I was in 11th standard when we got the first FM channel (Times FM, used to broadcast from Bombay, if memory serves). I would record the songs onto cassettes and make myself what in today’s language is a mixtape. One such tape had Mr. Big’s “Wild World”. To the tune of “Just remember there’s a lot of bad and beware”, I moved cities, dealt with the first day of college, of university for my masters’ degree and moved to Bangalore. My soundtrack for change had other songs, and Wild World featured among them. Like all good art, it felt personal, like they were singing to me to (I later learnt the song is older than me and belongs to Cat Stevens in the original way of things). The woman-child part of me felt joy that it was allowed to exist.
Once MTV started in India and there were videos to go with the music, I gravitated towards the rock musicians. Long hair, cheeky grins and edgy sound. It was near impossible to be 21 and not have mass crushes. I had straight hair back then, and remember thinking it looked more like Paul Gilbert and Billy Sheehan’s and wished it fell around my face, more like Pat Torpey or Eric Martin’s. My presently wavy hair does, so I suppose that’s another wish that came true.
Cut to 25 years later, I ran casually into an ad that the band was to play in Bangalore. Hell, I’d have gone to Gurgaon to listen to them. Mercifully, I didn’t have to. I called for reinforcements to go to the concert with and was so grateful when Matthew from 247 said he and his wife were going. In the last minute, the lineup changed to Matt and Ron: people I’ve known for 25 years, was deeply fond of and could really look forward to hanging out with.
At the appointed hour, at the event venue, we had warmed up to the two opening bands, and like the proper ajji that I am, I finished dinner while waiting for Mr. Big to take stage. We also made middle aged bladders joke, the reading glasses joke, “Is this music too loud or is it me — am I too old?”, and then some jokes that I can’t print because it’s PG-65. (If you’re under 65, you’d take offence. If you’re over 65, Mum, is that you?)
My first thought when the four worthies took to the stage was, what a big sound just four people generate. Billy Sheehan is 71, Eric Martin is 64, Paul Gilbert, though geeky looking in his glasses and short hair, is 58, and “young Nick D’Virgilio – as these things go” is 54. I was an ageing-ajji no more, and didn’t remember that I’d been on my feet five hours, had eaten some sad maida-based food and it was way past bedtime. I was transformed into that girl who’s skip into office on heels, looking forward to meeting her tribe, her people; then would go over to Pecos for popcorn, lime sodas, friends and music.
As song followed song, I realised that the band was playing more than they were performing. The playfulness was just at a level that you couldn’t distinguish it from performance; the poetic song transitions, the casual run across the stage to check their setlist; pithy storytelling; everyone held up their end of the bargain smoothly.
The showmanship was next level and very very old-fashioned rock band, of the sort that I’ve only read of. To watch it in person was a privilege. Because we typically get the big bands, the Stones, Dire Straits, Aerosmith, etc., and they are at a different style of operation, we don’t get this up close and personal sense of how the band operates. Except perhaps with Jethro Tull, but that was a different energy.
The commitment this band has to their craft! The sheer supremacy of Billy Sheehan and Paul Gilbert with the guitars, just how much people lit up every time they played. The insane variety of sounds they produced, the energy, the joy they emanated. I listened to them and wondered what was wrong with places outside Japan, that didn’t revere them like they ought to have been.
I loved that they were vulnerable when the energy dipped and asked us to dial it back up. So, this is how rockers ask for love. Authentically but with authority. LOVE IT!!!!
Then I started to wonder if there are musicians who index much harder on craft and if any space is left, index next on relationships. Like the work I’ve chosen, to stay small and nimble. Even when they disbanded and re-formed, there seems to have been no bitterness. Both guitarists have a couple of cats each at home. Sheehan’s wife posted stories of roses he sent her for Valentine’s Day (Because he was playing in Shillong that day). You get the feeling of these chaps going away for a bit and then going home to “normalcy”, and not be touring for the major part of their lives. I got the feeling of people committed to their craft but also to life in the slow lane, and be okay with the tradeoffs. That was relatable. If you look at the adoring youtube comments, you’d be right in asking, “What trade offs?” I felt such a strong sense of kinship with these musicians, are at the top of their game, with practice and years and years of doing this. They are not so much about booking arenas but about being up close and personal, about leaving it all out there every time they play, about caring about the fan experience. They seem to be gravitating towards a balance between their away at work and at home & chilling phases. A need for balance I understand (and those closest to me) all too well.
You could see there was an easy camaraderie among the band members. Whether it’s Eric Martin taking the cordless drill from Paul Gilbert after he finishes his part (A crew member came for Billy Sheehan’s), or the way both guitarists got mentioned with various superlative adjectives after their solos, or how warm and respectful the band’s curtain calls were. Or just the sheer generosity of it all, like when Billy Sheehan handed the bass over to Eric Martin and said, “He taught me everything I know, but I don’t think it’s everything he knows” He really didn’t need to give that much, but he just did. Given how much love he got from the audience, I can imagine he knows most people are there for him, but still, that generosity of spirit is worth calling out.
They did a switcheroo, with Eric Martin on bass, Billy Sheehan singing, Paul Gilbert playing drums (he’s been drum producer when Pat Torpey was ill and still touring in diminished capacity), Nick D’Virgilio on the guitar. I mean!
A very unexpected bonus was to see good old-fashioned well-mannered Bangalore turn up in droves. And when I say old, I mean 40% salt and pepper haired people, another 20% mostly salt. The peppers, while peppered about, seemed to be in their 30s, the young punks! People in their old jeans and black tees and unpretentious ways and good manners. The number of times I moved or someone moved to make space, or bumped and apologised by slowing down, making eye contact and looking contrite. Oof, you don’t know how much you miss it till you actually see it again.
The last song in the setlist is a cover of The Who’s Baba O’Riley. The Baba in question is Meher Baba, him of “True love is no game of the faint-hearted…” fame. I have a t-shirt from Silly Pineapple studio with lyrics from the song and I felt it was the right t-shirt for the occasion.
A week in, I am still reeling from sharing space in close(ish) quarters with these phenomenal musicians. They are a rare breed: all craft, all skill, all heart and all balance. Who would have thought I’d find validation to my life choices from people whose music nudged me out of discomfort. Guess they are right: Gotta face the day, there is no other way to clear the fog inside your mind.
Monica Pillai 