Vital Signs and Junoon: The magic, the rivalry, the history
Recently, in an interview that he gave to the BBC, Salman Ahmed – former guitarist of (the now defunct) ‘Sufi-Rock’ group, Junoon – claimed that his band’s 1996 pop anthem, ‘Jazba Junoon’ became bigger than the Vital Signs’ Dil Dil Pakistan.
DDP was recorded by the seminal Pakistani pop band, ‘Vital Signs’ in 1987 and was also part of their big-selling debut album (1989’s VS: 1).
This song too was a pop anthem that glorified patriotism and Pakistani nationalism. Its release in 1987 kick-started a whole new pop scene in the country. That scene is still remembered to be the most robust and productive modern music movement witnessed in Pakistan.
I am not quite sure in what context Salman was measuring Jazba Junoon’s bigness compared to that of Dil Dil Pakistan, but his statement did, for a bit, raise many eyebrows among local pop fans.
As a journalist, I extensively covered the sudden rise and gradual fall of Pakistan’s pop scene in the 1990s.
A rivalry of sorts had developed between Junoon and the Vital Signs, and Salman’s statement suggests that the echoes of that creative and commercial conflict are somewhat still present in him, as well as in the fans of both bands.
Rivalries between bands are not a unique happening. The most famous was the one between the two biggest pop/rock bands of the 1960s, the Beatles and the Rolling Stones. The Stones began by shaping themselves as the anti-thesis of The Beatles.
Till the mid-1960s, the Beatles were largely perceived to be a band whose appeal cut across all ages, from teenage girls to their parents. The Stones emerged as ‘bad boys’ with unkempt hair and a musical style that was rooted more in blues music than in teenybopper pop.
The rivalry continued even after the Beatles shed off their teenybopper image and began to heavily experiment with the powerful mind-altering hallucinogenic drugs that (after the mid-1960s) had begun to influence the emergence of innovative (and surrealistic) shades of fashion, art and popular music.
For example, in 1967, the Beatles released the groundbreaking psychedelic pop album, Sergeant Pepper’s Lonely Hearts Club Band. Through innovative technical manoeuvres in the studios and equally innovative song writing, the album added a whole new dimension to the dynamics and aesthetics of Western pop music.
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The Stones responded by recording and releasing their own psychedelic album, but one that was deliberately made to sound a lot darker than Sgt Pepper’s. The Stones’ record was aptly called Their Satanic Majesties Request.
Both the records are packed with songs brilliantly concocted from some pioneering recording techniques, surreal imagery and an assortment of complex, ‘mind-bending’ antics.
These records would eventually give birth to the whole psychedelic pop genre and later (in the 1970s), to the more sophisticated and grandiose Progressive-Rock genre and scene.
But whereas the Beatles’ album portrayed the shinier sides of the time’s hallucinogenic psychedelic and hippie scene, the Stones’ record exhibited the darker side of the same scene.
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Nevertheless, most of the books that appeared on both the bands from the mid-1970s onwards, which more than alluded to the whole rivalry bit between the two bands; had a lot to do with marketing gimmickries and with how the music press picked it up and ran away with it.
Indeed, both the groups were catering to a similar market (and competing), but it was the Stones’ management that first came up with the idea of moulding the band’s ‘bad boys’ image (as an alternative to the Beatles).
Otherwise, relations between members of both the groups were rather cordial. In fact, Paul McCartney (of the Beatles) appeared on one song on TSMR and Mick Jagger – the lead singer of the Rolling Stones – appeared on Give Peace A Chance, the 1969 hit song recorded by John Lennon of the Beatles.
According to some leading music critics, hyped and media-generated perceptions of rivalries between two or more similar bands catering to similar markets can actually bode well for the involved groups because it keeps them in the news and also helps them solidify their fan base.
The same can be said about some other famous rivalries in this context, such as the one between ‘90s grunge greats Nirvana and Pearl Jam, and between best-selling British Indie-Pop acts, Oasis and Blur.
