Days 14-16: “Poohnaye!” said the obnoxious vocalist.
This chapter comes to a close. We haven’t figured out how we’re taking to the sands of Goa but it still is a hope. Beer and crab, I sincerely chant.
There is this horrid rehashing of Mile Sur Hamara on television all day today. I might hurt a few patriotic flutters with this sort of comment but God, that song!
India is a republic, 60 years and counting. I’m not sure what that means. One thing though, a news channel, Headlines Today, I believe, in all it’s free world might, went nuts over how the day’s parade wasn’t flashy enough and how it was time for the privatization of the day’s events. Hah. I don’t even know why this warrants any thought. Also, we officially hate fog. We’re most likely to blame the capital’s fog on Hockey officials. Excellent.
Pune has been an essay in laze. The only thing of some significance is I might move from Vodka to Gin for a bit. Time to stay off the wrath of Romanov. Egad.
Sachin runs the bongs ragged in two tests. Good to see.
Caught Rocket Singh. Barring the argument that it’s a tad long, I think it’s probably one of the movies of the year. Simple. Not entirely obvious in it’s script or execution. It is an underdog story like any other, ashes (at the outset) to ashes (at a strategically poised moment – 20min from the close) and then FEEHNIXXX!
Burn evil corporate person/opposition coach/horrid aunt. But it does have character. Shimit Amin scores again.
Also Delhi 6 got a nomination for Best Music at the Filmfare awards. Finally! Probably end up losing to Kaminey at the end but Rahman – fight on man!
Roger Wilco. Over and out.
Tuesday, January 26, 2010
Saturday, January 23, 2010
The Last Indian Holiday III
Days 11-13: Pune
The world is in pixels. Lights that weave in and out, sourcing from the hours of sleeplessness and faltering adrenaline.
That’s poetry for “we got totally sorted, man”.
Which we did. This time around there isn’t any such need to dwell in constant inebriation. But we do our bit. That and music. All kinds. Pune isn’t any different from before.
There’s the urge to be smack in the middle of sound. Loud sound. Louder by night.
I catch my first glimpse of Here Be Monsters in a tiny room on a hill.
I get to play along side the next day. It’s good to be back.
There’s endless discussion on all things mundane and some, not. I sometimes feel like college has been left behind, for good. It’s suddenly all in the past. Not necessarily the people, but the mornings and what we look forward to.
More signals of what lies ahead.
You jump up and down, rapid, get the blood flowing, hit the ground, the last time, running. Soon.
We catch Veer. Haha. It’s unimaginably horrid. Salman Khan is an enigma and most certainly, a bit of a clown. Anil Sharma, I find, made the crapfest, Gadar too. Well, it’s been a decade, I think. He hasn’t gotten any better.
Don’t watch it. It’s a long road to nothing. But it’s worth a few laughs.
The world is in pixels. Lights that weave in and out, sourcing from the hours of sleeplessness and faltering adrenaline.
That’s poetry for “we got totally sorted, man”.
Which we did. This time around there isn’t any such need to dwell in constant inebriation. But we do our bit. That and music. All kinds. Pune isn’t any different from before.
There’s the urge to be smack in the middle of sound. Loud sound. Louder by night.
I catch my first glimpse of Here Be Monsters in a tiny room on a hill.
I get to play along side the next day. It’s good to be back.
There’s endless discussion on all things mundane and some, not. I sometimes feel like college has been left behind, for good. It’s suddenly all in the past. Not necessarily the people, but the mornings and what we look forward to.
More signals of what lies ahead.
You jump up and down, rapid, get the blood flowing, hit the ground, the last time, running. Soon.
We catch Veer. Haha. It’s unimaginably horrid. Salman Khan is an enigma and most certainly, a bit of a clown. Anil Sharma, I find, made the crapfest, Gadar too. Well, it’s been a decade, I think. He hasn’t gotten any better.
Don’t watch it. It’s a long road to nothing. But it’s worth a few laughs.
Tuesday, January 19, 2010
The Last Indian Holiday II
Day 6: The Wrestler.
