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by John B. Hamel II Tuesday, October 9, 2007

For those not familiar with pop singer/songwriter Jens Lekman, he is somewhat of an enigma. Ineptitude with women is a recurring theme in his lyrics, yet he tours with an all-female ensemble. He is Swedish, yet sings almost all of his songs in English. His records sound as though they are backed by a full band and orchestra, yet Lekman records most of the parts on his records by himself in his apartment.

And his newest album, Night Falls Over Kortedala, further adds to the conundrum that is Jens Lekman. Night Falls Over Kortedala could possibly be one of the most beautiful pop records released this year. It is named after Lekman’s native neighborhood in Gothenburg, Sweden, which he describes on his record label’s website as a “depressing suburban hell” where “you can walk for hours without meeting a single person.”

How such a place could foster the romanticism and allure of Night Falls Over Kortedala is a mystery. But if Kortedaladid indeed inspire the stunning collection, then every musician should be living there.

The album, which topped the Swedish charts last month and has finally made its way to the United States, begins with the ethereal ballad “And I Remember Every Kiss.” Lekman’s resonant baritone voice is reminiscent of an early Scott Walker as he muses on his favorite subject — lost love. “And I remember every kiss/ Like my first kiss,” declares Lekman on the album’s astonishing opener over pounding timpani and swirling strings.

This first track then bleeds into “Sipping On the Sweet Nectar,” a song rich with lush orchestration, a four-on-the-floor drum beat and a thumping bass reminiscent of Lekman’s early single “Maple Leaves.” Here the lovelorn Lekman dwells on trying to enjoy ephemeral love, knowing it will someday become a memory, singing, “That’s when the feeling hit/ So just lick your lips/ These are the good times you’ll miss/ When you are sipping on the sweet nectar of your memories.”

But Lekman’s obsession with unrequited and lost love does not have the dire strain one might imagine it having. Instead, Lekman’s quirky lyrics refrain from taking his sadness or himself too seriously, as his melancholy is often coupled with humor. On the bouncy single, “The Opposite of Hallelujah,” Lekman ironically sings of how an attempt for sympathy is ruined: “I picked up a seashell to illustrate my homelessness/ But a crab crawled out of it making it useless.”

In “Postcard to Nina,” Jens Lekman wittily recounts the awkwardness of meeting his girlfriend’s father: “I get a little nervous and change the subject/ I put my hand in some metal object/ He jokes and tells me it’s a lie detector.” His playful lyrics and wry song titles (the best being “If I Could Cry (It Would Feel Like This)”) convey the personality of Lekman — that of a zany and maladroit romantic that everyone cannot help but feel attracted to.

But one of the main fortes of Night Falls Over Kortedala lies in its coherence and accessibility; the album is as accessible and appealing the first time as it is the hundredth time.

But that’s not the album’s only forte. “It’s a beautiful record,” writes Lekman of Night Falls Over Kortedala on his blog. While that might be a little presumptuous of Lekman, it is almost impossible to disagree. If I were to review this album in four words, those would be exactly the words I would choose.

From the doo-wop a cappella of “Kanske Ar Jag Kar I Dig” to the snap-along bounce of “Friday Night at the Drive-In Bingo,” each of the songs on Night Falls Over Kortedala finds Lekman in a different lyrical and musical disposition. Lekman’s lyrical jocularity and his proficiency in pop music give each of these dispositions its own undeniable magnetism. Night Falls Over Kortedala is a testament to the fact that Jens Lekman is an artist nonpareil when it comes to blending romance, humor and pop music.

