Come on, Aileen, Too-Rye-Aye!

That's the utterly irresistible singalong portion of the 1982 #1 hit from Kevin Rowland & Dexys Midnight Runners, "Come on Eileen". Classic Celtic Soul, with a fiddle intro that has "infectious" written all over it, a great brass section, and a frenetic vocalist who sounds like Robert Smith on uppers. A good recipe for a looper. Listen to it now, if you haven't.

However, "Come on Eileen" is not my current looper, and was chosen only because of my lame fascination for music references in blog-post titles. My current looper (oh, only around 20 plays since last night) is "Do you feel like loving me?" by Aileen Quinn.

Aileen, for those who are unaware, is an actress/singer, best known for her portrayal of the titular role in 1982's mega-musical "Annie", a film that I must confess I have rather mixed feelings about. But I'm not as ambivalent about the soundtrack, which featured 10 year old Aileen belting out classics like "Maybe", and the omnipresent "Tomorrow" which I think I will always love, despite the best efforts of some overenthusiastic kids. I experienced some fairly hair-raising moments recently while watching the "Life after tomorrow" documentary, in which one of the "Annie"s, in particular, seemed to be spewing out "Tomorrow, tomorrow, I love ya, tomorrow, you're only a day away" like it was meant to be "My generation" or "Won't get fooled again", or maybe even "Anarchy in the UK"!

Aileen followed up four years later with the considerably low-key direct-to-video "The Frog Prince", a "Cannon Movietales" reworking of the classic fairy tale, that used to the do the rounds pretty often on Indian television back in the 90s, which is where I watched (and loved) it. Cheesy as hell but strangely endearing, it remains my favourite fairy tale interpretation, with some lovely songs too, which can be sampled here.

I'd heard practically nothing of Aileen since, so randomly scouring the net for more info, patiently wading through the seemingly endless copy-pastes of her Wikipedia / IMDB profile, I finally landed on her brother Andrew's blog, where a quick search, to my very pleasant surprise, revealed that she was recording again. Personally, I find this incredibly low-profile posting of demos quite baffling - almost appalling, in fact. I mean, being so used to a bunch of D-I-Y no-hopers (myself included, and perhaps foremost) tom-tomming their creations from the rooftops to all and sundry, I can hardly believe that a record which would pretty much be an eagerly awaited comeback, at least among the legions of "Annie" fans, might have very nearly passed me by.

Here's the link to Andrew's blog where you can listen to the demos.

Shades of Blue

Before I embark on any sort of "review", a few teeny-weeny disclaimers:

Firstly, it is probably difficult for me to maintain completely acceptable levels of objectivity while commenting on anything Aileen-related (some teenage fancies do die hard).

Secondly, the quality of melodic content here far exceeds that of the lyrics, which may be an off-putter for some. Indeed, some of the lyrics do tend to sound like they were made up on the spot, and I can only hope the "demo" classification means that there is scope for future lyrical refinement as well.

Thirdly, as is by now probably obvious to anyone who has been reading this blog for a while, my tastes tend to go a little all-over-the-place, so if I were you, I wouldn't make any connections between a positive opinion about Aileen's music and, say, a glowing review of Richard Thompson or Nick Harper. If you don't like pop music, too bad. I do, and as Thom Yorke said, "I'm a reasonable man, get off my case".

Since most of us (barring the few who may have attended her Broadway shows in the 90s/early 2000s) haven't heard Aileen for a good 20-odd years, the first thing that hits you like a ton of bricks, naturally, is her voice. Aileen sings in a clear, sweet, and confident tone, with none of that often overdone breathy fragility that afflicts so many female singers. It's worth comparing her performances on "Do you feel like loving me?" and "Olivia", one with just a trace of longing and sensuality, the other naive and childlike, befitting the song's context. The melodies on both of these are catchy and enchanting. "Do you feel like loving me?" is particularly impressive, with its stop-and-start multi-section structure and evocative guitar lines.

"Olivia" makes a classic case for the pretty persuasion of the pop song - an easy, singalong melody, with lyrics that strangely sound almost like some sort of response to "Maybe" from all those years ago. I especially liked the closing bits, where "Olivia" is repeated over and over again.

"With you" is a bit harder to get used to, but it's sung well and has some really nice guitar backing. Oh, and the bridge is just lovely.

Andrew calls these his "Top 3" from the album, but I must say if the other tracks are even half as good this would be quite a quality comeback effort. I just hope it moves from demo status quickly and gets out there.

Wake up to Cape Breton!

Yep, you learn something new everyday. If Matt & Shannon Heaton provided ample proof of the deep-rooted Irish culture in Boston, tonight's gig at the Passim taught me a thing or two about the Celtic traditions of the Canadian island of Cape Breton.

Apparently, Cape Breton has its own distinctive folk tradition, handed down from the original Scottish settlers, and supposedly more pristine than the current scene in Scotland itself. I can't say that I was able to grasp the nuances, but that didn't really matter. Ace Cape Breton fiddler Kimberley Fraser, ably assisted by Hanneke Cassel and Flynn Cohen kept me utterly captivated for over two hours with some gorgeous instrumental music.

