TAAQing

Thursday, August 5. Hard Rock Cafe, Bangalore.

We return to show off our Maldivian tans!

Three-piece again, with lotsa juice.

Be there!

RSVP on Facebook

Blues from the road, for your viewing pleasure. This one, for those who’ve missed a show (or a beat) is called Grab Me.

This Friday, we do the Indian Ocean. We’re playing at a festival in Male, Maldives on July 16. More details when we return with the evidence (and that’s going to be more than a tan).

Photo: Santhosh Lobo

It was an evening that can never be forgotten. I was passing by the auditorium at St. Aloysius after my recording at Radio Sarang when I incidentally heard some music emanating from the auditorium. Intrigued, I went to have a closer look, and I was surprised to see three people practicing and performing sound checks. On further inquiry, I came to know that TAAQ was performing at the auditorium that night. Ooh… This was something I couldn’t afford to miss!

The concert started off with a small crowd, most probably due to the lack of proper publicity, but the music was astounding nonetheless. This was the first time TAAQ was performing in Mangalore, and quite a few people were curious as to know how a trio can handle an entire concert. But this trio more than just handled the concert; they rocked it!

Surprisingly, the crowd consisted of not just youngsters, but many elderly people were seen enjoying the music as well. The crowd was all in cheers for the concert! Personally, I was mesmerized by the music and was in a sort of trance, and I’m not overhyping things. This was the ground reality, which I’m sure that the entire audience would agree with me. Also the TAAQ team maintained a good rapport with the audience, thereby involving them further in the music.

Listing out the Pros and Cons:

PROS:
• TAAQ Team succeeded in getting the crowd involved.
• Mangalore got to hear awesome compositions by TAAQ.
• Excellent Sound and Lighting systems.

CONS:
• Being a weekday was maybe one of the causes for low turnout at the concert.
• Lack of publicity of the programme in Mangalore, because many of my friends said they were interested, but had no idea that the concert was going on.
• Maybe I’m being a bit greedy on this one, but I felt that the concert should have gone on for a longer duration

Like I said, 6th July 2010 was an evening I’ll never forget. And I’m eagerly waiting for the day TAAQ comes back to Mangalore with another mesmerizing show! Cheers!

This review is coming from someone who just attended his first Thermal And A Quarter concert just about a week ago, in Mysore. My sincerest apologies to the fans who might find this incomprehensive.

Reason I was in Mysore in the first place owes to my being in charge of selling the taaq merchandise (the t-shirts by the way are an absolute must have for every taaq fan, contact for details). The band had the crowd wrapped around their finger right from the very first song, Sorry for Me, which they happily dedicated to the Argentina, the losing team of that day’s football match! They then went on to play ‘Grab Me’, ‘Ordinary Affair’, ‘Respectable’ and a dozen more of their best numbers.

Listening and watching them play, you can see why the audience instantly fell in love with them… it’s really hard not to, their music is a mighty strange mix of originality with a sense of familiarity.

By the end of the show, the crowd was a little too infected with TAAQ’s music to simply let them leave. The band was forced to oblige and played for a good half hour more, with songs like ‘Motorbyckle’ (my personal favorite) and finished it off with ‘Paper Puli’ (their greatest hit, so to speak). Which was a bad idea really, because the crowd decided continue their protest with renewed vigor! But it had to come to an end this time, there were curfews to keep up and autographs to sign!

TAAQ in 2000 with their first album, Thermalandaquarter.com

Even our most articulate culture commentators tolerate Indian rock music with exasperated indulgence, treating it as the fetish of cultural misfits who overstay in the waiting room between adolescence and oblivion. Having documented an independent rock band for nearly 15 years, I try to set the record straight on that immaculate misconception (thanks to a new friend for that phrase!).

Just as in Mumbai/Bombay (which languishes in its own cultural Truman Show) and Delhi (which appropriates culture as if its only representatives are those that camp in the capital), in Bangalore the underground pop/rock/jazz music movement began in nightclubs (like Boscos and Three Aces) where musicians were paid to perform covers of contemporary hits. When an overactive excise department (in collusion with the moral police) forced these joints to close shop, musicians were left with no stage.

The Music Strip (a brainchild of the late Sunbeam Motha) revived the movement somewhat in the early 1980s, launching bands like Human Bondage. Motha followed it up in the late 1990s with the Night Of the Long Guitar (where I watched the Sarjapur Blues Band for the first time) someplace in the backwoods of Bannerghatta. I was there — quite stoned as was customary then — so I don’t remember the coordinates.

That music movement preserved the exuberance of the Sixties and Seventies and distilled it into an expression of its own making. Refining that expression and beveling its edges into something rich and strange took time. Along the way, initiatives like Freedom Jam gave city bands a soapbox for their voice. But the money still wasn’t there. Organizers of college cultural festivals, which offered the best opportunity to draw crowds, favoured cover bands — mostly from Mumbai and Delhi. Local bands had it rough. The meagre prize money at semi-pro band competitions hosted by collegiate festivals such as Autumn Muse (St John’s Medical College) and Vibrations (Indian Institute of Science) offered incentive for new bands to strut their stuff. Even here, original music wasn’t the highlight. Crowds wanted Bon Jovi or Iron Maiden or Metallica, depending on how high they were, or how low they cared to stoop.

