Leftovers (Aditi
Ramesh): Power
Bol (Sarathy Korwar):
How often do you feel
like you belong? Quite
often? Almost never? Is
it always in between?
requires direction to
dominate. In the absence
of direction, it is havoc.
Aditi Ramesh carries
in her voice the power
of painstaking Carnatic
classical education. In
her new EP, she scatters
her power into multiple
artistic stencils, turning
it into a revealing, if somewhat discordant phenomenon. What does it mean to
belong in a country that
built itself on the suffering
of your ancestors? More
importantly, is it possible
to belong when the country
you live in is divided
itself to throw you “kind” out it's borders?
Origin celebrates her traditional musical grounding,
but introduces it to her newer love: jazz. The two worlds
meet with admirable ease, though gaps in musicality do
appear (perhaps on purpose?). To the untrained ear, it can
pendulum between charming and unfamiliar. Ramesh
uses her voice with Jackson Pollock-style flourish, which
stands testament to her experimental intentions. London-based jazz musician Korwar dives into
questions that define “brownness” in present-day
Britain. It features the skills of poet Zia Ahmed, whose
words elicit dread and ennui among those who walk
a divided land that still barely accepts them.
Folders is more recognizably “indie”, a fable relating the
sorrows of the Indian indie musician, seeking to eke out
both a living and some meaning through their art. She
touches upon the hardship, but bypasses it swiftly to offer a
reassuring message - it is best to do what you must and let the
world play itself. For the individual soul, life is best ensured
when partitioned into more digestible pieces ( folders).
Don’t Be Rude asks you to, well, not be rude. Composed in
the aftermath of being railed at by a particularly unpleasant
client, she urges for more frequent decency among us.
Lyrically, however, this might be the weakest. Statements
like “Your behaviour is causing anxiety, it’s what’s expected
in this capitalist society” are entirely true, but come off as
insipid and drab when planted amidst jazz-blasted rhythms.
Outro is the most integrated piece, reminiscent of the Aditi
of Autocorrect, her previous sonic venture. It intones, in
a voice that draws from the singer’s reliance on tradition,
the wisdom of a Sanskrit scripture that blesses those who
eat the leftovers of a sacrificial ritual and heaps sin upon
those who cook to feed their own mouths alone. One can
imagine that the quartet resonates with this emphasis
on bonding, if the cover art is anything to go by.
One can also imagine that perfect philosophical and artistic
alignment must exist in the band for them to wade into
new territory. This EP is a cluster of songs that Ramesh
could not record when they were written, but as they sat
and gathered metaphorical moss, they became expressions
of the band’s curiosity and expansion. The EP is almost a
living thing, and invites you to participate in the artist’s
struggle and pleasure - an offer worth pursuing.
Ahmed’s verse run the gamut of associations one has
to navigate simply by virtue of having brown skin. The
stereotypes range from simply ridiculous to atrocious :
I am slumdog millionaire downward dog eight headed god
I am Shiva al-Qaeda I am auditioning
for the role of terrorist one
Yeh I can do that in an Arabic accent
I am Ganges I am Gandhi I am Jinnah
I am five pillars I am sinner
I am cinnamon I am cardamom
Korwar’s music shimmers and wails, reflecting both
lament and outrage that accompanies alienation. Aditya
Prakash’s Carnatic cadences solidifies the emotional
charge with a perfect ensemble of sonic tension and sudden
release. Perhaps the alternation between overt anguish
and eventual resignation is what the brown man feels
as he walks any British street, especially post-Brexit.
As social commentary, the track is incisive, insightful
and provokes a desire to reflect on one’s place in the
world. The song is both paced and contemplative,
accurately resembling a fever-brain borne out of a
schism of identity. Imagine yourself living where you
are never sure if you are welcome or even safe.
Musically, Bol certainly makes the effort to veer off the
beaten path. Melody is less of a priority; the sound is
designed to drive in the triggers of the suffering man.
It scratches and scrapes out a tapestry of sadness, loss,
illusion, absurdity and surrender. You don’t come
away feeling too good about yourself or the world, but
light has been thrown on some dark, cobwebby corners
of human sadness - and thus art has done it’s job.
The
Score Magazine
highonscore.com
23