It seems strange to say, but although jigs and reels are not the kind of music I enjoy listening to much on CD, they are a great source of enjoyment when played live. The tunes all seem to fuse into each other till their names cease to matter, but there is an utterly irresistible charm to them, as I found out tonight, being unable to leave off nodding my head or stomping my feet for even an instant, and grinning like a schoolboy throughout. Indeed, this is the sort of music that can simply never fail to make you smile.

The acoustic guitar and fiddle have always made an excellent combination, and thrown into the mix here were some lush piano bits that did much to enhance the overall sound, particularly when Kimberley let Hanneke take the lead on fiddle, providing some sprightly jazzy/ragtime style piano backing.

Guitarist Flynn Cohen provided the occasional vocal interlude, singing a few traditional songs, among them a version of Gallows Pole far removed from the devoid-of-melody Led Zeppelin interpretation.

The highlights, of course, were the exhilarating fiddle duets, a fine example of which you can see below:

This was my favourite "big wide grin" moment of the gig - Kimberley doing a Celtic step-dance while Hanneke and Flynn play on. There is something so undeniably cute about Celtic dancing!

I must say that I am thoroughly enjoying this amazing environment of Celtic culture in Boston. While travelling to Britain still remains a dream, I cannot say that I find these artists and their music any less emotionally resonant than the best of my beloved British folk performers.

Passim RULES, OK! :)

The Passim Chronicles, Part 2

Well, I'm back from another great night at the Passim Folk Club, and, in keeping with tradition, a new CD is playing at 1 am! This time it's Kris Delmhorst's latest album Shotgun Singer, a purchase rendered essential by an inspired performance of songs from the record by Ms. Delmhorst at Passim tonight.

Proceedings were opened by Chuck E Costa, an endearing and sincere singer-songwriter from Staten Island, NY. Chuck E keeps it simple - voice and guitar, basic folk melodies, and lyrics that are idyllic without being banal. An especially moving song of his was called At the drawing board, a sort of ironic look at all things imperfect in life, which to me was the highlight of his short set.

Kris started off her set with the strongest bunch of songs, largely from Shotgun Singer, perhaps unfortunately so, for although I cannot say that the rest of her set lacked for quality of performance, there was definitely something special about these first few tracks, especially the otherworldly Blue Adeline, which kicks off the album. Other great moments were on 1000 Reasons, with its Richard Thompson-esque twist of melody in the chorus, and the simple timeless beauty of Birds of Belfast



The rest of the set was far more basic, rootsy folk songs, nevertheless lifted several notches higher than the average by Kris' powerful vocals, injecting raw emotion and soul into every word, switching effortlessly between gritty bluesy delivery and gorgeous breathy falsettos. She even did a joke cover of Air Supply's Every woman in the world, surprisingly making that long-forgotten embarrassment sound far more palatable than I could have ever imagined was possible.

Listening to the album now, I realize that there was a fiery, passionate touch to Kris' live performance that is not as prominent on the relatively toned-down album production. These are great songs though, and I feel fortunate to have experienced them both in the stark, raw, live context and the gentler album versions. This is one (another?) lady I will be watching out for. Needless to say, I am simply amazed at the kind of talent I have already seen on display at Passim. More to come! Watch this space!

Home At Last

Two months in Boston now, and I have finally found my true home. Well, I still have that little room where I crash each night, ensuring before doing so that I leave my hapless co-inhabitants flustered , and perhaps more than a bit annoyed, by randomly chosen bizarre music at decidedly undesirable volumes. But I have discovered the place that I am most likely to be at any point of time during my stay here in the US. To quote the old ad:

Club Passim mein rahoonga main, ghar nahin nahin nahin jaaoonga main!

Yep, Club Passim is all I had hoped for and more. A lovely, tiny, intimate folk venue, with an impressive 50-year history, and a strong fondness for Celtic music - hell, what more could a guy ask for? The minute I stepped into the place my only feeling was of terrible regret at not having landed in the US in October, for in that month, none other than Richard Thompson performed at Passim, and what wouldn't I have given to be that close while RT was playing!

However, better late than never. Passim has a fairly regular and interesting gig calendar, and I started out on my discovery trail tonight, dropping in for a CD-launch gig by trad-folk couple Matt & Shannon Heaton. And, by the end of the show, having been one of the loudest "woo-hoo"-ers, gushed fanboyish superlatives at Shannon, and rushed outside to purchase the couple's beautiful new CD Lovers' Well, which is now playing at 1 am, I can safely say that I came away several yards beyond impressed.

First, a couple of pre-gig shots of Passim:





These were taken from my seat, so that gives a pretty good idea of how close I was to the stage, and how small the place is.

The show kicked off with young fiddle prodigy Amanda Cavanaugh playing a delightful bunch of traditional jigs and reels, with some guitar accompaniment. All extremely authentic and earthy, especially on the final piece The Holy Land where Matt joined in on the guitar and added some exquisite interplay, literally filling the room with a gorgeous ringing sound




From the moment Matt and Shannon took the stage, I was simply mesmerised. Apart from lovely vocal harmonies and excellent flute-guitar interplay (Shannon is quite an accomplished flautist), the one key factor was Shannon's voice, a beautiful, passionate, rich and earthy tone of the sort that I personally have not heard since the days of June Tabor and Maggie Boyle (I told her this post-gig, I do hope she was pleased!)