Kohima is in a musical mood. Eight local rock groups are performing at a concert under the banner of Rattle and Hum sponsored by the government of Nagaland which was the first in India to declare music as an industry.The group belted out international hits and also sang its own compositions.Theja Meru started the Dream Cafe for the youth to hang out and discuss music, believing that music can bring in peace."Many years it’s been copy, copy, copy. We don’t have a rhythm in our music so it’s little boring and total rock is not us, and will not sell. So we must bring folk and rock together. That’s the direction to take. "That probably will bring the economic breakthrough. Otherwise this aping of the 60s would have done away with. So there has been a frustrated lot. After the declaration things are changing for the better. Imagination and dreaming has started with this declaration," said Theja Meru, Musician and Owner of Dream Caf .Hang out, chill out, and jam. All the modern generation X mantras are available at Dream Caf , the state’s most happening coffee house that became a destination for the youth.People now feel that industry status for music might help youngsters focus and bring in the sponsors to help net raw talent."As a Naga we have a little difficulty in singing Hindi songs. We are basically into western music. Lot of things have changed for me after I won the Naga Idol," said Moa, Winner, Naga IdolLike many other troubled places, rock has become the medium for ushering in peace in Nagaland. In a welcome change, Naga youth are opting for the guitar instead of guns.Enough of bloodshed, enough of peace talks, enough of ceasefires, but there can never be enough of music, something which has set a new generation of Nagas to hit the road with a positive note.

Bubblegum pop-sters The Brunettes will light up Tasty World tonight with sounds from the duos’ newest album, “Structure and Cosmetics.”Although far from its home in Auckland, New Zealand, the six-piece has a strong Athens fan base.”I like The Brunettes because they have a completely different sound than any other band I’ve heard - they use xylophones and trumpets,” said Laura Harvey, a junior from Peachtree City.Harvey saw them live in 2005 on their first North American tour.”They put on a fun show, coming out with homemade Olsen twin masks on,” she said. “The Brunettes is a great band who plays songs fun to dance to. They love to have fun with the audience as well as onstage.”Ferraby Lionheart (from California) and Athens’ own Matias also will play tonight.Nicole Matias Berube, a sophomore from Buford, uses Matias as her musical alias and is thrilled to be opening for The Brunettes.”I’m 19, a full-time student at UGA, and I try to balance my time between music and school - and a job,” Berube said. “So, this is a pretty great opportunity for me to be opening for an international band on their national tour of the states. I was really grateful for Tasty World asking me to open.”Her music has an indie-oriented and alternative sound. Her first EP was released a few months ago.”I write all of my music, play guitar, sing, and I am often accompanied on stage by local musician Nate Nelson,” she said.Nelson, Jay Rodgers and Ben Leathers will accompany her tonight.Jonathan Bree and Heather Mansfield of The Brunettes met when their bands played a show together and have been together since. They have released six albums including two EPs.”The Brunettes isn’t your average band,” said Maggie Kantor, a freshman from Marietta. “They are funny, interesting and have easily one of the most inventive sounds used in the past few years.”After seeing their show with Rilo Kiley a few years ago, she became a fan.”I loved their playful live show and awesomely odd sound,” she said. “They’re a band with a distinctive personality, changing between happiness and sadness in the blink of an eye.”"I first heard the song ‘Mars Loves Venus’ about two years ago, and the hook was so catchy that I ended up listening to the rest of their songs,” said graduate student Katie Vesser from Atlanta. “The Brunettes are just a great pop band with boppy pop songs - kind of hard to resist.”The Brunettes’ sound also caught the ear of graduate student Michael Tannebaum from Marietta.”These guys craft catchy, fun, simple pop songs,” he said. “They make intelligent, original pop music and it’s way easier and cheaper to see them in Athens than the South Pacific.”

Fans of atmospheric post-rock take note, 65 Days of Static are coming to the Button factory on 3rd November … and they’re bringing friends.

65 DAYS OF STATIC supported by HALVES
Venue: The Button Factory (formerly Temple Bar Music Centre)
Date: 3rd November
Time: 19.30
Tickets: €15

After playing up a storm at Electric Picnic this summer, Sheffield post-rockers 65 Days of Static are bringing their melodic, electronic sound back to Ireland on 3rd November, when they play the newly refurbished, newly titled Button Factory (formerly the Temple Bar music centre). Described by The Guardian as “the only band around to make Muse look restrained”, 65 Days of Static combine post-rock and math-rock (music with peculiar time-signatures) to produce a mostly instrumental barrage of guitar, electronica, glitches, violins and drums (both live and sampled). The result it intriguing on CD, and truly captivating live.