TAAQ and crew watch Ian Paice (Deep Purple's drummer) at soundcheck, April 2001

On April 1, 2001, Deep Purple performed in Bangalore. It was the first big appearance of a major Western rock band in Bangalore (Aside: When Roger Waters stopped by on his 2001 “In The Flesh” tour, one of the TAAQ boys got a chance to shake hands with guitarist Snowy White who asked him: “Deep Purple? Were they any good?”). For the first time, a local band — Thermal And A Quarter — was given a chance to open for the British legends. They played a complete set of originals that night, despite shortchanged sound, dimmed lights and no fee.

Two years earlier (in July 1999), TAAQ — then three years old — organized the Potatoe Junkie Concert at the amphitheatre behind Ravindra Kalakshetra. The gate collection went to a charity for soldiers martyred at Kargil. In November that year, the band organized Floodaid, a fundraiser for flood-affected villagers in Orissa. These events marked the first times that an independent band made money playing its own music at a completely self-organized gig.

A very wet Bruce Lee Mani narrowly escapes electrocution at FloodAid, November 1999. A spirited crowd cheered through the torrential rain and held up a sheet of tarpaulin over the band when things got too gusty.

Thermal And A Quarter’s music, to those who came in late, is a commentary on the angst of being Bangalorean in a city racked by change. And change — we know — is never completely desirable despite its inevitability.

My piece on the band’s music, published in today’s Mint Lounge, traces TAAQ’s relevance and rootedness to Bangalore’s cultural milieu, and argues that independent rock music can actually represent the sound of a city, if only one cares to listen.

Excerpt:

A thousand or so 30-something Bangaloreans might remember the date 24 July 1999. That day, Taaq performed at the Potatoe Junkie concert and hauled the city’s underground rock music movement to the surface. The theme song—its title inspired by former US vice-president Dan Quayle’s infamous spelling howler—sneered at the city’s growing obsession with cable television. The band played a 2-hour set consisting mostly of original songs and, after breaking even, donated Rs 15,000 to a relief fund for the families of soldiers martyred during the Kargil war.

MORE

Separately, I am also quoted by the Times of India’s Sandhya Soman in her article “Do Indian musicians make a mark abroad?” published today in the paper’s Crest edition.

Cross posted from Bijoy’s blog

Cariappa C K sends us his take on Sunday’s gig at the Alliance:

It’s hard, walking in to see your favorite band play with a changed lineup. Tons of questions await answering in your head. Most importantly – Will I relate to them as I did before? You quieten these voices, and a little while before the band plays, you have prepared yourself to watch them devour a small furry animal, live, and still not judge.

I walked into the Alliance Auditorium at 7:30. I noticed the new guy, Prakash. My eyes strained, I size him up. The aforementioned animal calls for pity in my head. First song on, comes bass solo #1, some slick runs/slapping, and in no time, Bruce’s shouts of “Give him what he wants, give him whatever he wants“, finds a willing choir on this side of the audience.

Bruce’s “No!” to passionate cries for Paper Puli means I will listen to a new setlist today. Not bad, really. Mighty Strange, ever-so-groovy, about IT and such-like phenomena drifts by. Then, a bluesy Where the state has no name about the frivolity of name-calling. Next, my favorite song of the evening — Ordinary Affair. A beautiful progression, meandering only so much, with that sweet riff to start it all over again. Ah! Whatte beauty! Classic TAAQ songwriting as well, this one credited to Rajeev:

“Some folks never get hitched
Some get a few along the way”

So simple, no? Like “This is it, our time is up” OR “Shut up and vote” OR just, “I’m drunk” OR like the fifty other songwriting sparkles they got — beautifully pithy.

Then, a true “what the…huh?” moment. We stood gasping at the sheer brilliance that was TAAQ’s cover of ‘Hey Jude‘. Jazz / Funk / whatever it was, just made it an absolute privilege to be in the midst of it all. And as if to convince us they were no Martians, Bruce goofing up the lyrics to flash an impish grin. Charming!

Finally, ‘Surrender‘, with its catchy – Should I should I should I should I surrender to round off a perfect evening of music and cheer.

We had surrendered. To the awesomeness.

Some things remain unchanged. Bruce still can carry off those bright red pants. His extraordinary singing/guitar playing, still makes for AMAZING. Rajeev still makes that hi-hat ring in the deepest section of your ear and surprises you with his creative intricacies. But IMHO, I can’t say they sound the same. Simply because, Rzhude and Prakash are about as different as can be! Imagine a John Entwistle replacing Flea, if you will! It will take getting used to. But that said, he is a SOLID replacement and his bass playing is skillfully cogent.

In parts, the band sounds like a splendid cover of their older self and in parts a whole new dimension. You love them anyway! And if they wanted to, they could still devour a small furry animal, live.

The Alliance Francaise was packed to the rafters on Sunday evening for the TAAQ gig. But some folks out there were taking notes. Aswin Nandakumar sends us his take (for the record, it’s his first-ever gig review). We’re honoured, Aswin. Thanks!