Nowhere was her passion more strongly on display than on Where the moorcocks crow, an utterly haunting traditional ballad. A close second would be the gorgeous Lao Dueng Duen , an ancient Thai song recast beautifully in an Irish mood. My loudest holler was probably at the mention of Nic Jones, though, whose "Golden Glove" they reworked , with a great new chorus that gave the album its name. Dan Gurney on accordion, and Eric Merrill on fiddle/banjo provided able support on the instrumental tracks, which were simply fascinating and irresistible. If I wasn't afraid of falling over about a dozen people with each step, I wouldn't have hesitated to launch into a wild Celtic stomp! :-D



By the time the final song "Botany Bay" rolled around the whole place was totally in the mood, singing along joyously to the "Turaleye-uraleye-addy" chorus on instruction from Shannon. The wind-up was an exuberant flute ensemble (the place seemed to be full of flautists - I counted about six on stage!) that kept the energies and spirits high right to the last note.

One of the things most heard about Matt & Shannon, apart from their musical prowess, is that they are truly nice people, and I'm quite inclined to agree. The generous doses of genial humour kept me in splits for most of the gig, and it was overall a wonderful first-time folk-club experience, as well as a great insight into the strong Celtic culture in Boston. Based on this concert, Passim is certainly likely to add one more to its regular followers. I've already picked up tix to three other gigs there, and hopefully they will be as enjoyable as this one.

Here's a small video excerpt, just to give you an idea of Shannon's overwhelmingly lovely voice.

Chrisssiiiiieeeeeeeee!

I let myself go.

I couldn't help it. As the final strains of the maracas and the Bo Diddley beat of the title track from The Pretenders' new album Break up the concrete came to a close, I put my heart, soul and lungs into as loud and long a scream as I could muster.

Chrisssiiiiieeeeeeeee!

She never heard, of course. Nor did I get the drumsticks. Not even a lousy plectrum. But heck, what did it matter? For two hours, I had been rocked and rolled and bowled over by a lady nearly twice my age, in an exhilarating display of sheer energy and brilliance. This was rock'n'roll, in its finest foot-tapping, head-knocking, air-guitaring, hooting and hollering form.

So memorable were these two hours that by the end of it I had all but forgotten having to endure some miserably generic riff-rock, dished out by the opening act American Bang from Naiyeshveyille, Tennessee. I will say no more about them, except that there were times during their performance when I felt I was back home in India at LiveWire or something.

But enough harping on unimportant aspects. Once Chrissie and gang were on stage, it was just magic. Kicking off with a couple of new songs I hadn't heard, they went straight back to the classics - "Talk of the town" and "Message of love", both serving perfectly to set up the mood for a great evening ahead.

The band were in fine form, with veteran Martin Chambers back on the skins, looking like a genial old Mick Fleetwood, but pounding those drums with characteristic punk fury. Axeman Adam Seymour did his bit with some blistering solos, especially on the furiously sped-up rockabilly of "Thumbelina" (which I'm happy to say they did almost on cue, just as I was about to scream for it :-) ) , and the solid Blues groove of "Rosalie".

But Ms Hynde was the star, of course. Losing nothing of the power or the passion of her voice over the last thirty years, Chrissie reminded us again of how her vocal chords can transform melodies into something greater, while also brimming with the aggro energy of her punk rock antecedents.

The "hits" came thick and fast, interspersed with a few new songs that were largely country-rock, embellished by some very nice Hawaiian guitar. My perennial favourite "Back on the chain gang" brought much joy - a most fulfilling moment it was to be able to provide the response "Ah-ah-ah Ah-ah-ah ah" to Chrissie's call after every line of the verse.

When she was up there strutting her stuff on "Brass in pocket (I'm special)", the crowd were so together, I almost felt like I was at some sort of high-school reunion for 40-somethings that I had no business being in, but still fit in perfectly somehow. Watching the couple in front of me getting cosy and trying to dance to "Kid" on the encore raised a smile (for all I know they may have been doing that through the show - I only took my eyes off stage then!)

Both encores consisted of songs from the first LP, which meant they almost played the whole of it, and also managed to sign off on that punk-rock note. And what a rush it was! As I made my way down to the subway station, the hoots and hollers were still all around me. The Pretenders made a LOT of people very happy tonight

Well that's it for Round 1 of the Boston gig scene. More later, possibly from the Passim Folk Club, where I will be attending a few gigs in the coming week.

My Own "Suzanne"

It seems to me that being all alone in a tiny room, with the deathly cold winter of Boston manifesting itself in all its glory outside your window, does something pretty remarkable for general inspiration.

I've just ended a drought that's lasted more than a couple of years now by finally managing to write a new song earlier this week (and one I'm rather proud of, I might add ). And to top it off, I was toying with a random idea that popped into my head this morning, and by evening I had dashed off what I will call my "Dual Tribute" to two truly great songwriters - Leonard Cohen and Suzanne Vega.