65 Days of Static will be supported by Dublin-based Irish/Polish post-rock outfit Halves. Halves have been causing quite a stir since the launch of their debut EP “Take Exact Revenge” in May, playing their fourth gig at Electric Picnic and their fifth at Hard Working Class Heroes in September. Wearing their influences clearly on their sleeves, the band creates ambient soundscapes with delicate vocals and a wide range of sounds (including guitar, drums, bass, strings, samples and cow bells!), and have been described as combining “the voice of Radiohead with the music of Sigur Ros”. They’ll be joined onstage joined by visual DJs Slipdraft, who mix background images live to create a unique visual show each time.

This is a must-see for anyone who like their music experimental, atmosphere and electrifying!

The Button Factory
Curved St
Temple Bar
Dublin 2
Phone: 01 670 9202
Fax: 01 670 9242
http://www.tbmc.ie

CLAPTON is God.It was 1965 when these three words were defiantly splattered on a tube station wall just outside London. In the short time it took for the demonstrative message to spread to walls throughout the city, guitarist Eric Clapton had been transformed from a promising young blues player into a rock ‘n’ roll deity.Then a 20-year-old hired gun with John Mayall’s Bluesbreakers, Clapton was a purist who teetered uneasily on the pop pedestal. At best reluctant in the spotlight, he dealt with adulation like many music heroes — by ingesting copious quantities of booze and drugs. It can be reasonably argued that the decadent trail Clapton blazed is as much a part of rock’s mythology as his most memorable licks. However, it wasn’t only the burden of expectation that plunged the guitarist into the heart of darkness, he explains in “Clapton,” his autobiography. Finally telling his story at age 62, he describes a life of profound sadness and dysfunction, in which an ugly combo of chemical abuse, toxic relationships and old-fashioned narcissism nearly killed him as they served to fill in the empty spaces between the one true love and salvation of his life: “For me, the most trustworthy vehicle for spirituality has always proven to be music.” Despite his fame, Clapton modeled himself after blues players Buddy Guy, Muddy Waters and the like, letting the music do his talking. As such, he’s still an enigma after more than four decades. Even the most casual fans likely know the basics — the hits, the virtuosity, the crippling addictions, the tragic death of his 4-year-old son — but Clapton fills in many gray areas, recounting his highs and lows with a thoughtfulness often lacking in rock memoirs. Methodically he whittles away at the larger-than-life rock god until a vulnerable, messed-up mortal emerges. When you strip away the expensive houses and art, the cars and boats, stacks of guitars, beautiful women and the applause of millions, what’s left is the humble man from the Surrey County village of Ripley in southern England. Two decades after walking out of a Minneapolis rehab clinic, a still-sober Clapton reflects on his past with dead-eyed clarity. Born illegitimate in 1945, he long believed that his grandparents were his parents. He would later learn that his sister was really his mother. The musician traces his problems with intimacy on this traumatic family fib. After a stint in art school, Clapton bought a guitar and practiced obsessively, studying the licks of Chuck Berry, B.B. King, Muddy Waters. But it was tortured Mississippi Delta bluesman Robert Johnson whose music seared his soul. “At first the music almost repelled me, it was so intense,” he writes. At the height of British Beatlemania, Clapton was a blues snob playing with the Yardbirds. He recalls looking down on the Liverpudlians for their matching suits, their haircuts and their grip on the British populace. He made a hasty exit from the Yardbirds in 1965 after recording the band’s first hit single, “For Your Love,” which, to Clapton, signaled a drastic shift toward pop. “I felt it was a dreadful waste of what had potentially been a good rock blues band.” This established a career-long pattern repeated with such groups such as Cream and Blind Faith. By the end of the 1960s, success wasn’t the only thing messing with his head. He’d fallen for Beatle George Harrison’s wife, Pattie Boyd. “I also coveted Pattie because she belonged to a powerful man who seemed to have everything I wanted — amazing cars, an incredible career, and a beautiful wife.” His torment over his then-unrequited love inspired “Layla,” recorded with Derek and the Dominoes in 1970. While with the Dominoes, he began using heroin, which appealed to him because it was steeped in the blues: It connected him to junkie musicians like Charlie Parker, Robert Johnson and Ray Charles. For more than two years, he fell firmly in the drug’s grip. When he finally did kick, he found his solace in cocaine and alcohol, an indulgence he shared with Pattie, whom he’d finally won after her divorce from Harrison. Clapton had the occasional hit — 1974’s “I Shot the Sheriff,” 1977’s “Lay Down Sally” — but by 1979, he was drinking up to two bottles of booze a day. Though he’d married Boyd in 1977, the thrill seemed to fade once he’d won his prize. He was unfaithful on the road and sexually unresponsive at home. In a last-ditch effort to save his marriage — and himself — Clapton entered the Hazelden Clinic in 1983 to dry out. But the guitarist was more interested in getting through the problem than getting well. “My fear of loss of identity was phenomenal. This could have been born out of the ‘Clapton is God’ thing, which had put so much of my self-worth onto my musical career. When the focus shifted toward my well-being . . . and to the realization that I was an alcoholic and suffering from the same disease everybody else was, I went into meltdown.” He didn’t quit in earnest until 1987, after the birth of his son Conor, whose mother was Italian model Lori del Santo. The intimacy-challenged musician was initially cautious around his son but slowly began reaching out to the boy. In 1991, the 4-year-old fell from the window of a New York City apartment to his death. A numb, grieving Clapton was determined to stay sober. “At that moment I realized there was no better way of honoring the memory of my son.” Conor’s death spurred a spiritual awakening: Clapton wrote his most inspired music, including the wrenching “Tears in Heaven,” for his son. By 1998, he’d opened the Crossroads treatment center in Antigua and a year later met Melia McEnery. They wed in 2002 and have since had three daughters. The road, once his sanctuary, became a grind as he pined to spend time with his family. “My God, everything was becoming so normal in my life.” Less a god than a fool on a hill, the musician describes finding happiness only when he came down from his solitary mountaintop. Whether you’re a fan of his music or not, “Clapton” is an absorbing tale of artistry, decadence and redemption. It’s also an important reminder of the guitarist’s imprint on rock music, as a sideman, solo artist and bandleader. Not bad for a blues snob from Surrey.Erik Himmelsbach, a writer and TV producer, is at work on a book about radio station KROQ-FM (106.7) and the alternative-culture revolution.