The music they breathed out at Alliance Francaise (with the new bassist) was entirely unpredictable. It might be a naïve comment, but it’s been ages since I last attended a TAAQ concert. I am talking about ‘those times’ when they used to belt numbers from Plan B. I must say their enthusiasm for their live craft to play is grand with likeable degree of energy. Their music did the talking.

There was a festival atmosphere in the Alliance as they rendered all new tracks keeping aside their most peppy hits. Fans gazed into each other’s eyes with the expression “OHoo… Wowwiiee” as the new bass guitarist Prakash on his debut performance plucked, stroked and strummed with great ease and grooved so well with Rajeev (drums) and vocals.

The gig was short as they played just less than half a dozen songs. ‘Ordinary Affair’ and ‘Surrender’ were my personal favorites. I was also pleased with their intention to write the song the ‘Where the state has no name’, which sang about the “geographical divide” situation in Andhra Pradesh. I just hoped they would play ‘One Small Love’ with the video flashing in the background.

Perhaps more pleasing to the impartial listener might have been the Beatles number ‘Hey Jude’. On request from an unknown shout from a fan who probably would have come to sing along with Paper Puli, Bruce humbly replied, “No. All new songs today.” And his request to the sound guy: “Give him (Prakash) whatever he wants” added fun to the gig.

Backup vocals/seconds (God knows how Bruce did that) was timely and limited just like the number of t-shirts they had for sale!

On a lighter note, I was wondering if TAAQ would tell their newbie to trim off his metal look! The TAAQ concert at Alliance Francaise was a fine breeze. It was pleasant and engaging. TAAQ serious followers were all there! It came as no surprise as half of the crowd left the Alliance with them. It’s great to to see TAAQ find equilibrium at 3 yet again!

If you want to look sharp in a future ThermalAndAQuarterly quiz, take note of this bit of trivia: The TAAQ logo came to be in 1999 when a certain brilliant graphic designer named Sivan (then taking a sabbatical from O&M before going solo) did us a generous albeit inspired favour. We remember staring at the artwork that leapt at us from the proof and simply begged to be smeared all over the world. We dutifully did as told.

When eleven years added wrinkles and adipose to the logo, Sivan decided it was time for a little botox job — a tuck here and a nip there. He sent us Version 2.0:

We love it! In celebration, we have devised ways for you to flaunt it. Nope, not a tattoo — that’s Rajeev’s exclusive territory — but something more corporeal. It’s been ages since we let your bodies become advertising space — the last time was in 2003 (if you discount the “I’m with the band” crew tees issued by PG Santhosh in 2006).

Here’s what our new tees look like:

Men's tee (black): Available in S, M, L, XL, XXL

Ladies tee (black): Available in XS, S, M, L, XL

Thanks to Sivan for the new logo, and to Kamal and Abhi of Pigflower for the excellent production. A very limited number of tees will be on sale at our Alliance Francaise gig on June 20. Come and get them!

TAAQ welcomes Prakash K N, our new bass player

After 15 years of being hardcore Bangaloreans, it doesn’t make sense to shop for a bass player in Kerala or even Kasaragod. Vee arr nyot ay gellf combany, you see, and then there arr oll those imbort-yexport regulayshens. Think global, act local (except for vocal) is our policy.

So, with heartfelt namaskaragalu to this land, our land — Kannada naadu — and complying with local recruitment directives we bring on board a true-blue (more like red-and-yellow?) mannina maga whose roots lie in Shimoga and Tiptur. Dilutes the mal-ness a bit, we know, but then akki roti goes well with pulissery, no?

People of TAAQ, please welcome our new bass player, whose CV is presented below for your kind perusal:

Name: Prakash Kandachar Nagaraj

Weapon of choice: Electric Bass

Gear: Yamaha BB 605

Started playing in: 1999

What he digs about bass playing: Locking with the drummer to form a tight rhythm section and to play melodic lines when improvising or soloing

Other instruments played: Classical Guitar, Kanjira

Previously played/ sessioned with: Cryptic, Thermal And A Quarter, Gerard Machado Network, Amit Heri Group, Antaragni, Kumaresh and Ganesh (violinists), Dr L Subramaniam (violin), Layataranga and Kaya

Biggest moment of career: Opened for Bryan Adams with band Antaragni for 35,000-strong crowd

Influences: Jaco Pastorius, Victor Bailey, Garry Willis, Matthew Garrison, Victor Wooten, Tal Wilkenfeld, Hadrian Feraud, Richard Bona, Charles Mingus, Ron Carter

Favourite bands/ artists: The Beatles, Rush, Pink Floyd, Yes, The Police, Steely Dan, Porcupine Tree, Tool, Radiohead, Air, Alice In Chains, Eric Trufaz, Joni Mitchell, DMB, IAMX, Jamiroquai, Jimi Hendrix, John McLaughlin, Led Zeppelin, Ozric Tentacles, Pat Metheny Group and Michael Jackson

Hometown: Bangalore

School/ College: Kendriya Vidyalaya ASC and SJP College

Philosophy: To wait for things to happen naturally and not run after them

First heard TAAQ in: 1997-98, when we were moulting out of the rags and feathers of the Christ College ‘A’ Team

First played with TAAQ: Kingfisher Octoberfest, Bangalore 2009

Why TAAQ appeals to him: Originality and brilliant musicianship

The next five years with TAAQ: Write, compose, record and release 3-4 albums and back them up with kickass live gigs

Welcome, Prakash! Here’s to the next!