Now I'm aware this probably counts more as the wrong kind of (read Anu Malik) "inspiration", and is really more a sort of precis-writing than any genuinely original effort on my part, but I was happy enough with the way it turned out to want to end yet another drought by making a blog post out of it. So, here you have it - My own "Suzanne".


Suzanne takes you down
to the streets of New York City
She shows you round the neghbourhood
where the girls are oh-so pretty

And a couple of them eye you
but you have to move along
for there are so many poems
and there are so many songs
that Suzanne still must give you

And you want to travel with her
for you know you'll travel light
and you feel her in the ether
as you follow her into the winter night

On the wall you see Marlena
and she wonders what you're there for
She knows you've seen the girls
and she wonders whom you care for

And she smiles as if she knows you
but she's really only guessing
for she knows that knowledge sometimes
can be all the more depressing
So she'd rather be unchanging

And you think of talking to her
but you cannot make the stop
for Suzanne has moved onward
and she's gliding now into a coffee shop

Outside it begins to pour
so you're glad for the shelter
Suzanne she orders coffee
and sits down with her newspaper

But she isn't really reading
you can see it in her eyes
Her thoughts they are so distant
and she seems to look outside
for someone who won't be coming

And you want to ask about it
but she's left you once again
So you rush outside to find her
and you walk to her apartment in the rain

You see a broken child
and he tries to fake a smile
you know him from the second floor
where he always goes to hide

And he hates answering questions
so don't ask him why he's bleeding
He knows that if he speaks the truth
it's only fury that he's feeding
so he thinks he'd best be leaving

And you want to travel with him
and you want to ease his pain
but Suzanne whispers gently
that it's really not your business anyway

You pass by the Palace
and you see the Queen is aching
for a deep and forbidden love
she has lately forsaken

And you wonder why she did it?
Out of hate or out of fear?
Out of rage for disobedience?
Or was he just so near
that he could see the scars she'd hidden?

And he would have travelled with her
but she had to let him down
for she knew not how to live
as a woman without the shelter of the crown

So Suzanne leads you down
into her head that's full of bees
You can feel them, sharp and stinging
but you never hear her scream

She sits quietly by the water
washing off the guilt and pain
while her little kite is carried
by the wind into the rain
never to be seen again

And you want to travel with her
and to make her feel all right
but she doesn't need your pity
she just drifts along into the silent night

It's the end of this blog as we know it (and I feel fine!)

Well, here we are. The moment has arrived to announce that I hereby renounce all claims of elitism and "kvltness" in my choice of music, and go diving willingly, happily and completely into the omnipresent, and suddenly irresistible mainstream. Yes, things have changed. The caller tune on my cell phone may still be David Bowie's Ashes to Ashes, but the far more commonly audible (and hence greater advertisement for my present state of mind) ring tone has cast aside King Henry's Madrigal by Jethro Tull, Bouree by Circulus, and even Born of frustration by James, to settle down instead with the cheerful stop-and-start guitar strumming that opens what is likely to be the Song of the Year for me - Rashid Ali singing A.R. Rahman's Kabhi Kabhi Aditi Zindagi from the utterly utterly delightful film Jaane Tu.... Ya Jaane Na

Exhibit A, Ladies and Gentlemen, in the case for Sheer Pop Brilliance. It simply does not get any more infectious than this. And, more importantly, Aditi reminds us once again that truly great pop music need serve no greater purpose than to put a smile on your face, despite anything Tom Morello might say to the contrary. Now don't get me wrong, I love my social-activism/ world-peace/ failed-relationship/ driven-to-suicide-by-poverty songs as much as any rock fan out there, but sometimes (and I've been facing such a time in life lately) all you really really need is a reason to smile. And if you're in the same boat, let me assure you that you need look no further than this excellent soundtrack, yet another feather in the cap of a man who is as close to pop genius as anyone in this generation can hope to get.

Ever since I watched the film (second day, last show, walking out a couple of hours past midnight with that heady feeling of warm, dreamy, fuzziness - ah forget it, there's no way I can describe it), I've been addicted to the soundtrack. Been looping it several times a day for the last week or so, thus rediscovering the joys of looping, which I'd probably last indulged in over a decade ago when I was just discovering The Who. It was Quadrophenia and Who's next then - angsty teenager years, long since laid to rest. My addiction for Jaane Tu....'s music, though, is probably more comparable to the first Beatles tape I ever owned, when it took me ages to get to Track 5, with all the constant rewinding. You loop it because you simply don't want to wipe that smile off your face for half a nanosecond.

Which is not to say the soundtrack doesn't have its more serious moments. The two versions of Jaane tu mera kya hai are achingly beautiful, further improved by their contrasting arrangements - the slightly more upbeat "Aditi" version, and the truly melancholic and impassioned "Jai" version, sung impeccably by Sukhvinder Singh, exhibiting a bit more subtlety in the emotional delivery than he is generally known for. In fact, both these tracks are so well tied-in with the characters' emotions that it was extremely disappointing that they did not appear in the film.

And Rashid Ali and Vasundhara Das on Kahin to hogi manage to elevate what seems on the surface to be no more than a pedestrian MLTR-style ballad (complete with the ubiquitous key change at the end of the song etc.) into a gorgeous, genuinely moving love song. Call me a sucker, but I just fell for these lines:

Hoti jahan subah teri palkon ki kirnon mein
Lori jahan chand ki sune teri bahon mein...