It began as a drunken joke among friends. It led to a critically acclaimed album embraced by a nation full of dreary-eyed raver kids. And now, the Klaxons find themselves the darlings of the British music establishment, and winners of the coveted Mercury Prize.

Myths of the Near Future, released last year, took four London twentysomethings from obscurity to critical acclaim after creating a fresh, energetic art-rock album, filled with literary references to science-fiction and supernatural texts. But no one could have guessed that, last month, the Klaxons would walk away with the annual award for the best British album of the year, beating out established acts such as the Arctic Monkeys and Amy Winehouse.

Speaking from Chicago, where the band played last weekend, Klaxons lead guitarist Simon Taylor-Davis acknowledged that the past year has been a whirlwind, going from small, underground clubs to headlining a tour of large venues across North America and Japan, including a stop in Toronto Wednesday.

“It’s been thoroughly and utterly beyond all comprehension,” Taylor-Davis said.

Chaos and confusion seem to be the norm with the Klaxons, whose name is derived from the Greek word “to shriek.” Taylor-Davis admits that the band began recording
Myths of the Near Future with no idea what they were supposed to do. After he and front man Jamie Reynolds met at a record store in Nottingham, England, they quickly decided they wanted to record music together. But they really had no clue where to begin. It was only after a couple of rounds at the local pub that the idea for the band came together.

“We never really claimed we’re musicians or were good at what we do; we just tried to make something,” Taylor-Davis said. “It was just an idea of trying to make this kind of euphoric pop music.”