Well, of course, all this used to transpire (and was actually encouraged) by the dynamics of a music scene and industry that was yet to splinter and severely fragment – mainly due to the emergence of the download culture that (ever since the early 2000s) has drastically altered the landscape.
But coming back to the matter of band rivalries, as mentioned earlier, the most well-known in the Pakistani pop/rock scene was between Vital Signs and Junoon.
The Signs emerged in 1987 as a project of reclusive TV producer, Shoaib Mansoor. The band was made up of Rohail Hayatt (synthesisers), Nusrat Hussain (guitar), Shahzad Hassan (bass) and Junaid Jamshed (vocals).
The band had already made a bit of a name for itself in the time’s ‘college functions’ circuit before it was picked up by Mansoor to record a patriotic song and video in 1987.
The song was Dil Dil Pakistan, penned by Mansoor and composed by Nusrat Hussain and Junaid Jamshed. The lyrics express an unabashed love of the country, portraying it as a kind of heaven on earth.
But this wasn’t what got the song instant popularity. It was the way it was composed and then turned into a video.
Departing from the ways of local pop musicians of the 1980s, who mostly fused elements of traditional Pakistani music with western genres such as Disco and soft-pop, the Signs (on DDP) took the vintage melodicism associated with Pakistani film songs and expressed it with the help of the sonic undercurrents and imagery of the era’s European New Wave and ‘Syth-Pop’ genres.
The song was an immediate hit. It jumped out of the TV screens onto cassettes and was soon heard everywhere – at youth rallies during the 1988 election (that celebrated the demise of a reactionary 11-year-dictatorship); in schools, over TV commercials and during cricket and hockey matches featuring Pakistan.
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The hit propelled the band into becoming one of the country’s biggest modern pop acts that would go on to record four best-selling albums and head dozens of concerts between 1989 and 1996. It also bagged the group a lucrative contract from Pepsi Co. Pakistan.
But by the time the Signs went into to record their first album in 1989, Nusrat Hussain had quit and was replaced by Salman Ahmed – an impulsive and volatile guitarist.
Salman and Signs’ leader, Rohail, never got along. And despite the fact that the band’s first album was a major hit, Salman decided to walk out. Some believe he was eased out; others suggest he walked out in a huff. He was replaced by Rizwan-ul-Haq.
In 1990, Salman formed his own band with former Jupiters vocalist, Ali Azmat, and ex-Signs’ man, Nusrat Hussain. He named the band Junoon. To him, Junoon was to become the Pakistani Rolling Stones to the Pakistani Beatles (Vital Signs).
Junoon songs liberally incorporated elements from rock and hard-rock genres and did not shy away from expressing political and social statements. The band’s first album was a commercial flop. Its raunchier sound was still too novel for a nascent pop scene.
Junoon’s music increasingly fused riff-friendly rock chops with funky renditions of Punjabi folk and traditional Sufi music; and the lyrics occasionally ventured into commenting on the state of the country and society. This gradually began to gather a steady and passionate cult following for the band.
The group’s growing reputation as a crackling live act helped too, especially when bassist Brian O’Connell came in for Nusrat and veteran drummer, Malcom Gomes, became a mainstay in the band.
Yet, compared to the commercial successes and widespread fame of the Signs, Junoon was still largely a cult attraction. Salman continued to find the Signs ‘complacent,’ and Rohail continued to find Salman ‘overbearing.’
By the time the Signs delivered their fourth album (Hum Tum), the band’s sound had become a lot more layered, mature and even melancholic.
Junoon responded with Inquilaab in 1996 (the band’s third album). It was another energetic package of catchy off-the-wall riffs and racy vocals weaved around rudiments of Punjabi folk and bhangra music genres.To round off the album, the band (as if on a whim), decided to also record and add a pop anthem to the album – a style that was still popular after the initial release of Dil Dil Pakistan in 1987.
So out came Jazba Junoon, a song that musically sounded like one of those upbeat Latino songs of early Santana, and punctuated with patriotic and uplifting lyrics inspired by the writings of South Asian philosopher and poet, Mohammad Iqbal.
