As a fairly meaty head on the 1996 Christ College totem pole, I had the good fortune to be father-in-law figure to a bunch of people infinitely more promising and talented than my not-so-humble self. Among the other cultural pursuits of our time (anathema, always, to our saffron-tinted moral police), we grew up admiring a host of homegrown bands — Crimson Storm, Gangamma’s Pleasure, Vulcan Haze, War Den and, from an amused distance, Millennium. Of the great bands on the assembly line at that time, perhaps the only intact survivors are Thermal And A Quarter and Galeej Gurus.
There was another band I admired immensely. It was young, brash, exotic, intelligent, fast and full of a dangerous vitality that was both exhilarating and terrifying. And best of all, its members were from Christ College, following in the footsteps of TAAQ and the Gurus.
Zebediah Plush - hair, vim, verve anda trickle of oomph
I lived far removed from the action, in Mumbai, for most of Bangalore’s big rock season between 2001 and 2005. Ergo, I missed out (in person) on the seminal moments in Bangalore’s rock history — Thermal And A Quarter’s Jupiter Cafe (2002) and Plan B (2004) being the only milestones in which I had played a hand. But the boys (and girl) of Zebediah Plush visited Mumbai one night for a performance at a pub in Powai.
A local Mumbai band, a crowd favourite judging by the applause they got, had just warmed the stage. There was hardly any elbow room in there by the time Plush went up and I began to get a little nervous, hoping that the crowd would stay on. Frankly, I was there to cheer my home band in an indulgent avuncular fashion, and not because I expected much of them.
Hair guitar in three flavours - Jitu, Anand and Hari
But what sheer joy it was to watch them! In the limelight, these snarky kids seemed to sprout an otherworldly persona — complete with vim, verve, pizazz and hair. They adrenalized with their brand of intelligent, sophisticated music and a performance so riveting that soon, nearly everyone in that partisan Mumbai metal crowd had been won over.
Just when Bangalore, and other parts of the world that had earned a chance to experience them, had grown immensely fond of this lovable brat pack, Zebediah Plush, like those that marry too young, followed its destiny to disband, but sans acrimony or bad blood. After bringing out one studio album, Afterlaughs (2005), the members of Plush decided it was time to go their separate ways — to university, into careers, and perhaps even to explore oblivion. But their way of going away was not to peter out but to explode, supernova-esque, in one last gasp of glory.
Andy - Unforgettable Plush bassist
On June 30, 2005, Plush invited its fans to a concert alongside Thermal And A Quarter at Alliance Francaise de Bangalore. It was dubbed — with characteristic Plush tongue-in-cheekness — The Last Laugh. And there, in its own tumultuous way, Zebediah Plush announced the end of a dream chase.
Another of Bangalore’s infamous history-makers had walked into a sunset of its own making. And through the years, despite MySpace and Last.fm, Plush’s music has been found and lost and lost again in our great cyber archive.
Arfaaz - singing drummer
Zebediah Plush were:
Arfaaz Kagalwala – Drums, vocals
Anand Varghese – Guitars, vocals
Avijit Michael – Keyboards
Anindita Gupta – Bass
Hari Adivarekar – Vocals
All pictures from Zebediah Plush’s Facebook page
If ever there is a social network whose deceptive simplicity bothers me, it is Craigslist. It seems to have terabytes of traffic, and a great deal going on — from real estate buying and selling (its original intended purpose) to blatant, brazen prostitution — minus any paint or gilt or trappings. No cool advertisements. No pimping of user-generated content (which is all it has), no add-on applications. No shit. No, wait, there’s lots of that. In fact, Craigslist seems to be a bloody dangerous place — it’s the darkest alley of the Internet where even the notion of online safety is an absolute dud.
What seems to bother most web-watchers (including the writer of this Wired article) is that the privately held Craigslist isn’t doing anything with its popularity or moving on the next generation of technology. Or whatever.
Craig Newmark, Craigslist’s founder, is no control freak. But he is a geek (In fact, the Wired article describes him as “public-spirited and mild-mannered, politically liberal and socially awkward”) — a geek of the kind that inherits the earth when all is done with.
Newmark has been working hard to extend the influence of his worldview. His public pronouncements have the delighted yet apologetic tone of a man who has stumbled on a secret hiding in plain sight and who finds it embarrassingly necessary to point out something that should long have been obvious. He seems to have discovered a new way to run a business. He suspects that it may be the right way to run the world.
But there is something endearing about the Internet’s last freedom fighter – one who stands for user anonymity like no one else does:
When he talks, he calls upon a repertoire of conversational gambits he has been collecting forever, and he has a selection of sound effects on his mobile phone, such as a cymbal crash, that he can trigger to make it clear he is joking. When people misunderstand him, he doesn’t get upset. “I’m the Forrest Gump of the Internet,” he says. He loves customer service. “I’ll only be doing this as long as I live,” he says. He taps his phone, triggering a ghostly whaaahahaha. “And after that, who knows?”