I can't adequately translate that, but it moves me for sure!

Coming back to the fun bits. Aditi I've already spoken about, but honestly, no amount is enough. It's the kind of song that makes you wish your partner was called "Aditi" so you could sing it to her freely, without any awkward syllable-squeezing exercises to fit her name in. Honestly, who wouldn't want to cheer up a loved one that way? To his credit, Rashid Ali, despite his rather glaring "US-return" affectations, injects just the right amount of playfulness and joy into his delivery.

Nazrein milaana, nazrein churana is another catchy singalong ditty, despite its rather obvious borrowings from Rahman's own Yunhi chala chal raahi from Swades. Having said that, rearranging the song to fit into a rather more happy-go-lucky youth feel than the original "weary traveller" theme says a lot for Rahman's skills. The man himself contributes the quaint Tu bole, main bolun which actually makes me want to launch into jazz improvs and go Do-be-de-doop-boop-do-wah, and that's quite something from a jazz-hater like me! The only disappointment, if you can call it that, is the hugely popular Pappu can't dance which is rather slight, and, despite raising the odd snigger, doesn't quite match up to the rest of the roster.

Overall, Jaane Tu.... Ya Jaane Na is probably some of the best music you will hear from Bollywood (or anywhere else, for that matter) this year, and represents that rather rare and pleasing situation when music that it seems completely impossible to escape, actually doesn't need to be avoided!

PS: Two days after this post, even the mediocre Pappu refuses to get out of my head!

Sifting through the old vinyl...

It's been nearly three months since I moved house now, but it was only last weekend that I finally found time to set my vinyl collection in order (yes, in alphabetical order, that rudimentary form of arrangement that appears so demeaning to the record geeks in High Fidelity). While it must be fun to organise your collection "autobiographically", as Rob attempts to do in that film, I have to admit that after about fifteen years of collecting, I don't have quite as good a memory of the exact time of life when I bought a certain record.

I started collecting vinyl at the worst possible time - when record companies decided to stop manufacturing LPs in India. Not that it mattered much - my current collection mostly consists of second-hand import pressings, which I much prefer over the largely shoddy Indian ones anyway (though the consistently off-center pirate Korean pressings even manage to beat the rather pathetic quality of Indian vinyl). One such Korean pressing was offered to me by a friend - a copy of Albert Hammond's It never rains in Southern California. Being a newish collector who hadn't learnt to differentiate between pressings back then, I took a chance on it, and wound up liking the record quite a bit, despite the cringeworthy sound quality. A year or two after that, the same friend offered a much-better looking Dutch copy of Hammond's follow-up effort The Free Electric Band, which I was quite happy to pick up. Last night I spun both these records back-to-back, and while neither will ever make my Desert Island list, I still found both as endearing as when I'd first heard them.

Off-hand, Hammond wouldn't seem like someone worth a recommendation. His first major hit It never rains (in Southern California) was firmly in easy-listening territory, and thereafter his credits include songs that have been recorded by the likes of Leo Sayer, Olivia Newton-John, Julio Iglesias and Starship (minus Jefferson), names that would surely bring a look of utter horror to the face of any self-respecting rock fan. And certainly, his records have their high-cheese moments. In fact, it's tough for me to really explain why I like these records at all. But I do, somehow.

One of the factors that attracted me was definitely the lyrics. I'm still not sure whether Hammond deserves credit for these, as both LPs are credited to Hammond / Hazelwood. But I'm guessing Mike Hazelwood was in charge of lyrics, since Hammond's post-Hazelwood period yielded songs of no exceptional lyrical quality. The opening track of It never rains in Southern California, the upbeat Listen to the world was a good start, stating the obvious but doing it well (Don't you feel a bit of shame/ for the politician's game? / Yet we sign beside his name / and put him where he is ), and adding the occasional dash of humour (English doesn't flow enough / Chinese isn't slow enough / Russian we don't know enough / To tell them how we feel).

There are some fine lyrical moments all through this album, some focussing on the travails of the touring musician, most effective in the rather piteous Anyone here in the audience? with its plaintive chorus of Do you care? Do you pity the poor musician? Don't you know what it's like on the road? . The title track, too, is a hard-luck story on finding that moving West to Make It Big isn't all it's cracked up to be. Down by the river is an environmental anthem long before it became fashionable to write them, and The road to understanding is a despairing, cynical look at broken relationships.

But the song that had the greatest impact on me was Names, Tags, Numbers and Labels , a scathing attack on stereotypes. As an awkward, introverted teenager who had little affinity for, or ability in sporting activities, the lines:

Tags - I know a kid
Somehow the ball game doesn't interest him
Isn't this where it all begins?
SISSY.......

held a certain personal resonance. The song remains my favourite track on the album. The album closer The Air that I breathe, later covered by The Hollies, is a beautiful love song with a great melody. I still maintain that Radiohead must've got their inspiration for the bridge section of Creep from the opening bars of this song. Listen to both and tell me what you think.