So I finally watched The Wrestler last night. Darren Aronofsky’s last offering, The Fountain, was a personal favourite. Someone I know, with reference to Aronofsky’s style, claimed he sometimes seems to smart for the viewer. Be that as it may, he has a style, especially on The Wrestler, that illuminates the darker, more complicated aspect of common emotions. He explores scenes of love, lust and ambition in a labyrinth of a screenplay.
Personally, I thought the first two parts of the Rocky series made for really great movies. While the acting prowess of Stallone is not one to be questioned, but instead, joyously experienced, there was undoubtedly a tight edit on both movies, and a phenomenal story that spread over two movies pioneering a slew of underdog stories thereafter. Stallone and Balboa slid recklessly after that, wrinkles, weak punches and a tiring coach in tow.
Rocky Balboa, the last of the lot, is a story of the veteran Balboa coming back for an exhibition fight against the current day champion urged by a cockamamie video-game simulation pretence. The movie is all over the place and not really worth the mention but the reason I bring it up is The Wrestler does all of that and more, right.
Aronofsky portrays Randy “The Ram” Robinson, a veteran pro-wrestler who continues to fight way past his hay day, bleeding over barbed wire and rigged TLC battles in the ring. The view is suddenly very real. Unlike anything you’ve seen before on a wrestling front. There are no predispositions of realistic fighting in a ring or the larger than life impression of wrestlers. It always was a bit of a sham. And Aronofsky doesn’t bolt away from this. In fact, this is the colourful glamorous reality he uses to contrast the real life of Robinson.
Mickey Rourke’s limited expression through most of the movie may be misconstrued as a weak performance initially, almost Stallonesque. But it builds up, slow and raw. Then, a muscle twitch and rogue tear later, and suddenly it’s Oscar worthy. The second half of the movie is heavier, Marisa Tomei and Evan Rachel Wood augmenting the struggle.
The whole movie is 80’s. The colours, the music, the style; the wrestler, even. It’s quite brilliant, especially when Robinson trashes Kurt Cobaine.
Day 8 – Day 9: Cusp.
So watched India make an arse of themselves against Bangladesh today. A twang of arrogance coupled with our inadequacies in trying conditions and we come all the way back to Sachin. Sehwag should probably learn to tone down the Delhi insolence. Yuvraj should kill the paunch. And Laxman should bow out with whatever little grace remains. (Trust he’ll score a tedious 60 odd in the next innings, face-saving and most irrelevant.)
I leave Hyderabad today. And I think there are early signs of the massive trip that lies ahead of me. Germany. It sinks in that I’m leaving a lot behind and I’m not going to be seeing a lot of people for a pretty long time. Weighs you down a little.
10 days of chai, gupshup, great food and lots of sleep, I pack up for Pune.
Day 10: London, London, London…Contortion!
Took a 12-hour bus ride to Pune. If I wasn’t carrying a deceptively heavy bag of my equipment and one of those bags that are too small to throw into a cargo hold and too large to throw under the seat, I’d have done okay. But that unusually large sentence, as you may have already deduced, lays the foundation for a whiny follow-up.
I found myself in a compromising position, almost like a tryst with a gynae saddle. Shooting pains in my thighs through half that journey didn’t help my metaphor.
I stepped off that bus, limp, barely wondering why my groin proved so stiff.
I’ve realized, more recently, that my answers to the often posed “Where are you from?” query are misplaced and, more significantly, meaningless. Neither the decade in Dubai, nor birth in Bangalore, speak for much today. A sense of belonging is miniscule when you’ve lived in 4 cities in 20 years. I think Pune comes closest to a city that I belong in.
Someday I wish to be in a city, belong to a city, where the blind, fresh off the boat, ask me, the one-eyed king, where the closest pint of beer may be obtained.
So I finally watched The Wrestler last night. Darren Aronofsky’s last offering, The Fountain, was a personal favourite. Someone I know, with reference to Aronofsky’s style, claimed he sometimes seems to smart for the viewer. Be that as it may, he has a style, especially on The Wrestler, that illuminates the darker, more complicated aspect of common emotions. He explores scenes of love, lust and ambition in a labyrinth of a screenplay.
