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Cowboy from the hills
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Watch Bobby Cash live in the city today and revel in the best of country music, writes C.K. MEENA
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Photo: Shanker Chakravarty.
IF YOU were a singer named Bal Kishore Das Loiwal from Dehra Dun, people would expect you to belt out tribal songs from Uttar Pradesh. Or Hindi film tunes, at best. But country 'n' western? No way, mister. Not even if you changed your name to Bobby Cash, as Bal Kishore did (his father used to call him Babu). Because country music is all about white picket fences and maple syrup and mom's apple pie. It's about Old Glory flying proudly from the front porch in the good old U.S.A. And lonely men sitting on bar stools, crying into their beer and pretzels as they nurse their "ache-y break-y" hearts — can an Indian possibly claim this territory?
"It's like sending an Indian to America to play in a baseball team," admits Bobby Cash, sipping a glass of mineral water . He looks like he's about to lasso a steer. With Texan cowboy boots, a cowboy belt with a big ole shiny buckle, a denim jacket with leather patches, and a black Stetson on his head, he blends in with the paintings of racehorses on the walls. "I've earned the right to wear my hat and boots," he says with assurance, rolling his R's and stretching his vowels the American way (although he breaks into perfect Hindi when a friend calls his mobile). Discovery Channel made a one-hour documentary on the Indian Cowboy, cleverly calling him "one in a billion" (that's our population, in case you'd forgotten) since he is India's only country music singer. "I was the second Indian musician to have been featured on Discovery; the first was Pandit Ravi Shankar."
Early initiation
Although Bobby has been a country music pro only since '96, he has been singing and playing the guitar from an early age. His childhood was steeped in music: an uncle who made guitars, sisters and mother with a passion for music, and an aunt in Nashville who used to send them the latest country releases. His mother had a stack of Jim Reeves LPs. "I know all his songs," he says confidently.
Instead of the steel guitar that most country singers use, Bobby prefers a nylon-string classical guitar. He has a collection of them, "about half a dozen" (like his hat collection, which is "about a dozen"). He combines the flamenco and classical styles with the country, giving the music his unique stamp. When he performed at the Tamworth Country Music Festival in Australia in January '03, people didn't believe that an Indian was going to sing. "They came to laugh at me." When they heard him play flamenco-style they thought he was Spanish, and on hearing his own compositions they speculated that he was American Indian.
He boasts a vast repertoire of country classics right from the World War days (Goodnight Irene, Danny Boy) all the way up to Willie Nelson, Don Williams, Kenny Rogers, and a host of others. "In America I play all my original numbers because if I only do covers they'll call me just another imitation. But here, if I don't sing Country Roads... " he laughs as he leaves the sentence hanging. He is performing to invited audiences at a string of Taj hotels, kick-starting the group's Business Celebrations' Series.
The formula
When he writes songs he faithfully sticks to the formula. Before I can ask him whether the typical country song isn't full of maudlin, hackneyed sentiment, he takes the words right out of my mouth. "It's so cliched! Jukebox and heartache and teardrops... but that's what works. We country singers have a big laugh about it sometimes. It's sentiment, but familiar sentiment. There's a common thread that runs through people." He hasn't tried to add Indian or Dehra Dun flavours to his lyrics, no whiff of eucalyptus or alu paratha. "I'm writing for an international audience." In addition to this cultural neutrality, his lyrics also usually steer clear of personal experience. "I haven't had too many heartaches. But as an artiste I can feel what people go through without necessarily going through it myself." What he sees or hears can inspire him to write as well.
If Bobby Cash were to write from personal experience, one guesses that his lyrics might be rock rather than country. Bobby is fascinated by his father ("You could make a whole movie about him!") who was born into great wealth and privilege and gave away most of his property. "I would have been a millionaire today. If he weren't my father I would say he was real crazy! He was eccentric. If I told you some of the things he did you wouldn't believe me." Try me, I say hopefully, but he doesn't rise to the bait. "It's not that I'm embarrassed about him," he hastens to add. He was a loving, indulgent father, and great fun. Racing was a passion (he was a regular at the Calcutta races where he had a major accident) and so was big game hunting. He was "at least 86" when he died.
"I would have been doing nothing," says Bobby with a laugh, "if it hadn't been for my mother." Thanks to her persistence, he got an education. And he pursued his music unhindered. His priorities: "God first, family second, and profession third." That's how he has been able to remain balanced. His talent is god given, he says. "No gimmicks. Just one man on a guitar. Total skill."
The skill will be on full display when he takes the spotlight at Taj Banjara tonight. A rich, complex river of notes pours from those nylon strings. Of course he sings the John Denver favourite, Country Roads. "Take me home to the place where I belong, West Virginia... "
Now, shouldn't that be Dehra Dun?
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