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'Rhythms
of the Indus' opened at a packed Albert Hall in London with
the usual warnings of a desi fiasco: the habitual late start,
a baby howling in the audience that continued streaming in
long after the show had opened, and the occasional cell phone
shrilling in the background.
But
by the time it ended with a rollicking finale in which the
entire cast and backstage staff as well as some members of
the audience danced to the driving beat of Junoon accompanying
Abida Parveen, there was no doubt the show had been a rousing
success. And in a venue that seats over 5000 people, this
was no mean achievement.
I
must confess that I had been reluctant to part with ?40 for
the evening, but was shamed by my wife and friends to cough
up. In any event, one was glad to have been allowed to be
persuaded, if only to see Naheed Siddiqui performing her Kathak
magic, as her opening appearance repaid me amply. Naheed retains
the ability to establish her presence with a crisp stamp of
her foot. Each hand movement is imbued with grace, and her
sense of timing remains impeccable. She is a phenomenal dancer.
Let me quote the Guardian dance critic about one of her performances:
"This is a dance of mesmerizing grace and control. Once
you've seen Siddiqui move, you really don't want to watch
anyone else."
The
other acts were uneven, as is inevitable in such an expansive
and ambitious programme. The backdrop was crisp and clever,
using still and moving projections to excellent effect. A
few botched cues and uncomfortable pauses told us the show
had been under-rehearsed, but this was probably unavoidable,
given the logistical nightmare putting it all together must
have been. The miracle was that there were no major fiascos.
The
show's weakest link was the contrast between the two hosts:
the wit and stage presence Art Malik brought to the show was
in a different class to Atiqa Odho's plodding delivery. But
both were shackled to the pedestrian script which went on
and on relentlessly about 'The river Indus, rising from the
pristine mountains of the Himalayas, weaving its way down
the geographical length of Pakistan to rest gently in the
warm waters of the Arabian Sea.' Clearly, the organizers had
assumed there would be lots of non-Pakistanis in the audience
who needed to be informed about the country. In the event,
nearly 95 per cent of the audience were of desi origin.
Art
Malik was clearly bored by the clich?aden words he was forced
to mouth, but whenever he attempted to break free and ad lib,
he was firmly pulled back to the official line by pretty,
prissy Ms Odho.
In
the three segments relating to Pakistani fashion, the young
models displayed some lovely clothes. Rizwan Beyg's cool,
contemporary outfits showed his ease with global trends, while
Nilofer Shahid, Faiza Samee, Deepak Perwani and Sonya Battla
were equally comfortable with stylish colours and fabrics
from the West. I do hope the Pakistan High Commission was
able to persuade some top garment buyers to come to the show.
Until
last week, I had never heard Junoon live, and had often wondered
what all the fuss was about. Now I know. The boundless energy
and relentless drive they bring to their music is infectious
and it is no wonder so many members of the audience stood
up to dance during their performance. And no wonder, too,
that General Musharraf stood up while they were ending a number
and signalled for them to continue. Ali Azmat, the vocalist
of the group, was a memorable figure with his clean-shaved
pate and uninhibited forays up and down the stage. Salman
Ahmed on the lead guitar was hugely innovative while Brian
O'Connell steadied the group on the bass guitar.
Compared
to the polished professionalism of Junoon, Strings and Fuzon
looked and sounded almost amateurish in their earnest numbers.
Bilal Maqsood's brooding good looks and sound guitar technique
made it seem like he was out of place in the re-born Strings.
Abrar's fulsome public praise for Gen Musharraf was misplaced:
perhaps he thought he was performing on PTV. Indeed, his tame
performance made it hard to believe that it was his electrifying
talent that gave us Billo de ghar.
Representing
Pakistan's rich folk music was Lahore's Papoo Saeein on the
dhol; Balochistan's Akhtar Chunar Zehri and Bhit Shah's Soung
Faqirs. Papoo Saeein was much applauded as he played the dhol
with a mixture of complete mastery and controlled passion.
He is a well-known shrine drummer and it is easy to see how
his mesmerizing beat can put devotees into a trance. Zehri's
clear, uninhibited voice resounded in Albert Hall's vast spaces
and his traditional outfit did not seem out of place. For
me, the Soung Faqirs were a big disappointment as I know what
magic they are capable of. Having seen them perform in their
natural habitat in Bhit Shah years ago, I was expecting them
to bring the audience to its feet with their shuffling dance
and mystic singing. But perhaps they were daunted by the setting
or not primed on their substance of choice. In any case, they
seemed chained to the spot they stood on, and their performance
was tame and unpolished.
Abida
Perveen brought the house down and the crowd to its feet with
her haunting voice and riveting stage presence. I have heard
her live many times and never cease to be amazed by her artistry
and the superb control she has achieved. At the end of her
performance, the entire cast and backstage staff came out
to dance to the music as all of us stood and clapped.
A
memorable evening made possible by financial support from
the Bestway Group and an original concept from the energetic
Abdul Kader Jaffer, Pakistan's High Commissioner to the UK.
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