Personally, I thought the first two parts of the Rocky series made for really great movies. While the acting prowess of Stallone is not one to be questioned, but instead, joyously experienced, there was undoubtedly a tight edit on both movies, and a phenomenal story that spread over two movies pioneering a slew of underdog stories thereafter. Stallone and Balboa slid recklessly after that, wrinkles, weak punches and a tiring coach in tow.
Rocky Balboa, the last of the lot, is a story of the veteran Balboa coming back for an exhibition fight against the current day champion urged by a cockamamie video-game simulation pretence. The movie is all over the place and not really worth the mention but the reason I bring it up is The Wrestler does all of that and more, right.
Aronofsky portrays Randy “The Ram” Robinson, a veteran pro-wrestler who continues to fight way past his hay day, bleeding over barbed wire and rigged TLC battles in the ring. The view is suddenly very real. Unlike anything you’ve seen before on a wrestling front. There are no predispositions of realistic fighting in a ring or the larger than life impression of wrestlers. It always was a bit of a sham. And Aronofsky doesn’t bolt away from this. In fact, this is the colourful glamorous reality he uses to contrast the real life of Robinson.
Mickey Rourke’s limited expression through most of the movie may be misconstrued as a weak performance initially, almost Stallonesque. But it builds up, slow and raw. Then, a muscle twitch and rogue tear later, and suddenly it’s Oscar worthy. The second half of the movie is heavier, Marisa Tomei and Evan Rachel Wood augmenting the struggle.
The whole movie is 80’s. The colours, the music, the style; the wrestler, even. It’s quite brilliant, especially when Robinson trashes Kurt Cobaine.
Day 8 – Day 9: Cusp.
So watched India make an arse of themselves against Bangladesh today. A twang of arrogance coupled with our inadequacies in trying conditions and we come all the way back to Sachin. Sehwag should probably learn to tone down the Delhi insolence. Yuvraj should kill the paunch. And Laxman should bow out with whatever little grace remains. (Trust he’ll score a tedious 60 odd in the next innings, face-saving and most irrelevant.)
I leave Hyderabad today. And I think there are early signs of the massive trip that lies ahead of me. Germany. It sinks in that I’m leaving a lot behind and I’m not going to be seeing a lot of people for a pretty long time. Weighs you down a little.
10 days of chai, gupshup, great food and lots of sleep, I pack up for Pune.
Day 10: London, London, London…Contortion!
Took a 12-hour bus ride to Pune. If I wasn’t carrying a deceptively heavy bag of my equipment and one of those bags that are too small to throw into a cargo hold and too large to throw under the seat, I’d have done okay. But that unusually large sentence, as you may have already deduced, lays the foundation for a whiny follow-up.
I found myself in a compromising position, almost like a tryst with a gynae saddle. Shooting pains in my thighs through half that journey didn’t help my metaphor.
I stepped off that bus, limp, barely wondering why my groin proved so stiff.
I’ve realized, more recently, that my answers to the often posed “Where are you from?” query are misplaced and, more significantly, meaningless. Neither the decade in Dubai, nor birth in Bangalore, speak for much today. A sense of belonging is miniscule when you’ve lived in 4 cities in 20 years. I think Pune comes closest to a city that I belong in.
Someday I wish to be in a city, belong to a city, where the blind, fresh off the boat, ask me, the one-eyed king, where the closest pint of beer may be obtained.
Friday, January 15, 2010
The Last Indian Holiday I
With the German authorities nearing a consensus on the validity of my course and whether to pay heed to my solemn belief in my career choice, I’ve decided to take wind of the inevitable and use the time to run amok among the unsuspecting residents of Andhra Pradesh and Maharashtra.
Day 1: Chapatis and something that was supposed to be Mutter Paneer. Now I know, why the mutter comes before the paneer.
Let me make it clear at the outset that I value myself as a dimwit. Case in point, I misread the timings on my train ticket to Kacheguda on D-Day. It doesn’t help that when I am in a dark-comedic situation, I’m always seeing it from a third person perspective and sniggering to myself.
So there I am running with a bag in hand, laptop and camera riding in my backpack, chasing down the now increasingly large drive way from H-Block to the final gate where I’m met by the power of circumstance when pipped against a most unethical proposal.
