by Vani Viswanathan
Among the many things I cherish from my college years is all the music I gathered. The most frequent source was my best friend, whose music collection I lapped up greedily because we both seemed to like being lost in rock from the 70s and rock and pop from the 80s. Other interesting sources include songs played in various college/hostel/department events (most famously Hoobastank’s ‘Reason,’ whose guitar tune I had to hum to a friend to identify the song) and songs played by bands practicing in the music rooms or inter-college fests. But even then, I wasn’t much into contemporary music, and was lucky if I knew more than two of the popular bands of the day, such as Green Day or Rihanna. I seemed to be living in a bygone era (at least when it came to western music) – and the same continues as I continue to be clueless about Nicky Minaj or Katy Perry’s latest!
Except that now, seven years since I finished college, my ability to discover music has dropped to abysmally low levels. I’m lucky if I manage to get hooked to one new song each month. Isn’t it surprising that in these days of apps that can play music so intricately similar in style and taste to that favourite song of yours, it is so difficult to discover more music? India doesn’t have Pandora or Spotify, so Grooveshark was my best friend for this until they discovered that they weren’t being exactly legal or fair to the musicians. It was on Grooveshark that I made my biggest discovery of the last year, ‘Coloured Rain’ by Eric Burdon and The Animals, with that electrifying guitar solo by Andy Summers, who later was part of The Police. And what did I do then? Share it with my aforementioned best friend who, for her part, sent me another song to listen to. Which I heard once, but couldn’t somehow bring myself to listen to over and over again, something that’s a prerequisite to get hooked to it.
I wonder if it is a function of the time available in your hands – life was certainly far more leisure-filled during college days, and the mind was more open to experimentation and listening to things you hadn’t heard before. There was a lazy sense of openness – a kind of ‘I don’t mind wasting my precious hours listening to something I might not eventually like’.
Now, strapped for time between work and those few hours preciously extracted for personal life, I’m uncomfortable listening to music I don’t know. I want the warmth and glow that music that I know – tried and tested for its efficacy in complementing or soothing the mood I’m in at that point – will provide. When I’m sad, I need the melancholy and slow hope that a Coldplay or a Rahman melody will provide. When I’m working, I want the enthusiasm and briskness that a selected set of English movie soundtracks will give me. When I’m enjoying an evening with friends, I want the stupidest Hindi hits of the day, and when we all cross that threshold when the evening turns from fun to whacky, I want the songs I grew up with, and we jostle with one another to play that one track that we most associate with, be it ‘Tu cheez badi hai mast mast’ or a ‘Coming back to life’ or a ‘Where the streets have no name.’
Maybe the leisure time theory holds water. Recently, the music I’m willing to invest time in discovering are those I heard during a two-week vacation in central Europe. Wandering through the cobbled stoned roads, my husband and I would stop every time we saw a musician playing by the sidewalk. Often, they were tracks we knew or had at least heard of, ranging from the Beatles to western classical music by Mozart or Beethoven. But the charm of listening to them in an exotic setting, played in an instrument different from what you were used to listening to them in – such as a harp or a ‘Tsymbally’ a Belarussian string instrument – is indescribable. In Prague, we found our way to one of its most famous underground jazz bars, U maleho Glena, where, in a tiny room that seats just 10 people, I ended up sitting next to the drummer of a jazz band led by a feisty 23-year-old singer whose voice rings in my ears to this day. True enough, upon returning, we played the many songs we’d heard in the cities and towns we’d visited, with a wistful nostalgia for the trip. But the sense of wanting to listen to more jazz or western classical music continues, long after we’ve gotten over the magic that the trip was.
All the same, I’m disappointed that the pace of discovery is slower than any music lover worth her salt should have. And shamefully, I know nothing of the Indian rock, pop or indie scene. Despite living in Delhi – which boasts of a thriving music scene, one where Coldplay’s Chris Martin gave an impromptu concert in a bar – I have not made the most of its varied national and international music concerts and festivals.
It might be lazy to simply blame the lack of leisure time – listening to music, like any other hobby, needs to be carefully nurtured, paid attention to. Strangely enough, writing this prompts me to get off my rear and do something about it. So what if the jazz festival I attended the last time was boring? Maybe another artist will do something different! So what if the many lists of songs I scribbled on the office notepad or typed on the laptop or phone lie forgotten – I can try to resurrect them and find out why I thought the song was worth noting down at that point. Music feeds your soul when you give it time, and it deserves that time and attention when it holds such a lofty spot in your life!