The Free Electric Band is a far lesser effort than It never rains..., and come with some moments of high cheese, like the inane Everything I want to do, and the silly I-don't-want-to-work song Smokey Factory Blues. My choice track on this album is the title cut, for fairly obvious reasons. Any youngster with rock and roll dreams couldn't help fall for these lines:

They used to sit and speculate
upon their son's career
A Lawyer, or a Doctor
or a Civil Engineer
Just give me bread and water
with a guitar in my hand
'Cause all I need is music
and The Free Electric Band

Not that it turned out that way, apart from other reasons because I definitely can't live on bread alone (what about thayir saadam dammit?), and can hardly achieve much with a guitar in my hand (unless it's an Air guitar heheh). But it was a nice singalong, and still is.

The other standout track for me on this album is Rebecca, with its gorgeous, rising melody, about a loser in love with an unattainable high-class girl, who (apparently) pacifies himself with the thought that one day she will be tired of her humdrum life with her boring social peers. Who can say whether it actually happens? But it's a nice dream. And then there's the utterly Bollywood-esque The Day The British Army Lost The War, which sounds like it could be the theme song for Raj Kapoor's film Biwi O Biwi, wherein a retired Colonel insists his daughter should only marry an Army Man, while she, of course, falls for the most un-military type of guy. Good fun.

I haven't got around to listening to any more of Hammond's albums, but I somehow doubt there will be much in them that I find worthwhile. I find these two albums enjoyable though, as should anyone who likes uncomplicated (but not dumb-down) pop music. Hammond's son, Albert Hammond Jr. has of late been in the spotlight thanks to his career with The Strokes, a band I was considerably underwhelmed with after the initial excitement had died down. Jr. has recently put out a solo album, though, and I wonder if he has shaken off the annoying monotony of his former band. Anyone know?

Battling the Avant Guards!

There are times when one wishes that one did not associate a permanent sense of shame with the idea of being completely content listening to Top 40 chart music. Believe it or not, it's hard being a "snob". Every so often, some wacko with either a diabolical sense of humour or a hidden agenda against us "elite" listeners, will come up with some terrible mess of utterly unlistenable tripe, and somehow manage to convince the odd critic that there is actually something strange and beautiful to be gained by stripping away the surface layers of this "music" and getting right down to the heart of it.

And there you have it - the Domino Effect. Five stars from one critic, and the rest are compelled to protect their own credibility by finding vague ways of hinting at the hidden merits of the record, without betraying their complete bewilderment or disgust. Before you can say "Metal Machine Music", yet another "avant-garde classic" is unleashed on the poor unsuspecting music snobs, who are faced with the unpleasant options of swallowing it whole, or being damned forever as dense and imperceptive.

Now, despite the fact that my music tastes have been consistently heading in a diametrically opposite direction to the Billboard Hot 100 for the last twenty years or so, I have only recently begun to overcome my squeamishness when it comes to anything dubbed "experimental". I have spent many years rushing desperately for the skip button whenever "Revolution 9" (that's still the only Beatles track I skip over) or "European Son" came on. I was once so thrilled at the idea of owning a Velvet Underground CD that I jumped at "White Light/White Heat". Till date, I have not managed to listen to "Sister Ray" all the way through. Many more examples exist, but I think I'll save them up for The Giant Book of Audio Horrors.

Having decided that it was time to move up the rock-snob chain, one of the first albums I had to listen to was Captain Beefheart's "Trout Mask Replica". Hailed by John Peel as a "true work of art", this so-called "dada-rock masterpiece" was, naturally, completely impenetrable to me at first listen. The Captain had a horrible singing voice, and a bizarre backup band where each one seemed to be on his own trip, completely oblivious of what the others were playing, resulting in what seemed to be an incoherent muddle of random atonal noodling. Needless to say, when I eventually revisited the album after several months, it took a lot of will-power to swallow my disgust, refuse to accept defeat, and subject myself to repeated assault from this record over the course of a couple of weeks. I loaded it on my Creative Zen and allowed my usually sleepy morning commutes to work to be jolted severely by random appearances of the Captain.

This relentless masochism produced its first results a few days later, by ensuring that the chorus of "Ella Guru" was firmly implanted in my head. Closer inspection revealed some amusing wordplay ("Hi Ella Guru, Hi Yella, Hi Red, Hi Blue, she blew"), and I began to focus a bit more on the lyrics. The album's opening line is a classic ("My smile is stuck, I cannot go back to your Frownland"), and there were some interesting bits on "Bill's Corpse", as well as the impassioned "Dachau Blues" and "Veteran's Day Poppy", the latter especially distressing for Van Vliet's wailing vocals mourning the loss of a son.

Gradually, I came to the realisation that there were several tracks on this record that simply could not be listened to in the conventional sense. Doing my best to concentrate and separate the various instruments in my head, I found that I could isolate some fine guitar and bass parts, and that "Hair Pie (Bake 2)" had quite a killer riff. The rootsy blues-gospel of "Well" showed that the Captain could sing, and some of the more surrealistic, stream-of-consciousness tracks like "The dust blows forward and the dust blows back" began to appeal to me. While large parts of the album still remained inaccessible, and it was extremely difficult to get through the entire two LPs worth in one sitting, at the end of this exercise (and I can think of no better term to describe my endeavours!), I did, at the very least, "get" some of it, and certainly began to understand just why the record is so highly regarded. Trout Mask Replica will never make my own Top 100 lists, but it certainly turned out not to be the meaningless "joke" album that I had presumed it to be.

