Shalini’s Smile and Jam

Sunday Jam, Bangalore: March 07.

Holi afternoon. Tired, desolate, multi-hued survivors straggling disconsolately on otherwise deserted streets. Today Sunday Jam is back in Ravindra Kalashetra, where it had all begun all those years ago. Me, I have never been there before. Go all the way down JC road using back lanes, because JC is another @#$% one-way, and all the way back up, and discover it was right where I started – right next to the biggest landmark in this part of the town: the town hall. Feel mightily foolish. In the process, land an hour late. 6:30. There is a band playing some nice, peppy punk. Very well done. Their last song. Feel really sorry to have missed their set. Wonder what they are called? No one seems to know.

The Jam is in a cozy little open-air amphitheatre behind the main hall. Lovely acoustics, pulsating ambiance. The atmosphere can be cut with a butter knife. The place is packed- the first S-Jam in my memory that is so well attended. Some of the other Jams only seemed to have the band members. The city-centre setting seems to have performed a small miracle. As they say in management schools: location, location, location! One of their more intelligible perorations. There is even a fair sprinkling of foreigners. Lots of Herrs and Fraus in color-splashed T-shirts and faces dyed in industrial magenta.

And Babes! Tons of Babes! This is already the best S-Jam ever.

A strange figure takes the stage. Looks like an NGO who has strayed into a rock concert. He sings a Kannada ditty to the tune of Sudhakar from Quasar on drums. Who is this guy? The compere humorously calls it a highjack by the friendly neighborhood Kannada activist. My guess is this is some sort of socio-political tokenism in exchange for being allowed to jam at the city hall. Anyway, it is mercifully short. There is actually some enthusiastic clapping from some members of the audience.

A band called Schnell Psyche takes the stage. They play some nice tight heavy metal. Energetic vocalist in a brown T-shirt with a big Swastika jumps around roaring angrily into the mic. Unfortunately, it somehow doesn’t go with the shy, self-effacing smile on his face. Chap needs to work on his menacing looks. The guitarist joins the vocals, and they sing a kind of rap-laden heavy metal. Hate rap, but this is very effective. The song is called ‘It had to stop sometime’. They stop abruptly in mid-song. Remember the title? Clever.

There has been some buzz about a band with a female bassist. This should be interesting. I’ve heard of women on vocals, keyboards, lead… even drums. But I always thought the bass – that most macho of all instruments, was the last bastion of male chauvinism. They take the stage finally. Oh my God, is she beautiful! With the electric bass in her hand, she looks ...Electric! Audience is spell bound. Will the music be as good?

Legato Lilac they call themselves. Three piece. Sendil on lead, Shalini on bass, Sathvik on drums. SSS. “Sorry -only covers: we’ve only been together seven days” mumbles Sendil sheepishly, and they launch into Joe Satriani’s ‘House full of Bullets’.

Sendil is mind blowing. He actually sounds like Joe Satriani. His hands are just a blur of hammer-ons and hammer-offs on the fretboard. Nice tight drumming from Sathvik. But it all pales into insignificance. Because standing besides them is a demurely smiling Shalini grooving away on her bass. And what a smile! It is to die for. It lights up the whole amphitheatre. It gives new meaning to life. I know I sound terribly sexist talking about her smile than her musical abilities, but what can I do? It is the kind of smile that starts tank battles in the desert. That changes the course of history. That makes poor sods like me renounce materialistic existence and go off to the Himalayas to brood. Just for the record: she plays a hard, driving groove with lots of interesting variations that counterpoints the lead very well. The last bastion has crumbled.

Legato play another two Satriani numbers in quick succession: Secret Prayer and Raspberry Jam. All equally brilliant. It goes by in a haze. This group will go places. Then they are shooed off the stage and another heavy metal group takes the stage. But it seems like bathos, now. I am in love, and going by the plaintive wails of ‘Shalini! Shalini!’ ringing around the stands, I am not the only one.

