Not all that long ago, the independent music business — the inaccessible, non-mainstream, sort-of-underground, off-beat music coming out from the country — was broke. It was willfully demonetised. No money, no problems. Bands had no 500s or 1,000s (or anything else) to rehearse or buy gear. Organisers hosting gigs would usually pay the artists in coins, if at all. Limited but feverishly loyal crowds would show up with not enough money to pay the entry fee. But everyone somehow made it work. Pulling favours, running on credit and goodwill, begging, blackmailing, stealing, kidnapping, murdering, whatever it took. Coloured by the sepia tint of nostalgia, it was all gloriously dysfunctional.
Safe to say that’s not the case anymore. Festivals such as Independence Rock and Great Indian Rock, among other notable endeavours, had been doing their bit for years, setting up a springboard. Then, British band Iron Maiden performed in Bangalore in 2007, opening the floodgates in a way. Things expanded from there, as the explosion of electronic music, the crossing over of indie artists into the Bollywood space, and the mainstream-ness of the internet all colluded to make “independent music” a more viable, sellable commodity.
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The enigmatic rise of hip-hop in India has led to a further blurring of boundaries. A chunk of the credit, I feel, must also be reserved for the Bacardi NH7 Weekender festival, for (depending on which side you lean on) either cultivating a growing movement of independent music, or exploiting it brilliantly.
A report in the Mumbai-based online magazine The Daily Pao cites the organisers of the NH7 Weekender claiming a turnout of 60,000 people over the three days of their 2015 Pune edition. It’s a massive number. See, somewhere along the way, a CAT word made its entry into this space: “Scale”. Everything needed to be “scaled up”, everything had to be bigger, badder, more exquisite, more extravagant. Which meant more people, more sponsors, more urban-kitsch-fusion flea markets. Drone selfies. Floating balloons. Adventure sports inside music festivals. Virtual reality. Mugs, not cups. Buckets, not mugs. The frills cranked up to 10.
At its Delhi edition, A.R. Rahman headlined one of the days. I remember noticing at least 500 different brand logos decorating the venue reflecting off of his sparkling golden shirt. This year, the Shillong and Hyderabad editions of the festival saw actor Farhan Akhtar perform. Akhtar was also promoting his new movie,
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Bollywood or bust
This scale is in stark contrast to, say, the first edition of the festival in Pune in 2010. That was, by all accounts, one of those cozy affairs where everyone knew everyone. A bunch of independent bands and artists performed and everyone got sufficiently hooched up. It was allegedly all very intimate and in the spirit of things, yet grand enough to be memorable for the people there.
This conversation comes up often in the context of the NH7 Weekender. With Amit Trivedi in 2014, arguably A.R. Rahman in 2015, and now Farhan Akhtar in 2016, does the festival have any right in claiming to be an independent music festival? Or is it simply fueling the Bollywood machinery, a launch vehicle for hotshot stars and their many whims? (Maybe artists selling out can have negative connotations, but a festival ideally shouldn’t have the same parameters for assessment.) Or could there, surprise-surprise, be a middle ground worth poring over? And does the onus lie on a festival to service its righteous original fans at the cost of expansion?
Realistically, that’s a tough question to answer. The thousands of sponsors smacking me right in my third-eye chakra cause ideological pain, but also a visible level of sophistication. It means better production quality: fancy laser lights, good sound, food and drinks, a better overall experience. Yes, a live rendition of ‘ Emotional Atyachaar ’ or ‘ Sinbad the Sailor ’ can be an emotionally scarring experience (theoretically, since I haven’t yet had the honour), but the bigger, more diverse/less hipster crowds that a Bollywood celeb ropes in allows organisers to take punts on bands we wouldn’t ever get the chance to see in India without the backing of big business. Case in point being Mogwai, Mutemath, Megadeth, Jon Hopkins, Karnivool, Mark Ronson and Flying Lotus from past editions. This year has progressive-rock cult hero and Porcupine Tree frontman Steven Wilson as one of its star attractions, in addition to DJ Premier, Jose Gonzalez, Anoushka Shankar and The Joy Formidable.
Debate or outburst
There’s always the option of blocking out the extraneous noise, to simply ignore artists that bother you and focus on the ones that don’t. To accept that a festival can have its flaws and still provide a meaningful experience, like it did for this writer during Mogwai’s set last year, and has done so again this time for several obsessive, ultra-nerdy and pretentious fans of Steven Wilson. On the surface, it’s the mature, grown-up thing to do.
However, that’s not how it works in the real world. Music festivals incite a lot of heated emotions in fans, an instant tribalism over alleged deception (remember the mutiny after Kanye West was announced as the 2015 Glastonbury headliner?). It’s an intellectual discussion as much as it is an emotional outburst. Watching a band in that perfect setting, where everything makes sense in your own personal worldview, is a beautiful experience.
So anything threatening that supposed purity — trendy, overdressed 20-somethings looking to socialise, Bollywood prima donnas claiming/appropriating your space, advertisers looking to line their pockets under the garb of ‘indie credibility’ — can be justifiably upsetting. Getting tetchy and insecure is an understandable reaction when open-ended questions around authenticity and art pop up. Do the ends — a platform for young bands, great international and still relevant acts, flawless production values, a fun, if at times vapid, experience — justify the means (potentially evil money and maybe eviler artists subsidising the cool elements of the festival)?
What is ‘indie’?
Indie cred is where things get further convoluted. Personally, it’s a concept I’ve been battling with for well over a decade. Forget the Weekender. What the hell does ‘indie’ even mean? Traditionally, it stood for independence from the burdens of commerce and emancipation from institutionalised record labels dictating terms and screwing the artists over. But that doesn’t quite apply in India; it’s not like this space even has big labels to rally against. Plus, success in 2016 doesn’t (or shouldn’t) automatically indicate a betrayal of artistic integrity. (There’s the other stuff too, about a sense of community, but that’s a whole different quagmire.)
Perhaps what crosses over to the dark side is success gained through compromised ideals. That’s such an abstract perception, though, open to much debate and finger-pointing. The cut-off could also be Bollywood, where everything this side is indie, and everything over there isn’t. But that blanket assertion doesn’t sound very fair either, since it conveniently glosses over the in-betweens. It’s hard to reach a consensus about a conceptually rich subject that remains elusive and fluid at any given point, open to individual whims and unpredictable interpretations. And that’s without even getting into the belligerence and petulance of serious music listeners. Essentially, then, it just boils down to a matter of personal choice, wherein you decide which deal with the devil is worthy of approval, and which should be castigated as questionable or, if you so please, immoral.
The author is a freelance writer
NH7 Weekender starts today and is on till December 4. Details on insider.in/nh7-weekender