Mauj – Now In Technicolor [Album Review]
Omran Shafique
Despite being proficient instrumentalists, Mauj are primarily songsmiths; crafting music that is neither ostentatious nor sounding unintentionally minimalistic. So when the album fails to deliver on either account (songs that don’t stand up to the potential of the musicians writing them), disappointment inevitably follows.
The last two tracks are a microcosm of the nature of the album itself — the contrast between the great and the middling. For example, the penultimate track, Pyaar ka Jadoo, shows itself to be a palm-muted mess of a song full of quasi-catchy ‘hooks’. It is what music shouldn’t be — boring, evincing an emotion out of you reminiscent of watching a friend stub their toe.
In contrast the brilliantly crisp, pure production of Paheliyan breathes new life into the song, cleaning up beautiful hidden guitar accentuations and nuances. From the epic opening riff to the nearly off-key pre-chorus guitar part, the song is what Mauj are all about. It’s chock full of bluesy jaunt and foot-tapping mannerisms, coupled with swirling vocal lines you’ll find very hard to ignore.
Album opener Khayal is a track that follows the aesthetic of Paheliyan. It does sound like a rockier Mauj (something that doesn’t work on some other songs), but it doesn’t sound out of place here. Raked stop-start chords adorn this song, leading into a brilliant instrumental interlude where Omran breaks out into a teasing mini-sonic youth noise-fest.
Though a lot is said about Omran Shafique’s role in Mauj, little attention is paid to its main purveyor of groove; the drummer. Hasratein has Sikander Mufti getting his kit to do exactly what he wants — from crashing cymbals to slowly making his hi-hats whisper to smashing the hell out of his snare, he really makes his presence felt. Hasratein also possess one of Mauj’s biggest skills, impeccable hooks. From the simple, arena-pleading riffs to that restrained but instantly memorable chorus, Mauj has a penchant for writing exactly the sort of stuff that sticks in your mind.
Angular guitar work steeped in bluesy inflexions is a feature of most of Mauj’s work, but it finds prominence in Mona and Khushfemi. It’s also why both these songs seem like they’re siblings, one constructed after the other. The former features a calm, even slightly peeved Omran admonishing a particularly clingy lover as he sings: “Mona mujh ko tu jaane de/rahein apne alag jaane de/kisi aur ko ab aane de.” Khushfemi features a subtle chorus that builds up the second time around into a glittering bluesy, tempo changing solo. It’s short, but very, very sweet.
At times, throughout the album, Mauj seem to travel out of their sonic cocoon. Unfortunately, their travels land them in mediocre alt/blues rock territory. Mauj are talented enough to not write what one could construe as an outright poor song, but tracks like Baat Barhti Gaye seem to recall the run-of-the-mill acoustic nature of the Goo Goo Dolls.
Aaye Na Aaye seems to question its own identity, sounding patently unworthy of being part of the Mauj catalogue.
Its tempo seems to belie its ostensibly somber nature, resulting in a song that ends up being unsure of what it’s supposed to do.
There are times when Mauj seem to be comprised solely of Omran Shafique, as his guitar takes centre stage in a maelstrom of bends and flashy notes. His voice isn’t particularly strong, but it doesn’t need to be as Omran weaves memorable pop hooks into songs with less than poppy guitar work (and with consummate ease, if I may add). He’s supposed to do a job and he does it and then some — straying away from trying to overextend his skills. But as said earlier, the band is at their best when they all seem to be on the same wavelength.
The production helps in making this record what it is, because listening to Paheliyan or the opening, thumping bass kicks on Khayal is like someone slamming a door in your face. This album is meant to be heard loud, because that’s when it’s at its most exhilarating. The guitar tones are wonderful, dripping with just the perfect amount of crunch and attack. Mauj are a band that live on the interplay between the four instruments they possess (guitars, drums, bass and vocals), and anything extra would’ve only gone on to take away from their songs. The production provides just about the perfect platform for Mauj to thrive on.
Too often bands in Pakistan end up with mediocre albums because they overreach, trying to write songs that they aren’t capable of and trying to write material that they claim to be ambitious (but which really isn’t). With Now in Technicolour, Mauj do a disservice to themselves because at various moments throughout the album they seem to be playing within themselves. At their very core, they seem like musicians who enjoy a jam or two; who like to roll up their sleeves and let loose. But too many songs on the album seem meticulous — not in their construction but in what emotions they’re supposed to elicit.
It does bring up an interesting question though. Maybe we’re all unfair to Mauj. Some herald them as saviors of rock, others worship them as nu-gods, while some gaze perhaps a bit too perversely at their pictures on Flickr and Facebook — conjuring up mini-dolls with Omran’s faux goatee. To some extent, Mauj do deserve all that, but maybe the hype is unnecessary, causing a talented band to look inwards and try far harder than needed.
Anyway, Now in Technicolour is a good album, but one that is a disappointment simply because of the potential of the songs and the band itself. Either way that ends up leaving us in a bit of a tetchy situation; because now we have another long wait for Mauj to knock our faces right off. And so begins the hype anew, invariably – Asfandyar Khan
Source: DAWN.COM | Images
