Archive for May, 2010
My fellow Sepultura fans who hated everything that came after the epic Chaos AD and disliked Soulfly at first listen because of the tribal nonsense, get Max Cavalera’s 2010 slab of metal right now. Here’s what you get with Soulfly’s Omen: short, no-bullshit songs that have timely changes, chuggy riffs, great dynamics, highly enjoyable guitar solos and Max fucking Cavalera in top form. I haven’t heard the man so charged up since fuck knows when. Every second of Omen is superb punky thrash metal or thrashy punk metal (however you like it), guaranteed to make you bang your head. I’m so glad Max has flung his tribal bible away and is making pumping music; it’s been awhile since we heard of him being spoken of this way, yeah? Well, he’s wasting no time showing off what he’s capable of when he turns the attitude levels all the way up. And who the fuck is this Marc Rizzo guy who has done a phenomenal job of adding quality to each and every track? Really impressive. Before I forget, the deluxe edition has cover versions: Led Zeppelin’s Four Sticks, Sepultura’s Refuse/Resist (with Max’s son Zyon Cavalera on drums) and Excel’s Your Life, My Life (with Igor Cavalera). Smiling now, aren’t you? I don’t know how Soulfly fans (I just became one) will take this, but Omen is for fans of Sepultura and Nailbomb. Fists up in the air, my brothers… the Brazilian lion is roaring again.
Not sure if it was 2008 or 2009 when I saw an ad outside a liquor store saying Carlsberg beer had arrived in India, but that was when I immediately agreed with my then girlfriend’s idea of her catching up on a girlie movie because she was sick of me being horny all the time. That left me free to do something else (other manly stuff, of course). I dropped her home and on my way to wherever, picked up two 650 ml bottles of Carlsberg, in the hope of finding a brew extraordinaire. How predictable.
There is much to be said about guzzling beer hurriedly in an autorickshaw. It needs to be kept out of sight of policemen, and a pint of Carlsberg looks like a bottle of Sprite, but I have two big bottles of this import from Denmark. The beer also must be kept chilled; Carlsberg is an ordinary lager, okay to drink when chilled, with a faint rose-like flavour showing up as it gets warmer.
Carlsberg’s promotional slogan says it is “probably the best lager in the world”, a claim which I rubbish as I point you to Tuborg Green – another Danish brew, and one you’ll enjoy drinking.
One of the best grunge bands ever returns grunge-less, with the musical styles being pop-rock and classic rock, and nothing anywhere close to anything that made you and me a fan of theirs. Stone Temple Pilots has Stone Temple Pilots jamming again, and the band is having fun, and that’s all it is. When a great band releases a self-titled album, it gives out the impression that something monumental is being offered to long-time fans, but Stone Temple Pilots sound old and too content to make you feel the way they did with Core and Purple (my favourite). Sure, go ahead and check out Stone Temple Pilots by Stone Temple Pilots, but be warned: they sound like a below-average international pop-rock band that has come to Mumbai to play at Independence Rock.
Woe to you, oh Earth and Sea, for the Devil sends the beast with wrath, because he knows the time is short. Let him who hath understanding reckon the number of the beast, for it is a Vodafone number. Its number is +91-9920041058.
Director: “Anurag Basu”
Actors: “Hrithik Roshan”, “Barbara Mori”
If you’re expecting Kites to be an extraordinaire, you’ll end up disappointed. If, like most people, you go for it expecting a good Bollywood flick, you’ll find it to be just about alright. The good thing about Kites is that it’s a typical Bollywood masala movie; it has all the ingredients – romance, love, betrayal, tragedy, mystery, heroes, villains, action, stunts, fights, gunshots, car chases, car crashes, greed, razzmatazz, music, dance, et al. The bad thing about Kites is that, if anything, it’s a little too Bollywoodish.
Hrithik Roshan says Kites is his two-and-a-half years long labour of love. That is very apparent, it seems like he’s given his soul to the movie. Roshan is a proven performer; nothing needs to be said about his acting skills, except that he’s awesome again. The dude is great to look at even when in agony. He emotes really well, is totally believable in even questionable sequences and dances like a charm.
But stealing the show in Kites is Barbara Mori. This babe is not only good looking, but a bloody good actor as well. I, frankly, didn’t expect her to be anything more than a pretty prop, but she turned out to be a wonderful heroine. And yeah, the chemistry between Roshan and Mori is palpable. If Hrithik was really infatuated with Barbara, well, it’s done the movie a hell of a lot of good. And if he wasn’t, well, then they’re just two damn brilliant actors.