The first CDs and cassettes of the album did not have the song. It was added a few months later after Coca-Cola decided to pick it up as its theme song (in Pakistan) during the 1996 Cricket World Cup (that was being held in Pakistan, India and Sri Lanka). Coke was one of the main sponsors of the global cricket tournament.
A video sponsored by Coke and showing the band playing the song amidst excited young men and women waving Pakistani flags (and swigging Coke) began to run on the state-owned TV channel (PTV).
The country was abuzz with the hysteria of the World Cup and the Pakistan team was one of the favourites to win (it didn’t). It was this environment that helped the song gain instant attention and fame.
With Coke now backing the band and Jazba Junoon becoming its first mainstream hit, the rivalry between Junoon and Vital Signs was now set to turn into a Cola Wars of sorts, considering that the Signs were still Pepsi’s biggest pop act in Pakistan.
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Indeed, Jazba Junoon did become big. Very big. But bigger than Dil Dil Pakistan?
Let’s look at it this way. The cola wars in this respect did not really materialise. The Signs folded in 1997, just as Junoon was hitting its very own commercial peak. Junoon would go on to record three more albums and last till 2004.
Right across the 2000s, both the songs are played over and over again at cricket matches and at an assortment of festive events that involve young people. Also, both the songs also continue to be used (both officially and otherwise) in Pakistani films, TV commercials and TV plays. They’ve become like a set of twin Pakistani pop anthems that don’t really compete for space anymore, but are largely treated as equals.
They both remain ‘big’, despite the fact that the pop anthem fad faded away in the early 2000s, especially after the country spiralled down and crashed in an extremely awkward place after 9/11 and when terrorist attacks in Pakistan increased manifold.
Though there were some very good pop artistes before the pop explosion that produced the Signs and Junoon; and dozens more pop and rock acts also emerged from the same movement, these two bands have settled in the country’s pop music history as ‘classics’ and perhaps the most influential.
Discographies
Ratings
**** Excellent | *** Good | ** Average | * Poor
Vital Signs Discography
VS: 1 (1989) ***
This is a pretty impressive debut from a band that was gunning to introduce the local pop scene to sounds that were largely alien to a majority of Pakistani music fans at the time. The Signs wedded the rich melodicism found in songs in Indian and Pakistani films of the 1970s with sonic elements of the 1980s New Wave and Syth-Pop genres that had emerged in Europe in the 1980s.
The biggest hits from the album are (of course), Dil Dil Pakistan and Gorey Rang ka Zamana. The latter was a light-hearted comment on fair-complexioned ladies, even though some listeners believed the song was kind of glorifying fair complexion (in women).
Truth is, it was a tongue-in-cheek comment on how everyone in South Asia was wishing to become white! The true musical and lyrical standouts of the album however are Musafir and Yeh Shaam. Both over five minutes long, they are the first examples of the kind of melancholic melodies that the band would go on to hone and perfect in its future releases.
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VS:2 (1991) ****
Hot on the heels of the breakthrough commercial success of their first album, the Signs found themselves in a bit of bother when they entered the studios to record their second offering.
Their guitarist Salman Ahmed had quit and vocalist Junaid Jamshed was popping in and out of the studio, not sure whether he wanted to stick around anymore.
Salman was replaced with Rizwan-ul-Haq and Jamshed was convinced to at least finish the second album. Out of this turmoil emerged an album that remains to be the Signs’ richest in terms of sound.
Breaking away from the upbeat Syth-Pop influences that dominate VS:1, Rohail (who also took on the responsibility of producing the second album), boldly brings in sonic inspirations and elements from such Prog-Rock luminaries as Pink Floyd and Genesis, giving the overall sound of the album a lot more melodic juice and a brooding edge.
The album kicks off with an immediate hit, the playful Sanwali Saloni, a song exalting dark-complexioned (albeit sexy) women – a clear correction of what the band were accused of for Gorey Rang Ka Zamana. The song is quickly followed by another playful ditty, Mera Dil, a song (which, on the surface) is about a heartless flirt, but is actually a tongue-in-cheek and allegorical critique of American foreign policy!
