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analysis review The
starmaker Music
of the masses
analysis There are four key
attributes of political parties. They have a mission statement and stated
objectives. They have leaders and loyal party members, supporters and
activists. They seek to woo citizens for their cause and seek support and
adulation from the public. And they offer themselves as a mix of messiah,
panacea and salvation — styling themselves as indispensable for
prosperity, development and security of the country and its people. By this yardstick, the
Pakistani military has acted pretty much as a political party to the extent
that without having to fight elections like normal political parties do,
they either manufacture or manipulate “public” mandates for themselves.
The genuine political parties of Pakistan — which have to work hard for
their stripes and to get a chance to govern and serve — now have another
rival to beat at the hustings other than the military. And this new
“political party” comes armed with the powers of “lawful and
binding” judgment over all and sundry. There have been three
bouts of martial law in the country and each time these have been validated
by the judiciary. The judiciary with Iftikhar Chaudhry in October 1999 not
only validated Musharraf’s putsch against Prime Minister Nawaz Sharif and
his elected government but went a step ahead and, unbidden, gave the general
the power to amend the constitution for three years. What can be more
political than this? Another key characteristic
of political parties is that those that vie for the ultimate prize —
formation of the central government in a country after elections — do
their best to outwit, outmanoeuvre and outplay their chief rival party.
Sometimes they resort to extremes. In Pakistan both the military and now the
judiciary have done the same — dismissed their chief “political
rivals” from their turf. What can be more political? Only four parties have led
Pakistan during the past 40 years — Pakistan People’s Party, Pakistan
Muslim League-J, Pakistan Muslim League-N and Pakistan Muslim League-Q. All
four have, at one point or the other, been directly dismissed by the
military. General Zia ul Haq dismissed governments of PPP and PML-J (a party
formed after partyless elections) while General Musharraf dismissed
governments of PML-N and even his own crafted PML-Q. In doing so, both the
military and judiciary have operated as all but political parties. The only
difference is that political parties do it at the hustings, not by sending
soldiers to climb over the Prime Minister House or by assembling in
courtrooms wearing black robes and white wigs swinging unruly gavels. And
certainly not by deploying test-tube organisations that peddle manufactured
patriotism or an army of lawyers running riot. So what’s new? The
dismissal of Yousaf Raza Gilani and his elected government proves, if
anything, that the more things change the more they remain the same in
Pakistan. If the military did not sack another elected government this time,
the judiciary has ousted another. And this, then, is the
political story of Pakistan: a country where the military and judiciary are
political. Politics is the job of political parties so why should political
parties be blamed by the judiciary and military for playing politics? And if
the country’s security is the military’s job and avoiding partiality and
dispensing justice the judiciary’s, then how come they have been deviating
from their TORs and “playing politics” instead? This question is at the
heart of the Pakistan Project — is this country committed to being a
normative state or one that all but believes the universe revolves around it
and that it has to remain exceptional when it comes to statehood? Pakistan is where judges
wax poetical and the generals lyrical while elected leaders are either
hanged, jailed, bombed, exiled — and if they’re lucky, merely ousted and
deprived of their constitutional tenures. No Pakistani premier has completed
his five year tenure. Gilani was even thieved of merely being the longest
serving prime minister by being forced-disqualified with retrospective
effect by the Supreme Court. Because he has not thrown a tantrum, it appears
Gilani considers himself lucky he hasn’t been bumped off. The dismissal of Gilani is
extraordinary by even Pakistani standards because a democratically elected
prime minister who still enjoyed a comfortable majority in National Assembly
has been not just sacked as prime minister but also disqualified from being
a member of National Assembly for five years. Even generals have changed
their own handpicked prime ministers but not like this. Elected leaders have
paid a price before many a time but never by judges who have not just
overthrown a prime minister but inked a verdict that trumps parliamentary
sovereignty. From subduing it to
military barracks to now the courts, the house that frames the constitution,
which represents the will of the people has been ruled subservient to the
interpreters of constitution. How can the interpreters of the constitution
have a higher place than the framers of the constitution? Look how Al Qaeda
and Taliban interpret the word of God, the Quran. Does that mean these
non-representative forces are the final word on the Final Word? The Supreme
Court comes from the constitution; the constitution doesn’t come from the
judiciary. Of the eight general
elections held in Pakistan, the Pakistan People’s Party has emerged as the
single highest vote getter in seven elections and in five instances formed
the federal government. And how has this people’s mandate been respected?
