eddy Homassi, the percussion player with a wry sense of humour. Their music inspired from Tango and Cumbia was perfect for dancing, yet had lyrics that stemmed from the pain of immigrants and real-life tragedies.

Published in Images, Dawn on November 30th 2008 in the article "Festival report"

The System

Of Live Music At Swanky Restaurants

The System can lead to a revolution in the music-appreciation culture in Lahore. The million dollar question is: will it sustain itself and create new values, or will we be looking at another corporate-controlled venture that’s as good as the money it gets?

The brainchild of a few musicians, The System is a new mechanism that will purportedly keep music afloat in dire times. Spearheaded by Farhad Humayun, it seems to be aimed at creating a culture of frequent concerts, to sustain the music fraternity. The second of such concerts was held at a swanky dining establishment that provided more ambience to the event than expected. Feeling more like a live music night held at a club, The System provided the people of Lahore with an alternative to eating in restaurants and at weddings.

At the moment, the most positive element of The System is its patronage of young or under-showcased talent. A young band with no single out in the market, Simt made its name when it won a rock competition earlier this year. Songs like Pyar di Ganderi are already well known and their original singles seem commercially viable. Though the set at The System could have used a rhythm section, the engaging Haroon Shahid and stoic Hassan Omer held their own, giving a taste of their band that in full partaking might become a pop icon!

Wajiha from the Lahore University of Management Sciences took the audience through a rather monotonous story that had Crazy by Seal and Seven Nation Army by The White Stripes plugged into the plotline. With a vocal tone that was very appealing, but a stage presence that fell flat, Wajiha, with some more experience, might become a welcome addition to the constantly burgeoning music scene of Lahore.

With a cello, violin and a new stylist, Call was brimming over with musicians on the 6’X10’ stage. While all of the other band members were on one page, Junaid was on another. With facial expressions and head tilts that belonged in a music video, Junaid sang Iris by the Goo Goo Dolls to a crowd full of impressionable youths – by now we are aware of the power of misled impressionable young adults: think all endorsements that have the face of Atif Aslam or Ali Zafar.

The System can lead to a revolution in the music-appreciation culture in Lahore. The million dollar question is: will it sustain itself and create new values, or will we be looking at another corporate controlled venture that’s as good as the money it gets?

Published in Images, Dawn on Sunday January 4th, 2009

The Good, The Bad & The Ugly

2008 was a tumultuous one for the world: recessions, terrorism, wars and all sorts of nasty things. The trickle down effect eventually reached our music fraternity (for the lack of females that were available for comment!) and its seedling industry. How do the rock and pop gurus who cared to talk to us think the year affected them? Read on for their best and worst moments in 2008.

AHMED ALI BUTT
Finishing the album Feedback was the best moment and the current state of the music industry is the worst.

ALI HAMZA
I think the best moment was when I wrote this song Bhanware in an hour or so. It will probably be featured in the upcoming album or the one after.

I don’t know what the worst moments in music making are. Till you have achieved something, all of the rest are the ‘worst’ moments!

ALI NOOR
I don’t have a worst moment. The best moment was when we released the video of Doh Dil and did the music for it.

BILAL MAQSOOD
The worst experience first: It happened in Dubai, Oct 2008. We were performing with Shaan and Overload. The sound check was just OK. We were not too happy with it but then we thought that we would still be able to manage with it. Overload finished their set and it was our turn. We went on the stage, plugged in our instruments and from there onwards it was our like our worst nightmare.

We played the first song just by sheer guess work. Faisal couldn’t hear his vocals, I couldn’t hear my guitar. All we could hear were the drums and harmonies on stage.

We took a little break and tried to fix the sound. The second song started and the sound became even worse. In order to make our vocals clearer the sound technician pushed all the faders up to the maximum and all the mikes started to feedback. Our stage was resonating with all sorts of squeaky sounds. Then we took another break and told the sound technician to bring everything down.

I ended up singing Anjane with no drums, no guitar and just extremely loud vocals. We apologised to the crowd and explained the whole situation to them. We wanted to leave the set in the middle but the crowd didn’t let us go. So I think we managed a couple of more songs but it was getting too frustrating for us, so we apologised again and left.

The best music experience for us would be the launch of our fifth album Koi Aaney Wala Hai, which was released in May 2008. We spent four months in the studios to record it and are extremely happy with the result. Koi Aaney Wala Hai is definitely our best work till date.

FAISAL RAFI
Well, the best music moment from 2008 for me was the Munchkin’s gig. A few days ago, they rocked it out: it was loud and noisy and I needed that!