After these two songs, the album’s mood turns broody and melancholic, and remains that way across a number of songs that are rich in melody and ruminating lyrics, wedding the classic melodicism of Pakistani film song composers such as Robin Ghosh with the more forlorn sides of acts such as Pink Floyd.
There is also an overtly political song, Aisa Na Ho, which laments the fact that the euphoria that emerged after the demise of a reactionary dictatorship in 1988 was being lost due to the eruption of ethnic and sectarian violence.
Though now 24 years old, VS: 2 has dated remarkably well, mainly due to the fact that it also anticipated future genres such as moody electronica and ‘deep ambient’.
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Aitebar (1993) **
In 1993, the Signs were a much happier bunch, basking in the fact that they had risen to become the leading pop act in the country. But this livelier state-of-mind did not necessarily translate into the band producing a worthy follow-up to VS: 2.
On Aitebar, the Signs sound largely complacent. The idea seemed to be to depart from VS: 2’s brooding ways and recapture the euphoria and upbeat mood of the first album. It does not work.
Most of the songs are like fast-food pop, even though a decent pop rendition of Punjabi folk music, Chala, does have its moments. So does an otherwise cynical attempt to create another popular pop anthem, Yeh Zameen. But eventually it is the band’s brooding stuff that manages to stand out, in this case the excellent tittle track, Aitebar.
Other than this, the album is largely forgettable.
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Hum Tum (1995) ***
The Signs return to form on 1995’s Hum Tum. But it wasn’t a very easy album to make. Rizwan was chucked out and replaced by moody guitar virtuoso, Aamir Zaki, who walked out after recording just two songs for the album. Former Awaz guitarist, Asad Ahmed was brought in as a temporary replacement.
Communication and relations between band members was not top-notch, but after a long, hard slog, the Signs did manage to produce their long-awaited fourth album.
The album gets off to a not very auspicious start with Hum Jeetengay, a rhetorical pop anthem that does absolutely nothing and is almost entirely forced-fed.
But after another dud, the unimaginative and pretentious ode to some imagined pristine past (Guzray Zamanay Wali), the album begins to come to life, offering gem after gem of quality pop.
The band revives the melodic moodiness that it discovered on VS:2, this time mating inspirations like Robin Ghosh not only with the atmospherics of Floyd, but also with the steady soft-rock of bands such as Fleetwood Mac and the Eagles.
Standout tunes in this respect are Jana Jana, Mumkin and Un Ka Khiyal. But there’s also a hidden gem: the epic and lesser-known, Mein Chup Raha that brilliantly fuses funk and rock and then punctuates it with bits of eastern classical music, and volatile and vulnerable lyrics along with vocals lamenting missed opportunities. It’s a cracker.
Hum Tum marked a befitting exit for a great band because this was to become its swan song. The band folded in 1998.
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Junoon Discography
Junoon (1991) **
Junoon’s debut album has a strange (and ironic) history. It was a miserable flop on release, but over the decades, it has settled well as a Pakistani rock classic for many fans of the genre.
The classic bits are a direct outcome of songs like Jogia, – the band’s first foray into what it will come to define as ‘Sufi-Rock’ – Neend and Khawab. All of these try to mate soft-metal with modern Pakistani pop that was emerging at the time, even though Jogia is also an early indication of how good a riff-master Salman Ahmed would grow into becoming.
The overall production of the album is somewhat spotty, and it also has some truly embarrassing moments, especially Downtown Princes, which utterly fails to anticipate the coming arrival of grunge and instead settles at being a silly facsimile of a flat Hair-Metal anthem, a genre that was thankfully dying.
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Talaash (1993) **
After replacing Nusrat Hussain with Brian O’Connell, Junoon begins to find its feet on Talaash. This time, it does not hesitate to turn up its rock influences a notch and chum them with Punjabi folk music.