Last night Rzhude sang, perhaps for the last time with us, a selection of songs that took us down the cobbled street of memory, stopping under streetlights to reflect on the times gone by. Our songs were inflected with a new fondness. We hung onto every word, clung to every note, clasped the choruses tighter to our chests. Brigade Street — twice over. State of Mine — unplayed in nearly five years. Between the Lines. And Holy Jose — sung with more mischief than ever before.

Farewells are not easy if you have spent eleven years on the road, playing, grooving, hoping, making, celebrating, ruing… Our shared history puts a price on the nostalgia of the past, the weight of the present and the promise of the future.

But farewells are inevitable. And they are a reminder of the present that we must acknowledge and the future in which we must be present.

The Rzhude Decade — all eleven years of it — was the most important one in the history of Thermal And A Quarter. Four albums, hundreds of live appearances, three overseas tours and hours of jamming and toil. It was a decade of the discovery of infinite possibilities.

Here’s to the next!

“History’s a merry-go-round
Carousel, spinning turning…”

- ‘Then and Now’, from the album ‘This Is It’

More than ten years ago, Rudolph Antonio David (aka Rzhude) walked into his first jam with TAAQ, carrying a headless Washburn Bantam 4-string bass, a 40W Stranger amp, and a sense of groove that would change the way this band made music.

A true troubadour, Rzhude is the balladeer, the quiet but strong voice in the shadows of the campfire, telling stories simply and powerfully. He brought to TAAQ music a new sense of accessibility; to TAAQ work a new sense of fulfillment.

We’re calling this gig a ‘farewell concert for Rzhude’, but in truth it’s the celebration of an era. The Rzhude Decade — from 1999 to 2010 (something like the leap year, a Rzhude Decade has 11 years instead of ten — there’s another TAAQologism for you!). And during this era, we have had musicians of various stripes playing with us — a closer peek at the poster will give you their names*.

Seems like just yesterday that Rzhude walked in, plugged up and jammed with us like a true fellow traveller. Now, it’s time for him to hop off and change horses on the carousel.

Share the nostalgia as we recollect the glory years between then and now. Join us on the unending ride.

*The fine print: (L-R) Nate Linkon, Manoj Ganessan, Jason Zachariah, Tony Das, Ajit Abraham, Sunil Chandy, David Pascall, Sriram Iyengar, Jayesh Nair, Preetam Koilpillai, Bryan Richard, Vishak Gopinath, Bruce Lee Mani, Rzhude David, Rajesh Mehar, Rajeev Rajagopal

Rzhude (or Rudy, or Rudolph David as you may know him) has announced that he wishes to move on and pursue an independent career outside of Thermal And A Quarter. Best known among the music community for the last ten years as TAAQ’s bass player and singer, he has been a vital part of our on-stage and off-stage presence since 1999 and has contributed to the four studio albums that we have released during our career.

We acknowledge that Rzhude is currently at a stage of his career where he must make tough choices and we respect his decision to devote more time to his independent pursuits and his family. In all sincerity, we wish him well for the future.

Do look forward to a farewell concert for Rzhude, the date of which we shall announce shortly. Of course, in true TAAQ tradition, farewells don’t mean the end of the road. Rajeev and Bruce shall continue to drive Thermal And A Quarter forward and honor the promise that we have made to ourselves: to be present in the future. We have finalized discussions with a talented and experienced bass player and we shall in due course unveil our exciting new lineup.

Here’s a message that Rzhude wants to share with you:

KARMANYEVADHIKARASTE MAA PHALESHU KADACHANA

Quick translation for those of us out of touch with mother of all tongues: Just do your thing baby, don’t count on the reward…You only get what you deserve!

On April 5, I had the great pleasure of hearing Grandmaster Wooten articulate it so finely to answer (yet) another ex-Taaqer (one Rajesh Mehar) on the question of plateau-ing out musically. According to Victor, for those who missed his ‘workshop’ in Bangalore, such a plateau is a good place to be: a time to take a breather, recharge and take a moment to look back at the distance covered.

Looking back at my professional music career I can sigh quite contentedly at the long strange trip its been: Getting paid a princely Rs.200 back in ‘82 to play drums for my brother’s “pro” band (come to think of it, even then I didn’t actually get to see the money!). Gigging my way through the rest of school, college and through various day jobs that brought me to 1999, Bangalore and that fateful night at the farewell party of a common musician friend (Arnie of the then newly defunct Gangamma’s Pleasure) where I met Rajeev, and Bruce Lee Mani thereafter. How I subsequently took on the offer to stand in as sessions bass player, little knowing how that choice was going to affect the next ten long years of my life. It’s been fun and completely self-indulgent, being in charge of the low-end at TAAQ and a good part of the business-end as well, I should add.