Because I could not stop for Death,
He kindly stopped for me;
The carriage held but just ourselves
And Immortality
- Emily Dickinson
The media fatigue that followed 26/11 made many of us turn away from television forever. I am one of those. Even the remotest trust I had vested in television has vanished. I don’t watch TV at all now, unless it’s hooked to a DVD player.
Television may be forgettable, but 26/11 isn’t. This video, forwarded to me by a friend, made me remember 26/11 all over again, without the voices of our favourite idiots in the box to tell us what to watch and which version to believe.
Take heart – this is crushing stuff.
I can’t stand journalists who don’t take notes. I can’t stand journalists who pretend to listen. And I hate them even more if they work for Mid-Day.
So, if you know this hack, put a stiletto in her back for me.
But first, the background.
On the evening of June 27, the wife and I watched Atul Kumar’s The Blue Mug at Ranga Shankara. While we thought it was entertaining on the whole, we wondered what the whole effing point was…
Childhood’s End? Or Happy North Indian Mammary Memories?
Or just haphazard, disjointed vignettes that entertain in a clunky Theatre of the Absurd way?
We’re not sure. We still talk about it. Because we’re not serious, anally retentive theatre critics but regular arty-farty people with long hair, pierced noses, jobs to do and a kid to bring up.
So, while we laughed our arses off at Ranvir Shorey’s excellent portrayal of the lunatic with no memory, and marvelled at Vinay Pathak’s ‘dance of the pervert’ with Sheeba Chadha, what we really saw was a series of cameos, well played but slightly threadbare.
And what really got my goat was the stage design. Okay, we know Ranga Shankara has a smallish stage, but dangling giant blackboards from the rafters right in front was not the smartest design – some of us in the corners couldn’t see what was happening on stage. So, like a blind man at the movies, I had to follow Rajat Kapoor with my ears when he chose to linger at the back.
But The Blue Mug was worth watching for Rs 200 a head. And thanks to the big names on the billboard, we sat in a packed house where at least two people in the row ahead of us were flatulent. I must tell the nice lady at the cafe not to serve samosas before the play starts.
Well, so we milled around with the other voyeurs after the play, hoping to see how the dramatis personae kept up without their makeup. And we did.
It’s sad, but despite Rajat Kapoor’s string of subsequent achievements, I always remember him for the paedophile that he played in Monsoon Wedding. Konkona Sen Sharma, the missus and I agreed, was a lot more personable in person than the extreme close-ups we’ve been used to seeing of her mug, blue or otherwise, most recently in Luck by Chance. Ranvir, I think, has a new camera. And will someone in the know tell us: Is Vinay Pathak gay or just a Bombaywallah with an incipient ponytail and a slick shoulder bag?
On our way out, we were stopped by a young woman in an autorickshaw (for a moment, my mind drifted back to an unnerving memory of being accosted by a nubile nocturnal professional on Juhu-Tara Link Road in Mumbai many years ago). It was safe to talk to this woman, we presumed, when she introduced herself as a journalist. She was in a desperate hurry to get some quotes, it seemed. Driving back, I told my wife that we were going to be horribly misquoted because the chick had no Dictaphone or suchlike recording device. Neither was she taking notes, besides our names and… ahem, our ages (she got them right for the most part).
In hindsight, it may have been safer to talk to a nocturnal professional.
Our names have since appeared in Mid-Day, linked to statements that we never uttered. The journalist quotes me as saying: “What was very encouraging was the actors gave each other space and the celebrities in the play did not swallow the rest. It was a display of healthy team spirit.”
Healthy team spirit?! What do you take me for – an HR manager?!
Balderdash!
What I said was that the play’s denouement was an attempted mindfuck. I can understand the reluctance of a journalist to bowdlerise a semi-expletive, but my hunch is that Ms Hack didn’t know what denouement meant, or how to spell it.
As for my wife, she was interviewed in my presence and I’m certain she said nothing of the sort. When I showed her this article she said: “This has to be some cosmic conspiracy, or a divine message that is incomprehensible!”
I’m relieved that Ms Tanu Kulkarni wasn’t quoting us as eyewitnesses to a rape or murder or something.
In Kodungallur and Latur and Dibrugarh, they don’t know of Van Halen or U2, Beyonce or Bobby McFerrin, Bob Dylan or John McLaughlin, John Denver or Kid Rock. Heck, they don’t even know the Beatles.
But they know Michael Jackson. And, as of this morning on this side of the world, they know he is dead.
It is the day we were afraid to wait for. It is the day we thought would never come. Or if it did, that it would go away without bothering us.
It is the day the music died.
