Superfuzz Live at Blues, Cannaught place
January 3, 2015
 
Turning up at a packed show at its scheduled time would give you a glimpse of how rock acts would appear to the average non-participant who was found in abundance, oblivious to the program of the evening, treating the initial performers as though they were an embellishment along with the rest of the décor.  As act after act took stage, however sloppy, and confused, the mix of the audience parsed itself out, making clear what they expected from the show. Superfuzz managed to make their fans stay till their turn came a good four hours after the beginning of the program (and to do that without getting on stage is quite the feat, considering what we tolerated for the next hour before they finally got up there). There was a lineup of about six (was it seven?) acts that were nearly impossible to distinguish from each other and perhaps even listen to, it seemed that the audience were the family and friends of the bands that took stage before the main act. Not that there is anything wrong with it, unless the crowd that had turned up for Superfuzz began to get impatient and duly leave because the gig was sold on the pretext of an hour and a half long set by the band, and that was eventually the case, a lot of people left because of bad organization. The show was way behind schedule, and people were seen arrogantly strutting out of the place dismissing it as the doors closed behind them. The vibe was a bit off with the remaining people screaming their drunk heads off to sloppy covers of Pearl Jam and Creed, and just about the moment these boys got on stage finally, the audience was notified that the set has to come down to a mere twenty five minutes because there are coppers waiting outside ready to enforce private morality upon drunk, lost souls such as us. Sanchal Malhar (frontman, Superfuzz)   explained emphatically on the mic  ‘No, no, guys, the real fuzz is here, it’s the cops!’ which elicited a few drunken giggles. So much for ritualistic moral policing by the, er, police.

Prior to the po-po making a cameo appearance amid this camaraderie, Sanchal Malhar was spotted having a (rather noticeable, for such a large place) quibble, over the requirement of a pop filter, with the sound engineer, which would prevent the vocalist from getting repeatedly electrocuted by the mic and ensure that he was alive and functioning to actually play the show? He said, "I can’t kiss the mic, could we please get a pop filter;" jerking back and forth by the shocks during sound check earlier. Anxiety levels were slowly rising, because he refused to play the show if they failed to find one. It’s been four hours since, no pop filter. Right about this time the band manager is shrugging in disappointment for the venues inability to provide either of them with the object in question; there is some heat exchanged with the venue owner. The venue owner in this situation, was prompt to admit to his ignorance and inability to provide him with what was now reduced to ‘a sponge, if not a pop filter’ supported by the argument that he was from Philadelphia, he had them know, and that is obviously why he couldn’t help. Somehow that was reason enough despite there being a Rikhi Ram and Son’s in the next block, a music shop that closed by the time it occurred to anyone to go there. 

However, the long and short of it is that by the time Superfuzz  went up on stage, it suddenly dawned on me that the place is still packed, even if it is for twenty five minutes, and the mic is covered in electric tape flimsily holding the thin layer of sponge on it. When it was time to play, the band went for it and gave us excellent, no holds barred showmanship, and played songs off of their new album. With a few teary eyed ladies at the end of the show whining about how they waited four hours (Four hours, she squealed) for them to go up on stage, and a throbbing mass of people screaming ‘one more!’ in unison, it turned out just fine. The crew were frantically moving about on the stage trying to get the equipment off and the friends-and-family of this particular act were seen making emphatic declarations on the absolute uselessness for policing in these circumstances, if I can try to remember correctly, the scene resounds in my head with echoes of, “Fuck the police!”
 

Well, at least shows are moving outside the ambit of south Delhi rock and roll Valhalla, and despite all that was chaos, this is what cheap pub shows should be like: drunk and eventful. 
 

We are glad to have them back, if I can hazard saying it one more time.