(Edited excerpts from the book Not Just Rock 'n ' Roll by author, former taxman Ajay Mankotia, published by Readomania. Extracted with permission from the author. Paragraph breaks and subheadings have been added for readers' convenience.)
Waiting for Pink Floyd
June 2, 1988. Palais de Versailles. We had grossly miscalculated our optimum arrival time.
We thought reaching three hours prior to the concert would be adequate to give us a vantage position in the forecourt of the Palais where the concert was being held. The massive arena was already packed. And people kept streaming in. A quick decision was necessary.
We had paid through our nose for the prised ticket on a frugal government scholarship (we were pursuing a one-year course at IIAP, Paris). We deserved a ring-side view of the proceedings. We weren’t there to watch the stage from a mile away, or look at the goings-on on the giant screens sprinkled all over the vast ground. We wanted to see the action up close, see the expressions of the musicians and have an intimate connect with the band.
We were there to watch Pink Floyd, or rather three-fourths of it. Roger Waters had already left the band (I would see his show many years later). This was the band which was our abiding companion in college and after. It was the one which told money to get away, get a good job with more pay and it would be okay. It made us wonder which of the buggers to blame and to watch the pigs on the wing. It asked us whether we thought we could tell heaven from hell, blue skies from pain. It solicitously enquired of us when we were out there in the cold, getting lonely, getting old, whether we could feel it.
Something clearly needed to be done. We came out, walked the road to reach the service entrance at the rear meant for the musicians, crew, security, and other personnel.
To our immense good fortune, we met the film director who was to shoot the concert and requested him to help us enter the ground from the service entrance. He was shocked to see two Indians attending a Pink Floyd concert, and more so at the bizarre request.
He agreed provided we could pass the Pink Floyd music test he would conduct. He cycled back to his hotel, while we jogged along. He went up to his room to change while we waited in the lobby. He then conducted a half-hour test which we aced.
Ceremoniously, he handed over the Film Crew badges to us, and on reaching the venue, conducted us inside through the rear entrance and planted us in the front row, bang in the middle.
This was the best view which no amount of money could buy.
Gobsmacked by The Beatles
I was in school when the Beatles’ Sgt Pepper’s Lonely Hearts Club Band was released in 1967. I was gobsmacked by the innovative album cover—never seen till then. Psychedelia at its very best; whimsy thrown in for good measure; scores of contemporary and historical figures populating the cover; a bit of self-indulgence. But what the hell? They were The Beatles and nothing was out of bounds. And didn’t Frank Zappa and the Mothers of Invention doff their hats to the ‘concept’ in their We’re Only in It for the Money? Even the Rolling Stones’ Their Satanic Majesties Request was said to be influenced by Sgt. Pepper’s, including the album cover.
In fact, there were more than 40 takes on the album cover art—both as parody and as tribute. The cover is the most iconic, most recognisable image of the last century; and the most influential. The revolutionary music and the album cover were set to change the music landscape in the most fundamental manner.
The music could wait. First the people on the cover needed to be identified. And that became a fascinating game. There were black and white and coloured images of faces. The intriguing collage of movie stars, artists, writers and deep thinkers begged the question as to why they were placed there.
All's in the Name
Choosing a band name is no mean task. The name, as the theory goes, should reflect the mood and imagery that fits with the band’s vision, and give the audience an idea of what to expect. And while generally bands can get away with abstract names, the challenge arises when names are based on actual historical or fictional characters.
Some get it right.
Case in point—Jethro Tull, named after the English agricultural pioneer who helped bring about the British agricultural revolution, by perfecting a horse-drawn seed drill in 1700, that economically sowed the seeds in neat rows, and later, by developing a horse-drawn hoe. Pioneering, revolutionising, experimenting, pushing boundaries is what the band does. And how!
Some don’t.
Case in point: Uriah Heep—named after the character in David Copperfield, known for his cloying humility, obsequiousness, and insincerity. A man who will tell you he is the “’umblest person going” while scheming to lord it over you. The name of a man you don’t want to touch. Uriah Heep, the band, is none of the above.
The name was chosen because, when the band was formed in 1969, Charles Dickens’ name was all over the place, being his hundredth death anniversary.
(Ajay Mankotia is a former IRS Officer and presently runs a Tax and Legal Advisory. This is a book excerpt. All views expressed are the author’s own. The Quint neither endorses nor is responsible for them.)