It is the day the Internet almost died.
It is the day that has completely washed away the tears that are being wept for Farrah Fawcett.
Hacks have been ready with MJ’s obit for nearly a decade. Which explains why the ones you read in The New York Times and The Washington Post are so meaty. All they needed to add was a paragraph on the day and time of his death, and whisk up a soapy ending.
Around the world, radio stations have not stopped playing MJ since the news of his death. Even in death, it is a festival like never before for the pop icon who blurred the boundaries of everything society has struggled to define demographically – gender, colour, religion, age, crime, morality…
He was perhaps the most hunted celebrity of all time – in fact he demonstrated, with his life, the glory and the anguish of celebrity. He was condemned to enjoy no private moments – his life was the original Truman Show.
But, because he is gone, we shall not remember MJ for his foibles – for the black skin turned white by wilful vitiligo, for the prosthetic nose that slipped off during an interview with one of many media vampires, for his uncomfortable marriages and his alleged paedophilia, or for his escapades around Bahrain in a burqa. Those shenanigans will soon be forgotten, for MJ was a rarity among celebrities – he was the soul of innocence, a child all the way. As NYT put it, he was “the Peter Pan of pop music.” It is only a matter of technicality that he died at 50.
And, most of all, we will remember him for his music. And for being a performer without parallel or peer in mediated history. Proof, apart from everything else in his life, lies in the musical legacy he leaves behind – ten albums, of which six were bestsellers from the moment they hit the shelves.
Many a child growing up in the 1980s has attempted the moonwalk, or the patented anti-gravity lean he used in the music video for Smooth Criminal, and blanched at the urban legend that Jackson broke a few ribs just dancing. And many of us, now with more grey hair showing than Jackson ever did, may still feel a hot flash of adolescent adrenalin coursing through our tired veins when we listen to Thriller, or Bad, or Beat It.
As with the great legends of music who never die, Michael Jackson shall live on.
MJ can never be mourned, only celebrated. May he go in grace.
And we, for our part, shall remember the time when we fell in love.
I shall leave you with one of my favourite MJ videos – Dirty Diana. I love the range of emotion and especially the way MJ, equally wily as an impish child and dangerously effeminate as a dominatrix, overpowers the otherwise imposing spectacle of the metal guitar player.
When I was growing up, Whitefield was to Bangalore as Hubli is to Dharwad. Or Secunderabad is to Hyderabad. Or something like that.
It wasn’t exactly white, yes, but it had touches of off-white and it was the city’s backwoods where you could go to hear the living language of the Anglo-Indians. Stuff you get to hear these days only from Chamarajpet Charles.
For me, as a child returning from summer vacations in Kerala, Whitefield was a railway station stop that announced, with utter and irredeemable finality, that Bangalore was 15 minutes away. The end of holidays and the woeful beginning of school.
When I started going to college, a summer job collecting market data for a logistics company took me to Whitefield. Thanks to a bad stomach the previous night, I had started the day with a healthy upheaval of my stomach contents into the sink. My mouth still tasted of bile when I reached Whitefield at about 11. I was hungry and thirsty.
It was a nice breezy summer’s day quite incomparable, despite Shakespeare, to the summer days we endure now. A little zero-watt bulb went off in my head and pointed me to RR bar and restaurant, in the shade of a banyan tree. It was a spare little place with wooden benches and tables made of planks. But the floors had been swept and mopped and the wash basin where I rinsed my hands was clean.
The company gave me a daily food allowance and I had been smart enough to save some over the weekend. I had with me enough for a full saapaad and some tipple. It was only a quarter past eleven but the beer looked tempting. So I went ahead and ordered a bottle of Kingfisher and some rotis with chicken curry.
On an empty, antibiotic-addled stomach, beer can do funny things. And by the time the rotis arrived, I had trouble locating them on my table. To boot, the three farmers who were enjoying their beers at the next table looked like distant ghostly apparitions of horsemen. I blinked, but the vista wouldn’t fade. In a bold show of dignity, I felt my way to the wash basin, anointing the white-washed walls with a trail of brown curry. My reflection in the mirror left me little doubt that everybody present at RR that afternoon knew I was wasted. On a bottle of beer!
When I recounted this episode to my friend Gautam Raja, he told me that RR stood for ‘Roaring Rectum’. True enough, that evening’s session in the john had been haemorrhoid-inflating.
I came to know Whitefield better thanks to Gautam, who has been a denizen of this suburb for as long as his memory permits him to remember. And it was delightful to see his own little stab at the wayward “development” of Whitefield by the land sharks in Time Out Bengaluru.
“When I was a little monkey,” he writes, “I’d cycle all over Whitefield and it was green and idyllic in a way that bores one to tears when written about, so I’ll spare you.”