But the music Taylor-Davis describes as pop has been interpreted by fans and critics alike as a new sound altogether, “new rave” – a mash-up of disco, punk, electronica and New Wave. Coined by Reynolds as a bit of a joke to identify the band among a sea of indie acts, the British press took the genre to heart, exposing the Klaxons to a fan base eager to dance the night away.

“There’s this sort of excitement in England with people calling their music a ‘post-punk’ or ‘new Montreal’-type of sound, and we thought it would be fun to describe ourselves as the kings of this non-existent genre. People picked up on that and it got bought into something that is real.

“It’s kind of strange for us because it’s something that people have taken to and people now belong to. If you meet young teenagers in England, they now consider themselves ‘new-rave kids.’ ”

For now, Taylor-Davis and bandmates Reynolds, James Righton and Steffan Halperin, hope to garner the same kind of success other Mercury Prize winners have had. The big question is whether the Klaxons will use their momentum to foster a long-term career, or will their self-described new rave sound be judged a one-hit wonder?

While Reynolds spoke openly about what he feels is a well-deserved win over odds-on favourite Amy Winehouse’s
Back in Black (“Her record is a retro record, ours is the most forward-thinking record of the year,” he told reporters at the award ceremony), Taylor-Davis takes a more philosophical approach to the prize.

“It’s nice to have, but it’s not something that’s going to rocket us to the top of the charts.”

The Klaxons play the Opera House in Toronto Wednesday at 8.
Special to The Globe and Mail.

Pop:

JILL SCOTT “The Real Thing: Words & Sounds, Vol. 3″ (Hidden Beach, 3 stars)

Jill Scott’s third album is supposed to be all about heartache, since it’s the Philadelphia R&B singer and poet’s first since splitting with husband Lyzel Williams. After all, he was the subject of “He Loves Me (Lyzel in E Flat),” which none other than Beyonce covered her last time through town. But if I were Lyzel, I’d be blushing, because “The Real Thing,” with a few exceptions like the notably rocked-out and raging “Hate on Me,” is a steamy, sexy, slow-jam record that doesn’t hold back in the slightest when it comes to Minnie Riperton-style make-out (and more) sessions such as “Crown Royal” and “All I.” Working with a variety of producers, including Adam Blackstone, J.R. Hutson and Vidal Davis, Jilly from Philly, who has starring roles in movies directed by Tyler Perry and Anthony Minghella, comes across as confessional, confident and candid, as always. She’s on top of her game, whether rapping over Scott Storch’s minimalist beat on “Epiphany,” calling out an absent lover in “Whenever You’re Around,” or opening up emotionally on “Wanna Be Loved.”

-Dan DeLuca

PJ HARVEY “White Chalk” (Island, 3 stars)

This is PJ Harvey’s Bronte sisters album, a set of chilling ballads sung by a woman locked away in the attic in “Jane Eyre” or lost out on the moor in the middle of the night in “Wuthering Heights.” It doesn’t rock in the slightest, and it’s often sung in a high-pitched near-whisper that bears little resemblance to the alarming growl that the diminutive Harvey brought to such fearsome rockers as “Meet Ze Monsta” or “50 Ft. Queenie.” But the music’s hushed quality doesn’t make it any less gripping. In fact, “White Chalk’s” strongest moments, such as the ghostly “When Under Ether” or the haunted title track (whose thrumming guitar and drums slightly depart from the album’s piano-only parameters) or the final, shrieking moments of the closer “The Mountain,” only accentuate its gothic grip.

-D.D.

MESHELL NDEGEOCELLO “The World Has Made Me the Man of My Dreams” (EmArcy, 3 ½ stars)

At its poles, the newest Meshell Ndegeocello project comes off as bass-thumping neometal with ace jazzmen Oliver Lake, Pat Metheny and Robert Glasper following the bassist/composer into a noisy black hole. The hymnal “Relief: A Stripper Classic” and the frantic “The Sloganeer: Paradise” would suggest this was Ndegeocello at her most vicious. But there’s a caramel center to this rock-hard bittersweet shell, and that oozing liquid core is chock-full of moist, slinky funk and dark dub balladry that allows Ndegeocello, the singer, to do what she does best: babble, rant, chatter and croon, in a low, gorgeous, whispery voice, lyrics that dare to be contagious before drifting dolefully into the ether. Few people could name a song “Elliptical,” make it mean as much, and get away with it successfully.

