Chanson d'amour

There was a moment, in the late ’70s,when the world opened up for those of us who were then in our late teens: earlyin ’78, Bombay had its first Jazz Yatra, shortly followed by a similarfestival in Calcutta. Suddenly, life had a different taste. Some of us hadhip-flasks full of Old Monk, some had girlfriends, some older types had both.Most of us had neither but we were real close, close enough at least to maaro aswig of the booze or a toke of the grass. But all of this was peripheral; mainthing was, here we were, sitting or standing in open, night air, listening tosome of the best jazz musicians in the world, shouting in happy recognition ofnumbers we knew by heart or bopping in complete surprise to stuff we had neverheard before. 

The fact is, this top class visiting-firangi electricity has mostly been missingin early Millennium Delhi. Even as the quality of our home-grown acts has gotbetter and better, embassies and cultural wings have carted over a hell of a lotof second-rate acts for the city’s delectation. And, as for the straight-aheadbig name rock acts, for every Sting, Floyd or Stones concert in Bangalore, forevery ghastly Michael Jackson toadying up to Bal T in Bombay, Delhi has againhad Bryan Adams and the like. Even as apna bands like Indian Ocean kick up astorm on the South Bank or Trafalgar Square, we have been getting prettywatered-down crap in return. 

All this is brought home even more sharply when you actually walk into one ofthese import-concerts, not expecting much, and get completely blown away. As amusical duo, French-Canadians Carmen and David have a simple set-up: David sitsnerdily on a stool and plays guitar while the vivacious Carmen sings. Thematerial ranges from old jazz standards to French chanson to jazzified versionsof Beatles’ biggies. So far, so straightforward. What is fantastic, though, iswhat these two manage to create between the guitar and the voice. 

First, the guitar, which often stays well in the background, supporting thevoice, chameleoning between rhythm and bass and only occasionally coming out totake superb solos. Across the concert, David Jaques laid down a bravura historyof the modern guitar from Charlie Christian to Bossa Nova to rock, and all of itwith no fanfare, no showmanship and really genuine feeling. On top of this,below and around this, was Carmen Genest, with what in this impoverishedlanguage can only be called her ‘voice’. 

This is not a review column, and furthermore it’s a column specificallyprohibited from gushing, so I’ll only say the following: during one Edith Piafnumber, Padam Padam, Carmen Genest had this cynic’s cynic flood-eyed and onthe verge of howling. I won’t say the Alliance Francaise and/or the Canadianshave completely made up for all the dross we normally get in this town, but forthat one evening I will forgive a lot.

This article originally appeared in Delhi City Limits, November 30,2005