WOEBOT

Give me a Dhol Beat!

Bloggers at Desi Beats: 1xtra Birthday Bash Monday August 11th 2003.

First review filed? Heronbone and k-punk had that glazed "I AM ABSORBING CONTENT" look from time to time, so with any luck they'll be mad at me for beating them to the pinch. Though presumably Luka would render his impressions as feral poetry. Respect also to Cooper who showed up out of the blue. No fellow Bloggers spotted. We did look for other socially crippled white people, but no, just gorgeous tawny sisters with flowing hair and sikhs in crisp white shirts. I'm beginning to look like those "too old" dudes who you'd see at parties "exercising", nah I fitted right in in spite of my conspicuous pallor. I keep telling you I'm dead trendy yunnuh!

There was a huge degree of excitement in the air. A tangible sensation that, as the event was beamed out live on Radio One, that this was Desi culture making it's mark on the mainstream. Certainly Panjabi Hit Squad, one of whom is gleefully introduced as the man teaching Craig David how to speak Punjabi, are red hot right now, working their way from Mariah Carey and Ashanti to Keith Murray. This from Kodwo Eshun who, in spite of his huge appearance fee, pulled a no-show: "Desi's a diss/ slang that snobbish RIs - Resident Indians- use against NRIs -Non Resident Indians ie Brit Asians Indian-Americans -the whole Indian diaspora", he made the point that it's another chapter in the sub-cultural tradition of "embracing the insult." Jazz, Punk, Gabba, Desi. It's a great starting point for any genre.

If Bashy culture is a glorious transcendence of the fake, imported music with the real mixed out, a dutty mash-up of musics that'd only share a stage in the UK, then Desi is an almost prismatic many-splendoured refraction of street culture. In a sense everything that's great about bashy, the inauthentic, is amplified and spun into whole new geographies by Desi. It's like my fave Glaswegian delicacy, curry sauce on chips.

After about half an hour I found I couldn't stop dancing. Desi Bhangra is pitched at a twice-walking-pace riddim timed exactly around the falling and re-organising of limbs. It's a divine formula that bewitching sitar loop, a roll of dhol then BASS. Factor in the helium-pitched hypersexuality of voices like Lata Mangeshkar or Asha Bhosle, the doyennes of Bollywood, and yo' ass is shaking. Since the days of Bally Sagoo the drums of Bhangra have come to match the brushed-metal perfection of Hip-Hop and Garage. No more sloppy wood-block beats, Desi r-r-r-rolls. Flashing lights, waving arms, cuties ring-dancing, dry ice, whiskey, all blurring into a no-time no-place ecstacy. And still you're twitching.

There's a shade of formality to Asian culture. They're trying to shake it off. They're maybe even embarrassed about it. A seriousness, earnestness, tidiness. But that's great. Notice how beautifully the event is choreographed, how Punjabi Hit Squad manage the rush. Rewinds aren't Jamaican-diaspora-messy like those of Semtex now the archetypal bashy DJ (who does a kool set), they're immaculate. You almost want to bow. Desi Highlights include Jassi Siddhu ("Reality Check") who's just back from Nairobi. He's joined by twin dhol drummers live on-stage. Woo! If this was a drum and bass night, with a live bass-player (snicker) I'd be cynical but here this is coming direct from the Bhangra Wedding bands, and it's done, as with everything in Desi, in a joyfully uncynical manner, you're just swept along in the enthusiasm. Also a wicked live performance by the ravishing Ms Scandalous, who stretched her tune (was it "Hai Hai", guffaw, c'mon I'm doing well here!) over 20 minutes. I was weak at the knees. Though the blogsterati all concluded that Jay Sean, the Asian so-called future of of UK R'n'B would do as well to climb back in his box. Back in yer box mate!

Heartless Crew are more reassuringly grimey though they fit the Desi agenda. Mighty Moe is that curious thing an Arabian who MCs in patois, a true fake. Out of the gate they rock 3 versions of Diwali, any notion of faithfulness to Garage proper is out of the window. Heartless floated Mark Ryder's "Joy" the late 90s Garage re-rub of Tainted Love, Shy FX and Apachi Indian's "Original Nuttah", a stack of Wiley riddims and their own classic "The Superglue Riddim". Heartless are shameless showmen, and maybe this reluctance to cleave to a straight Garage set is much to do with the fact that the crowd would tire. Bushkin strips off his purple flowery towelling tracksuit top, gets his washboard out for the ladies, swaps with Fonti on the decks. It might not be as seductive as a show as the Bhangra crews, but Heartless lit the party's wick.

Walking eastwards pissed with Luka, breakdancer extraordinaire pontificating about varying hybrids of lichen, a gang stopped at the lights in a saloon. That squeaky Superglue riddim on a tape. "Oh yeah!" I waded towards them, "Yeah we saw the Heartless Crew tonight", confused but cheerful conversation ensued. The lights change. "See ya mate!"

Posted by Woebot at August 12, 2003 10:11 AM