It’s 5 a.m. and the tour bus has pulled over by the side of the road. Its occupants huddle around a single lit Gold Flake that’s spinning between them. I walk down a couple of paces to find Charan, No Safe Word’s drummer doubled over and hurling his insides out. He mumbles incoherent apologies for having coated the bus floor with the remains of last night’s dinner.
Ritwik, No Safe Word’s bassist, staggers towards his drummer, taking large swigs from a half empty rum bottle. Charan has taken off his puke-stained shirt, and the wind carries it a few paces down National Highway Four. A tall figure chases after it and brings it back with a victorious smile. Kishore Krishna, No Safe Word’s front man. Neither the reeking tour bus nor the bumpy ride on the NH 4 has killed his buzz. With Ritwik’s inebriated cackling in the background, Kishore turns to me with a mischievous glint in his eyes.
“Let’s burn this shirt.”
What do you get when you put a destructive punk band, a psychedelic/electronic act and a 90s’ blues –rock outfit together in a 13-seater tempo traveler van pointed in the direction of Pune? All night drinking binges, some really appalling jokes, great tunes and above all, a potentially explosive music festival.
On their way to play at the Octoberfest in Pune’s Smokies club, No Safe Word is on the road with Bangalore’s The Bicycle Days and Parachute XVI. Guru from Parachute, whose organizational skills have also forced on the role of the responsible adult, takes the wheel while most of the artists are finally catching some shut eye. Kishore, however, is animatedly giving me his “two schools of punk” idea.
“So, there’s one group of punk bands that did the whole melodic pop genre and then there’s the other that made in-your-face dissonance tunes,” he explains.
“And that’s what’s great about the Pixies, they did both ends of the spectrum,” he says, lighting a King Lites, the only brand of cigarette he smokes.
“Sonic Youth, now there’s another band that had a massive influence on me. That was music that had something to say.”
No Safe Word was formed this time last year by Kishore and ex-Easy Street guitarist Vicky, after several attempts by the latter to take his ideas live. The band, he says, was “born out of a necessity.”
“No Safe Word was something Chennai just desperately needed. A kick in the nuts, if you will,’ Kishore says with a grin. A whole generation of bands with the stereotypical “Chennai sound” [read: generous usage of a wah pedal and Robert Plant knock-offs] were throwing in the towel, which created a gig void that desperately needed filling. Enter these guys, with an interesting story about how they formed.
“No Safe was formed the night The Black Lips tried to destroy Chennai. We’re meant to finish the job.”
The gig Kishore’s talking about was The Black Lips India tour last year, as a part of DNA’s Campus Rock Idols Chennai leg.
“That gig was absolutely fucking insane. So, The Black Lips started playing and received pretty lukewarm initial response. Vicky and I went up front and bunch of other kids joined us. A little while into the show, the organizers asked the band to wrap up quickly, because the venue was going to be closed. The band took this as an excuse to go absolutely berserk,” Kishore reminisces.
Apparently, all hell broke loose in the last five minutes of The Black Lips set. The front man “cannonballed into the audiences, only to be thrown back onto stage.”
“Suddenly, I saw a bass guitar go flying up in the air and crash land on stage. The next you know, the guitarist has his trousers off, while the frontman dives into the drum kit. Meanwhile the remaining two band members are making out on stage,” says an amused Kishore.
“That was punk as hell! That was when Vicky and I decided that we just had to get something going to shake this city up.”
Pune Calling
Our tour bus makes a late stop for lunch at a dhaba [a highway eatery] in Kohlapur, a Maharashtrian city known for its footwear and wrestling. Thirty two rotis and a stream of spicy curries later, [“I’m sure we’ve cleaned out the kitchens and put this place out of business,” Nikhil from The Bicycle Days jokes], the travelling circus hits the road again. Limes are licked to prevent motion sickness and post-lunch cigarettes stubbed out, while the driver fixes the bus’ music system.
