Aka f(x) can be music
First up, if you understood the line above +5 points to you.
Yesterday I blogged about a live gig we were doing (now done) with Sin;drome. The entire experience was so intense, that I’ve decided to dedicate a few posts to it. They’ll all be under the ‘Online Concerts’ header.
It’s just past 4pm. The sun’s passed zenith, and the tarmac has decided to take it’s place as the predominant source of heat. The four of us are trapped in a car. The car is trapped on a half a foot wide road, that is dominated by large cars, cycle rickshaws, dogs, cows and other mobile and immobile things. The cars are dominated by Punjabi’s, with a glint afternoon tipple and a yearning for some road rage in their eyes. Punjabis, because the road is in front of a Gurudwara, the hoardings are in Gurmukhi, and ever so often a car slows down so the driver can join his hands and say a prayer, while almost mowing down pedestrians. (as Punjabi, I reserve the right to make fun of ‘my own’ people.)
This isnt quintessential tourist guide book view of India. This is Malviya Nagar, a very popular part of South Delhi, and it looks the part. The buildings seems to have emerged one night, after the god-of-concrete had a fever dream in which he unleashed Delhiites’ weapons on themselves; the weapons of manic disorder coupled with penchant for odd angles and uncut construction bars. The chaos is so endemic that instead of going to ‘L’ block we reach a block called ‘Nil’. This block has numbers that run from one to almost 100, with a few missing numbers like 49 and 50. That must be ‘Meta-Nil’ or something equally fascinating. And there are cars, moving ones and parked, that have been placed there by the evil god-of-concrete just to make you feel like you’re the little metal ball, in pinball machine placed in the ‘Angry Violent Giant’ Pub in Monsterville.
It’s been a trek; to find a place to park and walk to numbers labeled with ‘L’. I call Vinny, he confirms that he is indeed inside the house, we stand in front of. We walk inside his first floor space and the world behind us collapses. It’s like the four of us walked through a portal and reached somewhere else in space AND time. In this room every is covered in wires. The wires are connected to computers. The computers are connected to computers. And they’re all listening to Ashhar and Vinny. We’ve entered a opera house one in which an air conditioner keeps an orchestra of machines from collapsing from exhaustion. This is the den of Sin;drome, where machines create music, that other machines distort, while other machines send this interaction screaming across the Internet, to a tiny space where about 50 watched us collaborate.
More on that in the next post.