Keith had a long time obsession with the sounds a guitar could make. He shared the same passion for nicotine and alcohol, believing in the musician's maxim that the creative genius in you is best in the company of good drink and smoke. He had all trademarks synonymous with a rock musician. Long hair (now he is balding at the center), a vacant stare, gruff voice…

In his heyday the girls were upon him like ninepins, swooning over his looks and there were days when he was rumoured to be with a new woman each week. In his heyday…

These were the late 70s and the Western music scene in the country was still in its infancy. The hubs of the country at Bangalore, Goa and Madras (Chennai) were scenes of rare mania for ephemeral moments, vanishing into the traditional wave that detested such culture. It was one thing to sing in English, it was another to dream of making a living doing so. These were the years that the generation gap was in its formative stages.

Keith was growling for Atomic Nature, a band that hit pubs late nights like a couple of others for a meager pay. He had talent but refused to enter the inviting portals of the film industry. They would rob him of his originality, he reasoned. There were many others like him who stood for what they believed, unmoved by the big money. Grunge was a phenomenon yet to hit them but they were already sunk into artificial depressions created by dope and drink. Continued rejections to cut albums with recording companies hit hard. Everybody wanted to rule the world, everybody wanted money. Get together three lakhs and we will see, one company told Keith.

The abject nature of jobs available to these musicians sunk them deeper. They were professionals, these men, so they drank more. The pub managers paid them on whim, changing bands as if there were clothes. Rock shows crashed because of mismanagement. On the whole it appeared as if rock was dying in the nation, slowly decaying out.

It was against this backdrop that Keith took it upon himself to lead from the front. He would organise a show, the big bloody daddy of all shows, to test whether rock was alive. He called upon all his resources for one last surge. The year was 1981, the venue, Congress Grounds, Teynampet. 2nd October was the day. It was going to be one big bash on Bapuji's day. Imagine getting high on Gandhi… Keith was going to pen down a song on that - for the big day. Six other bands were pulled down to Chennai. Rehearsals went into full gear…

Keith grooved with Charles and Sundaresan. Subbu (Venkat Subramanian) did bass and together they were known to be the best in the industry. They belted out covers to satiate the crowd and when the going was high they would slip in an own-comp or two. Things felt good; tickets were selling, to curious youngsters at nominal prices. The sponsorship was sad but money flowed out of Keith's and a couple of other fellow believer's pockets. The stage was set…

Blue Grind from Bangalore took to the stage first; they died with the applause, lackadaisical and dead beat. The crowd stayed assuming that they were testing the sound and lights. Holocaust from Bombay, visiting because Keith was a pal, came next, and then the party began. Babuji would have turned over in his grave a hundred times listening to their foul-mouthed expletives, but what would rock be without them?

Violence on the stage,
Theatrics to the fore...
The crowd was screaming for more!
Crashing cymbals,
Wrenching licks…

They were all over the place, goddamned October 2nd. The year thousand nine hundred and eighty one. Dope was out in the crowd, the mood and the night set in.

Three bands later it was 9.30 and senses were dulled. It was time for the grand finale - Atomic Nature was to take on the crowd. Keith looked around at his mates, dressed to kill in their colourful costumes. The first thing they needed was that bottle of Jack Daniels Subbu bought at the last minute. Keith would get high on it and empty the rest of its contents on the craving crowd. It was a ritual he followed whenever he took stage big time.

Keith walked on to the wooden stage, with his trademark swagger when all at once the clouds gave way. It didn't rain, it poured! Pelting cats and dogs. Of course there were the signs, the gusts of wind, the ominous clouds, but what could have been done? The three thousand strong crowd at the Teynampet Congress Grounds at that time were showered heavily and Atomic was yet to play.

With a great display of self-control, and an earnest tinge in his voice, like a professional, Keith made the announcement that they could not risk the possibility of a shock and stepped away from the microphone. All was lost. The rain had stolen him of a once in a lifetime performance, at a show he had given blood to organise. The energy in the crowd at the start and until this moment was phenomenal, a clear indicator that rock was alive and kicking. The thought cheered him up. The enormous power that was generated by the earlier bands through the sound systems was now replaced by the steady drumming of the rain. Keith thought about the irony of it all, the absurdity, the big daddy of all shows and He participated. Cables were drenched, the speakers wet. Thankfully the stage was covered or the equipment too would have gone. Sundaresan was sitting on a pile of cables looking glum as ever, hands folded.

"What man?" Keith asked.

"Rain da machaan… what bloody luck…"

"Let's see man, ten minutes."

"Nuts man, it won't stop…" he looked up at the sky. "Even if it does the people will go."

"Listen, who gives a damn, we are here to play, and we will even if the trees are the only audience… and nothing is going to stop us even if means that I have to drop my trousers and dance the hoochie!"

This was Subbu, bless his soul. He believed in the soothing qualities of a bottle of Daniels and told his father so. He made out the rest of his days hanging around with this bunch of nobodies… till he decided that he had had enough and threw the noose around his neck. This was a couple of years ago.

The naked ends of the wires were now sparking and twenty minutes later, at around 10, the rain had not abated.

Then all of a sudden, it stopped. Heaven's 45 minutes performance was over. Keith peered out into the darkness. The few lights around the place had failed and his eyes could barely make out shapes. There was no shelter and he thought this was the ultimate test for Chennai, India, and rock sounds in the country…

From under the trees as the rained slowed to a drizzle, from branches like monkeys swinging, from makeshift umbrellas of bags and books came faces, soggy, wet to the skin, splattered hair across their countenances, then chanting…

"A-t-o-m-i-c! Atomic Nature!!"

The crowd, all three thousand of them it seemed, was there… Keith's eyes watered. He felt a tug at his feet. Kicking away he stared in awe at the spectacle that was unfolding in front of his eyes. There was a sea of people; the chanting was stronger now and the rain completely stopped. The tugging at his leg continued; he looked down.

"Bastard! Let me go!" he screamed. He was oblivious to caring. The poor soul still pulled.

"Lights sir, where do you want them?" It was the light man.

From the tent at the center of the crowd he saw a light flash three times. Begin tests.

Soon, a red flash - signal to go!

Tears were flowing freely now on all their faces. Sundaresan was on the drums ready to beat away. Subbu, bless his soul, was tired from his efforts at setting up the equipment, and the drink was ready too. Atomic Nature was here, right after Heaven's display.

Ten thirty into the night, closing time. People clung on swinging from branches and clawing at the bottom of the stage, drenched, but they cared! Rock lived on! Keith growled, Sundaresan hit the set and they took off in a frenzy… that eventful night of 1981.
Warning: main(commenter1.php) [function.main]: failed to open stream: No such file or directory in /home/.barton/nsigamany/zine5.com/archive/irreg83.php on line 208

Warning: main() [function.include]: Failed opening 'commenter1.php' for inclusion (include_path='.:/usr/local/lib/php') in /home/.barton/nsigamany/zine5.com/archive/irreg83.php on line 208