Evolution // Music of the Week / WS 21 Feb 2021
Evolution
I know it isn't good to toot one's own horn, but I really love the new-look Music of the Week. I spend most of the week really looking forward to writing it. It feels like a cathartic outburst of untrammelled self-expression, and reminds me of the reason I started writing stories in the first place. Twelve years ago, I published my first story online: it was a short story about a prisoner plotting his escape. Free? was inspired by the books of Camus and Kafka I’d read in the preceding year – primarily the Stranger and the Trial. Reading that story, which I've attached to this piece, brought me to the broader theme of this week's music roundup: evolution. Evolution is slow and often indiscernible in the moment. However, constant, directional effort results in gradual change that compounds over long periods of time. For example, see how much better my writing is today when compared to Free? That took twelve years. It may take another twelve for my writing to finally be close to what I consider good writing, but at the end of this particular week, I’m excited to see what these twelve years hold. The key to making it through life, it turns out, is enjoying the journey, is working patiently.
Now, on to the music. I started the week listening to Frank Ocean’s two wonderful masterpieces – Channel Orange and Blonde. In terms of production techniques, song construction, vocal performances, really everything one’d be looking for in a contemporary R&B release, these albums were, and continue to be, groundbreaking. They’re unparalleled in their ability to marry experimentation with relatability, which is why they have so many gems: both in their deep cuts and in their hits.
My interest in Can’t Get You Out Of My Head – both Kylie Minogue’s and Adam Curtis’s – continued. Did you know the extended version of Kylie Minogue’s 2001 album, Fever, the album that blessed the world with Can’t Get You Out Of My Head contains a fantastic mashup of its biggest hit with New Order’s equally iconic Blue Monday? And that it has the perfect name: Can’t Get Blue Monday Out Of My Head?
In writing A Personal History of the World After Punk, Part 3. 1979 [1], I revisited many old favourites. I’m particularly delighted to have rediscovered the Slits’ 1979 debut Cut. Truth be told, most of this week’s music listening was punk and punk-adjacent, and it made the week a lot of fun. I also spent a good chunk of the week spinning Jawbreaker’s 24 Hour Revenge Therapy. It’s hard to explain just how much I loved that album when I first heard it as a youngin, but I tried to do it in the week’s Music Box entry.
In contrast, this week’s entry into Stories of Music Discovery was a lot more sombre. In my travels through the internet, I discovered a bootlegged album called Cambodian Rocks. I’ll reach out to my piece from earlier this week to give some context into the album and the documentary that helped bring it to a wider global audience, Don’t Think I’ve Forgotten.
Cambodian Rocks can be seen through two lenses. One, through the lens of historical significance … Two, through the lens of its being great music, which it absolutely is. Throughout the album, there are uniquely Cambodian scales and vocal stylings overlaid on the sort of American psych-rock that must’ve flowed in from neighbouring Vietnam during the American War there. There are also interesting cover-adjacent gems like Yol Aularong’s Yuvajon Kouge Jet, clearly modeled on Them’s Gloria and Sinn Sisamouth’s Srolanh Srey Touch, a uniquely Cambodian take on Santana’s Black Magic Woman. Every song – even [every cover] – springs a welcome surprise or two, making for a wonderful musical journey, despite the album’s sordid backstory.
With that, I wrap up this week’s Music of the Week, and get back to the theme of evolution and Free? As promised, I’ll leave you with the whole story. But first, this self-congratulatory observation. I’m glad I stuck to writing. Despite how pointless it often seems. Despite it being seen as some sort of silly hobby by many. Despite it seeming like, with writing, the balance is really: I’ve been doing way more giving than taking. Reading Free?, I can see the story I wanted to tell, and can also see how hogtied I was by my lack of ability. If anything, the twelve years of practice that have followed have made me better, and made it that much easier for me to get the release we all seek to get through the following of our myriad passions, be they football, golf, playing the acoustic guitar, or watching TV series.
Free?
Part 1
Hah!
Tonight is to be the night!
The night I have waited for all these years.
No!
No!
It can’t be true!
After so many years of being held captive! After all those lashings on the back, how sombrely I have taken them! After being both servant and slave, I will finally escape tonight!
I have planned this escape so meticulously that even my captor, the King, would be amazed at the plot. My escape is inevitable! I had seen it in my dream yesterday.
Ah, my dreams! How sincere they were! But, sadly, it was the sincerity of these dreams that has held me captive all these years.
