Maryam Kizilbash: Zara Palat Kay (Albumpreview)
By Asfandyar Khan
Maryam might not be the most versatile of vocalists, and that is ironically what works perfectly for her as a musician. She manages to attain what few acts in Pakistan are able to achieve: coherence. The album flows from the first song to last, and never sound jarring
The world may be in a recession and we in Pakistan might be facing an existential threat vis-à-vis the Taliban, but it doesn’t seem like it’s going to affect our music much. Another new face on the scene, Maryam Kizilbash seems set to make quite a splendid splash amongst Pakistani music aficionados with Zara Palat Kay.
Already a published poet if nothing else, Maryam Kizilbash has managed to recruit both Gumby and Omran Shafique to help her with the album. It goes without saying then that these two heavyweights have their hands all over it. Omran Shafique’s touch is distinctly prevalent throughout Zara Palat Kay, from the Mauj-esque jaunt of Sukoon to the breezy, worry-less brilliance of Tum Nahin Aaye, which seems perfect for the post-summer days of August. Throughout the album we’re treated to Gumby’s percussive brilliance as it shimmers and lights up songs with consummate ease. The production (handled by Faisal Rafi) too is aptly non-descript, leaving the focus itself solely on the songwriting abilities of this stellar cast of musicians.
Broadly speaking (musically), Zara Palat Kay comes across as rather safe — a debut devoid of gambles. That said, to castigate Maryam for going down a safer route would be incredibly harsh, for no other reason than the fact that she’s managed to avoid overdoing her vocals, looking instead towards restraint and actually singing as opposed to trying to impress on the basis of her vocal skills. Conversely, I may be completely off the mark here as Maryam might actually have taken a chance with the album, seeing as how as it consists largely of bog-standard instrumentation. There are no ostentatious flutes and stabbing strings here but just plain ol’ guitars, bass and drums following in the footsteps of a musician learning the art of the raconteur.
She does ever so slightly twist and turn throughout the album though; slowing things down when that’s what’s required. Zara Palat Kay seems to take a leaf out of Zeb and Haniya’s book; playing to plastic-rimmed spectacle wearers in cafes throughout the country. Seemingly an offspring of a waltz-lite time signature, Maryam’s vocals glide effortlessly over some sublime percussive work. Teri Dunya quickens the pace, burning up a stop-start structure that mutates into something wonderful during the chorus, only to tamper off in the end.
Apparently, Alanis Morissette is one of Maryam’s inspirations — and it’s rather obvious throughout the album. She manages to channel both Morissette and the likes of Ani Difranco on the appropriately contemporary Roshni, which has some gorgeous lead guitar work that shifts its mood from nonchalance to anthemic rather easily. Slender, nylon-stringed guitar arpeggios float all over Pukar, which recalls the airy meanderings of ’60s singer-songwriters such as Joni Mitchell, albeit after undergoing a modern treatment.
The greatest thing the album has going for itself is its homogeneity in terms of overall sound. Maryam might not be the most versatile of vocalists, and that is ironically what works perfectly for her as a musician. She manages to attain what few acts in Pakistan are able to achieve: coherence. The album flows from the first song to last and never sounds jarring. Too much emphasis is placed on individuals as being the sum solely of their chosen instrument — but on Zara Palat Kay Maryam seems to be intent on coming across as a fully rounded musician, rather than simply a vocalist pining for attention.
As it stands however, what makes albums churned out by singer-songwriters remarkable and timeless is exactly what can make them puerile and barf-inducing: emotion. There’s a very fine line between elegant, ironic self-pity rooted in austerity and blatant teenage quasi-depression, full of wanton bull about the boring inanities of 20-something’s and their lives. Unfortunately, for the sort of artiste Maryam Kizilbash intends to be, she sidesteps the whole issue completely.
The lyrics in Zara Palat Kay are hesitant and fearful of commitment. Her stories and characters as a result suffer; they are monotonous and their lives and emotions uneventful. That in itself tends to not to be a problem, but Maryam seems to disappoint when trying to make ordinary emotions seem special. Consequently, it never seems as if she’s telling a worthwhile story, or as if she herself believes she has something genuine to say.
Though her lyrics are far from the sort enunciated by the likes of Omar Inayat (despite how closely they veer towards awfully exaggerated melodrama on Child as she sings “mother and her father/lost within the hour/sister sold to the world/brothers left selling drugs), they belie her greater musical talent. As with the musical structure and sound of the album, Maryam refrains from taking any considerable risks.
That’s not to say that Zara Palat Kay is a poor album — far from it. It isn’t mediocre either, because the songs themselves have considerable replay value and I don’t think time will be too harsh to it. It’s a strong, if unspectacular debut and it sets a good foundation for Maryam Kizilbash to build upon regarding future endeavors. Whether or not she goes on to challenge herself as an artiste in the future though is a question only she can answer — and one whose answer we can only hope is in the positive. — Asfandyar Khan