The worst moment was Dino’s album, I mean he should quit! Personally my best moment was recording Ustad Fateh Ali Khan and Nafees Ahmed, the sitar player. It was the first time that they were singing and playing together and I was seeing it for the first time as well. Personally I don’t allow the worst to enter my studio!

FARHAD HUMAYUN
The best moment was at the Rafi Peer World Performing Arts Festival, where I did a solo performance: I wasn’t expecting any audience to be there that night. I’m not a singer and I sang as well, and I got a good round of applause, which was encouraging and it opened new doors for me.

The worst thing about 2008 is that we did not play much, but whenever we played we played well and got a good response. But we could have played a lot more.

FARHAN ALI
The best was when I did instrumentals with Farhad Humayun and Shahzad Hameed on the World Performing Arts Festival’s Music Night. The worst was when were backstage, waiting to play on Fusion Night with Fariha Pervaiz in the same festival and the blasts happened – the performance was cancelled

HAMZA JAFFERY
The best moment was performing at The System. I was really ill, I had a chest infection, I thought show barbaad ho jayay ga, but the show went really well. The sound was really good. The best monitoring we have had on stage ever. The worst moment hasn’t happened as yet and it won’t happen.

HANIYA ASLAM
My best would be right after the album release, when everyone heard our work and the feedback started coming in. The worst was falling backstage at the LSA! The only saving grace was that I didn’t fall on camera!

HAROON RAHID
The best music moment in 2008… I did a lot of fantastic shows, a brilliant show in Norway on the 14th of August 2008. The Prime Minister of Norway was there, it was a terrific show. I signed a record a deal with Universal records, a major record label, to launch me in a big way in India. Furthermore, I recorded some brilliant new songs.

The worst moment I would have to say, is the state of affairs in the country, when things are so in the country, people are more concerned about the turmoil, rather than paying attention to culture arts and music, they are pushed down priorities.

I performed a show at the hockey stadium in Lahore, right next to the Al Hamra, and while I was on stage, two or three bombs went off. That was very disheartening that we were trying to put on this great event, unfortunately, seems a shame that such things have to happen.

HAROON SHAHID
The best moment for me was winning the Rafi Peer and Levi’s Rock Club and the worst was the night those blasts happened during the World Performing Arts Festival.

HASIL QURAISHI
Best moment: Apart from the Sahil record which I was working on concurrently, I did loads of production work with people. One of them was this guy from dubai whose album I worked on. Adding to that, the Sahil record should be out mid next year.

The worst: some Pakistani singer singing in some Shahid Kapoor movie!

JAFAR ZAIDI
The best and the worst… the best should be the fact that I had a chance to collaborate with some of the top musicians in Pakistan for my album. I guess I don’t really think there has been a bad moment for me musically so far this year… not that I can think of anything honestly.

OMRAN SHAFIQUE
Mauj winning a few awards, including the Best Rock Song at the TMAs was a highlight and not getting the Mauj album out this year was obviously a huge disappointment!

SAMEER AHMED
The best moment would have to be when Co-VEN finally got into the studio to start recording our next album. We have been working on these songs for some time and we’re very excited to finally record them.

The worst moment has been the recent bombing of the World Performing Arts Festival. That was very unfortunate.

SHIRAZ UPPAL
The best moment was when I sang Secret of Success for A. R. Rahman’s upcoming film Boys. The worst was that a lots of concerts were cancelled because of security reasons.

SAJID ALI GHAFFOR
The worst: Things were really bad in the country, others artists also suffered and as a result we couldn’t have enough gigs. Things are always looming even when having a good time. Even the fun had lost the ‘fun’ factor. The best was probably that we enjoyed playing gigs in Lahore. Apart from that we had a concert in Berlin on the 28th of November 2008.

SHALLUM XAVIER
The best for me was our live concert in September in Trivamdrum, Kerela, India. It was a part of their annual harvest festival; it’s the biggest one in Kerala. Before us, Pakistani bands were not even allowed to enter the state. And we performed for a large number of people, around 30,000.

And the worst was when I got to know about the terrorist attacks in Mumbai. We had a tour beginning from the 4th of Dec to the 22nd. For me that was very shocking.

WAQAR AHMED KHAN:
My best moments were: my first gig with the Mekaal Hassan Band on the 30th of April 2008 at Peru’s Café and my first gig with Ali Azmat on 19th of October 2008 at the Bahria University in Karachi.

The worst moment was when the MHB concert was cancelled due to a series of blasts at the Rafi Peer Festivel. We were on our way to the venue, when that happened. It was very sad!