The cost of speed
250 rupees. Yep, that’s it. That’s how much it costs to get across Bangalore town through difficult traffic in record time. Off our trustworthy meters, it might land us a 170 rupee setback but that won’t count today. No it won’t. Today two autos, one piddle, and a magnificient 200cc LPG chariot will ride its dimwitted patron through narrow gullies, clogged junctions and a mighty final obstacle – a medium size hillock that clambers onto platform number 2 at Bangalore Cantonment Station. The steed smiles and queries, “Is it time yet?”
Adrenaline got me this far.
Day 3: Telangana and Towelhead
Hyderabad holidays have historically reverted back to food and sleep. And this time, it was no different. It takes 7 days in the temple of food to weigh yourself down a kilogram and collapse into a fit of laze. I blame the seemingly limitless culinary talent of my aunt.
We speak about the Telangana uprising extensively today. I’ve been thrown some insight on the issue by my uncle whose voracious habits of reading have led him to become among my favourite conversationalists.
Apparently post-independence there existed a Telangana state. One that, based on some political agreement with a myriad of conditions with regard to land ownership and government occupations, was merged with the Andhra state in the mid 50s. The agreement was most conveniently brushed aside in the late 90s by CM Chandrababu Naidu on his path to capitalistic supremacy, claim the Telangana activists. This disregard sent the lesser-developed Telangana brethren into a path to oblivion. The uprising now has probably been boiling for decades. While it seems like the Telangana has no ill will towards the migrants from other states there is a genuine distaste for their Andhra neighbours and their indifference. And some might argue it isn’t misplaced.
Be that as it may, KCR seems no closer to ending his battle with the centre. I got to hand it to him though. He braves the almost feverish amount of rumours that surround his reign from alcoholism to bribery. He is a celebrity.
Towelhead
I catch a viewing of Towelhead before I crash for the night. A coming of age story of a half-Lebanese, half-American teen from a broken home, Towelhead is vivid in its opinions and its sadness.
A clash of two distinct societies, both possessing an array of twisted ideals coupled with a few perks that the director doesn’t necessarily wish to focus on.
Jazeera, the protagonist, is portrayed as an above average confused teenager caught between the seemingly greener banks of Western culture and the patriarchal tendencies of her Lebanese roots. As the movie wears on, both cultures objectify her in different ways. Questions of sexuality and sexual inclinations are thrown up in the air for everyone to see leaving Jazeera increasingly disoriented.
The otherwise perky Aaron Eckhart is pretty great in the dark role of a paedophile/racist army reservist. A variety of disconcerting qualities to handle in about two hours of cinema. Toni Collette is welcoming as a voice of sanity and equality. And Summer Bishil reminds me of the kid in Malena.
The two movies have a lot in common in their bluntness and both are worth the watch. While not for the fainthearted, I maintain that teenagers should probably grab a watch.
I had only one query after watching Towelhead. What the hell are American kids doing, having sex at 14? Am I missing something? Found it a little strange that almost nothing was made of the fact, from the director’s perspective, that Jazeera was really big on having sex with an oddly older looking classmate. Masturbation is one thing, but c’mon?! A few thousand miles is all it takes and we are in a different world.
Day 5: Religiosity and tea.
There is a standing instruction for infinite tea consumption in this household. I’m a coffee person through and through, but I think it’s the weather or something, you can’t hold yourself back.
Annually, the Sabrimala Aiyappa temple on the border of Kerala and Tamil Nadu sees a surge of over 5,000,000 visitors this time of year. The pull that this deity has on a predominantly male following, (The temple disallows women who are post-puberty, pre-menopause; the pretext being the history of said deity), is astronomical.
I’ve been to the Tirupati temple, a few years ago, and the masses that gather on a fairly average day, some regulars in an hour-long queue daily, are unimaginable.
But I watch, on TV, as news cameras scan the crowd of thousands that await a crucial moment in the season’s events – the glowing of a single light, or jyoti, at a specific point in the hills that shadow the temple. The energy that surrounds first timers and veterans alike, in what is not a mere temple visit but a journey, more than a pilgrimage, but a superior coming of age, an event like no other in the lives of these followers – it’s frenetic. The viewing of a single flame-like light in the dark twilight distance is an epiphany for some – they are suddenly in the presence of God.
