Fossils – Digging Up Dirt

Rupam is unfazed. There’s nothing wrong, he says, if one person becomes the face of a band and enjoys great visibility among audiences. “Fossils is a professional outfit. Nobody minds,” he mentions.  “We are not friends here,” Ghosh seconds. “We are musicians out to do music. Nobody is interested in personal affairs of members or playing guardian,” he adds. The context is that of a former Fossils drummer, who ran into a problem with drugs and was losing tempo during concerts and while recording. Post rehab, the band initially wanted the drummer back, but later opted for Das.

Srinjoy Gangopadhyay, 22, is studying painting at the prestigious Government Art College in Kolkata. His walls of his studio at the scruffy Belghachia area of north Kolkata is adorned by posters of Kurt Cobain, Lamb of God, handwritten legends like getting better never stops and paintings of faceless women dancing and at the marriage altar. Gangopadhyay also is a prime mover of UFF – the Ultimate Fossils Fan club with around 600 members who, other than providing vocal support for the band, also play a proactive role in stopping piracy of the band’s music. In between discussions on the art of Salvador Dali, films of Luis Bunuel and music of System of a Down, the young artist mentions where Fossils fits in. “In their music the basic colours you see are black and white. You find adolescent transition, a mirror for the times too. I find myself in the lyrics,” Gangopadhyay states.

There is Deep too, though his reasons for liking Fossils are different. The young adult, who during the day works in a south Kolkata garage, has never been to Someplace Else, Princeton or La Dolce Vita – some of the domains of live music in the city. He goes back home at night and on most occasions, plays Fossils on his tape recorder. “It relaxes me like nothing else,” he points out.

And there is the teenaged worker of the nearby bakery bargaining to be let in to the Sodepur college campus. He doesn’t have an entry pass, but has an argument. “I have heard all of Fossils’ albums. If you think I’ll create trouble inside, that bakery there is the guarantee that I won’t,” he pleads with the volunteers.

On stage, is the poet of a neverclass, the weaver of a subaltern dream. Islam has already broken his pre-concert pledge to give his injured head some rest and is liberally headbanging, keeping time with a 2000-strong college crowd. He works himself like a shaman, using every body movement to accentuate an image, contoured by moody indigo and flaming red light. Occasionally, the vocalist lets the audience sing his songs, as the drums and bass maintain a plodding rhythm.

For over two hours, the band bristles as energy flies across the stage, arena and back again. Then before Ghosh strikes the last guitar note and Das cushions the cymbal between his fingers, Islam leaves the stage in a flurry and heads straight for the SUV, which has its engine running. Flashbulbs, mobile phones, hands holding pen and paper and a hundred aspirations make way as the vehicle speeds away.