Pakistan rock renaissance defies dwindling concerts

by Hasan Mansoor
   Gumby, a diminutive pony-tailed drummer, believes Pakistani rock music is vibrant enough to withstand pockets of extremism and shield society at large from Western fears of the Taliban.
   “I’ve been in the industry more than two decades and have seen Pakistani music rise, fall and rise again. Our culture is resilient, which won’t allow the Taliban to take over our society,” says the 34-year-old.
   Louis John Pinto, better known as Gumby, launched himself on the rock circuit as a drummer and percussionist while a teenager and has played as a session musician with all the major cult bands in the country.
   Pakistan has seen creeping religious conservatism for years. Its military is fighting to put down Taliban militants in the northwest and lawless tribal belt on the Afghan border, albeit far from cities populated by the moderate elite.
   Extremists have blown up hundreds of music and DVD shops in the northwest, branding them against Islam and forcing traders to display pro-Taliban tirades against the United States to gruesome clips of beheadings and bomb attacks.

   But hundreds of miles away in his compact studio in a multi-storey building in Clifton, Karachi’s poshest address, Gumby says the future of music is promising, with money and passion being injected afresh into the industry.
   “Making music one’s livelihood was thought to be a taboo for people here, but now parents themselves encourage their children to learn music, which shows we have a brighter future,” he said.
   At a concert at an open-air amphitheatre in Islamabad, young middle-class Pakistanis dressed in tight jeans braved a chilly night to cheer bands introduced by two young women teetering on high heels.
   In the more-expensive stalls, parents brought young children, even babies and grandparents to listen to the music.
   Successive governments have encouraged culture by relaxing curbs on artists and intellectuals. The explosion of independent television and radio in the last decade has also fostered musical talent.
   “It is the one thing which comforts our people who are sick of terror attacks and political instability in the country,” said Gumby.
   Hamza Jafri agrees. Last year he opened the Guitar School in Lahore, Pakistan’s relatively liberal and wealthy cultural capital in the east, which now teaches rock guitar to dozens of girls and boys aged seven to 20.
   “Students are forming bands and the youngest one consists of three seven year olds,” said Abid Khan, one of the founders of the school.
   Most pupils come from wealthy families and are actively encouraged by their parents. Some dream of going professional. “I want to become a rock star,” gushed a shy 10-year-old who gave his name only as Kashan.
   Hasan Zaidi, a film producer and director who has chronicled Pakistani music, sees a renaissance in underground contemporary pop.
   “Pakistani pop is beginning to discover its own voice moving beyond bubblegum songs about love, by creating fusion with indigenous folk and singing songs about what is happening around us,” he said.
   But others warn that shows and concerts are declining because of economic woes and fears of bomb attacks — hammering musicians’ main source of income, which rampant piracy deprives them from in sales of DVDs and CDs.
   “Terrorism and a weak economy have affected the music industry dearly,” says Ali Azmat, one of the most famous contemporary rock stars in Pakistan.
   “There has been a 50 to 60 percent decline in shows and concerts and overall earnings since 2005,” he said.
   He accuses “Western powers and their intelligence agencies” of harbouring an agenda against Pakistan. Instead his latest album “Kalashnifolk” focuses on the agonies of social problems that he feels are Pakistan’s real plague.
   But seven years ago Junaid Jamshed, Pakistan’s most famous frontman — lead singer with Vital Signs, the country’s first rock band that emerged in 1986, renounced music and his playboy-image to turn to religion.
   Today he owns designer outlets specialising in conservative dress, keeps his beard long and joined preaching organisation Tablighi Jamaat.
   Critics hold General Zia-ul-Haq and his 11 years of military rule from 1977 to 1988 responsible for infringing the country’s pluralistic tolerant culture and initially driving rock music underground.
   “The early 1980s also saw the rise of political pop, whose lyrics explicitly dealt with issues of freedom and repression,” Hasan Zaidi said.
   Certainly for band Laal, which means Red in Urdu, their music is all about politics and Marxism.
   One of their songs became an anthem for the lawyer’s protest movement that resulted in 2009 in the government restoring the independent judiciary after a two-year hiatus.
   “We are interested in playing music of resistance, struggle and emancipation,” says lead guitarist Taimur Rehman, who is studying for a doctoral degree in London.
   The band’s most popular song is based on popular poems of Habib Jalib, a renowned Pakistani poet who opposed military rule and state oppression in the 1960s, although followers believe his words are as relevant today as ever.
   “You are the truth; they are an illusion, My prayer is that You remain president forever!” is one of their lyrics, which resonates today with critics of President Asif Ali Zardari, who want him to resign over graft allegations.