And, when I think of the Whitefield my daughter will never see as I did, I can’t fight the tears myself.
Here’s more:
The closer you ride to Whitefield though, the more the area is best appreciated on winter mornings when the temperature is low and the landscape gently softened by mist. Go through a few hours later, and what you thought was a babbling brook is now Dysentery’s Creek, the wholesome breeze is more like broken wind, and you finally know that the perfume that follows you around after your morning ride is Channel No. 5 – the eau de toilets spray. How sad and funny that one of the first signs of affluence is effluence. That, and a house that looks like a three-storey pista cake.
Autorickshaw
One of the guilty pleasures of journalism is that it involves a lot of unfinished business. Interviews are brutally abridged. Quotes that make the story sing are sometimes shredded into meaningless blurbs. Sources stand you up once a story has been scheduled. Editors give you a hiding. Stories get spiked. Editors piss on your story. If they don’t, designers do. And when all seems to go well, photographers do. As you might imagine, there is a surfeit of piss in the industry and a lot of it seeks you out sooner or later.
Still, the writer’s hubris is unshakeable. And the story, however delayed, eventually finds its way into the world – blurted over a late night swill of lager, or wasted in pillow talk to an indifferent paramour. Late, but never untold.
In 2004, while still a journalist with a passion for music, I interviewed Suba Sankaran of Autorickshaw for India Abroad. It was to be one of my last music stories before I quit professional journalism and began a (regrettable) career as a corporate hack, and then, three and a half years later, dumped that too to go solo. Satisfyingly.
Autorickshaw is a reasonably well-known Indo-Canadian Carnatic Jazz outfit. That’s a lot of hyphenated identities there, and (since I was employed with an Indian-American paper) I was primarily interested in the story of the singer Suba Sankaran, daughter of mridangam maestro Trichy Sankaran. Raised in Canada, she had trained in Carnatic and adapted her lovely, trained voice to jazz.
Autorickshaw at that time was just one album old (the eponymous Autorickshaw - 2003), and the lineup was Sankaran, tabla player Ed Hanley, bassist Rich Brown and percussionist Patrick Graham. Since, they have cut two more albums – Four Higher (2004) and So the Journey Goes (2007). Four Higher, incidentally, is a play on the words ‘For Hire’ seen at the back of autorickshaws in India.
I have with me Autorickshaw and a demo CD that Sankaran had sent me, and I still play both whenever I am allowed. Sankaran’s voice is not heavy on body (the way Susheela Raman’s is) but she handles her scales with panache and her phrasing is quite interesting. Some Carnatic purists I know, however, have been parsimonious with praise for it, but I like it nonetheless.
As for the domain of jazz, I’m not sure where exactly Autorickshaw the band fits in. Or how their journey has placed them on the global canvas. Yes, they have a whole lot of gigs lined up, and that’s always nice for any band.
I observed, with some disappointment, that Sankaran’s vocals have not matured with the music as much as I would have expected them to. I thought the title track of So the Journey Goes was rather tedious. But for memory’s sake, I shall treasure the early Autorickshaw I knew.
Thumbing through my archives the other night, I came across an interview that never made it to print, or the web. The responses are unabridged, and I have retained Suba’s spellings for Carnatic (Karnatak) and mridangam (mrdangam) among other idiosyncrasies. The second part of the interview is more about Suba the artist, and some questions may seem pedestrian. But hey, I’m no arty-farticulate music critic!
To read this you must swallow a glass of time and rewind to 2004, and then imagine Autorickshaw slipping jumpily into first gear after the initial hand-start and working a courageous but wavering trajectory into the snarl of the morning rush hour. Always a tenderly beautiful sight.
Excerpts:
What’s the history behind the name Autorickshaw?
We thought this would be a great name for the band as it implies a combination of tradition and innovation.
Also as a point of interest, the title of our new CD “Four Higher” is a play on the words “For Hire” seen on the back of autorickshaws.
How did you guys meet? When did you start playing together?
autorickshaw formed as a response to a successful collaboration between Suba Sankaran and Ed Hanley, composing music for dancer/choreographer Natasha Bahkt. At our first meeting, we both realized that we wanted to start a band together. This was the genesis of autorickshaw.
How do you meld your musical backgrounds?
All of the members of autorickshaw have had some training in south and north Indian classical music. We are deeply rooted in these traditions while also drawing from other world music, jazz and contemporary influences.
Our goal is to create music that speaks to both our musical training and our musical influences. We wish to integrate the South Asian tradition with jazz and other popular music forms, representing an innovative and refreshing new standard that is also accessible.
We see our music growing with our experiences and ongoing musical training. We will always strive for making relevant music that represents the ever-changing world we live in today.
If you would attempt to stick a label on your music, what genre would it be?
