Urdu singer-songwriter Sameer Rahat’s debut solo album Aamad is quiet as the eye of a hurricane, rich in poetic depth and deeply-personal energy. A track-by-track review.

- The Blue Magpie

What is the consequence of stillness in daily life? Stillness resonates, reverberates in Aamad, the debut solo album by Sameer Rahat. Listening to it is an experience that creates a calm atmosphere over the tempests of one’s life. Rahat’s self-crafted poetry, quiet as the eye of a hurricane, forms the essence of this album.

The message, if any, is clear: to go on to the other side of things (“Chal uss paar chalte hain”). This could be interpreted at the listener’s own convenience, ranging from companionship to transience. The listener experiences a resolution, which may or may not be positive, but settles the stormy agitation in one’s general life movements.

Based out of Mumbai, Rahat has been around for a while in country’s music scene, mostly known for his Urdu-prog project Joshish. Quite recently, he has also been associated with the Bangalore based progressive/psychedelic four-piece outfit Parvaaz, whose member Mir Kashif Iqbal co-produced Aamad, and contributed with his guitar leads and back-up vocals. Musically, the album offers a few credits on guitar, bass, orchestral arrangements and occasional piano and harmonium accompaniment from artists like Jivitesh Kharbanda (a well-known bassist in the sufi-music circles), Akshay Dabadhkar, and more.

But it is the presence of Rahat—in voice, lyrics, and musical arrangement—that takes centre, orbital stage in this seven-track album.

1. Jo Bhi Hai

As if an invocation, the opening track of Aamad announces the poet’s state of affairs. Undoubtedly, Rahat’s spoken-word delivery, accompanied by a minimal plucking, transport the listener into the poet’s room of thought. As narrated by Rahat, this room is filled with pitch darkness and gradually, the space reveals a face in sunlight. The face is of someone known to the poet, but unknown to the listener. All tracks from hereon in the album are perhaps hummed to this face. Yet, the poetic position is maintained on the lines of ascribing everything to the poet’s own self (“Jo bhi hai, mera hai”). This track is shockingly short-lived and leaves one longing for more of Rahat’s poetry. If anything, the opening manages to captivate the listener in its simplicity.

2. Khat

A nippy plucking somewhat prepares the stage for Rahat’s vocals in “Khat”. Initially the vocals are rendered with a controlled throat, which ease a little, developing into stretched renditions on the arrival of mild strums. Then, suddenly at 1:34, we hear an ambient riff from Iqbal, which is perhaps the first marking of change from the early gloomy atmosphere to a more painful vocal performance. Rahat can be heard expanding on his vocals here, which recede back into their composed state.

This ‘recession’ into calmness is Rahat’s signature on Aamad. In “Khat”, this stance perpetually conveys an uncanny stillness to the listener, and often imbibes a sing-along feeling. However, this sing-along capacity is felt oblivious to the instrumentation on the track. Efforts seem to have been made in “Khat” to conceal the discordance between the vocals and the instruments. For instance, at 3:28 we notice backing hums, and at 3:40 choir appears into the scene. This song is a letter written with a trembling hand.

3. Hum Kaun Thae

“Hum Kaun Thae” is the only track that does not feature Rahat’s poetry. The lyrics here are credited to Pakistani Urdu poet (shayar) Jaun Elia. This is the longest song on the album, and once again begins minimally with slow strums and Rahat’s vocals. One also hears a perpetual ambient drone in the depth of this track. This drone is instrumental in amplifying the silent atmosphere of the song, and is certainly a brilliant example of the album’s production technique. Unfortunately, this brilliance is lost at 2:07 to toms and pre-manufactured beats that only change the hymnal quality of this track to a more generic rock undertone.

“Hum Kaun Thae” progress quite dryly from here on, with sporadic instances of vocals and drums complimenting each other. One also hears a subdued guitar lead in the background, which manages to hold the track together. By 3:45, the guitar rises so significantly that it single-handedly breathes a new life into the track. Iqbal’s lead, dressed in a classic rock attire, has finally given the listener a widespread field of musical immersion that so far seemed to be missing from the album.

Rahat’s whispers line the atmosphere as “Hum Kaun Thae” subsides into its initial strum pattern, before the drone contours itself around the available segments. The hymnal quality has been regained here, and the skillful vocals only multiply this effect further, making “Hum Kaun Thae” an overall appetising experience.

4. Tasalli

Rahat’s skill at emotional delivery through his poetry and vocals is now evident—and he takes another go at it with “Tasalli”. This song opens with somnolent orchestral arrangement, and the vocals weave themselves in an entirely different story. The well-known strumming reappears as Rahat explores the vocal territory further.

At 1:40 then, the industry-influenced beat drops and Barbie Singh Rajput comes soothing to forefront with her backing hums. The beats continue following a trajectory set to incorporate other elements on the track. Vocals are back, and the in the background, we hear a myriad of orchestral arrangements narrating their own story to a crescendo. The vocals and instrumentation seem divorced at this point, until Iqbal is conjured at 2:42 again.

No doubt the guitar lead is clean and short-lived, but is only heard as a shadow of the lead in “Hum Kaun Thae”. After more of heartfelt vocal renditions, the orchestral arrangement is back, where Rahat and Barbie fill in the atmosphere with their hums. This is the second ‘high-point’ in the track’s topography, which seems to continue forever. Rahat then ties all of it down very neatly with his vocals 4:46 onwards, until the song comes to a gradual halt.