With an EP in the offing, No Safe Word’s tunes have spread like wildfire across the indie underground through the internet. Back in our bucket seats, Kishore and Nikhil polish off a bag of Melody chocolates they’ve discovered, while we talk about the back story behind No Safe Word’s songs.
“So, there’s this whole narrative behind each of our songs that I conceptualized while writing the material initially,” says Kishore, “There’s these characters, Johnny and Sheena, who are the protagonists of the story that runs behind the songs.”
The concept, he says, is set in a parallel world—a “ghost town” that has taken shape in an Orwellian future.
“It’s a futuristic society for sociopaths, who are products of their environment. Mainstream society has little use for them and exiles them into this colony, where they begin to govern themselves,” he says.
Are these possible Huxley allusions, perhaps?
“Oh no, hardly,” replies Kishore, dismissing the connection quickly. “This setting is entirely comic—there’s plenty of dark humour involved.”
We stop for a smoke-and-chai break two hours after lunch. As we sip tea out of little plastic cups with the wind billowing in our faces, Kishore and I discuss No Safe Word’s “creed,” if you could call it that.
The idea, I gather, is to turn “civilized society” on its head.
“I guess we’re saying ‘this is how we see society, what are you going to do about it?’” Kishore says, making no effort to hide the strong defiance in his tone.
So how do the tunes get written? Do they have a unique process, like most other bands do?
“I write most of the material, actually,” says Kishore, as we pass a gigantic highway signboard that screams “PUNE: 120 Kilometers.”
“I recorded and programmed most of the stuff—the bass, the drums and the vocals—and Vicky puts his guitar bits on it.”
“And yes, there are differences in ideas,” says Kishore, preempting my question on creative differences.
“Like when we first began, Vicky and I couldn’t really see eye to eye on several bands. We went through a whole list of bands we individually liked and couldn’t find any common ground.”
That was until they discovered The Gun Club.
“I guess The Gun Club was one band both Vicky and I instantly agreed upon,” says Kishore. “Vicky’s influences are quite 60s and he’s an excellent blues guitarist. So he quite readily took to their rockabilly sound and its blues origins.”
No Safe Word however, wants to take the sound of the seminal rockabilly band to the next level.
“I’m talking about ‘koothubilly,’” Kishore says excitedly, explaning to me his new idea to merge the sound of the Tamilian ‘koothu’ (funeral) drums with rockabilly.
“When people in Chennai flock together and play those drums at the same time, there’s so much in there that you hear and experience,” Kishore says, “and I want to add that influence to our music.
“But let’s see, I’ve got to convince the rest of the boys first,” he adds, with a grin.
So how does the rhythm section find expression, when most of the material is written between two members?
“See, the reason we write our material this way is to maintain our tunneled vision with the composition process,” Kishore replies.
A lot of this, I’m beginning to understand, has to do with Kishore’s solo other project, The Fish Eyed Poets, where the frontman writes and produces all the music. Rolling Stone India gave “Snakeism,” his debut EP, a big thumbs-up and calls Kishore a “splendid one man show.”
“I guess I’m a little like a friendly Hitler on the band,” Kishore says, with a laugh. “You’ll have to talk to the other guys though, to get an idea of how they really feel.”
But judging by the general camaraderie and on/offstage chemistry between the members, NSW is no Smashing Pumpkins and Kishore no megalomaniacal Billy Corgan.
Kicking out the Jams
We finally pull up into the drive of the Beverly Hills Hotel, a tacky but expensive recreation of Hollywood in the Pune suburbs. As Guru fills out the paperwork at the desk, the bands call shotgun on the plush rooms in the “Elvis Suite.” Yep, this is what happens when you have a lot of money and land, but little creativity, someone comments with a snigger. No one’s complaining though, especially since the rooms are fitted with flat screen TVs, jumbo-sized beds that swallow you up like quicksand and massive balconies carpeted in turf. Needless to say, the pristine toilets and hot showers receive the most vocal appreciation after eighteen hours on the road.
