Soulmate

When I first saw Soulmate live, I’d been aware of the cult status of its members in the Northeast for a while. Everyone ranted and raved about the legendary guitarist and the pipes on the singer. But as happens ever so rarely when something has been built-up for you, I immediately loved what they did, as I suspect, do most of their fans. Though, in the early days, they sometimes looked a little stiff from having to concentrate hard on nailing the various blues inflections they’d perfected ( and so a little derivative), they still did a very cool, gritty brand of blues; a style that they would later travel with them to some of the best blues festivals around the world. Compared to experiencing that immediacy in person, and seeing how it has grown, matured and acquired a certain ease in the handful of years since then, anything else will undoubtedly pale a bit. It is precisely in that regard that the band’s second album, Moving On, is not a very accurate document of their true sound and progress since their first album Shillong.

Shortcomings of replication aside, the core duo of guitarist-songwriter Rudy Wallang and vocalist Tipriti Kharbangar, the soulmates in the name, is in impeccable technical form here. They’ve shown great assuredness in moving on over the past few years from the more easy-to-get, riff-based variety of electric blues that marked large portions of their previous output, to the blues as a purer expression of self. The solos are more crafty and fluid, demonstrating greater melodic capacity and boldness when it comes to extended runs. Kharbangar’s polished gospel-blues vocals, too, are more dynamic, besides having taken a couple of contemporary hints (as with the Corrine Bailey Rae-like ”˜Cup of Tea’ and the outro to ”˜Set Me Free,’ which has a hint of Adele in it). For rhythm, the two are backed by the usual suspects; bassist Ferdy Dkhar (whose appearance on three tracks here largely overshadows Wallang’s own slightly ham-fisted work elsewhere, with the exception of the funky ”˜Set Me Free’) and drummer Sam Shullai (especially brilliant with the cymbals throughout) among other friends and family.

After a single listen, one might regret the fact that Soulmate’s more folksy influences are lost to the past. Sounds heard on the rootsy bluegrass instrumental ”˜St Valentine’s Day Blues’ and the haunting Khasi rhythm-tinged opus ”˜Shillong’ that gave them the added edge of being something more than blues interpreters. But at the same time, as a result of this digging deeper, there is now space for other forms that have historically journeyed alongside the blues. This is best heard on the two surprisingly rollicking Southern rockers (”˜Smile at Me’ and ”˜Stay Away’), with Shaun Nonghulo providing the perfect setup with his booming drum work for Rudy to show off some real versatility and stylistic grasp in the soloing. The first of the two also witnesses Tipriti putting aside her characteristically fire-breathing vocal prowess to turn in a very light, playful singing performance, accenting her lines with little yodelled yips for the complete rodeo experience. For a couple of more surprises, don’t miss the blues-pop single ”˜Your Sweet Lovin’’ (with  its cheery chorus guitar lick reminiscent of Sinead O’Connor’s ”˜Emperor’s New Clothes’) and Rudy’s mellowed, uncannily Clapton-like singing performance on ”˜Come ”˜Round My House’.

Moving On has its ups and downs. For the band it is a few big steps forward, yet betrays the fact that they remain inexplicably rooted to some of the duller aspects of the past. Musically, this is heard in some of the more plodding ’80s balladry (like ”˜She Is,’ which is rescued eventually, though barely, by some rousing arena-esque guitar work) and the one proficient but formulaic good old-fashioned hoedown ”˜Kool Kat Strut’ (a track that conjures up the incongruous image of a room full of line dancers at every single listen). Thematically, the blues is perhaps the only form that will survive any era without an updation of subject; it is, after all, a way of life. But here again, one does wish that we were spared the umpteenth hackneyed description of the perfect woman (“She can be fire like a dragon/As soothing as a lullaby,” ”˜She Is’ again) in favour of something more believable.

It is this dichotomy that unsettles, the simultaneous presence of undeniable musical gift (genius even) and relative narrative blandness, that makes one wonder if a writing partnership, perhaps of the kind that the Dead enjoyed with Robert Hunter, might not take them someplace much higher altogether. But for the moment, putting aside our scepticisms and prejudices, there is very little to suggest that, for proficiency and comfort with their form, Soulmate are not in fact among perhaps half a dozen Indian bands that remain head and shoulders above the rest.