Saturday, October 31, 2009

SF '08: Write-up by Anuj Gupta

For the past twelve years, there has been a three-day music festival organized by a college in this country that has stood up for raw, unbridled, original music long before the rest of the music festivals in this country have followed suit and shared the same cry. In fact, it was the crave for original music that led a bunch of law students to start this journey in the first place.This is a festival where, for more than a decade, any and every band has the right to use the platform designed to select the very best. This is a festival where new bands are born. This is a festival where music – of every shade and hue – have comfortably found their place right next to each other. This is the festival where the bullshit is kept aside and the band, and the needs of the band come before everything else with the people behind the festival going out of their way, every year, to see the music come alive.

For three days an oasis of music in the middle of a field comes alive. For three days a family-like following comes together to renew the bonds of music, all over again.
You might say that you disagree with the judging – it’s a competition after all – and that your favourite band didn’t win. You might even say that the prelims crowd isn’t all that fantastic as the finals. But what you won’t be able to say if you have ever been at Strawberry Fields, is that, the music is overshadowed by anything else.

For this is where Angeldust lived its reputation. This is where Thermal and a Quarter broke loose. This is where Mojo wove its magic. This is where Kryptos stamped its class only to be eventually outshone by an ethereal Buddha’s Babies. This is where Pin Drop Violence became a cherished memory for what could have been. This is where Zebediah Plush ‘grew’ up. This is where Medicis announced itself over a rampaging Myndsnare. This is where Rainbow Bridge played its blues, for the first time. This is where Garage Monsters Inc. became a promise. This is where Bhayanak Maut set the standards to sheer perfection, twice. This is where Junkyard Groove turned a boating song into funk rock beauty. This is where Demonic Resurrection brought the house down because they gave everything they had and more. This is where Slain established their pedigree.

You might term it the stepping stone to firmament in India’s music culture, as it has proven to be so for the past decade. You might term it as India’s biggest and largest college-organised music festival. You might term it a dream.

Born as it was amidst the lush greenery of sleepy Nagarbhavi on the edges of Bangalore perhaps lent it the character that it so deserved. Even when shorn of the richness of its home among the misty green trees, this festival borrowed time and space, at Palace Grounds, and within the expanse of Bangalore’s esteemed ground space, lived comfortably for three years, always evoking dreams of taking it back “home”, becoming in the process the only college-organised music festival to be held at these grounds.

It did come home though. And it was more beautiful than ever before. And hopefully, here is where it’ll stay. Forever. In many ways, the charm of Strawberry Fields is best brought out during the prelims when the festival truly wakes up. A slightly sparse crowd dotting the ground, shops and other stalls spread around the enclosure, a lazy afternoon sun on your back with the errant grey clouds for company, it provides for a perfect meeting ground for people to chill in and be themselves till the humdinger that is the finals. It is no surprise perhaps, that bands have considered the “played at Strawberry Fields prelims” tag to be a coveted one through the years. And as for the final, it is always an astounding and pulsating marriage of sound and lights that goes beyond expectations, thanks always to Reynolds, its equipment and its sound/light engineers. Little wonder then, that Strawberry Fields is proud to count Reynolds as its “family” and always depends on it to make itself come alive.

Yet it is the desire to go beyond any barriers, to not let the hazards of commercialization affect its quality and ethics, and most of all, the wish to provide the very best for the bands and the music they weave, that sets Strawberry Fields apart. Where the hunt is always on for the next new band that will defy its limitations.

We might boast about the fact that the hand-picked sound and light set-up is the best any college-festival would offer to any band in this country. That Strawberry Fields has one of the biggest prize moneys in any college festival in this country. That keeping with the spirit that drives Strawberry Fields, the entry is always free, for all three days. That more than fifty bands compete for a slot among the five in the finals. That this is among the first college-festivals and till now perhaps the only, to understand the extended need for a dedicated visual impact along with the music, to incorporate pyros and lasers to provide the audience with the best experience possible, year after year. That this is the only college-festival which goes beyond its classification to rival in reputation, impact and influence most other commercial rock shows around this country.

The truth is, the best thing about Strawberry Fields is that this is the only festival of its kind where original music by a band has always been valued over anything else. For more than a decade and still counting. Perhaps, that is why the beauty has remained.

© Anuj Gupta, http://www.gigpad.com/index.php?option=com_smf&Itemid=37&topic=16361.msg152838

2 comments:

  1. m waiting......!!
    spectator!!!

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  2. Nice write up, but you left out quite a few bands and artists that were helped along their way by Strawberry Fields. Don't know about now, but SF in its early days embraced ALL genres... Even Raghu Dixit won a prize for an acoustic entry with his band, Antragini.

    The 5 best acts that I've seen perform at SF in order of just the quality of the show that they put on in the Finals' night:
    Moksha
    MOJO
    Every Mother's Nightmare
    Thermal And a Quarter
    Mother Jane

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