As we embrace so many different musical traditions and influences, we find it futile to try and classify what we do. ‘World music’ or ‘Indo-jazz fusion’ is often how autorickshaw is categorized, though we have toured folk, jazz and world music festivals across Canada. We aim to defy categorization!
What kind of reception does your music get in Canada?
Our music gets a range of responses. A good number of people enjoy autorickshaw for different reasons and on many different levels, be it pure entertainment, strictly musical, fusion, spirituality, etc. Some people enjoy the attempt at fusing several musical cultures while others criticize it.
Questions for Suba:
Tell us about your initiation to music. Have you always wanted to be a singer?
I believe that I have always wanted to be a musician. I took to the stage at a very early age, performing for the first time at the age of 4.
I did my formal music training at Claude Watson School for the Arts and the Royal Conservatory of Music in Toronto, Canada, then went on to receive my Bachelor of Fine Arts and Master of Arts degrees, also in music.
What was it like to learn vocal music from your father?
I was born and raised in Toronto, Canada where my father began teaching me south Indian Karnatak vocal lessons and compositions. Learning vocal music and drumming from my father was great. He was encouraging and tried to make it fun and interesting to keep my attention when I was growing up. I admittedly did not always want to practice when I was growing up, and I strayed from Karnatak singing for a while when I became busy with other extra-curricular activities like western classical piano, percussion, choir, sports and school.
You were also trained in percussion – do you continue to play percussion instruments?
I do continue to play percussion instruments though not as frequently as I would like. I began on mrdangam and also learned kanjira that I gravitate to now especially because it is so portable. Also, the idea that such a small instrument can create a multitude of sounds is fascinating to me.
In earlier years (1990-2000), I accompanied dance classes on various percussion instruments and studied with percussion exponents like Russell Hartenberger, Sal Ferreras and Glen Velez.
You studied jazz at York University. You also have a strong grounding in Carnatic classical music. How do you balance the two styles?
I always like to look for connections between different musical cultures. With jazz and Karnatak music specifically, both styles of music have strong elements of improvisation. Also, Karnatak singers use sargam or solfege syllables (sa ri ga ma pa dha ni) while jazz vocalists use scat syllables (sound syllables used to imitate instruments). I try and combine both of these elements in my songwriting.
In terms of contrasts that I draw from, Indian music is rich in melody and rhythm while western music is especially advanced in harmony. I try and combine these musical elements to create something that speaks to both eastern and western sensibilities.
Have you played with any Indian musicians? What memorable experiences can you recount?
Since 1992, I have been sharing the stage with my father and every occasion is a memorable one (as well as an amazing learning experience). Even when not performing on stage, I would keep tala (rhythmic cycle with accompanying hand gestures), essentially sharing the stage with artists like Zakir Hussain, Harishankar, Anindo Chatterjee, G.J.R. Krishnan, T. Vishwanathan, K. Subramaniam and N. Ramani to name a few.
My first experience on stage was probably my most memorable: My family was at Wesleyan University in Connecticut, USA for the Navaratri Festival. It was the late T. Vishwanathan’s idea to have the children (my sister and I, and his two relatives) open the festival with a musical offering. He and my father suggested Santhatham Paahimaam which uses the melody of the anthem God Save the Queen, only with different lyrics. The lyrics were in Sanskrit, by Composer Muttuswaami Dikshitar, which roughly translated to God save everyone! I remember thinking that the change in the lyrics was great in that it was so inclusive. We performed at the hall in front of almost 1000 people. This was my first taste of the stage and I don’t think I’ve ever turned back. My soul is most satisfied when I’m performing for people, communicating through music.
Which musicians do you admire?
I admire so many musicians, it’s difficult to narrow it down. My father is my guru and I admire him greatly. I admire the other members of autorickshaw and the creative forces they bring to the group. I admire pioneers in songwriting and world music like Peter Gabriel, and Canadians Joni Mitchell and Bruce Cockburn. autorickshaw influences include world music ensembles and artists Montuno Police, Rabih-Abou Kahlil, Zakir Hussain and Shakti, Peter Gabriel, Trichy Sankaran, Trilok Gurtu, and U. Srinivas.
You play and sing a wide variety of musical styles with various groups – Trichy’s Trio, Voyces Past, the FreePlay Duo, Retrocity. Tell us a little about your role in each.
In Trichy’s Trio, I have a similar role as I do in autorickshaw: I sing, play piano and solkattu (vocal percussion). In Voyces Past, I sing anything from low alto to high soprano, singing sacred and secular music from the Renaissance period and Canadian contemporary music for women’s voices. In the Freeplay Duo, I mainly sing jazz standards, but also more mainstream pop, rock and RnB, as well as folk music. The FreePlay Duo often gets hired as a wedding band, so we do music specific to those occasions and often get called for Jewish weddings where I’m singing Horas! Retrocity is a 7-piece vocal group (no instruments) where we specialize in only mainstream 80s hits. It is very high energy and over-the-top! I sing the very high stuff that only synthesizers and first trumpets would be inclined to play! I sing with another ensemble called Hampton 4, a vocal jazz quartet, again, no instruments.