I’m not overtly religious and I wouldn’t necessarily trek the hills of Sabrimala to view the deity, or the controversial light, on my own accord any time soon but what’s worthy of understanding and some reflection is the passion and deep sense of connection and devotion millions of men, women and children have to pursue an arduous journey to view a single idol, year after year.
I forgot to mention I saw a couple more movies in the past couple of days. In The Loop, a political satire, is worth a watch. It’s got a great couple of laughs. Makes the western political world look like a farce – suits us, in the critical ‘third world’, just fine.
Crossing Over, starring Harrison Ford, Ashley Judd, Ray Liotta, Jim Sturgess and the now ubiquitous Summer Bishil, is a fair watch. It attempts to bring out the experiences of migrants and hopefuls in post 9/11 America, an assortment of characters, some cliché, used adequately to bring out the director’s point. It’s a good HBO movie, not much more.
Also watched Avatar again. On a poor pirated copy. That’s beside the point. Kind of makes you focus on the story a little more though, minus the 3D glasses and the crazy CGI. And consensus – there isn’t one worth the mention. Pocahontas meets Jim Cameron’s wild visual imagination and wham! I sense the movie worked awkwardly in India with a lot of Bollywood fans lapping it up courtesy the hilariously predictable storyline, and a lot of Hollywood couch critics apprehensively quoting the computer-generated positives. Oh well, they’re probably going to grab a couple of awards for the technical side of things. I’d be disappointed if the commercial success reflects on the Academy’s bigger awards.
That's all for now. Watch this space. And other cool marketing lingo.
Day 1: Chapatis and something that was supposed to be Mutter Paneer. Now I know, why the mutter comes before the paneer.
Let me make it clear at the outset that I value myself as a dimwit. Case in point, I misread the timings on my train ticket to Kacheguda on D-Day. It doesn’t help that when I am in a dark-comedic situation, I’m always seeing it from a third person perspective and sniggering to myself.
So there I am running with a bag in hand, laptop and camera riding in my backpack, chasing down the now increasingly large drive way from H-Block to the final gate where I’m met by the power of circumstance when pipped against a most unethical proposal.
The cost of speed
250 rupees. Yep, that’s it. That’s how much it costs to get across Bangalore town through difficult traffic in record time. Off our trustworthy meters, it might land us a 170 rupee setback but that won’t count today. No it won’t. Today two autos, one piddle, and a magnificient 200cc LPG chariot will ride its dimwitted patron through narrow gullies, clogged junctions and a mighty final obstacle – a medium size hillock that clambers onto platform number 2 at Bangalore Cantonment Station. The steed smiles and queries, “Is it time yet?”
Adrenaline got me this far.
Day 3: Telangana and Towelhead
Hyderabad holidays have historically reverted back to food and sleep. And this time, it was no different. It takes 7 days in the temple of food to weigh yourself down a kilogram and collapse into a fit of laze. I blame the seemingly limitless culinary talent of my aunt.
We speak about the Telangana uprising extensively today. I’ve been thrown some insight on the issue by my uncle whose voracious habits of reading have led him to become among my favourite conversationalists.
Apparently post-independence there existed a Telangana state. One that, based on some political agreement with a myriad of conditions with regard to land ownership and government occupations, was merged with the Andhra state in the mid 50s. The agreement was most conveniently brushed aside in the late 90s by CM Chandrababu Naidu on his path to capitalistic supremacy, claim the Telangana activists. This disregard sent the lesser-developed Telangana brethren into a path to oblivion. The uprising now has probably been boiling for decades. While it seems like the Telangana has no ill will towards the migrants from other states there is a genuine distaste for their Andhra neighbours and their indifference. And some might argue it isn’t misplaced.
Be that as it may, KCR seems no closer to ending his battle with the centre. I got to hand it to him though. He braves the almost feverish amount of rumours that surround his reign from alcoholism to bribery. He is a celebrity.