Some 28 years later, it looks like it’s time to move on again. While I remain an undeletable part of the band’s history, it is with a blend of sad relief and gladness that I respond to the call to hang up my bass and give the little limelight I shared this far with this band a rest. Announcing my retirement as bass player, singer and co-producer of the 80-odd songs we’ve written together and performed in such far-flung locales as Scotland, Jakarta and Itanagar, has been a long and not-easy decision. But I do believe it is in the best interest of the band and myself as well – as always, a choice that made me and not the other way round.

Going forward, I will continue to be involved in creating and producing music out of the space I’ve set up here in Bangalore called Acoustic Garden (where TAAQ’s ‘One Small Love’ and ‘Shut Up And Vote’ and the ‘Parachute XVI’ debut album was produced). I look forward to several side projects long shelved and patiently awaiting revival from under the dust covers – my own acoustic project in particular. I will session with TAAQ as and when the right time and place collide in the hectic separate futures I foresee ahead.

Meanwhile, for any one who wishes to get in touch: sound@acousticgarden.net is where I’ll be. Adieu. Over and Out.

Yours truly,
Rzhude

From Bruce:

Rudolph Antonio David.

They call him ‘JT’ in balmy Madras, Rzhude everywhere else. Zen-powered, far-seeing and quiet on the inside, Rzu has stood up and blown into the TAAQ sail for over ten years now, pushing our little ruby yacht up the salmon river of Indian rock n’roll. “Let the music play you” was something we learned from him.

He moves on to better and greater things away from TAAQ… and we continue moving the only way we know how.

It’s been a great decade with you, Rzu.

Bring on the next!

- Bruce

From Rajeev:

There is this funny musical term called “FEEL” that’s really difficult to teach or learn, but if there’s one guy… just one guy… who knows all about it… its probably Mr Rzoo.

“Take your time…but don’t break the chain” — lines from Rudy’s song ‘Closer to Heaven’ written many, many decades ago.

May the FEEL be with you, cat Rudy.

- Rajeev

Our official response to Tehelka’s piece, published as a counterpoint in the magazine’s May 1 issue. Excerpt:

TEHELKA ranted that the “vocabulary and context for rock criticism does not exist in India”. When was the last time an editor commissioned an investigation into this counterculture? And when did a reporter do some legwork to unearth India’s underground music scene? MTV and Channel [V] don’t care for indie acts. Rolling Stone India, which has never devoted a cover to an Indian band, promotes tribute concerts to Dire Straits. Mint interpreted a stray success as the resurgence of rock. TEHELKA got it half right — the Indian rock scene barely exists. But the jeremiad fell foul of the real reasons.

Read the whole thing here

Written in response to the article “Don’t Believe Everything You Hear” in Tehelka, April 17, 2010

Dear Tehelka,

Thermal And A Quarter is a Bangalore-based rock band with delusions of world domination since 1999. We read Inder Sidhu’s outcry against “the media’s hysterical coverage of Indian rock bands” with familiar feelings of resigned amusement and piquant regret. While Sidhu makes some pleasant noises and points available fingers at the usual suspects, he disappoints us by stating the obvious and therefore fails to offer us any fresh insight into what actually ails the rock scene. What ails the media we already know.

First off, Tehelka could have attempted to address the question: What is uniquely “Indian” about the Indian rock scene? You get really excited about Indian writers in English, so why can’t an electric guitar and English lyrics employed to express Indian themes excite you as much? Is the Indian rock “movement” — as some like to call it — merely about the explosion of rock band competitions and sponsored collegiate rock festivals? Is it only about the so-called mushrooming of venues for Indian rock? Is it about the legitimacy accorded to it by weak-willed Bollywood flicks such as Rock On? Is it more than a West-aping deluge of residual post-adolescent hormones? Or is it merely a vehicle for selling phallic fantasies associated with jeans, bikes, movies, or alcohol?

Why can’t the music scene you obsess about be the product of entrepreneurial activity or the struggle of independent artists to secure a platform for expression in a milieu notorious for the absence of infrastructure or patronage? Is it not also about artistic independence — and what is indie in an Indian context anyway? Is it not about the paucity of industry support for independent music (and just what is this “industry”?)? And why are we in such a hurry to pack it all up in one store shelf labelled ‘rock’ – what about Carnatic blues, or Indian jazz-rock, or Indian prog-rock, or Indian death metal, or Devotional jazz-rock, or Malayalam thrash metal, or Hindi country blues, or Kannada funk?

Which part bothers you the most: that the Indian media is writing about Indian rock music at all, or that it is covering rock without balls or brains? After all, we read your magazine because it tells us what we believe is closest to the truth. But never has it once offered lip service to this movement, apart from getting musicians to applaud their favourite bands at the back of the book. When it comes to the coverage of underground music acts in India Tehelka, too, is part of the “lazy press” you love to deride. Your dispirited coverage reinforces the fact that in this country we have no national newspapers or news-magazines — only parochial ones. When it comes to covering the independent music scene, even Tehelka cannot look beyond Delhi or Mumbai before your vision gets all blurry and your perspective degenerates to homogenising what you attempt to analyse. Isn’t it time you became free, fair and fearless in writing about this too?

Sidhu writes that the “vocabulary and context for rock criticism does not exist in India.” When was the last time you met an editor who condescended to carry a major story about any westernized urban counterculture in India? When was the last time any self-respecting commentator (such as you, we hope) turned away from the clippings morgue and did some legwork to find out what’s really happening in India’s underground music scene?