ZULFIQAR ALI KHAN Aka Xulfi
Performing songs from the album Jilawatan with a completely different arrangement using violins and cellos at The System II was one of the best moments. Thinking of these songs in an absolutely alternate arrangement was an experience of its own. Though it was quite an intense experience for me, composing new melodies and arrangements for the songs, but was quite a fulfilling one. The new instrumentation actually bought a new life to the songs, not just for the audience but for me as well.

Secondly, this was only the third concert of mine that my mother has attended; her presence made it one of my most memorable. Worst moment: there was nothing that bad.


Published in Images, Dawn on Sunday January 4, 2009

Four Concerts And A Funeral (Of Star Etiquette)

Winter sees Lahore as one big marshmallow of tents, bridal couture, candy make up, saccharine flowers and throngs of hot-blooded human icicles. Hopping from one mehendi to the other had the same effect as surfing the boob tube: short attention span, glazed eyes and a headache. The favoured remedy of this season? Four back-to-back Ali Azmat and Co-VEN concerts. After attending three: two were enough to drain out the shaadi music and the third one was thrown in for good measure.

At the third concert, Sikandar Mufti was nothing short of impressive. The man, a reincarnation of a Jamaican born to play jazz, moved his drum sticks with primordial instinct, and was by no means an easy act to follow.

lf there is ever a band that defines the phrase “tight knit”, it is the Co-VEN boys. Even with Omran (Momo) playing highly improvised leads and parts, they are a well-oiled machine. Hamza and Sameer moved on stage with an intuitive synchronization that was reflected in their performance. At the third concert, Sikandar Mufti was nothing short of impressive. The man, a reincarnation of a Jamaican born to play jazz moved his drum sticks with primordial instinct, and was by no means an easy act to follow. His rolls and solos were dancing with the groove that Co-VEN embodies.

Co-VEN’s new single Ready to Die does what historically art has been doing: reflects society in its bottom-less blacks and shallow whites with its sharp punchy lyrics and slightly dark instrumentation. The lyrics have moved from the psychedelic story telling in the last album to rhythmic realism. Though I have to admit, I had to read the lyrics or hear the recorded version to comprehend them. Playing Ready to Die over and over is like wine tasting: roll your tongue over it and it unfurls its true flavour.

Ali Azmat. Encased in the spirit of legends, Ali will not be smothered by age, his music will not be over shadowed by his status and we will always see him, more exposed in a moment of music than in his interviews. No matter how jaded the listener is; Ali Azmat brings an honest smile to the face that only good live music does.

After listening to Yaro Yahi Dosti Hai on all three concerts, it is on repeat in my head. An amazing facelift of the original: The 80’s cheese is replaced with instrumentation that you have to move to, driving away the bone-cracking Lahore chill. Dhaarti keh Khuda has similarly been reclaimed with the oomph of the band. Speaking of which, the band is a fascinating blend of musicians. Mannu, a Karachi local whose city spirit is reflected in his brilliant bass playing; Momo of the West and East, the man who turns the guitar left, into Zappa and right, into Zepplin and Wacky, the newcomer, still learning the language of this entourage of greatness, but with his own unique accent. And of course Ali, the gravitational force that keeps everyone else in orbit.

The mark of a true veteran musician is that nothing can surprise you on stage. Perhaps that experience gave Ali Azmat the poise to deal with a tar-sticky Atif Aslam at the final concert. A crash course on etiquette: if you are called on stage for one song, gracefully exit after. The out of tune, nasal pitch becomes unbearable, especially in juxtaposition with Ali Azmat’s guttural, robust vocal tone. And what nailed the painfully comic situation was Atif Aslam graciously gesturing Ali to sing the last bar of the chorus in one song; as if it was his show that Ali was crashing!

Even though the last show at a neo-tacky cafe was ever so slightly tarnished by the management of the event and the rough edges of the crowd, Tara Jala outshone everything else. All stage bloopers worthy of four concerts, including self imposed guest singers, were forgiven with this track.

So ends a season of mindless wedding hopping. Click. Valima. Click Mehendi. Click. Nikkah. Click click. Another mehendi. Click. Ali Azmat and Co-VEN. Click. Volume up. Zone out.

Published in Images, Dawn on Sunday January 4, 2009

Reading into songs

Reading into songs

By Halima Mansoor

Over a year ago, co-VEN came out with Volume one and two (in one edition) and now their third album is almost ready to be released. Untitled as yet, the album is bolder in terms of arrangements, compositions and once released will possibly be the only brazen, much needed intelligent socio-political rhetoric on the shelves. The single ‘Ready to Die” is on air and the video is in the works.

Speaking with Hamza, Sameer and Sikander in Omar Hussein’s studio where they recorded this album, there was a desire to understand the dynamics between being a niche band and a marketing plan. The boys obviously want to be heard and the way their album is sounding, the new material should be heard.

