Artists: Junoon

Hip Upper Lip!
By Nadeem Farooq Pracaha

People with walls, shouldn’t throw bricks

Deewar. Certainly, it is not Junoon’s finest album (that would be either Inquilaab or Parvaaz). Nor is it the band’s worst (that honor must go to Ishq). But then it eventually fails to even match the patchy, blow-hot-blow-cold ways of Azadi, or even come close to capturing the raw and untamed energy of Vol:1 and Talaash. Then where does Junoon’s eagerly awaited new release belong in the sweepstakes of the premier Pakistani rock band’s long list of albums?
Let’s start by asking where does it stand among the hundreds of albums that have been churned out in the last few years by many new and graying local pop acts?
Considering the fact most of these acts seem more interested in ‘making music’ to please their respective sponsors or the fall-out pop shows and channels across the cable network, in a such a cynical, dime-a-dozen scenario, Deewar lies (and sounds) awkwardly sandwiched! Sandwiched between the understated brilliance of Fuzon; the give-away and sell-out commercial heights of Abrar and Javad; the chocolate-heroics of Shahzad Roy; fractured moral pop babblings of Najam and JJ; the hyped-up pomp of Noorie and the usual cosmetic and manufactured bubblegum-pop of the likes of Haroon, Faakhir and a million one-video-wonders you can only yawn at on Indus Music.

And to tell you the truth, I doubt if Deewar will be able sell enough to regenerate Junoon’s spiraling career as the land’s biggest selling rock-fusion act. In fact, after scaling unprecedented commercial (and creative) heights between 1996’s Inquilaab and 1997’s Azadi, it has been a case of trading the downward spiral for the band. Especially ever since the awful, awful Ishq. By the way, Ishq was also the album that proved exactly how and why Junoon’s once charismatic image of being ‘sufi-rockers’ had reached a worn-out dead-end.
Now, after only a few years since they last released an album, Junoon sounds beaten and out-sprinted by a host of new acts, in spite the fact most of these acts are, at best, mediocre Vital Signs/Sajjad Ali/Abrar/Junoon replicas (minus the talent but plus more air time and sponsorship deals!).

But in spite the fact acts like VS, Junoon (and later Abrar), were the leaders in the game of cynical corporate wham-bam, their music compared to the crap that is being dished out these days, remained rather good.

But this cannot be said about Junoon anymore. Age and the paradoxical dependence on that cola buck started to dampen and neutralize the band’s angry-young-band/crusading spirit and energy right after Inquilaab, washing it all down as pretentious ‘spiritual’ pomp and ultimately, having been left with nothing more than ferocious intra-band tussles, confusion, post-Sufi-rock identity crisis, plans to move to the US and a sad divorce.
Junoon contemporaries, Vital Signs, had started to face similar, in-band, domestic and ‘spiritual’ situations once they achieved the distinction of being the land’s leading pop outfit in the early ‘90s.

They were subsequently consumed whole by their own cola dilemmas and catch-22 scenarios, so much so, they have failed to record another album ever since 1995’s Hum Tum, in spite the fact that on a number of occasions they have tried to reform for a come-back release.

The truth is, the quantity-over-quality nature of today’s pop scene in the country (actually all over the world!!), makes it important for acts like VS, Junoon, Sajjad Ali and Aamir Zaki to hang on to their thirty-something selves to keep reflecting qualitative examples for the rare number of recent talents (such as Fuzon), just like it is important for bands like Radiohead, Pearl Jam and even a graying Pink Floyd to do the same for current powerhouse potentials like the White Stripes and to negate the empty million-selling Pearl Jam imitators and emptier hip-hop and boy-band pot-shots.

But unfortunately, with Deewar, Junoon wont be able to achieve the above-mentioned necessity. And what is even more frightening is the fact that long before the album ends one already starts getting a rude feeling that this may as well be Junoon’s last-ditch effort. An effort which just doesn’t work, especially compared to the band’s highly energetic and powerful (albeit topsy-turvy and “controversial”), back catalogue.

Like I suggested, 2000’s disastrous and self-indulgent stinker, Ishaq contained the very symptoms of the illness most mega groups ultimately fall into? Ego tussles, suspicion and bad vibes between band members; plus an important form of ‘naïve’ idealism and enthusiasm being replaced with desperate and self-centered material means and ends justified with wishy-washy philosophies of ‘pragmatic living’ and ‘moral rights’ to unabashedly juxtapose corporate-brand-mongering with ‘art’, loop-holed and contradictory religiosity and ‘spirituality’ and an almost quasi-fascistic and utterly clichéd exhibition of ‘patriotism.’

Free Fall (or the ‘revolution’ that burped-out).
Most of the land’s finest acts, from VS/JJ, to Najam have made a free-fall nose-dive into this vicious quagmire (and so have their many young, middle-class fans). What’s more, these acts’ younger contemporaries are displaying (without an iota of thought or feeling), the same contradictory tendencies regarding ‘moderate modernism’, MTV-influenced mimicry, chauvinistic and almost xenophobic chants of “Pakistan Zindabad” and “Islam Zindabad!.” Ironically (or rather not), a bulk of the land’s cable networks seem to be basing their programming on the same conflicting and self-contradicting ‘pulse of the nation.’ And Indus Vision actually has the audacity to call it all a ‘progressive’ state of affairs. Give me a brrrreak!
I remember when VS and Junoon burst onto the scene and announced a revolution of sorts in the confines of the changing, young Pakistani middle-classes.