Is your family supportive of the musical direction you have chosen?
My family is very supportive of my musical direction. They do question the freelance aspect of the music business, wondering when I’ll want to “settle down” and get more “steady work”, but they see that I’m not a starving artist: I make a good living and I’m happy. I remind them that this is all that matters.
I think with many Indian families, it is difficult for parents to reconcile that their children may not become doctors, lawyers or engineers. Children may choose careers that are not as stable, predictable or as safe as the parents would like or want. I have always been able to follow my heart and make ends meet. I think in their heart of hearts, my parents understand and respect this even if it takes time for them to resolve those issues.
What’s the history behind the name Autorickshaw? Whose idea was it to name the band?
We thought this would be a great name for the band as it implies a combination of tradition and innovation.
Also as a point of interest, the title of our new CD “Four Higher” is a play on the words “For Hire” seen on the back of autorickshaws.
How did you guys meet? When did you start playing together?
autorickshaw formed as a response to a successful collaboration between Suba Sankaran and Ed Hanley, composing music for dancer/choreographer Natasha Bahkt. At our first meeting, we both realized that we wanted to start a band together. This was the genesis of autorickshaw.
Tell us a bit about how you meld your musical backgrounds together.
All of the members of autorickshaw have had some training in south and north Indian classical music. We are deeply rooted in these traditions while also drawing from other world music, jazz and contemporary influences.
Our goal is to create music that speaks to both our musical training and our musical influences. We wish to integrate the South Asian tradition with jazz and other popular music forms, representing an innovative and refreshing new standard that is also accessible.
We see our music growing with our experiences and ongoing musical training. We will always strive for making relevant music that represents the ever-changing world we live in today.
If you would attempt to stick a label on your music, what genre would it be?
As we embrace so many different musical traditions and influences, we find it futile to try and classify what we do. ‘World music’ or ‘Indo-jazz fusion’ is often how autorickshaw is categorized, though we have toured folk, jazz and world music festivals across Canada. We aim to defy categorization!
When was your first performance? How many gigs have you done? Which ones have been the most memorable?
Our first performance was also our CD release (believe it or not!) on July 3rd, 2003 at the Harbourfront Centre in Toronto, Canada. Since then, we have done over 70 performances and have toured across Canada. We have maintained a strong presence in our home city of Toronto in the province of Ontario. We have had several memorable gigs including the Harbourfront Centre; Vancouver Folk Music Festival, Vancouver Island Musicfest, Harrison Festival of the Arts – all in British Columbia; Dawson City Music Festival, Yukon Territory; Atlantic Jazz Festival, Halifax, Nova Scotia; Guelph and Kingston Jazz Festival, Ontario.
How has your first album been received?
Our first album has been well-received. Reviews from around the country have been favourable. Some quotes include:
“autorickshaw brings in all their musical influences from Indian classical and jazz music without succumbing to creating Asian fusion music or chill out music like their UK contemporaries. The music on this recording possesses an organic quality that emphasizes the musicians’ talents and passion for different types of music…autorickshaw might also be called virtuoso and certainly unique.”
-Cranky Crow World Music
“Vocalist Suba Sankaran and tabla player Ed Hanley are two artists in Toronto’s Indian classical music community who are skilled improvisers in many languages. autorickshaw’s debut is a stripped-down recording showcasing their considerable compositional and playing skills….Sankaran’s multi-tracked vocals producing rich harmonies, percussive effects and a sub-continental Joni Mitchell-influenced styling.”
-Exclaim! Magazine
Our second and latest album (released in June, 2004), is called Four Higher, a play on the words “For Hire” seen on the back of autorickshaws. Produced by the group’s artistic directors Suba Sankaran and Ed Hanley, Four Higher features funky, contemporary arrangements of south Indian classical compositions, Bollywood-tinged jazz standards, and fiery Indo-jazz originals.
What are your future projects?
Our future projects include performances collaborating with Voyces Past of which Suba is a member, as well as collaborations with multi-instrumentalist George Koller and master drummer Trichy Sankaran (Suba’s father). Both performances will be recorded and broadcast by the CBC (Canadian Broadcasting Corporation).
Beyond this, autorickshaw will maintain their presence in the national music market and work to expand their touring to the United States, Europe and India.
autorickshaw will also continue composing music and presenting self-produced concerts. An all-Canadian concert is forthcoming, as is a new composition commemorating the 20th anniversary of the Union Carbide tragedy in Bhopal.
What kind of reception does your music get in Canada?
