Thoughts on music in Calcutta and Bertie da Silva in Concert

Indians write in English and have readers all over the world. Indians make films in the English language and get international audiences. Indian artists receive global recognition. Indians create software that is operated internationally. Indian academicians are renowned in almost every corner of the earth.

But when it comes to Indian musicians making music in English, frowns appear, subjective criticism is so vehement, it could almost be mistaken for poetry. WTF? Yet you will find many of these hypercritics energetically wagging their heads to rock, folk, country, hip-hop, or whatever music, which has originated in the Occident. Music with words in English must, it seems, be only from where this tongue is the dominant and primary means of communication.

In 1979, we had considered this anomaly in our vague, post-adolescent angst. It resulted in Blues in the Basement – a concert of original music in English that is still talked about today for reasons that range from nostalgic remembrance to awe. But that was a one-off show, a concert that was never repeated in its format by us, or anyone else. At least not in Calcutta.

A bit of history you thought you knew

Over the decades, a generation or three emerged as good musicians in their own right, composing English songs and tunes of quality with dedication and a strong belief in their abilities. At the same time, popular music in Indian languages, mainly Hindi, began to rob elements of this second-class “English music” and to happily integrate these into their melodies and rhythms, and even in the lyrics. Naturally, it gained an immense popularity that spanned language and cultural barriers across the nation. Such music generated so much demand that it gave the ruling Hindi film soundtrack songs tough competition. This resulted then in producers wanting the non-film musicians to sing and perform in their movies. And a whole genre of crossover popular music was born. Suddenly, the role of Indian musical elements was reversed in this music which was essentially rock and pop from the West.

This then led to the advent of fusion music. It’s not that this form hadn’t been tried in earlier years. From Ravi Shankar and Yehudi Menuhin to The Beatles and others who followed, Eastern and Western fusion music had straddled popular imagination. In fact, if Indian and Western fusion music had a beginning, it was in the early Hindi movies. S D and his son R D Burman were pioneers. But the fusion music of more recent times was inspired by global trends in listening. ‘World music’ became a genre in itself. This was a lot of different kinds of music from varied cultural origins attempting to musically come together in an often contrived manner, leading it to be sardonically termed ‘con-fusion’. Indian musicians did not lag behind in adopting this trend.

Over the years, a regional bias had crept into everything, including music. Back in Calcutta, the live performance of original Western music had become almost non-existent. The musicians who played this stuff had been transposed to performing English cover songs at pubs, college fests, and parties. DJs with their electronic and digital gadgetry and their shoddy, unschooled, amateur and eclectic tastes and sensibilities were now catering to the lowest common denominator. Individuals who composed original music banded together to play gigs which insisted on cover songs and tunes so that they could make a living. In any case, making a living from playing original ‘English’ music was next to impossible. Some drifted off into the fusion genre which seemed to have potential and others re-discovered their ethnicity to do Bangla “band music”. Many did it all at various convenient moments.

Once again, everyone robbed randomly from ‘English’ music to add that additional, familiar texture to their songs which echoed their influences and exposed a whole gamut of mediocrity. But no one was complaining – neither the audiences nor the musicians. The Bangla band or rock variety has now become so universally accepted that when one tells an avid fan that some tune or the other was originally from an English song, one is greeted with incredulity.

Within this scenario, there were still musicians trying to do their original English music. Therefore, it was not unusual to find these musicians getting frustrated, jaded, bitter and cynical about their creative efforts. Worse, it began to tell on their music. They now no longer played music for a wider audience. In fact, it seemed like they were almost playing for themselves and a small core group of fans and friends who gave moral support if nothing else, and that too out of a sense of loyalty.

The way it is today

The state of confusion had just exploded. Now, if you were doing original music, (and it didn’t matter whether it was English or fusion), you had no place to perform other than college fests, pubs, and special nights at the various clubs. The one pub that revived live English music performances a decade and a half ago frowned upon fusion, didn’t really care for original lyrics, and only wanted local musicians to make familiar popular music by chart toppers from the West so that their bar business was brisk. All this “original-shoriginal” stuff could be performed by guest bands from other parts brought in for one-night-only gigs at costs that usually equaled two weeks or more payment to local musicians. In fact, this unnamed but obvious pub has been more responsible for the detriment of quality music by local talent than anyone or anything else. But they have their bottom lines all worked out, and nothing will make them change their minds now.

Concerts in auditoriums and similar venues in Calcutta had ceased long ago, especially for English rock music. There were no sponsors keen enough, no promoters willing to take the risk, and they all said there really was no audience. You see, the massive popularity of what is commonly called ‘Indipop’ has given a different tack to brand marketing strategy. In Calcutta, Bangla rock is granted second place, not because the music is of superior quality, but due to the kicking in of a regional bias vis-à-vis the way the sponsoring brand is marketed. Unable to make a decent living from music they would much rather play, talented and creative musicians depend on the whims of unaware or badly informed audiences, equally ignorant sponsors and promoters to make a few bucks more by playing what such crucial elements in their income-earning opportunities want. Apart from a sense of ennui, the cynicism and bitterness also pours through.

