Last night was a bad night. I had nightmares that bespoke of too much coffee and shorshay maach late at night. In these nightmares, unfamiliar people casually inhabited places i once knew well, some of which no longer exist
Perhaps it was more than coffee, cigarettes and mustard. Ive been feeling what can only be described as a privileged middle class angst. In other words, theres no problem. But i'm not used to not having a problem so my minds going crazy trying to figure out what the problem is. Put down like that its so simple, but the experience of your mind trying to wrap itself around a non existent issue is very disconcerting; like walking elaborate dimly lit labyrinths and finding nothing at the end 'oh there must be a mistake, let me try it again' and so on ad infinitum. not light amusement, i assure you.
In this somewhat disoriented frame of mind ive been going on with things, pretty much as usual. Well at least ive not fucked up anything major. Work, analysis, read, write, drive, Gmail, Facebook, debate, go out for a smoke, check to see if the red ants got the sugar again that sort of thing. Life as usual.
This morning my phone rings and its an old friend "why are you depressed?". Well how the hell did he know i was depressed he doesnt even live in the same city. We keep in touch, but havent met in a while. Of late weve both been very very busy, each walking our own labyrinths i suspect. So how the hell?
I guess it takes about a decade and half of friendship (almost, now, isn't it?). It just felt so good. And i was half asleep so i told the truth about why i was feeling this way. So now i know why. Yes there is something at the center of the labyrinth, lets say its the cake in the clive barker introduction to sandman. No big deal, quite interesting in fact. At any rate theres a number of ways to deal with it, one of which would be to simply eat the damned thing:)
Actually, this is about not just about the particular call i got this morning/ although im still smiling from that. Its about my friends, many of whom have proved repeatedly that they will be my friends no matter now annoying or difficult i get. Theres this web of relationships that i inhabit, and the web holds me up, sustains me and provides a place to fall into nylon netting/ as opposed to solid ground.
So i sit here in front of a lighted screen feeling very grateful for the people i love, and those who love me. technology and emotion, who says they don't go together. I find myself receiving love over the phone, over chat, over email. And there are those who give up other things to sit and talk, sometimes for unresonable lengths of time. So this is for all of you.
Thank you so much.
Tuesday, August 26, 2008
Monday, August 25, 2008
Hellborg and Selvaganesh at Tabula Rasa, New Delhi
I saw Jonas Hellborg play with V Selvaganesh last night. It was incredible, and i mean incredible. Two great musicians, who have played with each other for a while now (since 1998 i think), and who speak /with each other/and with the audience through their instruments.
and they seem to enjoy each other, which is probably why the dialogue is so seamless and so real at the same time. I'm still feeling replete, its been a long time since live music made me feel this way.
I'm not a very informed listener, in that my basic understanding of music is divided between what i like and what i don't like. So i'm really picking up on the feeling, more than the substance or even the form. The substance, i don't know that much about, the form i respond to on an emotional level or not at all.
But i did think that what i saw yesterday was what is called 'fusion' music at it finest. Much fusion that i get to see, particularly in Delhi, (but more on that later) seems to me to be too fragmented to be called a dialogue. i do my thing, then you take your turn and do yours. Well, thats the best case scenario, there are a number of others: we play together and produce unattractive sounds, thats one, or (and this is the WORST) some really good international musician 'jams' with indian musicians in such a manner that you come away with a deep sense of regret that you didn't settle in the west where the aforesaid musician actually gets an opportunity to do the music that is his forte.
i come away hoping that it was the organizers and their Delhi aspirations (fusion is SO hip) that resulted in the unfortunate international musician being stuck with 'jamming' in a form with with he may not be so comfortable. This happens a lot at Jazz Yatra, and every year i come away wishing that the so called 'fusion' element be restricted to musicians who do fusion music on a regular basis and NOT some misguided wish to have intercultural harmony. Intercultural harmony is a good thing, but music really is music. And even an uninformed hearer like me can feel (not hear) the difference between good fusion and organizer inspired fusion.
In other words, i think musical fusion is a difficult and complex and feeling task, a fusion of cultural rhythms as much as sound rhythms and a number of performances in this city should stay very far away from it.
So theres this rant, and theres what happened last night, which was GOOD GOOD GOOD fusion. More of this please. much much more of this and much less of the other kind. It felt good, like the bass guitar in some way was made to play with the kanjira (but how could that be? think of the history of the instruments). It seemed that way, i suspect because the people playing the instruments were not only unbelievable musicians in their own right, but had an understanding of each other beyond music.
