Yesterday did not start well at all. Woke up with a hang-over (from the typical building party I have now become accustomed to - only this time I was the host), popped in a Saridon, and tried to go back to sleep. Could not.
A couple of hours later, Soni and I were in an auto, bound for Opus. What the heck! This was supposed be a special Opus afternoon. Skinny Alley was here.
For those who do not know Opus, its a pub. For those who do know Opus, its a lot more. After three years of choking, coughing and cursing in Bangalore, I can safely call Opus the high-point of my life here.
It is a lovely bungalow, converted into a free-flowing, beachy Goan kind of a place, which serves you good beer, decent food, and great music. And it has great people. Not only does Opus offer probably the finest eye-candy in the city, but it has also given me some good friends. And I am gratfeul for that. For the ties that bind the people in Opus together is definitely the music (and definitely not the service). Such friends are always welcome.
Anyway - I digress. We walked into a typically crowded Sunday afternoon at the pub, and found ourselves drifting to the front. The great Otis D'Souza hailed us, all liquid charm and grace, with a smile that is as infectious as it is genuine. Carlton breezed by, Gina and Shonali hovered. Opus was on.Also on were these middle-aged people on stage. Skinny Alley needs little introduction, at least to those of us who grew up in Kolkata. Any band which Amyt Datta fronted was always revered, and Skinny had Amyt really coming into his own. Then there were the usual suspects who had made Skinny Alley not only popular (so is Assma, I am told), but also very original: Jayshree on vocals (and the writer of the songs), Gyan Singh on bass, and the two Jeff's - Rick on drums and Menezes on keyboards. Old warhorses, seen it all, to turn it on, once more.
And turn it on, they did. Rarely have I attended a gig which has given me such goosebumps. This was an incredible show, of power, grace and creativity. Outstanding. Breath-taking.
Jay was brilliant with the vocals - control, poise, power and flawless delivery. As usual. She remains the finest Calcutta rock vocalist I have heard. Jeffrey Rick blazed on the drums, and the vocals on "Green Ring" (Steely Dan). Jeff Menezes and Gyan were as good as ever.
Then there was Amyt. The grey hair, the poker face, the easy control. Brought back memories of the Amyt-da we grew up listening to - as Shiva, Hip Pocket et al. Only better.
He was incredible. Covering rock'n'roll to jazz to blues to funk, changing scales, controling the tempo, jamming with the keyboard. On "Voodoo Chile" and "Bodhisattva", and on the originals "In and Out", "Fence" - he blazed through with an incadescent performance which had the audience stunned.
I have rarely seen a performance like this, having been to numerous shows now for over 20 years. I have seen Amyt a hundred times before. But yesterday was special. It was at a different level. There has always been debate as to where he fits in among India's top guitarists. Those of us who saw him perform yesterday, we have the answer.
As we stepped out, I felt enveloped. By a strange sense of satisfaction and well-being, of satiation and wholesomeness. I cannot describe it better. I felt fulfilled.
Soni, who had a few minutes ago, done the a very groupie thing, put in a very nice point. "After a show like this", she said, "I feel proud to have grown up in Kolkata, where such music still flourishes."
Absolutely.
These guys have struggled. Probably not made it to what they could have been, being from Kolkata, practising in garages and attics, suffocated by Bengali cultural hang-overs. But they are as good as it gets. The sound is original, international and world-class. The talent is awe-inspiring.
And I appreciate my home town for that (I admit, I don't do that too much), for having sheltered and nourished them for so long. Allowed them to be what they are.
Even today, while other city kids (and I have seen a few) hang out in malls, or daaance to the latest remixed poop, I see Kolkata kids lugging their second hand Gibsons to some hole in the wall, to practise. Could be Dylan, could be Dead, could be Suman. Could be their own "Bangla Rock". Mocked and maligned by mothers and aunts, they go on, hoping for their break. Hoping to be Amyt Datta one day.
Long live Rock 'n' Roll.... Amen!