The courage of his convictions

Into this disquieting world of modern music in Calcutta, one man has the courage of his convictions to take a deep plunge into not just the unknown, but to do the unheard of.

Having voluntarily removed himself from the scene described above as it was developing, twenty years later, he decides he is ready to not just give it a shot once more, but to either make or break with it. Fatalistic? Not at all. Maturity. Confidence. Conviction. All of that, yes. And knowing that you gave it your best and your all.

In 1979 I saw that light in his eyes, and we did Blues in the Basement together. In 2008, that light was once again evident, and we did Bertie da Silva in Concert together. Both times our gamble paid off. We realized that the audience did not actually know what they wanted to hear. And if it was music very well performed, they would like it for its originality even more. And we were right.

The audience does want stock favourites, but they also want the music we gave them. This much was evident in both years. Sold–out shows, packed venues and a clamour for more proved our point very satisfactorily. It can be compared to eating “chowmin” from street stalls and considering it value for money till you are treated to an authentic meal at a Chinese home. All at once the bar that defined taste has been notched up quite a bit higher.

I am not going to actually do a review of the concert by Bertie da Silva on the 18^th of November. I can’t. It would be biased, since I was so much a part of it. And to set any doubts you may have at rest, we have been self-critical, but that is rather a private reckoning and has no relevance to you reading this. Suffice to say we have learned from mistakes and know what to do/not to do next time. Yes, there is certainly going to be a next time. Actually, many more next times.

Doing concerts like this puts a whole lot of responsibility on musicians to offer up much more and better. Concerts like this expect audiences to come for the music alone, so if your music does not meet expectations of the audience you should be ready for the brickbats. And to work harder at your music.

That’s the space we want to carve out. A space for musicians who will be able to perform their original creative efforts for ignorant and unaware listeners and turn them around to their way of thinking. And yet make money from it. This is “alternative” at another level. A collaborative way of working so that new listeners emerge, new opportunities open up, and we can put the cynicism and bitterness to rest.

We may as well give it a shot. We have nothing to lose.

And the music never died

The lizard scampers away across the wall as I wait for the liftman to return from his namaaz and pull a brass lever which will elevate me up to the 5th floor. Its one of those typical old buildings of Central Calcutta, a relic of British times, but fairly well maintained, plumb in the middle of Chandni Chowk. It mostly houses a hotel and a bar which has live music every evening. Appropriate perhaps, considering that three floors up from the bar, intense rehearsals are on for a different kind of live music to be performed in a month's time.

The live music playing in the bar on the first floor is so at odds with what is being rehearsed up here that they might as well be from another planet. I have never actually been to this bar, but every evening I hear the music blaring into the stairwell in the many keys of off that the keyboard player can conjure up, as the digital drum machine whacks out a beat that seems to have nothing to do with the tempo of the song. It is a lot of amplified noise with a disjointed melody sneaking through. The songs are sung by a surprisingly good female voice who just sings away, sounding like she's ignoring the band backing her. I'm pretty sure the male-only patrons of the bar watching her with alcohol-ridden lust in their eyes, are not particularly bothered about the quality of the music. The music is only as good as its familiarity with them, and also perhaps the associations they carry from the Hindi films they originate from.

Maybe I'm being a little unkind to these professional musicians. Perhaps I think too highly of the music my friend Bertie Da Silva is playing three floors up. Neither Bertie or I would ever dream about doing a daily gig in a down-market bar. Forget down market. The reason Bertie and I decided to return to doing a concert in an auditorium like in our old days is because we were (and are) pretty disillusioned about performing background music for a social evening at an upmarket pub or club. Not strangely, both kinds of market establishments promote their facilities on the basis of the live music. Bertie and band don't even have the ostensible advantage of a sexy woman in slinky clothes vamping it up frontstage with a microphone in her hand!

Are we “English music” aficionados snobbish and snooty about the music we prefer to hear live or otherwise? Is it because it has no mass appeal here, unlike the music being performed downstairs, so that our inverted snobbery is like a defence mechanism for a rarefied clique? Do we justify our stance by the “quality” of music we listen to, and the intellectual and aesthetic attractions, not forgetting the nostalgic sentiments, it holds for us? And what about the reputation of the performers?

Could be. Who knows? All I know now is that we are committed to doing our show in less than a month's time. Such questions could be distracting to what we want to achieve in our 'other' world. In my mind I wish the musicians in the bar all the best as the liftman swings open the collapsible iron gates for me at the fifth floor. From outside the door to Cyrus' home I hear Willy doing his bass solo in La Dolce Vita. With him, Jonathan's keys and Amlanjyoti's soft drums fill up this space I am now standing in, a world away from what's happening three floors down. And of course the tale the song tells is a true one, like many of Bertie's songs. It has the added flavour of my having been present during what he sings about, a slice of life that happened in an upmarket lounge bar where live music is also used to bring in customers. As an aside, the jazz inflections endear it to me as well.