No talk of that now! Time to move on as planned. No mistakes tonight. The plan has to be executed to perfection. First, the King goes to bed at 10. My cell is locked soon afterward. I greet the guard with the same sullen expression that I had greeted him with last night, the night before and every night before that. Then out through the tunnel and into the drains. The guard returns at 2 for the routine inspection and finds me gone. He then proceeds to raise an alarm. By this time I am at the port. By the time news reaches the port, I am a stowaway on some Northward bound ship. And then, the sweet taste of freedom.
There is a sudden knock on the door. I glance at my watch. Must be the guard. I open the door. It is him. He checks the room. He won’t spot anything different about the room, I am sure. I am tempted to laugh. Look how unsuspecting the fool is! Everyday he walks in and studies me as if I am a madman. But tonight, I am no madman. Behind the gloomy countenance is a hidden smile. A smile of confidence. A smile of a man who knows his fate. But the guard does not see this. He cannot! I have planned too long to let it slip away in a moment of madness. Why does he not leave immediately, though? What is it that keeps him waiting tonight? He can’t have spotted the tunnel. I myself wouldn’t be able to spot it had I not dug it myself. Maybe it’s the face… No it can’t be. My mask is impregnable. Then, what is it? I make an attempt to look more depressed than before and talk to him of how my back hurts. Surely, he will see nothing out of the ordinary now. It’s a lament he has heard often before. He looks around a bit, not making an attempt to answer. I can hear my watch as if it were in my ears now. My heart goes in sync with the beat. Why doesn’t he just leave? My attempts grow a little more frantic.
Careful!
He must not spot anything strange.
But how should I remain calm? Why is he looking around? There can’t be a loophole. So why doesn’t he just leave?
Part 2
“Right, all good, g’night”
And he leaves.
Relief.
Take a few deep breaths. Breathe. Breathe. Relax.
It is time to execute the plan.
In moments I unravel the tunnel and stand at its mouth. It is this apparent abyss of darkness that stands between captivity and freedom. I am in awe of my own creation. Once again I’m struck by the beauty of my plan. I wish I could enjoy this moment for a little longer. Just a little longer…
No time for that now! I must move on. I have waited too long already. There is to be no delay if the plan is to succeed.
Into the tunnel.
Darkness.
Complete darkness.
But not for long. Soon I will be outside. Under the moon, in the grey light of the night. Free, for the first time in years. How sweet freedom will taste!
No longer shall I live in fear of sleep. No longer shall I fear the rising sun. No more shall I fear the crack of the whip.
Ah!
How pleasant those days will be!
Thinking thus, I trudge on. The journey is cut short by reverie and I soon find myself out in the open.
Now is the most difficult part of the escape. I find myself on the other side of the rampart. But I must move swiftly and inconspicuously. If I am spotted by anyone here, it’s all over. The rampart is patrolled by guards all night. But they won’t spot me here if I’m careful because of the high grass that surrounds the castle. They can’t spot me! I have waited too long for this to let it go now. I will last to the end. And so I scurry on like a little rodent holding on to a new found acorn. And I head to the port.
To the Port.
As expected my escape has been successful so far and I am at the port. Also, as expected, the port is filled with the hustle-bustle of a trading port. Spice ships sail in at dusk and sail out late at night. They always go full, so there is always an easy chance of sneaking in. Ships then proceed to sail to a port 3 hours to the north on a normal windy night; a port in the neighbouring kingdom, for more spice trade. This is where I will make my exit.
An exit to freedom.
To a life as a farmer, perhaps. Where my dreams will have no bearing on tomorrow. Where life will be dictated by the rains and the river. A life that is so much more peaceful. So much better…
I ask around and find that the ships leave soon. Also, the Altima had lost a member of its crew earlier in the day. I speak with the captain and soon I’m the replacement for the dead crew-member. Not a stowaway; a crew-member. But first I must help in loading the ship. Once this is done the ship sets sail.
On the ship.
Finally my tired feet get some rest. I can almost taste freedom now. I close my eyes and remember my days in the castle. My days as an advisor. My days as a prisoner. My days as a slave.
I remember how I watched my dreams unfold daily as a child. This special gift was first spotted by the villagers and then by the King in one of his visits to the village. He promised me a better life if I went with him to his castle. All I had to do in return was to tell him what I dreamt every night on the next day. With my help, he led many victorious campaigns. The magnitudes of his losses were greatly reduced. As promised, I got a better life in exchange. But then, my predictions suddenly started to go awry. The King was initially patient. But one evening, after losing an important battle because of a false prediction, he lost his cool. That was the end of the fairy-tale.
“Take this man and lash him till he admits he is lying”
“But Sir…”
“No! Take him to the dungeon!”
And thus began the days as a prisoner. I grew reluctant to say what I had seen in my dreams. I was lashed for withholding what I saw. So, I eventually blurted it out. Some days I was right, some days I was wrong. The days I was wrong I was lashed before I was sent to my cell at night. This continued till one day I saw the strangest thing. The most absurd dream I have ever seen. The scariest dream I have ever seen.