One of PPP’s prime ministers was hanged, one was killed in a suicide bomb
attack (who was also twice ousted) and one has now been disqualified. No PPP
prime minister mandated by a simple majority of the parliament after having
been entrusted by the voters has a majority been allowed to complete their
tenure. Each one was ousted by either the military or judiciary, or both.
Under which mandate did all this happen? Who mandated whom? Irrespective of whether
one agrees or disagrees with PPP’s politics, it is inescapable to conclude
that “technical” ousters of PPP governments and premature dismissals of
its prime ministers happen because “legal” ways of defeating this
federalist party is considered difficult. Someone somewhere clearly believes
no chance should be taken to allow the opportunity to vote out elected
governments in general and PPP governments in particular. Indeed two elected
governments led by PML-N were also ousted even though the only time the
judiciary refused to validate a dismissal of a government by an army-backed
president was that of Nawaz Sharif who was restored (only to be promptly
forced to resign). No such luck for PPP,
though. Indeed, if the verdict on Gilani is anything to go by, another PPP
prime minister may in all probability be dispatched home disqualified as
well within weeks. And that’s because it is becoming difficult to create a
Leghari in the party because Gilani killed that curse. And if this fails —
and for some reason the Supreme Court balks at sending another elected prime
minister tumbling — there is always the memo case that the apex court is
hearing. With former ambassador Haqqani all but declared a traitor by a
commission set up by the Supreme Court whose findings will form the trial
now, getting the third PPP leader — Asif Zardari — should be relatively
easy. After all, even top legal eagles that even the top judges grudgingly
respect such as Asma Jehangir and Aitzaz Ahsan say the Supreme Court is
playing political. The judiciary has given
death sentences, jail sentences and service termination notices to PPP
leaders and governments before. There
is nothing new in what the judiciary is doing. It sent the person to the
gallows who authored the constitution that defines Pakistan’s collective
will. It declared Benazir guilty of corruption in a case so cooked up that
even the Supreme Court admitted mistrial. And it has now sent home the
person who freed nearly 100 judges locked up in their own homes by two
generals, one of whom is abroad and one in office. Justice anyone? Only
politics. caption In the line of duty:
Elected prime ministers in the last 40 years.
Despite their
inexhaustible efforts, visual artists are unable to get rid of words.
Language fascinates them, follows them and forces them to explain their
pictures. The relationship between language and visual arts has an uneven
history; for many years art served as a vehicle to illustrate words (or the
Word of God from the Bible, in Christian Art) and relied on a narrative that
was described through images. Paintings and sculptures
were based on stories which were easily understood by people; they
identified ‘codes’ and thus recognised the ‘content’ of the works.
In that sense, historically, there was no divide between the East and West,
since both societies produced art that was easily translated into text.
Probably, due to this reason, there never arose a question of art being
separate and away from its audience. Once, in the age of
modernism, visual art liberated itself from the burden of ‘meaning’,
there appeared a distance between the makers of art and its viewers. For the
general viewers, it was difficult, nay impossible, to decode flat areas of
singular colour in varying shades, or drips of paint and loosely put brush
marks, and even highly stylised forms presented on canvas in the name of
abstract art. The public demanded
explanation; it displayed its anger through cartoons, caricatures, comments
and expressions of other sorts. As the modern art became more detached from
the public domain and away from its description in words, paradoxically, it
generated a rise in theoretical and critical writings. This, instead of
solving a problem, aggravated it because now a lay person not only had to
understand the works of visual art but had to decipher the text which, in
most cases, is a labyrinthine construct. One may be surprised to
find that most artists, critics, students (and viewers, who are interested
in art) are unable to read texts by Spivak, Derrida, Ranciere, Zizek,
Virilio and Agamben, philosophers and cultural theorists who are important
