Festivities and the re-emergence of glass

Almost two weeks ago and after much will-they won't-they (in my mind at least), Rock in India finally descended on these shores. Headlined by the arguably past-it Megadeth and the more rabid than ever Machine Head, the show, as expected did not disappoint... in the least. More pictures than just these, may be viewed here.

The show's immense success (in my opinion and this will be discussed later) could largely be attributed to two factors. The first would have to be Machine Head's undisputed power, majesty, brutality and utter and complete pwnage (there you go Pastry, something for you *chortle*). The second and more surprising (for me at least) of the two factors is the fact that with a couple of exceptions (neither of which need to be named), all the Indian bands really came to the party.

This, it should be noted, is no small feat considering the magnitude of odds stacked against them. First off, the stage being occupied by the international acts was humongous compared to the one being used for the seven home bands. Secondly, the apathetic attitude of a significant number of audience members meant that they stood around or sat in the heat, right in front of the large stage from afternoon or so, in the hope of being right at the front for the international bands. While it could be argued that it's not everyday that one gets to see Megadeth and Machine Head, it was very easy to get right up front even if you weren't sitting at the front from the beginning. Anyway, it was their loss. I'm not complaining. The pictures above depict the stark difference of scale between the two stages. Anyway, despite bands like Motherjane appealing to the "main stage crowd" to come on over or at least, sing along, they sat in their own bliss in front of the main stage and ruminated on the show they may or may not see.

Which is all the better for people like me who got the slap-in-the-face of a lifetime (5 time recurring slaps notwithstanding) and were ripped, torn and shredded by the sheer brilliance of bands like Prestorika (thrash as it should be played), Junkyard Groove (difficult to pigeon-hole, but brilliant as a jazz/funk/rock quartet), Motherjane (mindblowing INDIAN rock/metal; just listen to the song Mindstreets), Millenium (ripping sounds of old school metal) and Pentagram ('nuff said). Pentagram are an established act, Millenium have been churning out their sounds for over two decades. Regardless, this quintet of bands destroyed any preconceptions that the Indian bands were merely spectators at a showcase of two international acts.

After this bruising set-up provided by our home bands, Machine Head stepped in and blew my head away. Even my good friend Sandy Quest couldn't contain his sheer admiration for the power exuded by Robb Flynn and the boys as they tore Bangalore apart with a brutal eight-track set. It's interesting because a normal MH show would be a showcase of heavy stuff, fun stuff, sing-along stuff, downer stuff and the works. This show seemed to be devised in a way that would obliterate any spinal columns or bones of other types in its midst. Belting out seventy five thousand tonne heavy songs, one after the other, (only to be interspersed by the ethereal Descend the Shades of Night) it seemed that their agenda was to fill up the emergency wards in all of Bangalore's hospitals. Kudos must go to the band for the way they entertained the crowd in between pulverising them with their tunes. The onstage banter in lieu of an extra song or so would not have been missed by the crowd. Of course, Megadeth came on next, flat as flat can be; devoid of any real enthusiasm, energy or electricity. I say 'electricity', because even the Gods decided that Machine Head were getting a rough deal playing second fiddle to the band Kerrang! magazine described in a review for an album as "the patchiest band in the world". Seemingly in a rush to catch the first flight out of India, they rushed through their set and went through the motions with all the usual solos (bum notes notwithstanding), platitudes ("We will be back, Bangalore!") and crowd-involving behaviour (turning a mic towards the crowd to get them to sing). That really is all that needs to be said about the disappointing end to the show.

People on online fora and blogs however will crow about what an "experience" it was to see their "heroes" (Mustaine, Broderick and the other two?) in the flesh and how it brought tears to their eyes. Good for them! I'm glad they demand so little of the music they claim to love. As for others, they cried about how crappy the sound was, how desi the Indian bands sounded, how Pentagram sucked, how Prestorika should never have been there, how Megadeth weren't done justice by the fact that their volume was turned down after Machine Head and how India isn't a rock/metal nation. Despite all this nonsense, music was the winner. Guys and gals like me and Sandy respectively got to see bands we'd never normally see and we loved it! That was a festival. Walking around, checking out merchandise (I refer to t-shirts, key-chains, CDs and such-like; I am not sexist), closely scrutinising the food on sale, checking out bands one wouldn't normally listen to, striking up conversations with random idiots and running into people one met at the Sepultura show in Bangalore (Nov 07).

Of course, it isn't my place to tell people to have an opinion that matches mine. Everyone is entitled to their own. Even the people who sat at the stage who I branded victims of a colonial hang-over are entitled to believe what they wish to and do as they please (as long as it's legal, natch). The same logic applies for the self-righteous mobs rising up to decry Indian males in light of Scarlett Keeling's tragic death in Goa.

Crucify me, if you will, for saying 'death' and not 'brutal rape and murder'. The circumstances surrounding her demise don't change the fact that she passed away; in other words, it was in fact, her death. So, I would invite all pedantics to go and jump off the nearest multi-storey building. It sickens me when unrealistic morons try to play the "Firangis mess around with the culture of this country and get their comeuppance" card. The real point here, is that there are most definitely a number of sickos in this country; a majority of who are men. For instance, some peon was arrested yesterday for molesting a four year old girl. Honestly! It takes a person with real mental deficiencies as a human being (if I am now accused of being prejudiced towards the differently abled, I would invite those accusers too to jump off the nearest multi-storey building), to stoop to that level.

The police in Goa appear to be hiding some important and fundamental truths and if they, in fact, are doing so, they should be taken to task. There are no two ways about that. My contention, however, and the "re-emergence of glass" part (a reference to those with glass stomachs, whose heads are so far up their own rectum that basic vision is impossible sans a clear viewing window of glass) pertains to the way Indian males are being blamed for all this. Sweeping statements like "all Indian men are sexually deprived and yada yada yada" serve no purpose. But stop! I'm by no means exonerating a minority (yet one that makes itself notorious by its sickness) of men who indulge in the most heinous antics known to man. The jackasses who molest women on trains, lech at random tourists and go to the extent of raping innocent children are not being spoken for here.

I am trying to speak for the average Indian male. The one who respects women as human beings who are just like him. The one who has grown with strong female role models around him. The one who treats women as his equals and superiors whom he must compete with on a level playing field, in order to get somewhere in life. The one who has been brought up with 'Respect' as one of his major values. And to me, that final point, is the most poignant. It's all well and good in Indian society to claim that women are subordinate to men and that they must just go along with whatever the man says. That sort of attitude breeds mothers and fathers who reinforce this misplaced 'male mentality' as NDTV's presenters, newspaper columnists and random upstarts would like you, gentle reader, to believe is rampant throughout this nation of ours.

When talking about parenting, it is crucial also to talk about Fiona "Warrior for Justice" McKeown's role. What kind of parent allows her fifteen year old — allow me to repeat that — fifteen year old daughter to frolic around by herself in a place like Goa? You may as well send her to Las Vegas or Blackpool or Manila or something. The drugs, alcohol and debauchery part is secondary to that point. Claiming to be a 'gypsy' is inconsequential to that point. You give birth to a child; you damn well better raise, nurture and take care of it. That's my belief anyway. I eagerly await criticisms of these theories I propound, especially from 'bleeding heart liberals' as South Park so succinctly puts it.