Is the creative cost of throwing in a formula pop track worth the possible addition in audience? Not really. “The formula’s boring” as Sikander puts it. When they can create music that’s verifiably their own, which according to Sameer is getting “nothing but positive feedback”, their path to success is going to be the one less travelled in Pakistan

How did this purportedly niche band manage to do so much work without either giving up or being put out of business? According to Hamza, the band still occupies a smaller following in comparison to entertainment moguls. It often surprises music cynics that more people than anticipated have heard co-VEN’s work; this new album will surprise them more as it is predicted to crack a fairly large opening in the niche! It seems that these boys are prepared to get what they want the old fashioned way: whole hearted effort and letting their work speak for itself.

Musicians often bitterly say that perhaps co-VEN has the luxury of being able to afford being a niche band, of playing only what they enjoy. The boys make it very clear that the desired end is that co-VEN becomes their bread and butter, not the run of the mill jobs that everyone in the music industry is forced to maintain. And if that means working hard for sometime, they understand that to be a natural process.

Listening to their album in the studio, the sound is different from their last released work. The drums contribute more, with a fuller sound; there is a distinct folk influence in guitar parts and drums. The feel of the album is tense and free flowing at the same time. ‘X-Ray’ is one of the tracks where this juxtaposition gives the song the staying power and once you wrap your head around the lyrics you have to hear it again.

Each song unfurls bass lines that have groove and make a statement. Sadly, very few albums in Pakistan pay close to attention to the bass: it is usually just a mere part of the rhythm section. In the generation after Kamran Zafar better known as Mannu, Sameer Ahmed is a bass player to pay attention to. His flair for tight funky basslines with a dark edge is more evident in this album.

The boys attribute working in Omar’s studio to be a major factor for the change in sound. Working in his studio, they felt free to experiment more, to mull over their recording takes and compositions. As opposed to the first album which was recorded within 5 days, this took over two months. The duration did not reflect laziness or the inability to commit: the songs grew as co-VEN worked together, as a band and with Omer to create the unique sound without feeling the need to conform to a set studio pattern. Sikander mentioned that working with Omar was a learning experience in terms of how the recording process works outside the sound proof room. The album in turn reflects the growth process it is the result off. No less than a mature body of work that will appeal to an international market, if the boys manage to develop a marketing plan!

The album itself was born out of jam sessions. And it has grown as the boys themselves grew in terms of musical influences, expression and the times that we all live in. When political chaos is so relevant that it is no more something that affects ‘them’ and is very much pushing and pulling every one of ‘us’. ‘X- Ray’, ‘You’, ‘Plan B’, ‘The Man Himself’ and ‘Ready to Die’ all have potent lyrics that do not shy away from pointing out the ludicrousness of this era. The lyrics are written by Hamza and he does not mince words.

“The monkey men pretend to liberate, a nation they’ve enslaved, and they spread the fear…” or “…listening to the man, with the beard and fat belly, he says to rinse off the dirty deeds…”

The direct nature of the words is not off putting, in fact it is liberating to repeat the song as it goes on in your mind after its been turned off. These words are often mouthed by arm chair revolutionaries: to say them on stage to an audience poised to inhale every word you sing shows that some musicians are willing to have an agenda which is not intertwined with a marketing strategy.

Ever since the apathy and arrogance of younger years wore off, it became a personal desire to hear our own musicians play songs that reflect the reality surrounding us as true artists have been doing for centuries. With this new album, co-VEN has risen to the occasion.

What does Hamza want for the songs lyrics he writes? Obviously for them to be heard by as many people as possible. With such a strong message in one album, the obvious question was why Hamza as the front man does not interact with the audience at concerts. After all, it is that experience that the audience takes home and later relives when they hear the track, making it a personal memento.

A concert is not just the music, it is entertainment say the boys. It becomes another ballgame altogether. As Sameer mentioned, they are most comfortable playing in their own setting, or just for each other. This intimate communication is visible on stage as the each boy moves with this intuitive understanding of the musical and physical space the other two occupie. With a slight smile, Hamza stated that communicating with the audience while on stage is something he is working on. It also seems for this album, Hamza also worked on his style of singing. His enunciation is clearer and his voice flows smoother than ever.

co-VEN is the product of Hamza, Sameer and Sikander and while performing live, Omran Shafique. The boys own the music. While listening to the tracks in the studio, each one of them was visibly fine tuning that was being played, each one was in his own private zone where with a zero brush each musical nuance is being brushed into perfection.


Published in Images, Dawn on Sunday, January 25th, 2009