So this was happening last night at Tabula Rasa. Which brings us to context, and the third element in the communication triangle: the audience. First, context. Tabula Rasa had pulled a coup: think of it, Jonas Hellborg, some say he's the best bass player in the world, and V Selvaganesh, the leading kanjira player of his generation, playing together. This would seem to be an important occasion, right? And important occasions need appropriate arrangements, right, not to mention respect for two such accomplished people.
So where do they place the stage? Right next to the open kitchen
NO seriously, i'm not kidding. Hellborg and Selvaganesh sweated profusely through the show, and asked for paper napkins to wipe themselves. They had to drink water continuously, and the kitchen kept cooking. In fact the organization was so uninformed that they did not even figure that most musicians can't play with whirring fans aimed directly at them. As a single fan was the only moving air possibility, jonas Hellborg and v selvaganesh played in conditions that were incredibly uncomfortable (theyre musicians, right, so they asked for the fan off/ i was wondering if others actually have the fan on. how do you play?)
Not that much of the audience cared. There was social mobility conversation happening all around ('oh did you see so and so at such and such place' etc.), and someone behind me said that the bass was a variation of the Tanpura. No, not kidding about that either. Oh and there was NO call for an encore. NO ONE asked for them to play one more piece. I mean this is Jonas Hellborg, and he's plying a small (if exceedingly uncomfortable) venue. you don't want more? I guess not, youve got enough to tell people that you went to the Hellborg/ Selvaganesh show at Tabula Rasa. How does the music matter? its just sound after all, and fusion is SO hip, you just need to be seen there.
so thats my take on the show. The show was fabulous, the other elements of the communication triangle were,
Well,
Delhi.
and they seem to enjoy each other, which is probably why the dialogue is so seamless and so real at the same time. I'm still feeling replete, its been a long time since live music made me feel this way.
I'm not a very informed listener, in that my basic understanding of music is divided between what i like and what i don't like. So i'm really picking up on the feeling, more than the substance or even the form. The substance, i don't know that much about, the form i respond to on an emotional level or not at all.
But i did think that what i saw yesterday was what is called 'fusion' music at it finest. Much fusion that i get to see, particularly in Delhi, (but more on that later) seems to me to be too fragmented to be called a dialogue. i do my thing, then you take your turn and do yours. Well, thats the best case scenario, there are a number of others: we play together and produce unattractive sounds, thats one, or (and this is the WORST) some really good international musician 'jams' with indian musicians in such a manner that you come away with a deep sense of regret that you didn't settle in the west where the aforesaid musician actually gets an opportunity to do the music that is his forte.
i come away hoping that it was the organizers and their Delhi aspirations (fusion is SO hip) that resulted in the unfortunate international musician being stuck with 'jamming' in a form with with he may not be so comfortable. This happens a lot at Jazz Yatra, and every year i come away wishing that the so called 'fusion' element be restricted to musicians who do fusion music on a regular basis and NOT some misguided wish to have intercultural harmony. Intercultural harmony is a good thing, but music really is music. And even an uninformed hearer like me can feel (not hear) the difference between good fusion and organizer inspired fusion.
In other words, i think musical fusion is a difficult and complex and feeling task, a fusion of cultural rhythms as much as sound rhythms and a number of performances in this city should stay very far away from it.
So theres this rant, and theres what happened last night, which was GOOD GOOD GOOD fusion. More of this please. much much more of this and much less of the other kind. It felt good, like the bass guitar in some way was made to play with the kanjira (but how could that be? think of the history of the instruments). It seemed that way, i suspect because the people playing the instruments were not only unbelievable musicians in their own right, but had an understanding of each other beyond music.
So this was happening last night at Tabula Rasa. Which brings us to context, and the third element in the communication triangle: the audience. First, context. Tabula Rasa had pulled a coup: think of it, Jonas Hellborg, some say he's the best bass player in the world, and V Selvaganesh, the leading kanjira player of his generation, playing together. This would seem to be an important occasion, right? And important occasions need appropriate arrangements, right, not to mention respect for two such accomplished people.
So where do they place the stage? Right next to the open kitchen
NO seriously, i'm not kidding. Hellborg and Selvaganesh sweated profusely through the show, and asked for paper napkins to wipe themselves. They had to drink water continuously, and the kitchen kept cooking. In fact the organization was so uninformed that they did not even figure that most musicians can't play with whirring fans aimed directly at them. As a single fan was the only moving air possibility, jonas Hellborg and v selvaganesh played in conditions that were incredibly uncomfortable (theyre musicians, right, so they asked for the fan off/ i was wondering if others actually have the fan on. how do you play?)
