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Before I begin, let me warn you that this review is glowing and flattering. Not in response to monetary incentives, but because I feel that the negative reactions to the episode I've read thus far lack depth, pay lip service to criticism and are snarky quips to establish intellectual superiority. Such criticism might be valid in its own right, but it tells us very little about the actual music and is more a logical argument with reactive judgements rather than an alignment of emotive responses with intellectual input. Which is why I wanted to pen how these songs made me feel, so that I could tease out the craft behind them. So if someone feels the need to criticise my views, they ought to resort to considering the music first, and hopefully that would create a more meaningful, rounded discussion.
The sound of this song is clean and fresh, akin to crisp mornings atop mountains (surly Karachites are deprived of this morning feeling). The phrase ‘jamais vu’ kept creeping up and jabbing at my linear sense of time, during this song, because Bilal Khan sounds like a younger reincarnate of the Vital Signs in our now, with a similar use of lyrics profound in their simplicity. As a first track it was well-placed, because it doesn't set a tone for anything in specific per se as it is a precursor - the morning drift of hovering around your body before a bout of thoughts seat your personality within its defines once more. To Kia Hua effortlessly conjures mature mournful clouds, with perchance the silver lining of hope.
Faraz Anwar represents a fixed set of components our ears are attuned to – his lyrics, composition, tone, virtuosity is within a certain set of parameters, a set base line or common denominator: formulaic. What Rohail seemingly does here is keep that base line which most songs/singers like Faraz represent, but brings in different moods to each component, breaking down the song and rearranging it as a procession of different moods.
It reminded me of an opera, and that may sound like a square peg, round-hole situation at first, but I maintain that there is an analogy to be drawn here. There are two main parts to an opera: a ‘recitative’ part which moves the plot forward, mimicking inflections of speech in order to emphasise them, and an ‘aria’ which is more faithful to a host of characters singing within a certain melody structure to express themselves. In this song, Faraz's lyrics and his spells of music are within the ‘recitative’ part, where the song moves forward and therefore on their own - monotonous and done to death stylistically. However, when the chorus and the second vocalist come in and the music provides that topographical relief, it serves the purpose the ‘aria’ does in that the underlying emotions are brought out. But since this is Coke Studio, and its Sufi-inspired fusion, the ‘aria’ comes in the form of ecstatic repetitions, which are the hallmark climax of a Sufi song.
Danha pe Danha - Akhtar Chanal Zahri and Komal Rizvi
Akhtar Chanal Zehri establishes his effortless regality through song – as if it were a lion’s roar personified. He demarcates his sense of self clearly and without the hesitation, of our prevalent identity crises. Listening to his voice feels like a habitual chocolate consumer trying gurr for the first time; there is no processed sweetness to be had, its sweetness instead is ripe and replete with flavour. And when his spoken word resonates at the end, it leaves you rooted – embedded by the daanas of sand now plastered collectively as mud and floored in an awe of identity visceral and soondhi.
As for Komal, when she chose to take on Lal Meri during the BTS I felt a frisson of apprehension run through me like panic. I was worried that something so long held sacred by me was going to be cruelly mocked by someone who didn't "have the right" to vocalize and utter it. But Komal comes into her own, her fluidity betraying the fun she is having. You can hear the smile in her voice and in the end she rapidly takes on (at least) three distinct notes that highlighted a range and flexibility to her voice which humbled me.
Light, fluffy, digestible (made more so because of the backing vocals angelic, ‘ray of lights’ surr) yet repetitively tiresome, the way you feel when you have to pick coriander leaves off their stalks one by one. But heck, this is Jal doing what Jal does and they stuck to their element like the Urdu proverb about how the snake begets the serpentine. It wasn't memorable, but it wasn't terrible either, and the segue into Thaiyya Thaiyya and then Dam Mast was a good bit of fun - much like a tribute to those who have come before. I guess every singer's dream is to bless their vocal cords with the phonation of Dam Mast Qalander.
But Jal should consider singing with the Zoe and Rachel Viccaji because their voices make the song flow, saving it. As always these girls are the unsung heroes – the glue bringing every song together by adapting to each song’s style and singer's personality. They add a value that cannot easily be measured or understood because it is taken for granted, yet one without which we would be all the poorer.
Sighra Aaween Sawal Yaar - Sanam Marvi
I had tried to figure out why people had such a negative reaction to Sanam Marvi from last year, especially because I was oft left struggling foolishly after speaking up for her last year. Perhaps it was because to appreciate her would be to spite our cynicism. She’s a veritable giant in terms of her naked devotion, yet humble and not someone who can be easily pigeon-holed. So she is ignored because if you can't figure someone out, you would rather pretend they don't exist so you can avoid feeling out of your own depth around them.
But good as she was last year, this time was when Coke Studio finally, really sunk their teeth into her sound as well. The entire song keeps hovering around a precipice, repeatedly threatening to jump in, but never doing so. You keep circling around and Marvi doesn't pull you in, and yet doesn't let you push away either, leaving you frustrated and unsure of whether you felt hot or cold and as if you’ve been deprived of an imminent climax. Perhaps it is because the format lacks the polytonality that the rest bask in – for the music and lyrics were strung, beaded alongside within their own space and time.
I don’t want to tempt fate with a premature proclamation about how excellent the next few episodes would be. But I feel confident that like these songs, they will challenge our musical barriers, they will be crafted with meticulous care and mayhem, and they will continue to make us proud of being Pakistanis.
The views expressed by this blogger and in the following reader comments do not necessarily reflect the views and policies of the Dawn Media Group.