Our music gets a range of responses. A good number of people enjoy autorickshaw for different reasons and on many different levels, be it pure entertainment, strictly musical, fusion, spirituality, etc. Some people enjoy the attempt at fusing several musical cultures while others criticize it.
Have you toured outside of Canada?
We have not toured as autorickshaw outside of Canada though each member has performed and toured outside as individuals or as part of other musical groups.
Have the other members of the band visited India?
Everyone (Suba Sankaran, Ed Hanley and Debashis Sinha), with the exception of Rich Brown, has visited and studied in India.
Questions for Suba:
Tell us about your initiation to music. Have you always wanted to be a singer?
I believe that I have always wanted to be a musician. I took to the stage at a very early age, performing for the first time at the age of 4.
I did my formal music training at Claude Watson School for the Arts and the Royal Conservatory of Music in Toronto, Canada, then went on to receive my Bachelor of Fine Arts and Master of Arts degrees, also in music.
Did you grow up in India? What was it like to learn vocal music from your father?
I was born and raised in Toronto, Canada where my father began teaching me south Indian Karnatak vocal lessons and compositions. Learning vocal music and drumming from my father was great. He was encouraging and tried to make it fun and interesting to keep my attention when I was growing up. I admittedly did not always want to practice when I was growing up, and I strayed from Karnatak singing for a while when I became busy with other extra-curricular activities like western classical piano, percussion, choir, sports and school.
You were also trained in percussion – do you continue to play percussion instruments?
I do continue to play percussion instruments though not as frequently as I would like. I began on mrdangam and also learned kanjira that I gravitate to now especially because it is so portable. Also, the idea that such a small instrument can create a multitude of sounds is fascinating to me.
In earlier years (1990-2000), I accompanied dance classes on various percussion instruments and studied with percussion exponents like Russell Hartenberger, Sal Ferreras and Glen Velez.
You studied jazz at York University. You also have a strong grounding in Carnatic classical music. How do you balance the two styles?
I always like to look for connections between different musical cultures. With jazz and Karnatak music specifically, both styles of music have strong elements of improvisation. Also, Karnatak singers use sargam or solfege syllables (sa ri ga ma pa dha ni) while jazz vocalists use scat syllables (sound syllables used to imitate instruments). I try and combine both of these elements in my songwriting.
In terms of contrasts that I draw from, Indian music is rich in melody and rhythm while western music is especially advanced in harmony. I try and combine these musical elements to create something that speaks to both eastern and western sensibilities.
Have you played with any Indian musicians? What memorable experiences can you recount?
Since 1992, I have been sharing the stage with my father and every occasion is a memorable one (as well as an amazing learning experience). Even when not performing on stage, I would keep tala (rhythmic cycle with accompanying hand gestures), essentially sharing the stage with artists like Zakir Hussain, Harishankar, Anindo Chatterjee, G.J.R. Krishnan, T. Vishwanathan, K. Subramaniam and N. Ramani to name a few.
My first experience on stage was probably my most memorable: My family was at Wesleyan University in Connecticut, USA for the Navaratri Festival. It was the late T. Vishwanathan’s idea to have the children (my sister and I, and his two relatives) open the festival with a musical offering. He and my father suggested Santhatham Paahimaam which uses the melody of the anthem God Save the Queen, only with different lyrics. The lyrics were in Sanskrit, by Composer Muttuswaami Dikshitar, which roughly translated to God save everyone! I remember thinking that the change in the lyrics was great in that it was so inclusive. We performed at the hall in front of almost 1000 people. This was my first taste of the stage and I don’t think I’ve ever turned back. My soul is most satisfied when I’m performing for people, communicating through music.
Which musicians do you admire?
I admire so many musicians, it’s difficult to narrow it down. My father is my guru and I admire him greatly. I admire the other members of autorickshaw and the creative forces they bring to the group. I admire pioneers in songwriting and world music like Peter Gabriel, and Canadians Joni Mitchell and Bruce Cockburn. autorickshaw influences include world music ensembles and artists Montuno Police, Rabih-Abou Kahlil, Zakir Hussain and Shakti, Peter Gabriel, Trichy Sankaran, Trilok Gurtu, and U. Srinivas.
You play and sing a wide variety of musical styles with various groups – Trichy’s Trio, Voyces Past, the FreePlay Duo, Retrocity. Tell us a little about your role in each.
In Trichy’s Trio, I have a similar role as I do in autorickshaw: I sing, play piano and solkattu (vocal percussion). In Voyces Past, I sing anything from low alto to high soprano, singing sacred and secular music from the Renaissance period and Canadian contemporary music for women’s voices. In the Freeplay Duo, I mainly sing jazz standards, but also more mainstream pop, rock and RnB, as well as folk music. The FreePlay Duo often gets hired as a wedding band, so we do music specific to those occasions and often get called for Jewish weddings where I’m singing Horas! Retrocity is a 7-piece vocal group (no instruments) where we specialize in only mainstream 80s hits. It is very high energy and over-the-top! I sing the very high stuff that only synthesizers and first trumpets would be inclined to play! I sing with another ensemble called Hampton 4, a vocal jazz quartet, again, no instruments.
