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
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