At Hyde Park!

I was holidaying with a group of friends in the Isle of Wight, when I came across a relatively unknown band called Mumford & Sons, to add to another band that was growing on me…a band from Tennessee, Kings of Leon. Who had been around for a while, but didn’t really cut it.

Being brought up in Calcutta, it is very difficult to let go of the musical influences we have been brought up with. When kids in Bombay were rocking to Linkin Park (that is how you spell it, right?), people my age in Calcutta were still rocking to John, Paul, Ringo and George. The posters were neatly plastered on our walls, album covers ranging from Dark Side of the Moon, to The Wall. The Morrison Hotel poster hung neatly in my room, right next one of James Marshall “Jimi” Hendrix smashing a guitar. I never questioned why he was smashing a guitar, or why at the age of fourteen I didn’t realize Woodstock was in 1969 and not 1999.

It wasn’t just me…almost everyone I grew up around, knew the full form of CCR! I’d like to think it was because a band called Hip Pocket played ‘Have you ever seen the rain?’ on a regular basis at a dingy popular pub called Someplace Else, on Park Street . People high five’d each other on humid Wednesday afternoons if the radio played ‘Walk of life’. We were in a time warp. We didn’t grow to love newer bands the way others around the country, continent and the world as a whole chose to. It is a strange observation, but I’d like to believe it holds an element of truth to it.
Which is why, opening up to newer sounds and voices became difficult. At school festivals the competition amongst the bands were closely fought. And almost every school represented songs sung and written by bands from the 60′s and 70′s. What went into the choice of the songs, were primarily…audience appreciation and participation. The majority seemed very happy with this bubble we were stuck in! A small breakaway group began a ‘trance’ and ‘psychedelic’ fan club. Where people were happy banging their heads to unimaginable levels of base and loud shrieks. I do realize that over the years this small section has become much bigger, and is still growing. But for some of the purists, the golden generation was several decades ago…

Living in London has given me the opportunity to go to concerts and festivals. And I won’t hide the fact that a Springsteen concert or a Rolling Stones gig, gives me a massive high….compared to a newer band. Thats when it happened. The year 2010 introduced new sounds, new voices and a new playlist on my i-pod. I welcomed Kings of Leon and Mumford and Sons into my life.

I went to a Kings of Leon concert to Hyde Park, where tens of thousands of people turned up. Merchandise stores were strategically placed all around the ground. A newspaper article pointed out that this was going to be the largest concert at Hyde Park. Was it just hype? Were these guys as good as they sounded on Spotify? Well I was going to find out! I made my way to my allocated gate with a group of friends. After the initial setback of losing one another in the crowd,we finally assembled somewhere in the middle and made our way to the front. There was a mosh-pit. There were plastic bottles and cups flying over our heads! Beer rain, and wet t-shirts. Women on the shoulders of their boyfriends were taking part in some sort of a ‘flashing’ contest. It felt like a Nirvana concert I had seen on MTV many years ago. The anticipation was tremendous, the band finally showed. They put up a great show, with people going ballistic. Physically, it was one of the most tiring concerts I had been to. Constant shoving and pushing, and the impromptu jumping to songs like Revelry, Closer and Use Somebody. The energy levels were electric, and I was a fan. Once the concert was over, people began chanting and singing all the way back to the Underground Station. I am not an expert on music, or have much credibility to write on concerts. But having been to over 25 concerts in the last few years, I was extremely impressed with what I had seen, as a fan and as an old schooler I had been sold.

“Do you think anyone could match up to that performance?” he asked, as he dribbled an imaginary ball on the crossing of Marble Arch and Edgware Road. He, being the fellow Gunner and music enthusiast S.B. An old friend, and my partner in crime when it came to attending concerts in and around England. “I don’t know, that act was phenomenal.” I couldn’t frame a sentence any longer, my head reeling with what I had just witnessed.

Birthdays went by, stock markets crashed, rallied and crashed. India became the undisputed number one in test cricket with a classical Laxman performance, Arsenal still promised potential, the Commonwealth Games were underway in Delhi, and summer gave way to autumn.

9th October 2010. S.B. and I made our way to Hammersmith Apollo, for the concert that we had been counting down to…for months! The Hammersmith Apollo is a small venue, that can hold 8000 people. Some of the greatest acts have performed here, right from Johnny Cash to Robert Plant. And we were there to see Mumford & Sons. I didn’t know what to expect from a band that is considered folk-rock. 4 band members, modest and humble as we found out. Their opening statement won the hearts of many….’Ladies and Gentlemen, I wish we were cooler, or had a swagger about us. But, hey…we’re Mumford & Sons and we’re home…London!’