to comprehend the current practice of visual arts. In an ironic way, the
more a work drifts away from diction (that is commonly understood) the more
it is trapped inside theories, which also poses a problem as to how to
access it. So, for a painter, the situation is like a double-edged sword;
his audience requires an ‘explanation’ in words which he feels
inadequate or unnecessary, and the kind of interpretation he may recommend
in order to unravel his work is beyond the reach and grasp of an ordinary
viewer. Moreover, in a society
which relied on oral expression, most forms of artistic output were engaged
with language. However, during the 1960s, a number of artists in our midst
tried to push visual arts away from the shadow of language, and sought to
produce works which, being ‘abstract’ in nature, were impossible to be
converted into words. Interestingly, all those artists who freed their
canvases from obligatory reading, in one way or the other, were involved in
writing themselves. For example, Shakir Ali, Anwar Jalal Shemza, and Raheel
Akber Javed, besides creating canvases which did not tell a story, produced
works of fiction in the form of short story and novel. They could not have
imagined that in the following decade text would have another significance
and place in Pakistani art and culture — the state-supported Islamic
calligraphy would be the most legitimate form of pictorial practice. This scenario poses a
perplexing problem to a painter who is genuinely keen on exploring the
tradition of text in a culture like ours where writing was not just a means
of communicating with others but was considered a vehicle to converse with
the divine. Hence, it had to be perfect. Thus the calligraphy became the
expression of a culture that prides itself on its purity, profundity and
elegance which first pleases God and then the mortals. However, in our society,
due to its political past, calligraphy or the art of pleasure writing (khuskhati)
is still considered awkward. Yet, there have been a number of artists who
investigated the formal aspects of calligraphy and related it to our present
art. Mohammad Ali Talpur, in a courageous act, took lessons in conventional
calligraphy (courageous, because after enjoying remarkable success, he
decided to move from it and experience something else) and from that
encounter created a body of work that is a bridge between the tradition of
calligraphy and his own practice of minimal art. In his solo exhibition
‘Aliph’ (June 27-July 27) at Green Cardamom in London, he has picked one
element from the act of writing, for example a dot, first letter of alphabet
or section of any other letter, to make his works. By repeating that letter
from Urdu/Arabic text, he creates a surface which, like the spread of field,
becomes a continuous visual with no beginning or end. These works, executed
in black ink, reflect how an artist deals with his tradition; and instead of
following it, or flaunting it, discovers a dimension that connects the
conventional with the contemporary. Thus if one wishes to read the text, one
is disappointed but the work is open for other interpretations. In fact, it
operates more on an optical and pictorial level, since the singular unit,
dot or letter is replicated so many times that it loses its significance. This approach indicates
how an artist is addressing the issues of tradition and past but, at the
same instance, it is a modern-day version of the ancient custom of chanting
a sacred word so many times and with such rhythm that the actual word/sound
leaves its identity and becomes part of a larger entity (something more like
the concept of Wahadat ul wajood). So, in his works, one is immersed into a
large pattern of lines, textures and spaces, in place of concentrating on a
‘recognisable’ element. In that sense, Talpur is working at par with his
predecessors who wanted to liberate the work of art from its narrow
narratives and turn these into objects of independent visual quality. Thus
his works have a life of their own even though these are being displayed at
Green Cardamom, which is dying or closing down.
It was a hot
afternoon of Jun 18, 1998, when an anonymous poet, story writer and
copywriter was buried in the Model Town graveyard in Lahore. It was Nazim
Panipati, who wrote Lata Mangeshkar’s first song, ‘Dil mera tora’, in
film ‘Majboor’ in 1948. The song became popular throughout India. When the first song of
Lata was being recorded in Bombay, many people sitting around did not like
her voice. Master Ghulam Haider told Nazim, “Mark my words, a day will
come when this girl will become the biggest singer of India after Noor Jahan.”