I go around to the staging pit to speak to the band. They are even more charming in person than under the arc lights. Sendil is influenced by the likes of Steve Vai and Joe Satriani. He has been gigging around in various rock groups for the last decade. Sathvik has been around for seven years, Shalini for three. She has played with Quasar, a fusion band called No Klue and a corporate band called Trad Scabrous. She and Sathvik are with IBM. Sendil met them when he joined their corporate band for a gig, and they decided to get together. Shalini in IBM…. Feel sorry for the poor sods in IBM. There’s a packet waiting to be made there, running package tours to the Himalayas.

Quasar have taken to the stage by now. They are a three piece today instead of the usual six. Sudhakar again on drums, pounding it mercilessly. This man is phenomenal. Shrikant on lead, Vikram on bass and vocals. Quasar play their usual excellent hard rock. Some own comps. Here we are, Serial Killer. Lots of cat calls from the audience for Sudhakar. Other two get cheesed off.

Pipers next. Hard Rock and trad Heavy Metal. They are much better than at the last Sunday Jam. Lesley’s bass has body and arrogance, they way it should be. They end with an extended version of Black Knight with long guitar and drum solos. Very competent. But it is Lesley’s bass that leaves a lasting impression.

The compere announces a Hindi rock band called Ek. Oh-oh. Start eying the exit. Hate Hindi rock band. But my friends from the last Sunday Jam, String Sick, are on next. Can’t leave. They launch into an own comp called Saathwan Taar – Seventh String. Amazingly, they are quite palatable. What really irritates me about Hindi rock groups is the horrible anglicized accent they sing in, and the puerile lyrics. But their vocalist sings quite well: normal unaffected Hindi, the way it should be sung. And spoken. Lyrics are also not the unusual banal stuff involving the same old words like Sathiya, and Sajan. These chaps really do a good job. Their instrumentation is interesting, vocals nice. Lyrics OK. But audience is cold. “Sucks, I guess…” says the vocalist morosely and they pack up after two songs. Feel sorry for them. They deserve a bit more enthusiasm.

A Nu-Metal band called Sknow up next. K silent. Their music is impressive, but by now its getting late, the babes are leaving. Stands starting to look deserted. The slog overs have started and the compere is rushing the bands on and off the stage.

Michel, my old guitar teacher, has started another band, and that is up next. They play hard rock revolving around Michel’s amazing guitar. When will I learn to play like the man? One own comp and an interesting take on that bikers anthem, Steppenwolf’s ‘Born to be Wild’. The bass is too subdued and the guitar work too fancy, for my taste. BTBW needs a simple, clean lead and a badass, bellicose bass. Lesley from Pipers should have joined them. The vocalist stays on for the next group – some sort of Iron Maiden tribute group.

Compere is really rushing things. Rapid Transit up next, with heavy metal, death metal, Megadeth, and lots of antics from their vocalist. Jumps off the stage and contorts dramatically in the stands. Manages to enthuse the scattering of about-to-go-home crowd still around.

Slog overs are no fun. It’s just playing for playing’s sake. No one enjoys it, least of all the bands themselves. The organizers should seriously rethink their policy of packing in as many bands in the last minutes as possible. I think the bands would prefer to try their luck next time than be rushed like this, and the audience also gets edgy.

Anyway, my friends from String Sick are out of it…they won’t get a slot this time. I decide to go home.

On the whole, a very satisfying Sunday Jam: one of the best since I started attending regularly. Not a single weak performance. But the evening clearly belonged to Legato Lilac.

T-bird is waiting for me in the deserted parking lot.

“Great S-Jam, T” say I.

“I know, I could hear it from here” says T.

Too bad they don’t allow T-birds at Sunday Jam. Kick T-bird to life. Strange experience of zooming through a deserted Cubbon Road at night. Unreal. T-bird sings ‘Born to be wild’, the way it should be sung. I tell T-bird about the evenings performances.

And I tell T-bird about Shalin’s smile.