Few artists are Ndegeocello; precious few.

-A.D. Amorosi

JENS LEKMAN “Night Falls Over Kortedala” (Secretly Canadian, 3 stars)

Sweden’s Jens Lekman belongs to the current generation of pop classicists that includes Neil Hannon of the Divine Comedy, Stephen Coates of the Real Tuesday Weld, and Stephin Merritt of the Magnetic Fields. Lekman writes artfully constructed pop songs that hark back to at least the `60s if not the `40s: They favor toe-tapping rhythms and grand orchestral flourishes.

On “Night Falls Over Kortedala,” Lekman writes of extravagant emotions (”And I Remember Every Kiss”) and quotidian events (”The Opposite of Hallelujah”), and he has a penchant for self-referential twists, as when the father of his lesbian date puts on one of Lekman’s records.

Huge hits, massive celebrity, failed rehab, disastrous love affairs and a penchant for catsuits and Las Vegas. The Princess of Pop’s life echoes that of the King. But are we hounding Britney Spears to a similar fate

It is 1977. On stage, the performer in the tight spangly outfit is barely recognisable: doped up, spaced out, the once sleek physique swollen and spread, the singing slurred and unintelligible. The audience is aghast yet mesmerised. These are the dying days of Elvis Presley. Skip forward 40 years, and Britney Spears appears at the 2007 MTV Video Music Awards to unveil her new single, Gimme More. The response is not good: “Spears was stuffed into a spangled bra and hotpants,” jeers the New York Post, “and jiggled like Jell-O as she sleepwalked through the song.”

The similarities between the lives of Britney and Elvis, two of the most successful acts in the history of pop music, are striking. Born in Mississippi more than 45 years apart, their lives have followed a similar course, encompassing not only No 1 singles, Grammys, wealth and fame, but substance abuse, divorce and a dubious attraction to Las Vegas. This week, Spears launched her new album, Blackout, to critical applause, but after a year of increasingly unpredictable behaviour, failed rehab stints, attacks on the paparazzi and an ongoing child custody battle, it remains to be seen whether the Princess of Pop can navigate the immense celebrity - and attendant excesses - that destroyed the King.

Both Presley and Spears were sturdily managed white pop acts who found fame repackaging traditionally black music for a white audience. In the 1950s, Elvis combined rockabilly with the gospel music of his church and the rhythm and blues he heard in Memphis and gave it a pop spin. “He opened the door for black music,” Little Richard once said. Britney, too, draws heavily on traditionally black musical styles: appraising 2004’s In the Zone, Guardian pop critic Alexis Petridis observed: “There is southern hip-hop, deep house, Neptunes-style R&B, the ubiquitous Diwali beat and, most importantly, oodles of Madonna.”

Both performers owe much of their ascent to stardom to the marketing of their sexual allure. The Elvis controversy was sparked by a performance on The Milton Berle Show in 1956, during which he performed a cover of Hound Dog, a song which, like Spears’ 1998 debut… Baby, One More Time, carried blatant sexual undertones. But it was the performance as much as the lyrics. With Elvis it was the pelvis, the seductive shake that drove female fans to distraction and saw one of his early TV performances, on the Ed Sullivan Show, censored so that viewers saw only Presley’s upper body. Britney, of course, skipped into the public consciousness provocatively clad in school uniform and pigtails. Her currency was raised by the disclosure that for all her saucy cavorting, she was in fact a good little church-going girl and a virgin to boot.

There have been other visual similarities along the way - the hair-cutting for example: Elvis was publicly shorn for his stint in the military; Britney, for less explicable reasons, wielding the clippers herself before the baying paparazzi. They have both, too, demonstrated a love for catsuits and sequins, and last week, as Britney unveiled her newly augmented pout, there was an echo of the King’s famous lip-curl.

