Between Notes

Vedant felt a familiar chill run through his stomach as he waited in the wings. The lights dimmed, the volume of the music lowered and the audience cheered in anticipation. It was his first show after fifteen months and he’d missed being on stage. He wanted to see them as much as they him. He walked onto stage, taking big, nervous strides, ready to share his new album with his audience. Earlier, he’d written about family and friends, taken inspiration from the city life he saw around him and the tenacity of Indians that awed him at every stage of his life. This time, he’d written about love.

There wasn’t much to draw upon. No difficult breakups or drama to translate into music. Just one relationship that ended as abruptly as it started. She liked him but married a man of her family’s choice. That ending hadn’t been as hard to accept as he’d thought it would be. Somewhere, he was relieved. That’s all there was to his “love life.” But love, and finding a partner, were very much on his mind. So he tried to write about love anyway. What emerged was a sharp departure from the last two albums he’d composed. The earlier albums were upbeat and fun. They had pop beats that encouraged dancing and light lyrics that didn’t require too much analysis. But for this one, he’d felt the need to put aside his guitar and the acoustic sound he’d built his musical identity around. The keyboard was calling him, and he answered. 

He called the album Days of Retreat. It had no lyrics and the notes ranged from deeply resonant bass notes that echoed his emptiness to treble notes that shrilly intruded, reflecting his moments of yearning and pain. They came like a screech, making him deeply aware of his singleness. He let his emotions rise and responded by exploring each key of the keyboard, till he found sequences that satisfied his ears. He didn’t add frills and fill silences. He didn’t add lightheartedness. He wanted to sit with his discomfort. What had emerged was an album that critics deeply appreciated. He’d even been featured in two international publications. But the all round glowing reviews weren’t enough to calm his nerves as he got on stage. Would his audience accept this side of him?

Instead of waving and laughing as he normally got on stage, he walked on in a meditated line, smiled at the audience, and then sat down at his keyboard. There was no band with him this time, no roaming and flashing lights. A dark stage and a simple spotlight that made him feel more exposed than if the lights in the venue were completely on. He started playing Living Warily, the first track off the album. He started with a four chord progression, his left hand gently pressing down on each combination, while his right hand hungrily pushed down on five keys at once. As the track picked up, he’d added alternating A and D treble keys while the left hand added playful melodies in its deep, resonant sound. He’d composed the song in such a way that this juxtaposition built up throughout the song, causing a growing tension in the atmosphere, until it crescendoed into a battle between left and right sounds. There was cohesion in the sound, of course he’d made sure of that, but there was a war there too, and he’d made that quite evident. He ended the track with two chord clusters, the palms of both his hands pressing down on the key groups. His back relaxed as he felt the music fade. He was here, he was playing to his heart’s desire. It would be okay.

A smile crept on his lips a split second before the applause broke out. His intuition had guided him well. Without a manager or anyone to guide him, that’s all he had. He’d chosen a venue with seating instead of playing a standing show, and he’d spent the past seven months marketing the mood and feel of the album. It had worked. He’d attracted appreciative people. His teeth flashed as his smile grew into a chuckle. He turned the mic toward himself.

“How you doing, Bangalore?” he asked, looking into the audience, trying to find faces to connect with so that the darkened space wouldn’t feel like such a monolith.

Bengaluru responded with a loud cheer.

“I’ve been meaning to write about love for some time now.” 

A few hoots reached his ears and he felt a rising blush.

“There’s not much to say except for one relationship, which certainly wasn’t muse material.”

The audience laughed. 

“But I’ve created something anyway. Are you ready for more?”

He started playing once the response cheer died down. This track he’d called Fun Times Ahead. It was a relatively fun song, his exploration of those early days of dating, when the rose tinted glasses are on and everything about that person is magic, the world is exciting and you want to scream your feelings from the rooftops.

He looked at the audience more, locking onto a few faces. A man on the right side of the auditorium, sipping a beer and smiling appreciatively. A couple at the centre, the woman’s head resting on her man’s left shoulder, and a woman on the right, her eyes closed, a small smile playing on her lips. He stared at her for a moment longer than the rest, smiled, and then turned back to his keyboard.

As the album progressed, he opened up more and more, sharing anecdotes and jokes between songs. He lightly roasted a man who’d ordered a pizza at his seat and a woman who was making her way out. 

“Are you leaving, ma’am?”