For instance, how do Indian bands approach songwriting, where do they learn to play their instruments, where do they rehearse? How do they finance gear, studio time and production efforts? What level of initiative does it take for a band to bag concert dates at Hard Rock Cafe or Blue Frog, or plan a five-city tour? Or to cut an album and market it independently?

These realities offer story ideas for any journalist with a serious interest in writing about Indian rock. Perhaps Sidhu might want to consider exploring these areas instead of expending two thousand words on a subject he believes is not worth writing about. That’s laughable. Of course, we are aware these stories can’t be written within a week’s deadline but has any journalist cared to investigate the possibilities, or any editor dared to commission them?

For instance, on February 14 this year Thermal And A Quarter hosted the ‘One Small Love – Bangalore for Mangalore’ concert. Commemorating the first anniversary of the attacks on women in pubs in Mangalore and Bangalore, it brought musicians and speakers together to give voice to issues like freedom of expression and tolerance. About 500 people attended the concert in Bangalore and many more logged in to watch the live webcast. The Facebook page for One Small Love added 1,300 fans in a single week sans any advertising or PR.

The media did not take notice of One Small Love. Why? Because we took a decision not to invite any mediapersons to cover it.

In its weekend magazine supplement, a leading national paper gushed about an “unsponsored” concert in Bangalore by two independent rock bands held on February 13, the previous evening. While we attended that concert and doffed our hats to the bands that pulled it off, we noted dourly that the journalist had not done his homework when he hailed the unsponsored concert as a first-of-its-kind event. Thermal And A Quarter was among the first bands in Bangalore (perhaps in the country) to pull off successful (in terms of attendance and gate collections) self-funded shows dating back to 1999. National Public Radio in the US reported our Floodaid concert of 2005 (a fundraiser for the families affected by the 2004 Asian Tsunami) but no Indian publication bothered to do so. Just because no press releases were issued, does it mean these were not events?

We’d be happier if the media did not write about the “scene”, because clouding these half-cooked reports and analyses with poor reportage, bias and myopia is far worse. As some wise guy once said, “It’s better to shut up and be thought a fool than to open your mouth and remove all doubt.”

Every “music journalist” wants to be the next big commentator on the Indian rock music scene. In 14 years of being around, we’ve seen these megalomaniacs crash and burn and we have outlived them all. On the Indian rock scene, longevity is to die for. As the only band in India to release four studio albums in our career through independent distribution plans, we are not looking for benefactors in the media to make or break our career, thank you.

Frank Zappa said, “Rock journalism is people who can’t write interviewing people who can’t talk for people who can’t read.” We wrote a song about journalists like that – it’s called Paper Puli. And we have an annual award for music journalists who satisfy Zappa’s criteria. It’s called the Paper-Pulitzer. We might consider nominating you.

Love and peace.
TAAQ

Cross-posted on our Facebook page

In Persepolis, Marjane Satrapi’s moving memoir of Iran’s descent into darkness, we were introduced to a strange kind of tolerance. When the Shah of Iran, the first Muslim leader to recognize the state of Israel, was overthrown by revolutionaries touting the dream of a new dawn, the people of Iran tolerated it. When the same revolutionaries ushered in a draconian fundamentalist regime, the people tolerated it. When their rulers squandered their money in a war with Iraq, the people tolerated it. And today, the people of Iran are left with little choice but to tolerate the infraction of their civil liberties. They have paid the price for another kind of tolerance.

In Persepolis there is a chilling lesson for the people of any free society not to take their freedom for granted. But is there a kind of tolerance that we need to be watchful of?

Prakash Belawadi, theatre professional, filmmaker and journalist, accuses his generation of “a peculiar kind of tolerance”. Hailing from a family that has been involved in theatre for three generations, Prakash jogs our memory to a time when Bangalore was Bengaluru, and Bengaluru was Bangalore – they were just names in different languages that had not fallen prey to the poisoned barbs of those who play divisive politics. Not so long ago, this cosmopolitan city was well known for its culture of acceptance and tolerance.

“I choose to live here because this is a great city to live in,” he says of Bangalore. “I grew up here and I want to live here.”

A Bangalorean, a Hindu and a Kannadiga, Prakash never saw these as conflicting identities. Besides the first, the others were merely “accidents of birth”.

Identities come to conflict, Prakash observes, when they are represented by people of the worst kind. And this happens because those of the best kind are not assertive. Time was, he reminds us, when the Hindu identity was represented by Mahatma Gandhi and Swami Vivekananda, but today it is represented by the likes of Pramod Mutalik and Balasaheb Thackeray. By tolerating them, we are in danger of conceding our identity to what they represent.

“We need to be intolerant of them,” says Prakash, adding that we should make room for another kind of tolerance – the acceptance of differences. “If we can’t be proud to accommodate differences, we should be sensible enough to allow them to exist because it is the law of the land.”

Watch the video for a penetrating perspective of tolerance from a Bangalorean who has no doubts about what he represents, and who represents him.