The story… hmmm… I won’t say much because I don’t want to spoil your fun. But at the same time, I’m sure the story is easy enough to predict. It’s a typical romantic movie about two lovers who can’t be together because of myriad reasons. There’s a villain who’s in love with the heroine, another heroine who’s in love with the hero, a hero who’s in love with the heroine as well as money, a rich father who has the whole of Las Vegas under his fingers, a police force who have endless numbers of cars to crash around, and the like.
The story is, in fact, the weakest thing about Kites. The strongest thing is the Indo-Mexican love affair between J (Roshan) and Linda (Mori). Like I mentioned before, they make for an excellent couple and their chemistry has been projected wonderfully well by director, Anurag Basu.
To sum things up, Kites is most definitely a one-time watch. But it’s not something so great that you have to rush out right now to buy tickets. During the interval, I was rubbing my hands in anticipation of the second half. Towards the climax, I was rubbing my brow in hope of a quick end. And that for you, is the Kites review.
Footnote: A small piece of advice for Mr Anurag Basu: white subtitles against light backgrounds don’t really make much sense. And please, if you’ve got such awesome songs, give them precedence over mundane action sequences.
You may be forgiven for thinking you’re in for a good time when you walk into Papa Pancho Da Dhaba, for the décor is fantastic. We walk into the original one at Pali Naka, Bandra because we’re tired of waiting for a table at Jai Hind Lunch Home and one of the chicks wants to pee. Too much information. The ‘dhaba’ setting at Papa Pancho Da Dhaba is perfect, it looks like a very colourful dhaba. A glass of buttermilk at Papa Pancho Da Dhaba costs 80 bucks. The other lady asks for Lassi (85/-) which comes in a huge glass and tastes exactly like Aarey Lassi, which is a good thing, except Aarey’s Lassi is ten times cheaper.
I have a glass of water and decide on Bhuna Gosht and Mutton Biryani. The Bhuna Gosht comes in a brass thali (I’m a sucker for such things) with dahi, two parathas and kali dal. The mutton is succulent and the dahi is perfect, but it isn’t worth 250 rupees. The black dal isn’t very good, either.
The Mutton Biryani comes with kachoombar and papad, but isn’t worth 225 bucks. I’d be happy if the biryani was bursting with flavour, but it’s not. I’m not even going to bother with any vegetarian food here; the prices are making me laugh. Everything here is overpriced, and if Papa Pancho Da Dhaba can’t impress me with a dal, a mutton gravy, or a rice dish, I don’t have any reason to waste more money trying other stuff here. Next!
Hour Of Penance’s fourth album packs a billion blast beats and crushing riffs with slick production guaranteed to make you stomp a bowl of white pasta the next time you think of what Italians can create. Paradogma sounds a bit like Behemoth, and slightly Nile-esque in places, and in parts a tribute to Morbid Angel. But screw all these comparisons, Italy’s Hour Of Penance have here an intense, polished album with enough variations. Paradogma doesn’t have songs you’ll be humming later, but it’s sure to keep you impressed while you’re listening to it. And you will be listening to it a lot.
Mid Day’s campaign to straighten errant taxi drivers was a runaway success. Mumbai’s rude cabbies have learnt a lesson thanks to Mid Day, Mumbai Traffic Police and Regional Transport Office, and now Mid Day has launched a monthlong campaign to take on autorickshaw drivers who refuse passengers for flimsy reasons. Here’s how they’ve been doing it: a Mid Day reporter flags down a cab/rickshaw, and if the driver refuses, a traffic cop magically appears and fines him.
Instead of getting angry at rickshaw drivers who refuse fare, I now get inside the vehicle and tell them where I want to go. If the dude so much as shakes his head to say ‘no’, I tell him to drive us to the nearest traffic cop. Hats off to Mid Day for empowering the common man with these campaigns!
A few weeks before my knee ligament reconstruction surgery, I was standing near Andheri Station trying to hail a rickshaw so I could get home. When over 10 of them refused despite seeing me limp around, I lost my cool and started cursing aloud.
A few days later, I had gone out with someone, and later got dropped off near my house. The rickshaw driver told my companion that I had been drunk a few days earlier and that was why he had refused to take me where I wanted to go.
Now if a rickshaw driver can pass such a judgement on me, I can only imagine what happens to those who worry about what society has to say about them. Sure I don’t care what a rickshaw driver thinks of me, but I was irritated with myself for bothering to explain what had really happened the other night, that I had been in a lot of pain and not drunk. That irritation lasted a few seconds and I made a mental note to never explain myself to anyone again no matter what and got right back to not giving a fuck.
To register your complaint call 022-24937755
This is an exclusive number given by the traffic police for Mid Day readers to register refuse-to-fare complaints.