The woman only realised she was being addressed when the audience prodded her. “Just going to the washroom,” she replied with a smile. 

“Okay, I’ll wait,” he said, and laughed along with the audience.

He did wait. He made small talk with a few people in the front, spoke about the state of the country's music scene and how much he’s enjoyed returning to the keyboard. “I want to bring in more of its sound in my future music -- ah, there you are!” The crowd turned to look at the woman and then laughed, since she’d started jogging back to her seat.

“Should I start the next song now?” he asked her.

She laughed and nodded, mouthed a ‘yes,’ and gave him a flying kiss.

As the album progressed, his span of staring at that girl also increased. Sometimes her eyes were closed. Other times they were open, and she was smiling. Sometimes he caught her staring at the bare stage in front of her, other times she was looking at him. Between songs, when he made the audience laugh, he checked to see if he’d made her laugh too. He had. Every time except once, when she was checking her phone. He wanted to snatch the phone from her hands and leave it backstage with his. She could have it back when the show was over. For now, he wanted her undivided attention. 

As he wound down the final notes of the last song, the lights turned on and he could finally see the audience with more clarity. He looked around as the audience clapped. Three people were giving him a standing ovation. He felt grateful for their appreciation. Then he looked at her. She was looking at him, and smiling. He stared, not sure what else to do. How to single her out from the crowd? How to start a conversation with her? In the next instant his mind went blank. Her eyes had crinkled and her smile had deepened. She was smiling at him. Personally. At him. His eyes widened, a smile spread across his face and then he turned away, lifting slightly off the seat as he did. He looked at the stage and blushed. When he settled and turned back to look at her, she had stood up. She was chatting with her friend and making her way out. He stared at her back till she disappeared behind one of the columns. Then he gently turned off the keyboard and stepped down to meet the people who’d crowded around the stage for pictures and chats.

***

Two weeks later, Vedant was at his childhood friend Kartik’s house, which was always open to anyone who wanted to get high and listen to music.

“You can go smoke in the bedroom balcony,” said Kartik. “My neighbour is chilling there, but she’s cool.”

As Vedant made his way inside, he could hear Lana Del Rey playing in the room. He opened the door. And there she was. The girl from the show. Lying on the bed, knees folded up, hands folded under her head. Her eyes were closed, and her left foot was tapping in time with the song’s beat.

He felt a chill course through him. She’d been a constant companion in his mind since he’d seen her at the show. He’d imagined what their first date would be like, what they would talk about and how they would kiss at the end. He’d imagined how the relationship would progress, how they would share inside jokes and swap stories about their childhoods. He’d imagined their first fight and how he would use music to win her over. He’d imagined getting intimate with her. He’d imagined meeting her friends and family, and her meeting his. He’d imagined how he would ask her to marry him and how she would jump with excitement before saying yes. He’d imagined domesticity with her; living together, working together, cooking together, cleaning together. In Vedant’s inner world, she was the one that would stick. With love, it just needed to work out one time, and he’d convinced himself that with her, it would finally happen. Because he would give to her all the love he was holding inside him, and she would care deeply about him also. 

He’d also had a more rational voice in his mind telling him to move on because there was no way of finding her. He didn’t even know her name and a simple smile after a show really meant not that much. With hope that faltered a little bit more with each passing day, he checked his DMs everyday, waiting for her to slide in, but there was nothing there except disappointment. It was just a moment and she was gone, that inner voice reminded him. 

Yet, now, here she was.

Vedant’s feet felt shaky as he made his way into the room, softly closing the door behind him. He made an effort to push all his day dreams aside and focus on the moment. It was tough to let go of all the fantasies he’d tended to over the past two weeks. But here was his chance to get out of his head and have a real connection. He wanted to get it right. 

He looked at the phone lying next to the speakers. Hundred Dollar Bill.

As the next verse began, the girl started singing along.

J is a romantic rollercoaster

He don’t do anything he’s supposed to

I like him tough and mean

Jim is the worst that I’ve ever seen

I am the trailer park darling

He is the one time come back king

He knows that I be looking to die

He says, “baby pay, respect to the high, not invincible

But cash come quick when looks can kill

Then she fell silent again. 

Vedant smiled. He lit his cigarette and then turned to look at her again. “What do you like about those lyrics?”

Her eyes flashed opened. She looked at him and smiled. “I’m not sure. The abandon, I think.”

“Abandon?”

“With which she romanticises love.”