Towelhead
I catch a viewing of Towelhead before I crash for the night. A coming of age story of a half-Lebanese, half-American teen from a broken home, Towelhead is vivid in its opinions and its sadness.
A clash of two distinct societies, both possessing an array of twisted ideals coupled with a few perks that the director doesn’t necessarily wish to focus on.
Jazeera, the protagonist, is portrayed as an above average confused teenager caught between the seemingly greener banks of Western culture and the patriarchal tendencies of her Lebanese roots. As the movie wears on, both cultures objectify her in different ways. Questions of sexuality and sexual inclinations are thrown up in the air for everyone to see leaving Jazeera increasingly disoriented.
The otherwise perky Aaron Eckhart is pretty great in the dark role of a paedophile/racist army reservist. A variety of disconcerting qualities to handle in about two hours of cinema. Toni Collette is welcoming as a voice of sanity and equality. And Summer Bishil reminds me of the kid in Malena.
The two movies have a lot in common in their bluntness and both are worth the watch. While not for the fainthearted, I maintain that teenagers should probably grab a watch.
I had only one query after watching Towelhead. What the hell are American kids doing, having sex at 14? Am I missing something? Found it a little strange that almost nothing was made of the fact, from the director’s perspective, that Jazeera was really big on having sex with an oddly older looking classmate. Masturbation is one thing, but c’mon?! A few thousand miles is all it takes and we are in a different world.
Day 5: Religiosity and tea.
There is a standing instruction for infinite tea consumption in this household. I’m a coffee person through and through, but I think it’s the weather or something, you can’t hold yourself back.
Annually, the Sabrimala Aiyappa temple on the border of Kerala and Tamil Nadu sees a surge of over 5,000,000 visitors this time of year. The pull that this deity has on a predominantly male following, (The temple disallows women who are post-puberty, pre-menopause; the pretext being the history of said deity), is astronomical.
I’ve been to the Tirupati temple, a few years ago, and the masses that gather on a fairly average day, some regulars in an hour-long queue daily, are unimaginable.
But I watch, on TV, as news cameras scan the crowd of thousands that await a crucial moment in the season’s events – the glowing of a single light, or jyoti, at a specific point in the hills that shadow the temple. The energy that surrounds first timers and veterans alike, in what is not a mere temple visit but a journey, more than a pilgrimage, but a superior coming of age, an event like no other in the lives of these followers – it’s frenetic. The viewing of a single flame-like light in the dark twilight distance is an epiphany for some – they are suddenly in the presence of God.
I’m not overtly religious and I wouldn’t necessarily trek the hills of Sabrimala to view the deity, or the controversial light, on my own accord any time soon but what’s worthy of understanding and some reflection is the passion and deep sense of connection and devotion millions of men, women and children have to pursue an arduous journey to view a single idol, year after year.
I forgot to mention I saw a couple more movies in the past couple of days. In The Loop, a political satire, is worth a watch. It’s got a great couple of laughs. Makes the western political world look like a farce – suits us, in the critical ‘third world’, just fine.
Crossing Over, starring Harrison Ford, Ashley Judd, Ray Liotta, Jim Sturgess and the now ubiquitous Summer Bishil, is a fair watch. It attempts to bring out the experiences of migrants and hopefuls in post 9/11 America, an assortment of characters, some cliché, used adequately to bring out the director’s point. It’s a good HBO movie, not much more.
Also watched Avatar again. On a poor pirated copy. That’s beside the point. Kind of makes you focus on the story a little more though, minus the 3D glasses and the crazy CGI. And consensus – there isn’t one worth the mention. Pocahontas meets Jim Cameron’s wild visual imagination and wham! I sense the movie worked awkwardly in India with a lot of Bollywood fans lapping it up courtesy the hilariously predictable storyline, and a lot of Hollywood couch critics apprehensively quoting the computer-generated positives. Oh well, they’re probably going to grab a couple of awards for the technical side of things. I’d be disappointed if the commercial success reflects on the Academy’s bigger awards.
That's all for now. Watch this space. And other cool marketing lingo.
Thursday, January 7, 2010
The songs we hear.