And then there is the junk food. These days Spears is no longer the toned young popstrel we first met - at the VMAs this year, abdominal muscles were reportedly spray-painted onto her stomach, and she is frequently photographed with fast food takeaways, sugary drinks and packets of her beloved Cheetos. For his part, Elvis never lost his taste for fried peanut butter and banana sandwiches, cheeseburgers and hollowed out loaves filled with peanut butter, grape jelly and bacon, at 42,000 calories a pop. According to the coroner who performed his postmortem, the last thing Presley ate was four scoops of ice cream and six chocolate-chip cookies.

They have each had their Vegas moments, too. The King’s 1968 comeback famously took place in Sin City to a magnificent reception. In happier times, Britney performed her hit Slave 4 U at the 2001 VMAs in the city, accompanied by a live snake. Alas, Vegas was also to herald the start of a downward spiral for Spears: it was here in 2004, at the Little White Wedding Chapel, that she married childhood friend Jason Alexander, a marriage that was annulled 55 hours later.

Failed love affairs have blighted Spears and Presley. Soon after meeting dancer Kevin Federline in 2004, Britney married him and bore two sons in quick succession, only for the couple to divorce acrimoniously in 2006. The debate over custody continues, in an increasingly tormented fashion. Elvis married Priscilla Beaulieu in Vegas in 1967, and they had a daughter, Lisa Marie.

Following allegations of infidelity, the couple separated in 1972, and agreed to share child custody.

After his divorce was finalised in 1973, Presley’s weight shot up and he grew increasingly dependent on prescription drugs and the solace offered by books on spiritualism - when he died he was reading Frank Adams’ A Scientific Search for the Face of Jesus. Britney has followed a similar pattern; her weight gain has been the subject of constant media attention, and the judge presiding over her current child custody case referred to her “habitual, frequent, and continuous use of controlled substances and alcohol”. Recent paparazzi shots revealed a packet of the prescription medicine Provigil in her handbag.

As his fame grew, Presley became increasingly isolated. Holed up in Graceland, with his private jets, jungle-themed room and pandering acquaintances, he was separated from the simpler life he had loved, and no longer sure who his real friends were. Towards the end of his life, Presley was devastated by the publication of a tell-all book that included contributions by three of his former employees, who revealed the extent of his drug dependency. Britney, too, must be wondering who she can trust. She is alienated from her family, and already this year, former nannies and bodyguards, lovers and friends have sold their stories to the press - tales of wild sex, drugs, alcohol and debauchery.

Presley died 30 years ago, in August 1977, keeled over on the shag-pile carpet of his bathroom after a suspected drug overdose combined with long-running heart problems. It was an unceremonious end to a spectacular career. “Elvis Presley’s death deprives our country of a part of itself,” said US president Jimmy Carter.

“He was unique and irreplaceable… His following was immense, and he was a symbol to people the world over of the vitality, rebelliousness and good humour of his country.” Now we see Spears, messed up, puffed up, drugged up, and wonder: are we hounding the pop princess to a similar fate?

New Delhi (PTI): With the surfacing of a new breed of rock music bands, the capital, that has always been considered by afficandoes as trailing behind cities like say Bangalore and Mumbai with respect to acceptance and popularity of the genre, is now witnessing a sweeping wind of change.

“Delhi is now the best place for rock music. Even two years back there was not such an audience who was receptive to rock music but now it has accepted different genres of music,” says Dhaval Mudgal, member of the band ‘Half Step Down’ that was launched in 2005.

“There are more active gigs in Delhi which pays as high as 20,000 per show and with about 15-20 live shows a month it is really turning out to be a good time for the bands,” he says.

Arjun Kaul of ‘Prithivi’, which has been composing music for the last three years says, “The audience for rock music is growing in Delhi. The quality of production, infrastructure and resources has ensured better events to be organised and better performance, so I feel the music scene is fast changing in Delhi.”