Nazim Panipati too earned
fame and famous actor and director Sohrab Modi booked Nazim as songwriter
for his next film ‘Sheesh Mahal’. Nazim Panipati was born in
Lahore in 1920, fifth son of a schoolteacher Abdul Karim and the younger
brother of Wali Mohammad, known as Wali Sahib, an eminent film director,
producer and storywriter of the subcontinent. Nazim owed much to Wali
Sahib who started his own career by writing songs and Naats, which became
popular in Lahore including, ‘Aaya hai bulawa mujhe darbar-e-Nabi say’
sung by Shamshad Begum. The filmmakers from Bombay who used to come to
Lahore were impressed by Wali Sahib and Nazim Panipati and requested them to
come to Bombay. Nazim Panipati
collaborated with some of the great composers of his time: Master Ghulam
Haider, Ustad Jhanday Khan, Bhai Lal Mohammad, and G. A. Chishti. The songs
and scripts of films ‘Shireen Farhad’ and ‘Shalimar’ were written by
Nazim. This established him as a leading songwriter of that time. During
1939-1952 Nazim wrote songs, dialogues and scripts of over 300 films in
Bombay. He also served the
industry by grooming and spotting talent, “Pran (Krishna) was my
discovery,” he once told me. “It was in the year 1939 that I spotted a
young man working for a photographer at Lakshmi Chowk Lahore this was where
most film offices were located then. He seemed photogenic to Wali Sahib and
me. We inquired if he would like to work in films. At first, he was
wonderstruck, but after thinking about it, he agreed. “I trained Pran for
proper dialogue delivery in Punjabi and Urdu, after which Pancholi studios
employed him. A year later, he played the leading role against baby Noor
Jahan in ‘Khandaan’. The music was scored by Ustad Ghulam Haider and
Syed Shaukat Husain Rizvi was the director. The film was a super hit and
Pran became big!” It was again Nazim who
brought Johnny Walker to Bollywood. “It was sometime in late 1951 or early
1952 when, in the public park in Bandra, a young man in his early 20s
Badruddin, who knew all about me, my profession, and my connections within
the film industry, tried to befriend me and a few other colleagues. He would
fetch us tea and sometimes even give us head massage. It seemed he was doing
these favours for a purpose. A good imitator, Badruddin tried to impress me
by mimicking the acting of several popular Urdu, Gujarati, and Marathi
actors. Soon it became clear to me that he was hankering for a minor role in
a film”. “After some pestering
and cajoling on his part, I took him to Wali Sahib for an audition. On my
request, director of film ‘Baazee’ engaged Badruddin there and then. His
first assignment was to act as a drunken inmate. Badruddin performed the
role impressively. Thereafter, luck shone on him and he rapidly climbed the
ladder of success. He adopted the name of Johnny Walker, perhaps to serve as
a reminder how he broke into the industry: by playing the role of a drunkard
carrying bottle of Johnny Walker whisky in his hand”. Helen, India’s most
famous dancer also owes Nazim her breakthrough. While his wife was in
hospital in Bombay, a Christian nurse sought his help in earning some extra
money to meet her domestic expenses. She had an 8-year-old daughter, whom
she wanted to groom as a dancer. Nazim took the girl to a friend who ran a
dance school. He accepted Helen as a pupil. Panipati visited frequently to
watch her progress. After some time, with Nazim’s help and
recommendations, Helen was introduced to the film world. In 1950, Nazim Panipati
was asked by the management of AVM Studios Madras to teach Urdu to actress
Vijayanti Mala, who had been signed for AVM’s Urdu film, ‘Bahar’. The
company engaged him on a contract basis and arranged for his one-year stay
in Madras while he tutored her in Urdu. Nazim returned to Lahore
in 1953. He wrote songs and scripts for Shabab Keranvi’s films ‘Aaina’
and ‘Insaniyat’. He wrote songs for Lakht-e-Jigar, Saheli and Beti. His
famous Lori Chanda Ki Nagri Say Aa Ja Ri Neendia, song by Noor Jahan for
Lakht-e-Jigar became very popular. The first song sung by Ahmad Rushdi and
Nayyara Noor was also written by Nazim. In 1965, his closest friend, singer
Saleem Raza, joined an advertising agency in Lahore as a singer and
composer. He suggested Nazim to join him as copywriter. It was a new and
creative field. Since Nazim was a poet as well, he turned into a successful
jingle writer. Advertising was a much higher paid profession and it was a
new era, so Nazim became popular, and most of his work here was for
advertising agencies. He worked for the newborn
Pakistan Television in Lahore as a songwriter for the first TV music
programme ‘Jhankar’. He also wrote scripts for comedy plays in PTV’s
early days. Nazim’s closest friends included Saleem Raza, Naseer Anwar,
film actor Saqi, film journalist Saeed Malik, Indian film director and
producer Rajender Shing Bhatia, singer G. M. Durrani, music director Khayyam,
Agha G.A. Gul, Shaukat Husain Rizvi, cameraman Raza Mir and Saadat Hasan
Manto. The writer is son of Nazim
Panipati. He lives in Lahore.