From there on, there was only one way this band was going – forward. Grown men and women jumping with joy, with every song…the slow songs were given respect, and were accompanied with harmony…provided by those watching. My personal favourite, Little Lion Man was given the true recognition it deserved. The slower songs like Dust Bowl Dance, had us displaying a range of emotions.

An observation by a friend recently over several glasses of wine was, “Boss, any band that can make people jump to lyrics such as:

As the winter winds litter London with lonely hearts
Oh the warmth in your eyes swept me into your arms
Was it love or fear of the cold that led us through the night?
For every kiss your beauty trumped my doubt.

truly deserves a place amongst the finest.”

And I agree.

Having seen several artists in concert, right from Knopfler to Waters, Sting to The Killers, Coldplay to U2…All I am going to say is – keep your eyes on Mumford & Sons….they are this generation’s great contribution, and Kings of Leon, won’t be trailing too far behind.

Somewhere in between the suits on London Bridge, and the laptop bag carrying army on Liverpool Street, lives a soul. It’s the soul that defines a city.
If you were being trained to be a writer, I’d like to throw in my two dollars (pounds?) worth. Don’t write after a night out in the city! A night out which involves endless rounds of scotch at Ain’t Nothing but the Blues Bar, off Carnaby Street. Where the music plays with your senses, and the barmaid well, also plays with your senses.
Old friends buying rounds, and discussing life! Life = crisis, something that one needs to go through, as soon as the clock touches 20 something. More often than not it’s about the job you don’t like, or the winter that’s suddenly become unbearable. Or, of one half of North London, The Arsenal, finally living up to potential .Or just the girl, the term “girl” on such a night is not very well-defined. It could be the one you miss, or the one across the bar. London does that to you. It’s in the air.
While the drummer looked bored, the bassist requested for several pints of bitter. The lighting helped set the atmosphere. We found ourselves, in our comfort zone. I grew up in Kolkata, and we became adults at Someplace Else. It was, and still is a dingy pub, in the basement of a plush hotel on Park Street. We shared our first beer there, and swayed to local bands churning out covers of great bands from the 1960s and 70s. Perhaps the transition to move to London has been made a whole lot easier because of the upbringing in Kolkata. Perhaps, being the key word.
Once the bars close in London, the streets are meant for those that are fit for survival. Night buses are overcrowded. Filled with the craziest people. Most behave like their time is spent at an institution, the non-academic type of institution, that is. And if you’re in the mood to get a glimpse of the dark side, you might even see movies scripts unfolding around you. The girl at the crossing of Regent Street looking for company, the homeless looking for shelter, or beer. The Starbucks cups on the sidewalk, McDonald’s brown paper bags complimenting the adverts on the hoardings. The wild side is unleashed. You might even see groups of teenagers pledging allegiance, not the one written by Francis Bellamy in 1892, the words are different the meaning similar “I swear blood, for you… anything blood”. Dirty town, this.
If you’re hungry, the best way to get food at the wee hours of the morning are to walk down narrow lanes of Soho. The chances are you’ll stumble upon your favourite Russian joint that does the best fried eggs around 3 am. Or the brothers that run the falafel place. And if experimenting isn’t your cup of tea, then sleep is the best option! No food at 3 am otherwise. What a dirty little town.
I waited at the bus stop, for bus number 453. I had a chance to reflect on all that was. The Christmas lights that look majestic on Oxford Street, the 5 am junta, waiting for the Underground routes to open.
The cold didn’t feel all that unbearable. A city is what you make of it. A transition, a holiday destination or in my case… home. London for me will always be special. As I complete another year here, I have realised that it is possible to live in the city with a negative bank balance (which will require close friends having an additional couch), or with a job that allows you to pay rent. London is what you make of it.
London is a “she” for me. I have a bench by the river. I have stories of magical nights. There are waiters that know me by name, where conversations have lasted till last orders, sometimes even beyond. There is the shrink at the underground cocktail bar, Freuds. The Arsenal faithful at Bayswater. The Bengali connections in East London. The taxi driver won’t ask you where you have to go, till you are comfortably seated in the back seat. The bus driver on every route will ask you to hurry up, especially when one can’t find their travel card, also known as the Oyster by the Londonwallahs. There still exist black and white photographs of John and Paul, Mick and Keith. The loud, opinionated still continue to take over parts of Hyde Park every Sunday. Speakers’ corner, or speakers’ convention, have your pick!

And when the tourist asks you for directions, you know you’re a Londonwallah!

I love this dirty town.