The Tell Tale Heart: Soul Jam - Mehreena Aziz Khan

In the last few days, many of my fellow countrymen have been posting videos from Coke Studios second season airing this month on Pakistani television channels. Sitting in my apartment unit in Sydney, Australia, the status updates and YouTube posts keep me well updated on what is happening back home, whether it’s the bewailing of another deadly bomb attack, jubilation over restoration of the judiciary, or the laments and joy over cricketing performances.

For one accustomed to chilling reportage of the Swat operation, shedding tears over fallen martyrs in the war against the Taliban or cringing at videos of young girls being flogged in public, the Coke Studio videos were a veritable breath, nay gust of fresh air.

For one accustomed to chilling reportage of the Swat operation, shedding tears over fallen martyrs in the war against the Taliban or cringing at videos of young girls being flogged in public, the Coke Studio videos were a veritable breath, nay gust of fresh air.

This is the Pakistan I know and the one I grew up in. Rich with talent both folk and pop, both classical and modern. Where talented music and video producers have the skill to conduct creative experiments and come up with top-notch productions despite meager resources and training. Knowing a lot of the people behind the project personally, I know for a fact that most never attended a musical academy or formally studied production. They just have raw talent and determination, while their skills are self-taught. Whether it was learning to strum the guitar or the keyboard keys through books, or learning the ropes of music and video production from the internet.

One by one, the performances began and ended with aplomb, with every performer putting their soul into it, and the jam sessions began to feel like a balm for the embittered Pakistani soul - a soul wounded by violence and internal strife. This is the Pakistan that easily married the glory and timelessness of traditional folklore with modern pop. Where globalization and modernization enjoyed a peaceful and respectful camaradie with the historical and classical.

When two girls from Peshawar sang timeless quatrains of Omer Khayyam at the melodious strumming of the rabab, they evoked nostalgia for the beautiful heritage of the war-torn mess Afghanistan and parts of NWFP have become. Before the time where girls had their faces burnt with acid, their schools shut down and their teachers shot. Before CD shops were burnt, before ancient statues were ruthlessly bombed and before classical musicians were issued death threats and boycotted into oblivion. If only we could manage modernization and progress while preserving our culture as smoothly as the adept synchronization of western percussion instruments with the classic rabab by Rohail Hyatt's team.

All the performances were marked with the same characteristic. Saieen Zahoor's melodious rendition of verses of ancient wisdom reminded one of the Sufi poetry and mindset that once helped spread Islam in the Subcontinent. A time when love, poetry, tolerance and a deep respect for human values was the mode for propagation of religious sentiments. How the scene has changed since then. And as Saieen's voice died down, a fashionably bearded Ali Noor and his brother Ali Hamza took up the tune… both dressed in western attire, both ably carrying the tune forward and representing the modern face of Pakistani music with a sensibility and respect for their musical heritage.

The performance evoked memories of Zia-era PTV when Muhammad Ali Sheikhi and Allan Fakir's "Allah Allah kar bhayya" became hugely popular as the original pop-meets-folk ditty. A time when the likes of Nazia and Zoheb were banned from television. The triumphant re-emergence of pop music after the end of the Zia era, when youthful raw talent like Vital Signs and Jupiters sang jubilant and hope-filled anthems on the eve of Benazir's promised era of liberalization.

When I had returned to Pakistan in 2004 after spending a number of years in Germany, I found a vastly changed media landscape in the wake of the satellite television revolution. But a stark dichotomy was visible in television content as one click would take you from devout rant of Aalim Online or bearded mullahs talking about the intricacies of performing ablution, to the tantalizing gyrations of the likes of Nimra or scantily clad local models at a glitzy fashion show. The neutral majority found itself feeling alienated by both.

When I had returned to Pakistan in 2004 after spending a number of years in Germany, I found a vastly changed media landscape in the wake of the satellite television revolution. But a stark dichotomy was visible in television content as one click would take you from devout rant of Aalim Online or bearded mullahs talking about the intricacies of performing ablution, to the tantalizing gyrations of the likes of Nimra or scantily clad local models at a glitzy fashion show. The neutral majority found itself feeling alienated by both. The Coke Studio performances on the other hand seem to symbolize a balanced middle ground between the two extremes. At the same time they are a quantum leap from the pre-millenium PTV era of uninspired performance clips featuring rubab, tabla and other folk instruments that would dot the broadcast back then.

So hats off to all involved with the production and that, along with the welcome news of Pakistan's victories in the Twenty20 World Cup at the moment, is what I want my news of Pakistan to keep on being filled of: feats in arts and sports rather than deadly bombings and floggings.

Until next time its cheers from Aussie mate!

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http://www.cokestudio.com.pk/ for more on Coke Studio