Every once in a way, a newspaper sub-editor gets bored of the thunder thighs of the hotties spread-eagled across his 16 pages of page three and decides to pay lip service to the “Indian rock movement”. It was the Deccan Chronicle’s turn to add their whiff to that gigantic puff of effluvium.

In a tired-sounding article imaginatively titled ‘Fund-amental gigs‘, an unnamed DC correspondent wrote on Feb 20:

It was in the late 1990s that Thermal and a Quarter organised shows, free of corporate sponsorships. But, after a few such gigs, and without much success, the concept faded away. Almost a decade later, another city act has decided to commit themselves to this cause and is spearheading a ‘movement’, thus inspiring a generation of young musicians.

The other city act is, of course, Lounge Piranha, which pulled off a cracker of a show along with the (now) Bangalore-based Gowri and Hyderabad’s Native Tongue at the Alliance Francaise de Bangalore on February 13. We attended that concert.

We appreciate the indie-mindedness of the journalist’s effort but perhaps the anonymous correspondent might want to get out of his Mighty Strange office and do some real legwork for a change while writing about the bands that don’t circulate press releases of their events. For instance, he/she could have taken a bus (or billed the company for a cab) to Opus in the Creek on Whitefield Road on February 14, the day after the show he/she covered, to watch the One Small Love concert, a completely un-sponsored affair with no gate collections to break even.

And here’s another correction: Our last un-sponsored gig before this was Floodaid, a fundraiser for the families affected by the Asian tsunami featuring Antaragni, at the St John’s auditorium on January 4, 2005, a good six years after the late 1990s. No sponsors, sir/ma’am. Uh-uh.

Heck, just because we issued no press release doesn’t mean it didn’t happen!

Dear correspondent, you have been nominated for the PaperPulitzers 2010 in the Best Armchair Journalist category.

A few weeks ago, in a pocket of India remembered only by scuba-diving tourists, Boa Sr spoke her last words. With her passing, the Great Andamanese of India’s far-flung Andaman islands lost more than a member of their tribe. They lost – we lost – the last living speaker of Bo, their native tongue and – what should have been for the rest of us – a national treasure.

Besides a few stray newspaper articles, little was said about this unspeakable loss. Maybe no words remain to describe it. Had it been Sanskrit that died, it would have been felicitated with a mausoleum of eulogies.

There are some that do not mourn the death of languages; instead they choose to celebrate such demises claiming that they serve to unite the world. And there are some who are at seemingly endless war over languages – over the right to speak them and the right to prevent them from being spoken.

India has 26 official languages among a total of 452 listed by The Ethnologue, along with thousands of dialects. Our northern states were not divided on the basis of language but in southern India, language was the factor that drew the tenuous borders between Karnataka and Andhra Pradesh and Maharashtra, and set Tamil Nadu apart from Kerala, and Orissa from Andhra. While all of these states have a good mix of speakers of all languages and immigrant communities that have lived there and integrated into the society and economy far longer and far deeper than some of the locals, the officialdom associated with language draws a sharp wedge between people. As we read this, Andhra Pradesh and Maharashtra are bowing to these divisive forces.

In Bangalore, for instance, Tamil-speaking labourers have consistently been targeted while the largest population of non-Kannada speakers – those who speak Telugu – carry on un-maligned. With the recent migration of people from the north Indian states into Karnataka, auto-rickshaw drivers have started to speak Hindi even before they utter a phrase in Kannada. Yet, their resentment of them is unmasked. On the other hand, pro-Kannada groups are pressing demands for reservation and fuelling anti-English agitations.

Our languages, considered by the awestruck outside world as a testimonial to our diversity, are today the fault-lines along which our society is being divided. Who are the real instigators of this divide – the passive people or the hyperactive political mafia?

In the trained tongues of scholars, language becomes a sharp tool for enlightenment and social integration. In the loose tongues of knaves, it degenerates into a blunt weapon.

At the One Small Love concert on February 14, Saswati Chakravarty, former senior editor of The Economic Times and an ardent Bangalorean, examined the question of language as a tool of cultural assimilation.

Saswati arrived 25 years ago in Bangalore from Kolkata (then Calcutta). Though she did not feel like an outsider in the city that “accepted differences”, she learned Kannada and explored theatre, film and music in the native language of her adopted city.

But did her learning Kannada make her an insider? Does knowing to speak Kannada give her a feeling of empowerment? Through this process of assimilation, what happened to the Bengali in her? Can the notions of language and culture be used interchangeably as they often are today?

Where do we draw the line? And who will draw it?

Watch the video for an enlightening perspective from this acclimated Bangalorean.

Discuss the issue of language here.

Free speech is music to our ears, indeed. Speaking at ‘One Small Love – Bangalore for Mangalore‘ on February 14,  Bangalore-based journalist, teacher and author C K Meena got under the skin of Love.

This is a poem about love.

Just listen to me – a poem, she says. Bravely.

But today’s Valentine’s Day, right? Oh, go ahead, buy your lover a furry toy monkey, listen to the Carpenters, for god’s sake, without blushing. “It’s the love that I’ve found ever since you’ve been around…” Listen to James Blunt without cringing. “You’re beautiful…”

But seriously, what is this notion, this emotion called love? This passion, this obsession, this confusion called love? This attraction? Creation? Collaboration? Communication? You know, people, you can take almost any noun with a shin sound and make it an aspect of love.

