The real question is: How much can Hasan Raheem (noun) Hasan Raheem (verb) until he becomes a caricature of himself? When you do the same thing over and over again and saturate your music with yourself, aren’t you in danger of becoming a caricature? These were the thoughts running through my head when I listened to Hasan Raheem’s much-awaited first album, Nautanki.

And this is coming from someone who has been a long-time listener and supporter of the artist. I still do very much love his work in general but, perhaps, my expectations from Nautanki were a little too ‘high’. What we got was the same old same old typical Hasan Raheem sound, complete with ‘hoo, hoo’ vocalisations here and there, without any of the innovation.

This nine-track album takes a grand total of 31 minutes and 26 seconds to listen to. And overall, it’s not much to write home about. Everything is perfect — title, cover, artwork, the artist — except the music. It’s not terrible, it’s just lacking in anything new.

I listened to it a second time with adjusted, lowered expectations, trying desperately to like this first consolidated body of work by one of my favourite artists, but it resulted in my not changing my original opinion.

Hasan’s Raheem’s first solo album, Nautanki, isn’t quite the production it was promised to be. The only shock and awe one feels is how predictable and juvenile it sounds

Most of Dibs is focused on these lyrics that Hasan mumbles away: “Saray dibs on you/ Main tera aur meri tu/ Ban ja baby boo/ Main tera aur meri tu [I got dibs on you/ I am yours, you are mine/ Be my baby boo/ I am yours, you are mine].” It sounds like the kind of thing you make up on the fly and sing around the house — as the beginnings of an idea for a song, not the actual, supposedly developed song. This song is lazy songwriting at best.

The bass and beat get a bit intense in Fursat. And you guessed it, past the one-minute mark, for most of the rest of the song, we have Raheem going, “Main kaisay doon/ Thori si fursat main kaisay doon?[How do I give?/ How do I give some of my free time?].” I have a feeling this is the song that will be playing in the waiting room should Dr Hasan Raheem have a successful medical practice in the future.

“You’re the peanut to my butter/ Phir bhi itni tu bey-sabar” wafts through the speakers in Peanut Butter. Really, what am I listening to at this point? Is this what passes for poetry these days? This has to be a joke. I bet the artist is out there laughing at us taking this seriously.

Overall, it’s not much to write home about. Everything is perfect — title, cover, artwork, the artist — except the music. It’s not terrible, it’s just lacking in anything new.

I anxiously go through the rest of the songs, desperate to find something of substance or innovation in this nine-track album in vain. We get to the title track, Nautanki. One feels a spark of hope.

And the tiniest of sparks remains, while listening to Nautanki, but barely. The saxophone in this slow-paced number comes across as somewhat cheesy, the song seems to be about the protagonist trying to convince his beloved, and perhaps himself, to be brave and take a major step towards themselves. Stop dilly-dallying and do what this major commitment or act is that he wants himmat [strength] for. It’s a romantic number open to interpretation. Takes a few listens to grow on you.

One has to go listen to Hasan Raheem’s earlier works to cleanse one’s ears, mind and soul from the experience of this album. I can’t help but wonder: did Hasan Raheem hit rock bottom (musically) with Nautanki? Here’s hoping the artist will rise again with his next release.

Published in Dawn, ICON, january 1st, 2023