One would think that all these efforts would have instilled in me a new affinity for the avant-garde, and certainly I was presumptuous enough to believe that I had vanquished the mightiest of opponents, with only the small fry remaining to knock about. It was not to be, though. Since then I have done my best with Frank Zappa, Ween and The Residents, and drawn very close to a complete blank. I thought I was getting somewhere with "Joe's Garage" (and indeed, for a while, "Sy Borg" was in heavy rotation), but the second part of "Freak Out!" left me totally stumped. I could only say that if Paul McCartney wanted to make "Sergeant Pepper" "the Beatles' own Freak Out!", I'm rather glad he didn't succeed!

Ween's "Pure Guava" was, if anything, even more distasteful than Zappa, and to me clearly indicated the perils of the "indie-four-track-homemade" releases. It was simply insane beyind any description, and actually made me feel that sitting through "Trout Mask Replica" was a breeze. You get the idea, I think. They did redeem themselves somewhat, though, with the more conventional, pop-oriented The Mollusk, which I quite enjoyed, except for the apparent recurring theme of penis humour on Ween albums.

My most recent adversaries from the Avant Guard are The Residents, who, I regret to say, have been able to reveal no redeeming factors at all to me, despite my wading through the highly acclaimed "Meet The Residents" and "Third Reich'n'Roll", the latter being a particularly horrific butchery of a wide range of pop songs from the '60s and '70s. Labelled "deconstructionist", but sounding just plain atrocious, the only compliment I can think of conferring on this band is that one probably needs to be talented to manage such a horrendous botch-up job, for even the completely tone-deaf are likely to hit the right notes more often. The only remotely bearable portion of "Third Reich'n'Roll" was the cover of "Hey Jude" with "Sympathy for the devil" merged into it, an idea that I myself have mentally toyed with for years. Admittedly, "Beyond the Valley of A Day In The Life" is probably the first Beatles "mash-up" and a pointer to George & Giles Martin's work on the "Love" album, and, in general, the most listenable parts (to me at least) of The Residents' work are connected with the Beatles. If you're a Rolling Stones fan, though, you'll want to stay far, FAR, away from their cover of "Satisfaction"!

My next battle will probably be with Current 93, a British experimental group who supposedly play something known as "apocalyptic folk"(!). Randomly stumbled on these guys while reading up on The Mamas and The Papas. Apparently, they've sampled the Mamas & Papas hit "California Dreamin'" on their album "Dawn". Haven't managed to trace that sample yet - so far all I've heard is a track called "A day in Dogland", which consists largely of ghostly voices singing "Greensleeves", and another called "Maldoror est mort", which is absolutely terrifying - an 18-minute drone of a sampled chant and strange noises that sound like devils shrieking. I would recommend this to Blizzard Games as suitable background music for Diablo II! I get the feeling this is where the weary knight throws in the towel, though - you'll probably find me cosying up with ABBA's Greatest Hits next week. And why not? Prolonged exposure to this kind of music calls for serious measures in terms of antidotes. I'll probably fail at being the perfect music snob, but Hell, I'd rather be happy!

I Am The Resurrection!

Well, no, actually, I'm not. Nor does the title of this post have anything to do with the fact that Easter is just around the corner. It's merely the schoolboyish fancy I have, perhaps the kind that might be shared by a young, overenthusiastic newspaper sub-editor, of filling my titles with laboured puns or obscure references - the latter, in this case.

"I am the resurrection" is, as you all know, the last song on the debut album by Manchester group The Stone Roses. Or maybe you don't. Well, you know now, anyway. A fine album, in fact, one of the most outstanding debut records ever, by a great, if short-lived group. It was my great misfortune to lose the opportunity of meeting with John Leckie, the man who was at the controls on that LP. Leckie was in Mumbai recently, auditioning local bands for a possible production deal, and like most Indian rock fans, I was more than eager to proudly display to him the fact that someone in this country was familiar with his work on albums like "Chips from the Chocolate Fireball" by The Dukes of Stratosphear, a mock-psychedelia side-project of my beloved Swindonian pop craftsmen XTC, and "Bullinamingvase", an oddly titled LP by the equally odd, mad genius folkie Roy Harper.

Let us get back to the title of this post. The reasons for it should be by now fairly obvious, given that I've been on a rather long hiatus, the reason for which is essentially a flurry of IRL activity (In Real Life, for those with a lower net-lingo quotient than me - is that even possible?). I am now the proud papa of four-month-old Ananya, whom I shall proceed to nickname "Annie" after the lovely Annie Haslam from Renaissance and Anni-Frid Lyngstad of the evergreen ABBA, in the fervent hope that she will inherit some percentage of their incredible vocal talents. Meanwhile, she's getting a good dose of Fairport Convention , Steeleye Span, Albion Country Band, and the like. The British-folk habit must be caught early :-).