The results are exciting: Heeray is a no-holds-barred hard-rock-meets-Punjabi-folk assault, and so is the title track, Talaash, a tearaway rock number driven by Salman’s cyclic riffing and angry lyrics bemoaning ‘slave mentality.’
There’s also a lesser-known gem, Woh, a playful song with a catchy riff. But the band’s cohesiveness is not entirely there yet, because there is also Lady Magic, another Hair-Metal counterfeit, and that too during a period when grunge had all but blown away this excruciating genre.
Inquilaab (1996) ****
Junoon’s breakthrough album. It is packed from top to bottom with some high octane songs brimming with a new confidence to ambitiously fuse spirited dynamics of hard-rock and the group’s growing fascination with all things Sufi.
There are the obvious hits like the bouncy Mera Mahi and, of course, Jazba Junoon, as well as perhaps Sufi-Rock’s first comprehensive expression, Saieen.
There are some persuasively soulful and atmospheric moments here as well, especially in the shape of Rooh Ki Hai Pyaas, brilliantly crooned by Ali Azmat with the help of lyrics mediating on a man’s struggle with existentialist and spiritual crisis. It is also on this tune that Salman transcends from being an off-the-wall riff-master into becoming an equally accomplished lead player.
Songs like Khoi Aankhein, Husn Waloun and Main Kon Hoon, liberally and fearlessly experiment with sonic complexities and weird time signatures, rounding off a very satisfying effort.
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Azadi (1997) ***
Inquilaab propelled Junoon into the mainstream. It was no more just a cult act and it celebrated this occurrence by putting out another impressive album, Azadi.
Interestingly, the band stripped down the sound by almost completely replacing the drums with tablas but bringing the guitars and the vocals upfront. The compositions are mostly strong, and they were invigorating enough to attract the attention of Indian pop and rock fans as well, where this album helped Junoon break big.
By now the band had also become famous for pioneering the Sufi-Rock genre, a claim strengthened by Sayonee. There are others gems here as well, like the catchy Yaar Bina driven by Zeppelinsque guitar riffs bouncing off a galloping tabla.
All said, Azadi however fails to be as consistent in intensity and quality as Inquilaab.
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Parvaaz (1999) ****
The Junoon juggernaut continues to move confidently and powerfully on the band’s fifth album, Parvaaz. By now the biggest rock/pop band in Pakistan, Junoon gets a bit introspective on Parvaaz and floats almost entirely in the post-modern Sufi narrative that it had concocted. The results are rather brilliant.
The album kicks off with Bulleya, a potent rock rendition of a famous Sufi kalam by the popular (and populist) Sufi saint, Bullay Shah. Other wonderful trinkets include Sajna and the brooding Mitti.
The most interesting, however, is Ghoom, Junoon’s ‘Kashmir’ moment (the famous Led-Zeppelin epic). Ghoom just has to be the most complete and ultimate expression of Sufi-Rock – intense, hypnotic and convincingly entrancing, it sees Junoon at the peak of its form.
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Ishq (2001) *
After scaling great creative and commercial heights with their last three albums, Junoon badly fumbles on Ishq. It is as if the band was coming down with a bad hangover from all the enthralling events of the late 1990s that saw the band rise from being a cult act into a South Asian rock giant.
On Ishq, however, the band, after exhausting all of its Sufi-Rock wiles and moves, attempted to become the rock mouthpiece of the thoughts of poet and philosopher, Mohammad Iqbal. What they really end up being is nothing more than pretentious bores!
No wonder this is the least loved Junoon album.
Deewar (2004) **
This album would certainly have gone the way the listless Ishq did, had it not been for the two superb songs that Ali Azmat came up with. The bright-eyed Tara Jala and the pulsating Garaj Baras are the only two things that matter on this album.
Salman, who had been the main force behind most Junoon songs, now seemed exhausted and uninterested, while Brian was wallowing in his own existentialist crisis. Ali was bitter, and if one takes out the two aforementioned songs, the rest of the album sounds lethargic, impassive and clearly reflecting the fragmentary and tumultuous state of the band.
Not surprisingly, the band broke up soon after.
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