Bored as Fuck (Hanita Bhambri): Hanita’s
2019 EP was lauded for all the right reasons. She
brought forth music that played with exciting
new possibilities. Her vocal perambulations never
ceased to delight her listeners, and neither did the
lush, almost cinematic elaborations of melody.
Bored as Fuck does none of the above. It pares
down the richness of sound, choosing to favour a
more unassuming, intimate sound. The narrative
slows down, gut-wrenching words seasoned with
gentle synths. It matches the mindset of someone
“bored as fuck” which, as song reveals, is code for
depression, repressed anger and numb despair.
The song signals Hanita’s rediscovery of the self; a
dive into her personal darkness.
Hanita wrote the song after being burned by a
toxic, self-sabotaging friendship. She describes her
plight that those of broken hearts will recognize
too well: “I pour myself/in a cup for all/They
drink all night/And they go on/They go on.”
The track feels especially relevant in these times
of forced isolation. To be trapped inside without
nothing but our
thoughts seems
is now a vexing
reality for the
world. Amidst such
strife, one should
not be surprised to
find their own soul
echoed when Hanita
sings “Thoughts
flood my head/I’m in
a black hole/Anger
aches my bones/I
want a safe house”.
Izhaar (Alchemy):
day, another Hindi
band. This one,
themselves Alchemy and
from the glistening
lanes of Mumbai also
their music as Hindi
experimental rock.
Another
rock
calling
hailing
deem
Does the label do them
justice?
Well, they are certainly
not
playing anything you
haven’t
heard before. But they offer clean riffs, earworm-inducing
choruses and lyrics exploring everything from past
heartbreak, new romance and even some social relevance.
It’s a mixed bag, and done with more than adequate
expertise.
Alchemy started as a college band. Guitarist Yash Rajput,
guitarist-vocalist Aniruddha Deshpande, bassist Nilesh
Dalwani and drummer Ankit Gangwani met in college,
and created a band that went on to do fairly well as college-
level band competition.
Their debut album certainly retains the open-handed
charm of college-day naivete. Izhaar, for example, is a song
of unashamed adoration for a nameless beloved. Gunaah
is a somewhat amateurish and over-the-top visualising
of violently unfulfilled love. Tum Aao is more adult in
it's longing. It voices that wordless yearning humans
universally feel for the as-of-yet-unmet soulmate. Chodo
Bhi Yeh has the simplest message: let go and be happy
because being miserable never helped anyone. Manzil,
though a bit preachy, still waxes eloquent about what it
takes to live a good, morally upheld life.
Fundamentally, it’s a good album. Whether it works well
for individual listeners will depend on whether they find
their experiences echoed in the sound. The soundscape is
classic rock, though they do temper it with gentler alt-rock
sensibilities. The music is thoughtfully made, and deserves
to be given it's due listen.
Aamad (Sameer Rahat):
The words in Aamad
are carefully chosen.
Every syllable is
picked out of it's bower,
examined with the eye of
a professional appraiser
and set in place as rubies
in a tsarina's crown.
Sameer Rahat hails
from a family of poems.
Needless to say, he knows
the power of a well-placed word. His debut album is a
demonstration of that power, done quietly, without fuss.
Each song is framed by the gentlest melodies, ones that
trigger grief, craving and the numb pain for a loss that
occurred in the distant past.
The album opens with a spoken word piece Jo bhi hain.
It is a conversation with the self, an assertion that one
is enough even when life offers them close to nothing.
Every subsequent track burrows in the deepest and
yet most commonly felt facets of the human experience
- solitude, loneliness, solace, hope, despair, fury,
acceptance and the like. Khat is less about an actual
letter( though, there is one, written to him by an ex),
and more about the messages Rahat wishes to leave in
the midst of emotional turbulence.
All the songs go this way, dwelling in an unassuming
balance of profundity and peace. While Tasalli goes
deep within the artist and brings forth demons and
revelations, it never becomes angry or bitter. Perhaps
it is by virtue of his lifelong love of poetry and music,
but Rahat seems to exude an honest confidence. He does
not gloss over failure or anguish; infact, he brings them
into light through the lens of good art. To quote hRahat
himself, “We’ve always been where we want to be, just
that we don’t realise it.”
The album is made in tandem with incredible
musicians, Mir Kashif Iqbal of Parvaaz among them.
It’s a collaboration destined by whichever gods bless the
arts, and the result is a gift to us all.