“There’s no way Vicky and Ritwik are staying in the same room,” says Kishore firmly, playing the responsible adult, as we check in at the reception desk.
“They’re so destructive! Vicky is an absolute fucking nihilist and with Ritwik for company, they’ll just trash the room they’re in!”
If there’s one thing the duo is always up for, it is another round of Old Monk and a tightly packed spliff. It’s a little past midnight and the bands have been told to hit the sack early, to make it on time for sound check. Kishore and Charan have called it a night after an early dinner and retreated to their rooms. But I’m having a late drink with Ritwik and Vicky on the balcony.
“Yeah, we’re pretty badly behaved,” says Ritwik with a laugh, as he makes a roach for a joint that is in stages of preparation. “You’ve heard right. Who wants another drink?”
As Ritwik helps himself to another glass, Vicky tells me about the time they gigged in Pondicherry.
“Oh, that gig was fucking good fun! We played at the Freedom Jam in Pondicherry and were well hammered throughout,” he says beamingly.
‘It was extra fun because Kishore, who doesn’t drink too often, was super drunk as well,” adds Ritwik, with a chuckle.
“I remember being on stage and the next thing, we were in this house with a bunch of random posh old men, drinking their booze and eating their dinner,” Vicky tells me, with a confused look. “Yeah, the organizers gave us some rather strange accommodation.”
“I remember flinging eggs off the kitchen counter, because I thought they were hard boiled and was trying to prove to Ritwik that they were,” Vicky says, grinning sheepishly “Man, I was so smashed. The owner of the house was quite patient with us!”
Ritwik is the latest addition to the lineup, after he parted ways with his previous band, Chennai’s alternative rock outfit, Blacklisted.
“Yeah, I guess that just didn’t work out, its good fun playing on No Safe Word now,” says the left-handed four-stringer, who has been on No Safe Word’s rhythm section since April. We eventually settle down in The Bicycle Days’ drummer Shreyas room and wade through some atrocious two a.m. TV programming.
“Oh shit, Kill Bill’s on,” announces Nikhil, The Bicycle Days’ sampler/keyboardist, and there’s a general air of agreement on what to watch. Half an hour later, everyone has passed out and the television drones in the background, as Uma Thurman continues on her bloody rampage.
In the “Waiting Room”
I’m up by eight a.m. and carefully sidestepping the empty liquor bottles that riddle the corridor leading to the bathroom. In an hour, we’re off to our venue: Smokies’ Club in Kondhwa, Pune. As we pull up behind the open air stage they’ve set up for the concert, a ten-foot inflatable Smoky the Bear greets the with bleary-eyed, restless musicians. The other bands begin their sound check, while the No Safe Word boys sit by the sound console, with large sunglasses and bottles of water to cure their hangovers.
In a distance, Vicky is changing the strings on the Stratocaster that he has borrowed from Kishore.
“I think the next big investment is in some gear,” says Kishore, contemplatively, “possibly a few more guitar pedals.”
Vicky’s runs his guitar through a simple set up: just a green Bad Monkey tube overdrive pedal and a compressor.
“No point buying him pedals,” Kishore adds, as an afterthought. “He probably won’t even remember to bring it to gigs.”
Just then, Vicky calls Kishore to help him tune his newly-strung guitar.
“The fellow’s been playing that instrument for ages and he can’t even tune it now,” Kishore grumbles, as he leaves to sort his guitarist out.
The evening approaches and brings with it some ominously dark rain clouds that cause the organizers to panic. Before we know it, we’re all running for cover after the skies have opened up and unleashed what it possibly the heaviest downpour Pune has seen this monsoon. The sound guys are frantically throwing tarpaulin sheets over their exposed stage gear, cursing the weather gods in Marathi.
Meanwhile, the bands retreat to the bar, where they drown their weather woes in some freshly brewed apple cider and wheat beer. Kishore is nursing a splitting headache and the rains have certainly killed everyone’s buzz.