Rolling Stone magazine can churn up 25 songs every year, recorded that year, in a list of 25 of that year we probably should have heard but didn't because no one should like Miley Cyrus. Or the Jonas Brothers.
Or the Arctic Monkeys.
Oh no he didn't?!
It's brutal, these lists. And I'm never up-to-date enough for them.
It's taken me 69 years since it was first recorded to come across Worried Life Blues, in its 39th cover version. I doubt I ever intend on crossing the lines of "Party in the USA" by Miley Cyrus, (the #4 song in the list this year).
So, here goes, the songs I heard in 2009.
1. Phish - Character Zero
Repeat a verse and a chorus twice; pump up the volume and tell your vocalist to cry himself after an Irish priest, or I hear, possibly, a Hebrew king.
They described it as cathartic. True dat!
2. Regina Spektor - One More Time With Feeling
I don't really get Regina Spektor. Or Bjork. From what I hear, it might make me a lesser person. But the lady belts her heart out on this track and I fear a monkey would be moved to tears.
She strains a "Hold on" at the start of the chorus that longs for you to yell out with her. And then there is a cold, matter-of-factness on "this is why we fight".
Listen to her.
(There's a kid yelling a Tarzan emulation near my window - what is going on?).
3. B.B.King and Eric Clapton - Worried Life Blues
So 2009 signalled a serious entry into the blues for me. Until now, its been its and bits, but suddenly the sound of Willie Dixon crooning on Study War No More, or Lil' Walter on My Babe, or even Robert Plant on Traveling Riverside Blues makes me kick myself a little for staying away from it for so long.
I got listening to B.B.King towards the latter part of the year. And then heard this track on the 2000 collaboration, Riding With The King. Clapton sounds older and wiser, and B.B. King sounds like a horn in the foggy distance and then suddenly, like everything the blues is supposed to be.
I am certain none can pull off "Oh Lordy lord" like they can.
4. Piers Faccini - A Storm Is Going To Come
Grey's Anatomy grows on you. Its a horrible mushy soppy soap and I love it. One thing it does bring out, every now and then, in between songs by high-pitched electrowomen, is a solid inclusion on their soundtrack.
Faccini's A Storm Is Going To Come popped up in Season 5 of the show in an episode climax and told T.R.Knight to put a sock in the emotion. I don't think the producers intended on that.
A must listen on this list. The rest of the album is worth a listen too.
5. Amit Trivedi - Saali Khushi (from Dev D)
I didn't care much for Anurag Kashyap and Dev D. Abhay Deol got me on Oye Lucky, Lucky Oye but not while he tried to pull off Vodka and coke. Waddup man!?
Dev D should most certainly be remembered for Amit Trivedi's OST. He meanders through Punjabi folk, electropop, jazz, rock and even bandmasters and does it well for the most part. Some stellar tracks on the album though; most memorable, Pardesi and Saali Khushi. Have a listen.
6. The Roots feat. Cody ChestnuTT - Seed 2.0
That is one of THE coolest guitar riffs I've heard. Got me listening to a lot more rap than I ever would have.
And he's got two T's in ChestnuTT. Hah!
Oh wait. Three! Brilliant.
7. A.R. Rahman feat. Blaaze, Benny Dayal and Vivinenne Pocha - Delhi 6 (from Delhi 6)
The way A.R. Rahman often avoided questions and press conferences on his Oscar winning work on the Slumdog Millionaire OST was testament to a rather mediocre year of music making for him. He sealed with the rehashed Jai Ho. Doh! for the Pussycat Dolls.
There was one bright star though, this album. It was a brand new day in music production in Indian cinema. Amit Trivedi (see #5) suggested in an interview that Jai Ho was nowhere close to the prowess Rahman showed on this OST. Truth. Have a listen, wherever you are sitting.
8. Foo Fighters - Skin and Bones
Heard this song off the DVD of the acoustic tour of the same name. Grohl, on the opening track, Razor, rocks the f*ck out of it. And the whole show is pretty brilliant from there on.
This song, though, has a hook. And that closing riff sounds like a Goan band should play it. With tambourines. And crab masala. Awesome.