Part 3
I woke up one morning having seen images of the dead King on his throne. The morning’s lashings got the dream out of me and I was summoned by the King.
“Is it true that you saw me dead?”
“Yes Sir”
“Or is it true that you want me dead?”
“Sir?”
“One way or the other, we will know by the end of the day, won’t we?”
“Sir, my predictions have been off target before…”
“None of that! If you get it wrong this time, 100 lashings and you’re packed off to a little cell.”
“But Sir…”
“That’s all. You may leave”
A delegation of aggrieved farmers was to meet the King that day. Given the nature of the situation and my prophecy, the King cancelled the meeting out of fear. Some farmers took this as the sign of a ruler who did not care for the concerns of the proletariat. On hearing that their scheduled meeting would not take place, these farmers picked up their scythes and sickles and marched to the Castle. A crowd gathered, and what was initially only a delegation of a few farmers became a violent, seething mob. Slogans were chanted. The mob started throwing stones at the Castle Gates and started demanding to be let in. This was enough to make the King tremble and in a moment of fear, he made an error in judgment by sending his Palace Guards out to disperse the mob by force. The mob quickly dispersed and the Castle was again shrouded in an air of silence, this one a lot more undignified than the one that preceded it. He survived the day and as promised, I got my 100 lashes and was packed off to a little cell. My days as a slave had begun.
Life in the cell dulled my wits. No dreams came to me at night. I had become numb to the lashes that greeted me in the mornings. The King on the other hand needed no prophet to know his fate anymore. There had been many an uprising in distant districts and these districts had since broken away from his kingdom. He saw an imminent uprising closer to the capital. To hide from what was obviously a very bitter truth, he surrounded himself with sycophants. Seeing the King’s position weaken, I decided to escape. It would be easy; no-one, save the king, perhaps, knew the Castle better than I. Having spent so many years in it, I knew best how to get out. So I plotted my escape. Digging implements weren’t a problem. There were enough guards in the Castle who were willing to smuggle these in in exchange for a daily horoscope. Besides, most guards were mercenaries and many of those who weren’t were planning a revolt against the King. The escape gave me something to live for. All of a sudden, I learnt to dream again. I had something to look forward to again. There was something to hide from my interrogators again. Every night I dug a little more and plotted a little more. Every night, by 2, I was asleep in bed and the guard who came to inspect the cell found nothing out of the ordinary. Finally, one night, it was done.
The tunnel had been dug. The plan had been well thought out. The countdown had begun. Escape was now a day away. That night, when I went to sleep, I dreamt.
I dreamt that a little after 10 the guard will enter my cell. He will stay a little longer than usual. But, he will leave eventually, seeing nothing abnormal. I will escape and reach the port without much trouble. There I will find that a ship, the Altima is a crew-member short…
Morning.
I have overslept. Two guards are waiting at the door of my cell when I open my eyes. They will ask me what I have seen in my dream. I will refuse to say.
But this time, I will fight harder.
If I last the day, I can get out at night. I will hold on today. For today if I hold on, I have the rest of my life to nurse my wounds. But if I don’t…
No, I will fight. Come what may…
Days have passed. Every night I dream the same dream. Only the ship’s name changes every time. But not even once have I been led back into my cell. All these days I’ve lay tethered in the dungeon. The King believes that what I’ve seen holds the key to his redemption. In his desperation, he sees my secret as his only way out. He won’t free me till I tell him what I’ve seen. And I won’t be free if I tell him what I’ve seen.
Meanwhile, I lie tethered in a dark dungeon, dreaming of freedom. What else does a man held captive have to dream of?
More days have passed. I am too weak to resist now. Today, I will give up. I haven’t been able to sleep much at all, the past few nights. I can barely sit straight now. My body is weak. My mind is weak. But worst of all, my spirit is crushed. The freedom that I had longed for all these years, no longer seems to be significant. There is no point fighting any longer.
Two guards enter the dungeon.
“Will you tell us today?”
“Yes…”
Surprise.
“I… dreamt… of… my… escape… Tunnel…”
I have no strength to carry on talking. I faint.
My eyes open. I’m in front of the King.
“We have found your tunnel”
Silence.
“Escape — prisoner — is not an option”
Silence.
“If I let you out, people will know of your prophecies. They will talk of how all my victories were actually yours. Can I let that happen?”
Silence.
“Worse still, you may help the neighbouring Kings in overthrowing me. I can’t let that happen. I can’t… To the gallows immediately! He is to be executed at once”
And there I stood, a victim of my dreams.
