Friday, August 18, 2006


Trouble was as a war reporter you cannot have a biased view. Objectiveness and all that, idealistic morals – even worse I still believed in the words spoken out at training camp.

But it’s tough – you ID yourself with one clan one country one genre one style… It got worse when fanatic gangs claimed their religion decreed the fatal drastic attack on countries with rhythm instead of melody. Some thing you saw more often at home when your teenagers rebelled and got warnings and public mention. Some got arrested for shunning light happy melodies for deeper meaningful rhythm, drums and a heavy bass hook.

I was personally pissed off – I loved everything Omerican, Hell – I loved every song every tune I loved its power on other people the way everything was powered on our music. That of course was me losing sight of objectivity – and I was sent to the desert states where our music had no influence. Reconnaissance and reports of border skirmishes of alien sounds. All so that we could keep our heavy weapons ready, to sort out street fights. They called us bullies; we called ourselves law makers – all the best known artists, most influencial styles, those faces on music videos that had turned generation after generation. Why the heck was I risking my musical mind here in this cacophony???

But then I fell in love – yes its cliché. They taught me that it could be gentle, satisfying and that it wasn’t a rat race of world domination. Happiness is a rhythm made complete in itself and yet a dance gives it that power of the living no one had seen in our country for years. I knew we would lose this war… Me reports back home became coloured till I was told to keep my objectivity – I wanted to write back “I just have found out that objectively this is the truth”… But I was still Omerican and there are some things you just don’t do. Moreover I was of the pop religion (whose true meaning was lost in scandal and petty games on currency hoarding) and this would mean that I would be evicted from my home clan.

So in between ripped chords and slashed drummers I saw the world as it was: We who knew nothing of suffering musical oppression were the oppressors, we killed not only their theatre their dance but we stopped their music. We killed the generations greatest artists and touted our own polystyrene as the best this disappointed generation could do. We murdered their songs before they were sung and made their instruments illegal. WE called their religion of folk and indigenous falsified and pretentious, in this day and age.

We mocked the truth that was plain as day. We had lost the power to make music and mass copying and rearranging didn’t change it. If only we had a tiny vision to try and understand rhythm and lift melody higher. If only my children would walk these war ridden streets these and live for one second – with their own non copy-able music, dance and theatre…

I was killed as a stuffy Omerican should be – they said. But I would like to say I died
Enlightened, when I danced with their rhythm so freely given to me…


One morning I got up to another border skirmish. I live in the desert lands on Earth. People on earth have been killed for many reasons – some reasons I understand more than others. But this, this was our generation’s last war. I was a practiced drummer and that meant I could use anything of any shape and make music of it. If drums were illegal I would use their houses, their children as my instruments. Percussion – it was my religion and I believed it could not be marred. Except it was. I fought each day for the freedom to make my music – the one inside me waiting to be released, my country men fought to tear down any use and misuse of drums by the cement centre. The cement centre is a funny name – it is not exactly the centre of the cement belt. They say that their maps are made to show otherwise. Drums were our weapons and any use by them was not only illegal but blasphemous! I feel a little differently but as a desert dweller and born into the Percussion religion (now wholly run according to the sect of death metal and their austerity) there are some things I would not risk my music for.

This border skirmish I am sure was attracting more than it was worth a few wasted musical geniuses are of no global consequence but Omericans decide their own agenda each year.

This year they decided that we were the centre of latest metal music and they are right but not so too. Death metal is but a part of my religion not all of it. At least thats what their leader told us when they joined us in our strive for freedom.

An Omerican reporter I spoke to understood – of all the people it was one of my sworn enemies. Born where I am in the desert country its gospel truth that they were our destroyers – but we would survive every onslaught and reclaim the eternal truth.

Some people are brave enough to say this is said in each genre. Pop Rock Electronica and Psychedelic all say the same thing. Maybe it is true. No one who is Percussion born and brought up would know – atleast if they were like my friends and parents. This Omerican reporter understood and smiled as we killed him. He returns to his country dead of music and will never believe anything.

By kill (I have been asked to clarify for aliens who have varied definitions) we stop the will of a soul to dance, take part in any art form and obviously kill its music. Its own inherent musical life form.

I personally think many things that I cannot voice here in the public domain – I believe most staunchly in my percussion. Whether this belief is greater or lesser than my belief in other music I am not allowed to say and do not wish to either.

Sometimes I think of a world without these desires, these greedy temptations and wars for music dominancy and I think sadly – I wouldn’t want to live in a world that was any different. After all music, dance, acting, sculpture, painting, DJing (oh holy grail of my soul!), music… oh I weep for the fall of music. My soul sings in such harsh sadness – what would be the world without music… To fight instead with passion for physical extensions of land, money, wars with skin deep physical harm, wars with weapons that we look at today and laugh – I offhandedly hand them to my child…

Death of a body on power with that of death of one’s music! Such ridiculous thoughts – My family lives, from my earliest ancestors to my children as they are born and as they stop breathing but sing still. To not know of or to lose these souls forever equated with the mere skin shedding of one musical soul for another.

Music – you tell me what else is worth fighting for? That Omerican reporter understood me. Any now I know someday another soulmusic might…

Till then our 3 suns sing over that horizon – sings a song that travels to each genre and yet doesn’t belong to any. And we live by moonlight that makes you want to dance – because while it does you are safe still.


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