The success of like ‘Half Step Down,’ ‘Level 9,’ ‘Advatia’ etc has given inspiration to a new breed of bands to join the bandwagon. ‘Stitch,’ ‘Prithivi,’ ‘Rampage,’ ‘Frequency,’ ‘Inferno’ are grabbing the spotlight with their unique renditions.

Kshtij Rawal who heads the eight-month-old band ‘Stitch’ says, “In these last few months we have performed at a lot of places in Delhi. Then we got selected for the Rockilution competition that held here recently and we performed at the zonal level.”

“Every month there are one or two gigs and each of these pays around Rs 10,000 to Rs 15,000. Moreover we participate in different competitions…Every week we try to catch up with each other and have a jamming session,” says Akshay Raheja of Frequency, which reached the finals of the Channel V ‘Launchpad’ programme.

With their roaring guitars, pounding drums and high octave vocals, these gang of boys have suceeded in swaying Delhities to their style of music.

And, surprisingly most of them have not recieved any formal instruction in music. “We all are students of Jamia Milia Islamia. When we started our band we never had any formal training. It is now that I have started taking classes in drums…Being like minded, we always used to talk about music.

It is through these discussions that everything happened,” says Rawal.

Although, the music scene might have changed over the years but when it comes to pursuing a profession in rock music, they feel, it still has a long way to go.

“To earn a living out of music and survive purely on self-composed rock music is a little difficult right now. One needs to compose commercial music, jingles for TV and radio for sustainence,” says Arjun, who apart from being a guitarist is also a software engineer. All the members of my band are engineers working as professionals in different MNCs, he says.

However, Rawal seems optimistic. “I know there is struggle initially but I know that times are changing and am optimistic that with hard work, planning and a little bit of luck, we can be successful,” he says.

Music these days .. OK, so I love Justin Timberlake. I’ve nevereven met the guy and yet I feel the strange desire to marry him.Why? Hmm, let me think, could it be because he’s not only hot andan incredibly good dancer, but he also has musical integrity andsomehow seamlessly integrates emotion into pop? That’s skill,man.

I’m your typical generation Y-kid. If it has a hot beat and apleasant melody/chord structure, I will turn it up and pump itobnoxiously through my car. I’ll listen to Top 40 and groove to itshamelessly in my private karaoke-bar-meets-nightclub while otherdrivers around me shake their heads and worry about what the worldis coming to. I’ll embrace cheesy pop and say, “Yes, it’s not whatI’d call brilliant music, but who cares? It’s fun!”

But I have a limit. I may even be joining those people shakingtheir heads around me. Because I’m sorry, but I don’t think itcounts as love/affection if you strip and your partner is willingto pay you no matter what, all because they can handle you the wayyou are. Oops, sorry, the way I’m are. Must stop using correctgrammar.

I’m not stupid, no matter what I act like. And I know othersaren’t, either. Most people won’t take the song mentioned aboveseriously. But what worries me is that singers are running out ofthings to sing about so quickly, that they have to sing about theneed to take their clothes off. They have to sing about themselves.Surely, as influential artists, one could be doing a little betterthan spelling out one’s name and adding ‘licious at the end? Or howabout lyrics? “La, la, la, la, la, la, la.” I can’t believe a bandI respect and like, who shall henceforth be known as the Band WhoShall Not Be Named, used that as a line. Like whoa, don’t exhaustyour vocabulary there or anything.

But seriously. Does anyone else feel like they’re emotionallyunfulfilled when they listen to music on the Top 40? I know Top 40is mostly crowd-pleasers but what happened to pop music that waspleasant and fun, yet full of emotion, interesting and intelligent,too? Just because you’re in the genre doesn’t give you the licenceto act like you have a brain the size of a peanut and the emotionalintelligence of a marshmallow.

A good beat does not disguise all your sins. It probably onlyhighlights it, as more people are likely to listen to your song andhence the lyrics. Which, on average, are about a fulfilling asstaring at a wall.

So shape up, please. I want to party, everyone else wants toparty. But please don’t tell us love is about stripping.

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