Naan yaav bhashe nalli mathaaadbeku antha, yaaaru nan-hattara hel beda, hel baaradu. Samaj mein aaya? Purinjitha? Manasilaayo, maashey? And if I could learn to speak all 22 scheduled languages and all its glorious hundreds of dialects I would speak them all, I would sing them all to you.

My culture is made up of many colours, many faces, many tongues. It has no room for hate of the “other”.

to love.

C K Meena, well known to Bangaloreans for her tart, witty columns on life in their ever-changing cityscape, has written two books of fiction — the semi-autobiographical Black Lentil Doughnuts and the crime thriller Dreams for the Dying.

For some people it was a lonely Valentine’s Day. And this goes out especially to them.

When we played in Pune last year we decided we weren’t going back without cake and cookies from the famous German Bakery. Enjoying them in Bangalore the next day, we didn’t foresee having to reflect on that simple pleasure like this.

Terror could have struck then as it did on the night of February 13, 2010. But we lived to write this. And we shall make the most of the life and joy granted to us.

It is somewhat edifying that we were able to reach out to Pune on February 14. Opus Pune webcast the One Small Love concert live to its patrons.

Thank you for turning up (and turning down your other Valentine’s Day engagements) and for your support and encouragement right through this initiative.

Foremost, our thanks go to the fabulous folks at Trumpit and Opus – Carlton, Shonali, Priyanka, Venkat, Adrian and all the staff whose names fail us but whose smiling faces fill our minds when we recollect that lovely evening. Thank you for event support, your gracious hospitality and for making our artists and guests feel at home at Opus in the Creek, such a tranquil setting with its giant Buddha and tippling fish.

Thank you Konarak Reddy, Gerard Machado, Ravichandra Kulur, Alwyn Fernandes, Gaurav Vaz and Karan Joseph for your soul-stirring performances. A special thanks to Vasu, Varun, Jishnu, Montry, Pavan and Sanjeev, the awesome musicians of Swarathma, for playing a pulse-quickening show. In a market where live performances can hardly pay the bills, these wonderful people unquestioningly played for love.

For making the One Small Love concert a resounding success we thank Niranjan, the man at the soundboard whose admirable patience with the tantrums of rock stars is legend.

Thanks to Saswati Chakravarty, C K Meena, Prakash Belawadi and Harish Bijoor for articulating their special messages to our audience because rock stars (with the notable exception of Gaurav Vaz) are so pathetic at making speeches.

For his time-saving and completely impromptu comic interlude, a whopper of a thank-you goes out to our friendly neighbourhood Bollywood star-in-the-making Rajeev Ravindranathan.

Thanks to Merwyn Rodrigues of JumpMedia, Dubai, who accepted a brief that few designers would, and delivered a poster and profile image for our Facebook page in just a few hours.

We thank Smita and the very talented and even-tempered folks at Kieon for online support and web design.

Thanks to Kartik Iyer, Praveen Das and the beautiful minds at Happy Creative Services for dreaming up the original One Small Love music video. Special thanks also to Ashvin Naidu of Avakkai Films.

Thank you, PG Santhosh and his colleagues at MIPL-GraphicsAllAround, for the One Small Love giveaway stickers and for the big yellow smiley that graced the stage throughout the show.

Thank you, Gaurav Manchanda, for being Ayrton Senna to our guests when the cab guys ditched us at the eleventh hour.

We thank Dean Umesh PN, professors Srijayanth and Ananth and research fellow Bindu of the TAAQ Roadie Institute of Technology (RIT) for running the show like a smoothie, and especially for committing themselves to the odious task of filming people drawing smileys under hot lights.

We are immensely grateful to Facebook and Wordpress for their fabulous (and free) online products, which make social messaging and online publishing look ridiculously easy. Ten years ago, we would have struggled to drum up opt-in support for an event like this. This year, we didn’t phone a single journalist.

In the same breath, we thank Facebook evangelists such as Martin D’Souza for spreading the message of One Small Love to their networks. Thanks also to the 1,300+ fans of the One Small Love page for your endorsement of this movement. You have a lot to look forward to.

We have had many managers and we love and respect all of them. But no one merits a bigger ovation than Divya Joseph, who deserves a lifetime royalty from Adidas for living the slogan ‘Impossible is Nothing’. The list of things she deserves to be thanked for cannot be accommodated here, so let just it be said that she was the smile on the face of One Small Love.

Thanks to Velu Shankar, a long-time friend, philosopher and guide of Thermal And A Quarter, for his advice and encouragement.

One Small Love begins at home. Our families deserve our utmost love and gratitude for their support and suffering in the face of our absences, late nights and many missed dinners. Since this suffering, and our solicitations for support, are not about to stop in the near future, we thank you in advance.

The show must go on, no matter what threats loom up to stop us. And we will do everything in our power as musicians and artists to fight violence and hate with messages of love, tolerance and freedom. To paraphrase Harry Belafonte: “You can cage the singer but not the song.”

The concert is only the beginning. In the future that is about to unfold, One Small Love will reach out to the world in many ways and touch many lives.

Let’s draw the line each day.