“Heh, the barman must think I’m nuts,” Kishore jokes, as he stirs the sugar in his hot cup of tea. “I’ve been ordering these cups of tea all afternoon, at a place that serves such excellent beer.”
The rain has thinned down to a harmless drizzle and the organizers tell No Safe Word that they’re on in half an hour. The boys sit down to discuss the order of songs in their set list. I admit to them that I find this rather strange; one half expects an anarchist punk band like them to just wing it. I’m beginning to discover though, that while they like to party hard, they’re hardly likely to let that compromise their performance.
“Kishore doesn’t approve if we drink too much or get wasted before a show,” says Charan, as he firmly steers a drink away from Ritwik. But given the rains, today might be an exception, as Ritwik asks me to get him another beer.
Here we are now, entertain us…
As No Safe Word set up, the crowd that took refuge at the bar now crawls out of the woodwork and trickles in around the stage. I’m standing backstage and trying very hard not to get in the way of a mob of irate sound guys, who are lugging large Peavey amps across the stage. I grin at Vicky, who is hollering at Rahul, The Bicycle Days’ guitarist, for a tuner.
“Pune! How’s it going? I love Pune, and this excellent beer I’ve been drinking all night! We are No Safe Word, this one’s called Hack!”
With that brief introduction, No Safe Word plunge into a set of energetic, no-nonsense punk tunes that transport you right back to 1977.
“…Johnny sharpens his machete, he knows what’s comin’ and God, he’s ready now…”
Kishore dances across the stage, his shades precariously swinging in his hands and grabs at the microphone to spew lyrics that read straight out of a Tarantino script. Vicky’s bluesy licks, masked in the rawness of his muddy guitar tones, create a hook for Kishore vocals to swing on. The audience, if anything, is just plain amused at this band. I’m guessing they came out tonight for evening of ‘classic rock’ covers and got a band that are so in-your-face with their sound and persona.
“Do you guys like Iggy Pop? The Gun Club? Nick Cave? Pune, get over your cultural handicap!”
Kishore eggs the crowd on, and has now commands a whole audience, that are leaning against the barricades and bobbing their heads to NSW’s catchy pop songs.
Towards the end of “Follow the Bats,” Charan busts his snare drum, prompting Guru to quickly run across stage with a replacement. However, nothing can slow these boys down tonight, as they almost quickly take off into the popular “Porky’s last Stand.” Kishore discharges a gut-wrenching squeal between Vicky’s dirty chords, in this song that graphically describes with how Sheena slowly cooks and eats a fat man she captured.
A girl in the audience requests for “Steam Vent,” and Kishore’s jaw almost drops.
“Well, somebody actually KNOWS our songs! We weren’t going to play that song, but I guess we’ll have to now,” Kishore exclaims, with a mixture of surprise and amusement. The song, with its sexually charged lyrics and wave of ambience, reveals a psychedelic side that can’t be seen on any of their other songs.
“Johnny the whip,” leaves the audience gasping at Kishore’s vocal range, with Vicky pitching in with backing vocals. The rhythm section’s tightness cuts through on “Mantis Blues,” where Ritwik’s groove on his Kramer leads the song.
The band sign off with their koothubilly attempt, “Machete,” and the audience stands converted. Clearly, No Safe Word have broken Pune (incidentally, this is their first gig outside South India) and it is only matter of time before these Chennai lads take their brand of punk live across the entire country.
As we drive back after the gig, I’m reminded of a conversation over lunch at a local dhaba. Guru was giving Kishore grief over his refusal to ever eat vegetables.
“You’re all punk and then you eat nothing but processed food!” Guru says, laughing as we gobble down idlis.
This starts an interesting debate about what punk is, with Kishore getting the final word in.
“Punk, well, there’s no such thing anymore, man,” the tall frontman says with a smirk, “it’s all long forgotten. We’ve lost punk.”
And then, with a grin he quickly adds, “Well, at least I’m sure it has nothing to do with vegetables!”