Another reason for my reluctance to carry on blogging was that it had become too much of a chore to follow the structure I'd set for myself. Wound up feeling more like a music critic, albeit a lot less "professional" (read as "hip", "obscure" and "pompous"), and of late I've been feeling like "critic" has joined the standard list of choice expletives, hence would desperately like to avoid being labelled one. So, at the risk of possibly being a little less reader-friendly, I've decided that from here on in my posts will largely consist of random rambling (you're seeing a good enough example of it here, I guess!)

Of late, two Nicks have gained a great significance in my life. No, I'm not referring to the nicks that Andrew Symonds and Ricky Ponting clearly got at Sydney. I had my share of righteous indignation then, but I've no wish to rake up any of it again. The two Nicks I'm referring to are currently my favourite author and singer respectively - Nick Hornby and Nick Harper.

I first read Hornby about a year or two ago, when I found a huge hard-bound tome called "Triple Platinum" at the British Council Library. This volume contained perhaps his three best known books - "High fidelity", "About a boy" and "Fever pitch". Of course I loved the first two, but skipped over the third as I was no football fan and a complete ignoramus when it came to English Football Clubs. Having read more of Hornby's work, I think I might pick up "Fever pitch" sometime soon, as the man has such an entertaining way of writing that you often don't mind reading about something that you have no genuine interest in.

I picked up his "Songbook" and read about artists like Royskopp, whom I was never likely to actually listen to. Though that book did introduce me to the quite brilliant Mark Mulcahy, and I relished Hornby's derision of Suicide's "Frankie Teardrop", a patently annoying song from an album that led me to wonder if I too, like Hornby, was entering middle age and losing tolerance for any music that seemed intent on raking up all that is dark and disturbing in this world. Not quite true, since I still love the music of Richard Thompson with a great passion. But certainly, "shock-value" music is unlikely to find a particularly receptive listener in me.

"High Fidelity", of course, was a book that I had to love, being at least half the music geek that the central character Rob was, and certainly given to discussions of the sort that he had with shop-mates Barry and Dick (but I must say here - "Damn you, Barry! Belle and Sebastian are NOT 'sad bastard' music!"). One of my favourite scenes was the one where Rob meets this lady who's virtually giving away a treasure trove of vinyl records at throwaway prices, just to spite the husband who's left her and asked her to send him the proceeds of the sale. Damn! I should be so lucky! Good vinyl is so hard to find these days.

Hornby's writing tends to be rife with music references, and to me this is endearing. On "About a boy", Marcus' eventual liberation lies in declaring to his mother that he "doesn't like Joni Mitchell", and his wacky semi-girlfriend Ellie smashes a shop-window containing a Kurt Cobain poster, accusing them of "commercialising Kurt's death". JJ in "A long way down" is a down-and-out musician who's decided to end it all because his band broke up, and eventually winds up busking on the streets of London and playing the occasional rare Replacements track.

Even "The Polysyllabic Spree", Hornby's "book on books" , is not without its allusions to pieces of music. Although, being less of an avid reader than a music fan, I must disagree with Hornby's statement that "If we played cultural Fantasy Boxing League, and made books go 15 rounds in the ring against the best that any other art form had to offer, then books would win pretty much every time". This difference of opinion notwithstanding, "The Polysyllabic Spree" definitely did make me want to read more books, and I guess Hornby will feel that his purpose was served.

The other Nick is Nick Harper, whom I hereby pronounce the Greatest "Star-Son" Artist Ever (though it's highly debatable whether father Roy can be considered a star - anyway, you get my drift). I know most will point to Jeff Buckley, but honestly I never cared much for him and thought he did little to surpass or even match the astounding legacy of his father, the late, great, Tim Buckley. Nick, on the other hand, has inherited every good quality from his illustrious dad, and adds a few more of his own to ensure that father and son stand side by side, equally luminous in their talent and body of work.

Nick's music is a bit all-over-the-place, incorporating elements of folk, rock and funk, with the occasional Eastern touch and some heavy grungy sounds reminescent of the likes of Chris Cornell. His songwriting skills are impeccable, addressing the political as well as the personal with intensity, wit and humour, which were the hallmarks of his dad's best work. He is equally proficient on the acoustic guitar, playing fluid, classical-influenced phrases as well as rasping explosions of rhythm that bring to mind the best work of Led Zeppelin. The live double-set "Double Life", recorded solo acoustic, is an outstanding album from a guitarist's as well as a songwriter's perspective. Nick has a powerful, intense voice with terrific pitch range and control, and it's a pleasure to hear him improvise his way through some of his choice album tracks, even squeezing the occasional cover (oddly chosen ones ranging from Elvis Presley to Killing Joke and Public Enemy) seamlessly into his own songs. It's the kind of concert recording that makes you understand why people still go to gigs.

He's no mug in the studio, either. It's hard to pick a favourite among his albums, though I would recommend "Harperspace" or "Blood songs" to start with. Personally, I haven't come across any mis-steps in his discography, though I'm yet to hear his latest record "Miracles for beginners".

Speaking of missed opportunities, Nick was in Kathmandu last October, along with Glenn Tilbrook (another great songwriter, formerly from UK new-wave act Squeeze), for a charity gig and trek. Talk about so close, and yet so far... well, for now I'll have to be content with the music, and I don't think I'll have any trouble with that.