The ‘revolution’ has eventually spiraled down into creative and social nothingness, utter pretension and ultimately, as in today, a bag full jumping, pumping hot air.

So think again if you’re a young man or woman feeling delighted with the contagious outbreak (more than a joyful explosion), of pop acts and TV shows. It’s all boiling down to wishy-washy teenybopper fantasies being fed with hyped corporate bull and mob-mentality chants of patriotism, or, on the other end, with an “underground scene” with bad, empty-headed acts aping the sounds of the already bad empty-headed acts like Nickleback, Creed, Stained, Linkin Park and a thousand more Nirvana, Pearl Jam and Red Hot Chillie Peppers wannabes.


The writing is on the wall

Soon after the VS collapsed under its own weight of reaching that conflicting balancing act between sounding arty and being yuppie, and Pepsi consequently adopted the melodic Strings to continue the cola’s crusade to COLAnize young bourgeoisie Pakistan (things are far unabashed in this respect in India, though); and after Ali Haider chickened-out from his bold Jadu-era experimentation and back towards his safe poster-boy whimpering; after Sajad Ali had given it all, until he just had his past glories to exhibit; after Abrar and Javad opted to take the worn-out and beaten bhangra-pop road; after Hadiqa suddenly started taking more interest in her wardrobe than in her music … soon after all this and much more, Junoon seemed to be the only hope in retaining the power, the idealism and the spirit of the small but imposing early-‘90s pop scene.

They did okay even until their 2001 live album. But two years later, the band sounds exhausted and creatively bankrupt. Trying hard to cash-in on their past glories, their name and, of course, their game with good ol’ Coke. The cola’s logo is one of the first things you shall notice on what is a terrible album cover. It’s like a close-up front shot of the band members, as if all of them looking resigned to the fate of being stuck inside a whooshing cola whir-pool.

But ironically the album opens with two impressive ditties. The layered and understated FM-rock of “Tara Jala.” Written and composed by vocalist Ali Azmat, it is one of those songs, which after it grows on you, it stays there for more than a while.
“Papu Yaar” immediately follows it and what I would like to call (perhaps) Junoon’s last hurrah in realms of jumpy, tongue-in-cheek songs? The music almost perfectly compliments the joyfully sardonic lyrics of the song, and it is made even more enjoyable with guitarist Salman Ahmed’s trademark Page-meets-Edge riffing and his subtle echo-laid nuances, which bounce off the tight bass runs by Brian O’Connell and what is, may be a drum machine? This song sure sounds like a hit. And credit should be given to ex-VS man Shahzad Hassan who has turned out to be one of the most exciting (but underrated) producers/engineers in the local scene. His emphasis on achieving a multi-dimensional sound via layering and some imaginative mixing does wonders on these two songs as it did on the thunderous “Garaj Baras” last year, and which again appears here as track seven on the otherwise creaking Deewar.
“Ghoom Tana” though not all that bad, as such, but starts to fall apart especially as a follow-up to the juicy “Papu Yaar.” Certainly no relative to the mighty Sufi-Rock chestnut, “Ghoom” on 1999’s Pervaaz, “Ghoom Tana” can serve well as a entertaining concert sing-along ditty.
The dreggy “Ghoom Tana” is followed by the title-track, “Deewar.” Starts out well with an edgy and melancholic guitar intro, only to fall all over the place once Ali, Salman and (guest vocalist) Ali Noor start to take turns to plead individually about the walls of hate and mistrust (maybe between India and Pakistan?). The end result is that “Deewar” never really manages to pick up, at times sounding rather tuneless.

By now you start feeling a bit restless. Maybe the next song will regenerate the promise initialized by the album’s first two tracks? Absolutely not! I say absolutely because next in line is the spineless, frivolous jingle-jangle of “Maza Zindagi Ka.” Obviously. After all it’s a “song” based on a Coke jingle and it plays like a Coke jingle. In fact, “musically”, it is quiet similar to the Strings’ over ambitious (but underachieving), World Cup 2003 song for Pepsi. God! When, when, when will this autoerotic all-hail-our-sponsors patronization bull end?

It sure is a relief when this waste of tape and time is fortunately followed by “Garaj Baras.” Though a 2001 Junoon song, it manages to stand the tallest on this album. The band’s in great form. Ali, Brian, and especially Salman. In fact his playing is made all the more juicer and raunchier (and yet melodic) by Shahi’s excellent production. But then that’s about it as far as Deewar is concerned.

The rest of the tracks (all five of them), are perhaps Junoon’s worst ever! And what’s even worse is the fact that Salman actually attempts to sing on most of them. He’s definitely a great riff-master, the finest in the country. A highly improved lead player…but a vocalist he is NOT!

What happened? Ali threatening to quit (so he can sing his swful English songs which still sound like bad mid-‘80s hairspray-rock?). Salman suffering from delusions of grandeur? Or is it because Brian just announced he’s marrying Reema?!

To me, it’s more a case of the band running out of steam and enthusiasm. It’s a pity, really. This Deewar crumbles so easily. So what’s all the pleading for? Just have a Coke and a smile. And if there is a next time for Junoon, give Brian the mic. And Malcolm. And Gumby. And Ashiq. And Sabbir Zaffer. And MD, Coke. And, hey, I can sing too, y’know.