That's it. I've missed a couple out. I got 'em goldfish skills. Who cares.
Next time around, movies.
Or the Arctic Monkeys.
Oh no he didn't?!
It's brutal, these lists. And I'm never up-to-date enough for them.
It's taken me 69 years since it was first recorded to come across Worried Life Blues, in its 39th cover version. I doubt I ever intend on crossing the lines of "Party in the USA" by Miley Cyrus, (the #4 song in the list this year).
So, here goes, the songs I heard in 2009.
1. Phish - Character Zero
Repeat a verse and a chorus twice; pump up the volume and tell your vocalist to cry himself after an Irish priest, or I hear, possibly, a Hebrew king.
They described it as cathartic. True dat!
2. Regina Spektor - One More Time With Feeling
I don't really get Regina Spektor. Or Bjork. From what I hear, it might make me a lesser person. But the lady belts her heart out on this track and I fear a monkey would be moved to tears.
She strains a "Hold on" at the start of the chorus that longs for you to yell out with her. And then there is a cold, matter-of-factness on "this is why we fight".
Listen to her.
(There's a kid yelling a Tarzan emulation near my window - what is going on?).
3. B.B.King and Eric Clapton - Worried Life Blues
So 2009 signalled a serious entry into the blues for me. Until now, its been its and bits, but suddenly the sound of Willie Dixon crooning on Study War No More, or Lil' Walter on My Babe, or even Robert Plant on Traveling Riverside Blues makes me kick myself a little for staying away from it for so long.
I got listening to B.B.King towards the latter part of the year. And then heard this track on the 2000 collaboration, Riding With The King. Clapton sounds older and wiser, and B.B. King sounds like a horn in the foggy distance and then suddenly, like everything the blues is supposed to be.
I am certain none can pull off "Oh Lordy lord" like they can.
4. Piers Faccini - A Storm Is Going To Come
Grey's Anatomy grows on you. Its a horrible mushy soppy soap and I love it. One thing it does bring out, every now and then, in between songs by high-pitched electrowomen, is a solid inclusion on their soundtrack.
Faccini's A Storm Is Going To Come popped up in Season 5 of the show in an episode climax and told T.R.Knight to put a sock in the emotion. I don't think the producers intended on that.
A must listen on this list. The rest of the album is worth a listen too.
5. Amit Trivedi - Saali Khushi (from Dev D)
I didn't care much for Anurag Kashyap and Dev D. Abhay Deol got me on Oye Lucky, Lucky Oye but not while he tried to pull off Vodka and coke. Waddup man!?
Dev D should most certainly be remembered for Amit Trivedi's OST. He meanders through Punjabi folk, electropop, jazz, rock and even bandmasters and does it well for the most part. Some stellar tracks on the album though; most memorable, Pardesi and Saali Khushi. Have a listen.
6. The Roots feat. Cody ChestnuTT - Seed 2.0
That is one of THE coolest guitar riffs I've heard. Got me listening to a lot more rap than I ever would have.
And he's got two T's in ChestnuTT. Hah!
Oh wait. Three! Brilliant.
7. A.R. Rahman feat. Blaaze, Benny Dayal and Vivinenne Pocha - Delhi 6 (from Delhi 6)
The way A.R. Rahman often avoided questions and press conferences on his Oscar winning work on the Slumdog Millionaire OST was testament to a rather mediocre year of music making for him. He sealed with the rehashed Jai Ho. Doh! for the Pussycat Dolls.
There was one bright star though, this album. It was a brand new day in music production in Indian cinema. Amit Trivedi (see #5) suggested in an interview that Jai Ho was nowhere close to the prowess Rahman showed on this OST. Truth. Have a listen, wherever you are sitting.
8. Foo Fighters - Skin and Bones
Heard this song off the DVD of the acoustic tour of the same name. Grohl, on the opening track, Razor, rocks the f*ck out of it. And the whole show is pretty brilliant from there on.
This song, though, has a hook. And that closing riff sounds like a Goan band should play it. With tambourines. And crab masala. Awesome.
That's it. I've missed a couple out. I got 'em goldfish skills. Who cares.
Next time around, movies.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)