If you were not a singer, what would you be?
I only know my path as a singer, so it’s hard to see any other forks in the road. I also divide my time performing, directing choirs and private teaching, so I would probably focus my efforts in those other areas.
Outside of music, I really enjoy gardening and cooking, so perhaps a career along those lines would be a second choice.
Is your family supportive of the musical direction you have chosen?
My family is very supportive of my musical direction. They do question the freelance aspect of the music business, wondering when I’ll want to “settle down” and get more “steady work”, but they see that I’m not a starving artist: I make a good living and I’m happy. I remind them that this is all that matters.
I think with many Indian families, it is difficult for parents to reconcile that their children may not become doctors, lawyers or engineers. Children may choose careers that are not as stable, predictable or as safe as the parents would like or want. I have always been able to follow my heart and make ends meet. I think in their heart of hearts, my parents understand and respect this even if it takes time for them to resolve those issues.
Last month my friend Thirunellai Viswanathan Mahalingam visited Bangalore to research a story on the pink slip phenomenon that has swept through most of this city’s IT industry like a California wildfire – please excuse that offshore simile, but it’s the lightest possible repartee when the US media reports so many jobs have been Bangalored.
That story has now been published in Outlook Business (the June 27 issue), and among the things I liked about it is that it does not hesitate to name companies. Infosys and Wipro – mostly darlings of the get-fat-quickly business and IT media – have been named as themselves, and it can be discerned how their respective media relations folks must have scrambled to assemble a “statement”.
There’s this thing about IT media departments (where I have worked as an insider) that is befuddling. While it may sometimes be easier to speak the truth and be damned, they weave such a web of lies that entangles them in the end. But that’s corporate culture for you. Way back in 2002, when I was researching a 9/11 story on two Indian employees who had perished at the offices of a Wipro client, I encountered the same stiffness from the Wipro PR department. Their statement – a flaky, antiseptic string of touch-me-not phrases – did them more harm than good in the end.
Back to the layoffs story. I asked the journalist some casual questions about how he went about the story, and here’s what he had to say:
What motivated you to do this story?
Well, it’s the fact that everybody in the media and the IT industry talks of layoffs and the scale at which it is happening, but nobody has written about it. Also, there is this new and callous assumption that “layoffs are good and a must for survival” for most of the companies. Fact: these are some of the most cash-rich companies in the world. And most importantly, the constant denial by IT companies that they had not laid off a single employee because of the slowdown. Thousands of them suddenly were becoming non-performers this year.
What difficulties did you encounter doing this story? Were people ready to speak? Did any of your sources chicken out and ask you not to publish their story?
It was very tough to get to speak to people, on the record. They were very worried about their future prospects. They asked their names and a few details to be changed.
What do you hope this story will accomplish?
That IT companies, especially the large ones, [would] develop a modicum of honesty and tell employees that they are getting laid off because of the recessionary market rather than thrusting bad appraisals down their throats.
What reaction did you get from companies that had laid off employees?
Most companies, off the record, said that others were laying off people. But in their own case, not one person was laid-off for “business reasons” i.e. everbody who lost a job was a non-performer.
Mahalingam’s story is empathetic, so much so that I had to ask him if he had ever been laid off himself.
“Laid yes, laid off no,” was the lad’s pithy reply.
Ah, to be choleric about love in the time of loss.
It is almost a whole week since Air France Flight 447 disappeared mysteriously into the sky.
Or into the water.
In all probability the latter, we surmise, but only because of our grounded faith in gravity. I leave my options open but that’s mostly because in my worst nightmares, it’s always the sky that swallows up the earth and everything in it.
Over at The Daily Beast, Clive Irving is running a nice little series on the disappearance of Flight 447. In his June 7 post, he writes:
So why are we still so dependent on black boxes (they are not black and they are not boxes, but data recorders about the size of a carry-on bag) to yield the definitive answers to an airplane crash?
They were developed in the 1960s. The idea was not simply to collect all the data critical to the behavior of an airliner, but to entomb it in a casing that could survive the impact of a crash and a fire. The principle that all the vital information should go down with the airplane made sense then, but not now.
That the box isn’t black, we know.
And, as Irving argues, both the US Congress and international aviation bodies are “notoriously slow to agree to common standards for new technology” when the need of the hour are compression and speed.
Ah, but you must read the comments for a very interesting repartee by someone claiming to be a US Air Force pilot.
And the mystery deepens…
