Some readers may find it amusing to learn that a 70-year-old woman in Pakistan mourns the passing of rock musicians so far removed from her cultural experience. For me, ‘rock’ is a wondrously exhilarating art form and I have spent a number of decades studying and attempting to understand the ideology that informs this great music genre, which has impacted generations of musicians and fans in world culture. Trained in classical music, playing the violin moderately well for many years and marrying into a singing family has, however, not enabled me to reproduce a single note vocally and singing remains unassailable territory.
However, listening to others has always been a pleasure as it is for millions of people worldwide. In my case, the ear was ‘tuned’ by the likes of the late Roshan Ara Begum singing in less than perfect conditions under marquees at the old Alhamra. Being awed by magical breath control, the virtually superhuman ability to hold the sweetness and purity of a note lingers among precious memories of a childhood spent in the welcoming shade of Pakistan’s first art forum.
Long before the digital age, interest in forms of world music and drama were truly fostered by quality radio transmissions. The art of listening (long since forgotten in contemporary frenetic life marked by texting and instagrams) taught respect for the other’s narrative be it music, speech, ideology or performance. For a generation growing up in the 1950s and 1960s, listening became an addiction bordering on hysteria with radio serving variously as a conduit to popularise music and drama or nuanced messages of love during western music transmissions.
It was the mid-1950s that introduced the world to the idea of rock n’ roll but my own introduction to true rock did not materialise until the late 1960s. Growing out of its original beginnings and its Chubby Checker mode, the decade was referred to variously as the ‘golden age’ and the classic rock period saw the term rock itself come into its own after rock ‘n’ roll was set aside by the baby boomer generation as an embarrassing detour in its efforts to get on with an adult life with its subsequent challenges. Spreading like wildfire, the music and the movement reached fever pitch sounding across seas to impact student audiences in places like Pakistan. One vividly (and nostalgically) recalls dancing to Elvis’ Jailhouse Rock in the frenetic darkness of Plaza Cinema, Lahore, along with a hall full of screaming teenagers without fear (or danger) of moral policing.
The 1950s, in hindsight, appear comparatively safer and innocent, and rock ‘n’ roll found fertile ground for the ideals that youth could pursue in such an environment. When issues of race, war, sexuality, drugs, ecology and world hunger arose in later years, rock ‘n’ roll was forced, like every other ideology, to respond to them. That many of these concerns were of central importance to the kids reared on and revelling in r ‘n’ r as a lifestyle only heightened the significance of their common response, as expressed in and through the music. The years following saw the swift popularity of the electric guitar and technical innovations such as the use of distortion and power chords evolving as distinct features of a music whose origins can be traced to various black musical genres such as rhythm and blues and gospel, often termed ‘race music’.
The 1960s remain a very special moment in time. As the springboard of rock music and culture began to take shape with student activism at Berkeley, the hippie movement, Joan Baez, the flower children, anti-war anger and the underground bands on the west coast, rainy Seattle became the forerunner for great rock bands and musicians such as Jimi Hendrix and Kurt Cobain, leading to the grunge genre in the late 1990s. Call it fate, destiny or what-have-you, this evolution was virtually a first hand experience as I enrolled for schooling in Seattle during the early 1960s. The highlights of those student years were a Joan Baez concert and meeting Elvis Presley in person at the World Fair (a handshake with President Kennedy on the White House lawns as a foreign exchange student runs a close second)!
Commercial success for rock came in the early 1990s with the raw sound of grunge, its high level of distortion, feedback and sludgy guitar effects, its angst filled lyrics and its rejection of the guitar solo, all of which contributed to making bands like Nirvana, Pearl Jam and Alice in Chains hugely successful and subsequent global icons.
The movement was impacting things at home also. By the time I returned, raised a family and agonised over a son who maddeningly ‘head banged’ 20 out of 24 hours, a new phenomenon was stirring amidst young Pakistanis. Salman Ahmad, Ali Azmat, Nusrat Hussain (to be replaced by Brian O’Connell) formed a band aptly called Junoon and, with it, local ‘rock’ was born. The move was not an easy one. Despite electric live performances that garnered huge responses and the release of their debut album Junoon in 1991, the band’s initial struggle for survival and recognition stretched over a number of years. Performances were, after all, noisy with hugely energetic singing acts by a charismatic Ali Azmat.
Yet, slowly but surely, Hollywood ‘cult’ heroes like James Dean and Presley metamorphosed into relatable local ‘bad boy’ counterparts. Inspired by the idea of behind-the-scenes documentaries, an exquisitely penned Anwar Maqsood television series, directed by Atiqa Odho and titled Talaash, extended general public interest in the band’s true story of heartache, perseverance and undeniable talent. In the years prior to the emergence of a powerful private sector media ‘revolution’ in Pakistan, the establishment network of television programming was not far behind in its monitoring of Junoon’s irreverent take on poor governance.
(To be contined)
The writer is academic advisor at Lahore Grammar School and may be contacted at [email protected]