 

Karachi musical makes song and dance of gang wars

by Hasan Mansoor
A hit musical about gangland violence in Pakistan’s largest metropolis is bidding to revive Karachi’s once-rich stage culture while shedding light on its grim addiction to violence.
Fierce sectarian and ethnic conflicts have been responsible for the deaths of more than 1,000 people this year alone and are an all-too-familiar tale to Karachi’s 18 million residents.
But the gritty realism portrayed in “Karachi — The Musical” has nevertheless provoked a huge response, playing to large audiences since it began in October for a month-long run due to finish on November 13.
It tells the story of a rookie boxer from the eastern city of Multan who comes to train at a boxing club in Karachi’s notorious Lyari neighbourhood — better known for its mafias than its sporting talent.
The ambitions of the protagonist, Saif Salaam, spark tensions between his coach and Daud Islam, a mafia don who controls the local gambling, drugs and prostitution rings and wants to thwart the boxer’s success.
With many twists and turns in the story set to a dozen songs, Daud attempts to kill Salaam, just as he had murdered another rising star 20 years earlier.
Mirroring grim realities on Karachi’s streets, the mafioso Daud is only stopped from killing the boy thanks to the intervention of another bad man — a more powerful don whose influence reaches higher into the corridors of power.
“It depicts the situation which we are facing nowadays,” said one theatre-goer, Aleem Akhtar.
“We are infested with mafias and gangs of killers and every mafia is well protected, so we can survive only with the blessings of some good bad men.”
The director of the first original musical to grace the city said that the show represented a defence against the very harshness it was based on.
“Today, art needs more support than ever in Pakistan because it is not only a reflection of the times we live in, but also of a brighter future we can create,” said Nida Butt.
“Theatre is not for the faint-hearted — it’s a labour of love, long hours and hard work that often results in more (money) spent than earned,” she added.
The once-thriving stage scene in Karachi, which was known for its opera before the partition of British India to create Pakistan in 1947, was lost largely due to the growing Islamisation of the country, say artists.
They particularly point the finger at military dictator General Zia-ul Haq, blaming him for worsening the gun and drug culture, encouraging sectarian and ethnic parties and crushing liberal forces during his 1977-1988 rule.
Art began losing its way under Zia’s predecessor Ayub Khan, they say, but it crumbled as culture became an early casualty of Zia’s regime, which nurtured religious fanaticism.
Syed Ahmed Shah, who heads the Karachi Arts Council and whose theatre is staging the production, says his organisation is the only one with a dedicated auditorium for plays and theatrical performances in Pakistan’s biggest city.
“Our resolve is to fully revive the city’s old cultural status so that it is here to stay,” he said.
“Particularly in a situation where fear and anxiety are the order of the day. Culture is the only remedy to rely on,” he said.
Hamza Jafri, who composed the original scores, said that “Karachi – The Musical” drew on the various strands of the city’s musical culture — a mix of rock opera, indigenous beats and big band jazz.
“The music is edgy, contemporary and completely inspired by our research into Lyari and the boxing gangs there. The songs talk about us, about Karachi and our lives in this city today,” he said.
But those living among the conditions depicted on stage complain they cannot see it because they are priced out of the market, with tickets costing 1,500 rupees (18 dollars) each — five times as much as a first-class cinema seat.
“I would love to watch such plays but it is getting too tough to enjoy theatre and cinema nowadays,” said Maula Bakhsh, 35, a fruit vendor in Lyari.
“We hardly feed our families because of price hikes. How can we spare money to spend on that luxury?” said Bakhsh — adding that he had to abandon his own boxing career to support his family.

AFP