Not that much of the audience cared. There was social mobility conversation happening all around ('oh did you see so and so at such and such place' etc.), and someone behind me said that the bass was a variation of the Tanpura. No, not kidding about that either. Oh and there was NO call for an encore. NO ONE asked for them to play one more piece. I mean this is Jonas Hellborg, and he's plying a small (if exceedingly uncomfortable) venue. you don't want more? I guess not, youve got enough to tell people that you went to the Hellborg/ Selvaganesh show at Tabula Rasa. How does the music matter? its just sound after all, and fusion is SO hip, you just need to be seen there.
so thats my take on the show. The show was fabulous, the other elements of the communication triangle were,
Well,
Delhi.
Wednesday, August 20, 2008
Words and pictures
I don't know if this is true for you, but i grew up being told that words were of far greater value than pictures. Words were serious because they were a passport to a serious (trans: better) adult life. Particularly words in English, those could get you anywhere you wanted to go. Post colonialism at its best
Words are useful of course, you can use them anytime, anywhere, they are totally not dependent on referents. So in a sense you can live through words, a significant section of your reality can be mediated by words. i suspect thats where my affinity for genres like science fiction and fantasy comes from. think of it: an internally consistent universe that is entirely separate from your lived reality. It exists too, vivid and textured and REAL. Ursula Le Guin is right. you cant trust writers:)
Pictures, well pictures are trickier. Pictures are captures rather than weaves (i'm not talking about Vouge or Mens' Health, clearly those exist in the multiple zones between fantasy and reality). So pictures will tell you something about the world as it exists, but not enough, not complete, not whole.
So theyre different. And this is the crux of the problem:
If youve trafficed in words most of your life, how do you move to picture as text
clearly, if it is words that is your primary sign system, youre going to constantly try and translate the pictures to words (much much easier said than done)
See the problem is that the components of pictures are different from the components of words. So i can mostly translate with ease enough from english to bengali and the other way, but i cant look at a picture of a market place in Meerut and 'put it in words' in any satisfactory manner.
Now you can tell me thats not how you do visual analysis, and youre right of course. Its just habit. So i have what may be called pictorial diarrhoea: pictures pass through whole (hehe sorry, its the most vivid image i could access)
My mind refuses to treat them as units, it constantly seeks the sub units that knit together to make sense of the whole. Well and good, true, but the problem is that my mind seeks to understand these sub units as WORDS. which they are not, whichever way you look at it. So i can't do visual analysis because apparently pictures speak a language i'm not used to understanding.
Dammit, if you can translate words to pictures in your head, WHY is it so difficult to translate pictures to words???
Well, I can't/ maybe you can, if you can, please tell me how its done, and i'll stop banging my head against the keyboard.
And thats the current problem.
see you later
Words are useful of course, you can use them anytime, anywhere, they are totally not dependent on referents. So in a sense you can live through words, a significant section of your reality can be mediated by words. i suspect thats where my affinity for genres like science fiction and fantasy comes from. think of it: an internally consistent universe that is entirely separate from your lived reality. It exists too, vivid and textured and REAL. Ursula Le Guin is right. you cant trust writers:)
Pictures, well pictures are trickier. Pictures are captures rather than weaves (i'm not talking about Vouge or Mens' Health, clearly those exist in the multiple zones between fantasy and reality). So pictures will tell you something about the world as it exists, but not enough, not complete, not whole.
So theyre different. And this is the crux of the problem:
If youve trafficed in words most of your life, how do you move to picture as text
clearly, if it is words that is your primary sign system, youre going to constantly try and translate the pictures to words (much much easier said than done)
See the problem is that the components of pictures are different from the components of words. So i can mostly translate with ease enough from english to bengali and the other way, but i cant look at a picture of a market place in Meerut and 'put it in words' in any satisfactory manner.
Now you can tell me thats not how you do visual analysis, and youre right of course. Its just habit. So i have what may be called pictorial diarrhoea: pictures pass through whole (hehe sorry, its the most vivid image i could access)
My mind refuses to treat them as units, it constantly seeks the sub units that knit together to make sense of the whole. Well and good, true, but the problem is that my mind seeks to understand these sub units as WORDS. which they are not, whichever way you look at it. So i can't do visual analysis because apparently pictures speak a language i'm not used to understanding.
Dammit, if you can translate words to pictures in your head, WHY is it so difficult to translate pictures to words???
Well, I can't/ maybe you can, if you can, please tell me how its done, and i'll stop banging my head against the keyboard.
And thats the current problem.
see you later
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