5. Khuda Hai Kya

“Khuda Hai Kya” is Rahat’s second spoken-word on the album, which is accompanied by orchestral ambience. The lyrics are spoken to a certain ‘you’ (tu) and describe the essence of this someone in a way, that it always makes the poet question if the ‘you’ is a god (“khuda hai kya?”). There is a universality in the poetic elements chosen by Rahat that manage to render a ubiquitous picture of that someone.

Sameer Rahat. Photo: Tanmey Saxena — Sameer Rahat. *Photo: Tanmey Saxena*

This song is unique, in its both writing and speech, and stands out from the rest of the collection in the album. It is narrated directly into the ears of the listener, and therefore demands concentration. Perhaps this is the reason why Anurag Tagat wrote that Aamad was a “made-for-headphones listening experience” on Rolling Stone India. Other tracks on the album, however, do not necessarily comply with this condition, as Aamad is centred around vocals, and this would make the listener weary of semantics, owing to sporadic distribution of both vocals and instruments. Nonetheless, “Khuda Hai Kya” offers us the precise glimpse into the essence of the album.

6. Chehere Gehre

“Chehere Gehre” is another unique track, and perhaps, closest to what we may consider a traditional “song”. Both instrumentation and vocals respect each other here, and as a result, an evolved version of Rahat is heard all along. “Chehere Gehre” is so fresh in its composition that even the factory-made orchestral repetitions buzz into a colourful life of exuberance. Rahat’s vocals stretch the track into unknown territories that are greeted by the listener with open arms, because he manages to make one conscious of one’s own living.

One can play this track on uncountable occasions in one’s life. “Chehere Gehre” feels like the soundtrack to a film, giving the audience a much sought-after purge. The song manages to own the listener from the very beginning, and is an example of meticulous composition, breathing new life into the otherwise melancholic nature of the album.

7. Uss Paar

Rashmeet Kaur is featured on the album’s last track, but in a different avatar from her usual aesthetic ventures. This four-and-a-half-minute finale is on the other end of Rahat’s despondent room of thought. The most notable feature, along with two voices on vocals, is the finesse of the orchestral arrangement. Although the song begins with the familiarity of minimal strums, it quietly develops in the background from transient soundscapes to almost newfound euphoric realms. Kaur’s velvet vocals lead the way, portraying a contrast to Rahat’s granular renditions. Both of these vocals entwine beautifully and convey a variety of sounds to the ear.

The message, if any, is clear: to go on to the other side of things (“Chal uss paar chalte hain”). This could be interpreted at listener’s own convenience ranging from companionship to transience. Rahat’s calm is maintained throughout the track, even with Kaur’s distinct vocals. It is a successful collaboration. At the end, the listener experiences a resolution, which may or may not be positive, but settles the stormy agitation in one’s general life movements.

The industry might market Aamad as a product made for ready consumption, but Rahat’s poetry will surely find intimacy on a personal note among listeners. This personal note is the stillness of Rahat’s poetry, calm in the eye of an industrial storm.

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Rahat’s poetry in Aamad is both universal and personal; the theme concerns love and departure in the daily life of people. However, the strict definition of ‘aamad’ is ‘arrival’, the arrival of a plethora of emotions after a departure.

These emotions are drenched in melancholia, which is profoundly felt in the first four tracks. There are timeless emotions of the poet, giving precise strength to the song-writing of each piece. This timeless nature will surely make Aamad resonate with every listener.

Rahat’s deeply personal poetry seems to be in a conflict of production with the instrumentation on the album. Rather than singing into the mesh of instrumentation, Rahat’s vocals seem to be using the instruments as a background score, which is reminiscent of Bollywood compositional techniques. This has compromised Aamad of some of its inertial qualities.

There are two spoken-word endeavours on the album, which speak volumes of Rahat’s poetry and vocal delivery. These two tracks are the only ones with very little instrumentation, and therefore, manage to resonate deeper. One might question, why Rahat decided on producing this album with an orchestra. An apt comparison to this would be Eddie Vedder’s Ukulele Songs (2011), where Vedder’s extremely personal poetry is rendered solely with a ukulele. The emotions in Ukulele Songs are able travel beyond the length of the album; Aamad, however, is more fleeting, resonating for its 30-minute length, and departing when it’s over.

On another note, the production style of the album seems to be employing a formula used mostly in film-industry music productions, where the emotion of ‘love’ is elevated to the realm of a stand-alone survival in the world, and the only job of a singer-songwriter is to write a few resonating lyrics. This formula guarantees success, and big names like Osho Jain and Prateek Kuhad are its major propagators in the current music scenario in India.

Rahat’s poetry seems to be persuasively made form-fit for this formula of instrumentation. Is this the necessity of creating a marketable product? Consequently, Aamad finds itself in aesthetic conflict between raw poetic emotion on one hand, and a good-looking industry outfit on the other. From the artist’s own oeuvre, “Gyan” (released a year ago) is the best example where vocals and myriad instrumentation complement each other symbiotically. All of this boils down to a simple choice: letting the industry manoeuvre ambition, or have the music determine its own course.

The industry might market Aamad as a product made for ready consumption, but Rahat’s poetry will surely find intimacy on a personal note among listeners. This personal note is the stillness of Rahat’s poetry, calm in the eye of an industrial storm.

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The Blue Magpie is an art critic, flying through tunes unknown, promising silence for those who hear.

Music as Still Life: Sameer Rahat’s poetic solo debut Aamad