I sit down quietly and watch Bertie and the band rehearse the 18th November concert material. They've been at it for more than two months now and I see it's only getting better. It should be. Because he planned it that way. Hand-picking the musicians, initially rehearsing with them in separate sessions, then bringing them together as a band just about twenty days ago, and now working hard at it so that everything falls into place. And it's surely looking like that, the way things are going.

We all have a suppressed excitement about the show. This really is Bertie's comeback concert. There are two reasons why I discount last year's reunion show with Mel and Fuzz at Princeton, and the two or three collaborative gigs he did with Pink Noise later in the year, as his comeback shows. Firstly, the one with Mel and Fuzz was a one-off, a sentimental get-together resulting from Fuzz's visit to Calcutta after almost 10 years, and a keen sense of nostalgia which naturally occurred. I'm sure the three of them would love to do another, properly rehearsed concert together, but it requires a major commitment level and relocation for Fuzz which presently seems impossible.

Secondly, the gigs with Pink Noise were good to hear since those guys are such experienced and talented musicians who perform and practice regularly, but their commitments beyond Bertie were not helping him to take his music exactly where he wanted to go with it. The inevitable was what he now has put together. A band playing exclusively with him, dedicating huge chunks of their time everyday to the music because they love it so much.

That's the other thing. His admirers and fans, very often students he has taught or still teaches English to. I'm constantly amazed at how quickly and easily they respond and volunteer to do any little thing to make this show by “Sir” a resounding success. Some of them are influential, some are not, yet the individual and collective, genuine admiration spans quite a few years and even a generation or so. In fact, both Jonathan and Anindya are ex-students of his and they along with Amlanjyoti who is the son of old friend Victor, have brought a youthful energy and drive, as well as fresh ideas to the entire sound. Nice!
Willy, a contemporary of Bertie's and mine, provides the been-there, done-that backing a band like this requires, but not at all in a cynical, jaded way. A neat, and you could even say optimal mix, to the music. Ever the one with a piquant, Anglo-Indian sense of humour, Willy is discussing with Bertie about a bass run that he needs to do in a song, which musicians call “doing a walk”, when he remembers a tale from long ago. A musician of Goan ethnicity who played upright acoustic bass was unfamiliar with the 'walking' term. When he was told to “do a walk” in a particular song, the other band members were surprised to find him pick up his huge and heavy instrument and start to walk around. Fortunately, this happened at a practice session and not on stage! We all have a good laugh. Then Cyrus brings in the tea and everyone takes five. Willy and Cyrus also go back a long way, and it's nice sometimes to hear them exchange memories. I really must start documenting these musician stories soon.
It's a pity Cyrus won't be able to play this gig. His reasons are solidly valid, but personally speaking I'll miss him being on stage after three decades or so. I remember being very blown away at a High concert when he played lead guitar with them. However, things are open with him for the next gig, which we must do soon, at least within the first three months of next year. I do want to hear him play live once again.

Post-rehearsal, Bertie and I go back to his house and sup on kati rolls and tea. We are tense with the thoughts of what the future will bring. Maybe trepidation is a better word. But we are optimistic. Things seem to be slowly falling into place, both musically and otherwise. The lack of a lead guitar is no longer noticeable after Bertie has tweaked and rearranged some of the tracks which would have used the part. People are already talking about the show even outside Calcutta, especially Mumbai, Delhi and Hyderabad. Tickets to the show are being sought, and though we have no sponsors yet, we are not unduly worried. The way things are moving, that too will happen. We have a very strong verbal commitment from a leading city newspaper and a FM radio station to write and talk about Bertie, this concert, and a whole lot besides.

We talk of the concert and the things still left to do. We are looking at this as a stepping stone to bigger and better. More shows in Calcutta and away. More shows with other musicians, organised specially for them, not necessarily featuring Bertie every time. All these shows will have one dominating criterion. They will feature original music performed by the musicians. Music that is never really given a fighting chance by the big labels, the music stores and the airwaves because it cannot be classified, set into little boxes which are convenient for sales. Live concerts are the only option left open to such dedicated musicians, and even there sponsors can be mean and stingy. These musicians pour their heart and soul into their music, often sacrificing much and compromising with too much to play what they want. And make you like it enough to want more.

The music never died. It never even faded away. It just orbited out of our ambit for awhile. Maybe we'll be able to bring it back to a space where you will come to listen to music for its sake alone.


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Bertie Da Silva and the band perform in concert on Tuesday 18th November 2008 at G D Birla Sabhagar, Calcutta, from 7 to 9 pm. The first set will feature Bertie in a solo performance. After a short intermission, he will perform with the band, who are: Willy Walters on bass guitars, Jonathan Ramgopal on keyboards, Amlanjyoti Singh on drums and Anindya Sundar Paul on backing vocals. Yours truly will also be doing backing vocals for three songs when I'm not running around the premises acting frightfully busy.