A paintball field might be an odd place to have a gig, but in a country where the last bar closed in the 70s, it beats playing a basement or a backyard. Between having a disproportionate amount of teenagers and a “boys’ club mentality”, Pakistan seems to have the perfect ingredients for a punk or metal scene.
Gigs are furious affairs of hair, sweat and moshing, but the lack of a touring circuit has been detrimental to the creation of a scene. Due to a critical mass of bands and styles, however, one could finally be taking shape, an article published in British newspaper The Guardian said.
Pakistan has long been host to a well-documented rock scene. Instrumental “beat” bands of the 60s and 70s paved the way for a far more gritty, guitar-based music scene than the glamorous and traditional sounds emanating from Bollywood. By the 90s, the majority of underground bands coming out of Lahore were singing in English, inspired by American grunge – yet the lyrics were essentially apolitical.
How different the picture is today. Youths from Punjab to Balochistan are turning out relevant, Pakistani takes on everything from punk, to crust and black metal.
Polished punk: Of all the bands that incorporate a punk or post-punk influence, the most polished is Bumbu Sauce, whose EP Bisti-Proof was released a year ago. Sung in a mix of accented English and Punjabi and named after a garnish that comes with instant noodles, the group has songs with names such as My Punjabi Love (For You) and Jiggernaut.
Their catchiest song is Bunnayn(za), which is one of the few non-bhangra songs to currently be on BBC Asian Network rotation.
Speaking to ‘the man’: Christened after a classic Punjabi stage comedy, the Lahore-based Topi Drama released a single last month that is reminiscent of the American crossover band, Suicidal Tendencies. The song, called Wajj, is about the daily irritation of roads being barricaded to make way for ministers and their motorcades. The chorus roughly translates to “you may have a big car, but your manhood is small”.
When asked about the appeal of punk rock, their singer Arafat says “It’s just non-pretentious … it’s honest and it’s rude and it sticks it to the man.”
Rude and crude: Rudeness is the most salient feature of the Pindi-based Foreskin, whose sound is similar to their English forebears, the 4 Skins. One of their songs is a string of Punjabi expletives set to a midtemp Oi! beat.
The Lahori metal band Takatak got its name from the onomatopoeia of blades chopping up goat testicles. They’re one among dozens of breakdown obsessed hardcore/metal groups that the city has been host to since the American band Lamb of God replaced Pantera as the heroes of 14-year-old Punjabi boys, who now have more access to guitars then ever before and want a band to claim as their own.
Takatak’s song Break Down is just that, a mosh song for kung-fu dancing.
Then there’s Multinational Corporations, who make some of the most ferocious crust punk to be released outside of Mexico City. They’re a misnomer among the rest of the jokers in this article because they are contemporaries of the serious anarcho-tradition of Crass and Amebix. They recently put out the single Presidential Castration, which lives up to the fact that their name comes from the first track of Napalm Death’s first album; it marries their political stance with the aggression of Cryptic Slaughter.
Baloch black metal: Coming from the frosty north of Balochistan is the enigmatic Black Metal soloist, Abyssed. Shriek-y and deeply misanthropic, their song Bejaan, which translates to “without life”, manages to be as devoid of colour and joy as Norway’s esteemed Burzum.
The lush orchards of Balochistan remain a distant place for the youths in bustling cities like Lahore or Karachi, which make them the perfect incubator (or moratorium) for a black metal scene. Besides Abyssed, other black metal groups include Taarma and ambient Sorr Makhaam. Notable is the fact that they adhere to the primitive Luddite aesthetic of early Scandinavian groups, as opposed to the symphonic “poppier” varieties of the style.
The reasons for that are likely more than simply aesthetic – kids who grow up in Quetta don’t have access to the plethora of studios in Lahore or Karachi. But just as the influence of extreme music has travelled, and had a wider reach across the country, musicians may be warming up to touring too. After all, with trucking culture so widespread there, travelling through the country is one of the most Pakistani things these kids could do.