Music of the
masses It was a fun
evening at the Alhamra last week when The Stooges Brass Band from New
Orleans performed under the aegis of the United States Consulate. It was delightful because
there was much energy on display not only in the music but also in the way
the performance was designed. It was not only the brass band and the
instruments but also the singing and the dancing that was infectious. It had
to be because all members of the group inveigled the audiences to
participate in the dance and quite a few landed up by doing a few gigs with
the performers on and off stage. It was also delightful in
comparison because in our culture too there is a tradition of brass bands
usually called in to play on ceremonial occasions, in particular marriages,
where the bridegroom is almost led in either sitting on a horse or in a car
by the colourfully-dressed members of the brass band playing a relevant
composition. This tradition may be on
the decline but to say that it is dead would wholly be wrong. There have
been attempts to revive it and that has led to an exaggerated revitalisation
of sorts. To many people it is their first or only exposure to musical
instruments at close quarters and they wonder with envy and derision about
the role and function of the various instruments whose inclusion is either
not understood or considered frivolous or a filler especially of the tuba
called in the vernacular as shamil vaja. Most mistake the clarinet
for the shehnai, the cymbals for thalis and are curious in the negative
sense about the number of drums — the side drum, which is played on both
sides and has various sizes or the kettledrum which is placed upright and
played only on one side. Since the occasion too merits merriment the nascent
spirit of inquiry and curiosity in lost in banter till the next wedding
ceremony. It is difficult to say
when the brass bands became part of the marriage procession (baraat) because
these bands do not have a local origin. These were introduced with the onset
of colonial rule and the first bands were of the various military
organisations like the army, the rangers, the police and the railway watch
and ward. These bands also played on
important national days; in parks and public places on holidays even after
the end of the colonial era but how they became part of the marriage
procession is anybody’s guess. Probably, in imitation of the colonial
masters it was thought that no ceremony could be complete without the
inclusion of a brass band. In certain areas and
regions, other forms of vocal and instrumental music is sung/played on
marriages like the jhoomar, a dance where the accompanying instruments are
nafrini and naqaara. This was also meant to facilitate the almost march of
conquest as the bridegroom in triumph is to return with the trophy in the
form of his bride. It is possible that the sheer volume of the brass bands,
particularly its heavy percussion replaced the local orchestral formations
with greater melodic intention. These brass band musicians
were professional musicians who with the passage of time started to play
local tunes along with the European compositions that they were trained to
do. And gradually, as greater virtuosity was introduced, these European
instruments were played in such a way that the particularities of our music
were also highlighted. Clarinet in particular was played in a manner to be
the flag bearer of melody while the other instruments either added a
counterpoint or were there for the purposes of percussion. So it was nostalgic to see
the trumpet, the drum, the trombone, tuba and saxophone, the latter an
instrument associated with jazz, while the other instruments are played in
the traditional brass bands. It did not have a clarinet for the melodic
content; if anything the melody was played on the trombone, trumpet and the
saxophone. Formed in 1996, the
Stooges Brass Band hail from New Orleans and they have been described as
being part of the iconic second line tradition. They perform in clubs and in
second line parades in the city, and in their style of performance also mix
their music with hip hop, jazz, r&b, pop. While appealing to the
emotions of traditional jazz, they use their hip hop influence to create new
sound. Their innovative incorporation of hip hop sound to the traditional
styling of New Orleans Brass Bands has set them apart from the other New
Orleans Brass Bands. The members of the band
were Larry Brown on the trombone, John Cannon on the tuba, Bernell Edwards
on the drums, Lamar Heard on the trombone, Cameron Johnson on the saxophone,
Errol Marchand on the drums and John Perkins on the trumpet. Since America did not have
a court, kings, queens and a distinct ruling class, folk forms sung by the
people like country music, jazz were elevated as major forms. These have
retained to some extent their lack of being formalistic with ready
inclusiveness and openness to improvisation. They mould easily to change
than expect a change in the taste of the audience and so have a flair of
being participatory which is always loved by an audience comprising a
cross-section of population. Comprising African Americans, the band has
shared the stage with Ray Charles, Mos Def and Talib Kweli of Black Star,
Jessica Simpson and Jadakiss.
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