“Go on.”

She thought about it, and then she smiled. “I’m high as a kite. Lana’s atmosphere was the type of trip I was in the mood for.”

Vedant smirked. “Is that why you made an effort to learn those lyrics?”

For the first time, she looked properly into his eyes. She smiled and slowly looked away. “We’ve only just met.”

He laughed. “Right. What’s your name?”

“Aarjavi.”

“I’m Vedant.”

“I know,” she said with a smile.

He didn’t know if he should bring up the show or not. He stayed silent for a few moments, let the confusion clear out, and then spoke the next rational thought that came to his mind. “I want to fly like a kite too, Aarjavi.”

She laughed. “The blunt’s behind the speaker.”

Vedant lit up, smoking in silence. He was happy to just be here.

“I really liked your show,” she said after some time.

“Thank you.”

He thought again about the smile they’d shared at the end of the show. Up close, she was beautiful.

“How do you feel about the drastic musical shift I’ve made from my last two albums?”

“It’s brave. But I don’t really have more thoughts beyond that.”

“That’s cool.”

They relapsed into silence.

“Hey, can you turn off the song now, please?”

He did. “How long have you had it on loop for anyway?”

“A few days.”

“I mean like this session.”

“About 40 minutes.”

Vedant laughed. It wasn’t even one of her better songs. What was this girl finding in it?

“What made you switch your musical style so much?”

“I’m not entirely sure. The first two albums did really well. I was able to amass an audience. And once you have your own audience, things become more fun. The possibilities multiply. You’re able to express yourself more clearly.”

“So is Days of Retreat the first time you’re being fully yourself?”

“I wouldn’t say that. I was still being myself with the acoustic stuff. That's who I was then. Now, I’m gravitating toward a different sound. You know -- you don't mind me rambling on, do you?”

“Not at all.”

“I learnt the piano first. Started when I was about seven. I had this small little keyboard and every day I would play happy birthday on it. Because it was always someone’s birthday, somewhere.” He laughed at the memory and she grinned in response. “Over time, I fell in love with the keyboard. It’s always going to be my first love. But in college I wanted different things. I wanted to be on stage and I wanted fans. I wanted a girl. And I don't know what music kids enjoy today, but at that time, a guitarist was all the rage. So I started learning it. It didn’t take very long, it’s one of the easier instruments to learn.”

“Plus you had the music theory knowledge already.”

“Yeah. You actually learn more music theory on keys than with strings.”

Aarjavi nodded.

“And as I started playing the guitar, since I was spending time with this whole new sound, it was almost like a new facet of my personality was developing. I’d never been this person before, but now my personality was expanding. I look at the guitar as my lighter, more fun side, and the keyboard as my softer, more honest side. But I’m both, you know?”

“Yes. I think artists feel a lot of pressure to fit into a stereotype and be it. It’s really cool that you’re letting yourself be authentic.”

“Yeah. It is a risk for sure. Do you stick to and nurture the stereotype, because that definitely sells more tickets? Or do you follow your heart as an artist, try to get your audience to come along on the ride, while being sure that you’re definitely losing some of them?”

“I’m sure you’re also gaining new listeners that wouldn’t have gravitated toward your earlier sound.”

“Yeah for sure. Thank you. What’s your relationship with music like?”

“It’s been a long and winding one,” she said with a laugh. “Sometimes I love it and sometimes I hate it. All of it. Sometimes I just hate the concept of music as a whole. But I keep coming back. It’s always been like that. I haven’t been able to stay away.”

“It sounds kinda destructive when you talk about it like that.”

“Maybe it was for me, a little bit. The way I connect with music and the way I connect with people is obviously very different. And when I was younger, I was so mad that music can’t just fill in for people. I had to go out into the big and scary world and talk with people. I felt so betrayed that music can’t fill that void. Of course, I’m all grown up now.”

Vedant smiled. “So what do you do?”

“I’m a therapist.”

“Oh, shit.”

Aarjavi burst into loud laughter, holding her stomach as she did. “What’s wrong?”

“That explains your self awareness. But are you like psychoanalysing my every word?”

“I don’t even do that with my clients.”

“You’ll totally fixate on words. ‘Tell me more about what you mean by that,’ and all that.”

She laughed again. “I wouldn’t call that psychoanalysing. I just try to maintain a sense of curiosity. And get to know the person. And honestly, that’s how I try to be in conversations outside of work too.”

“Yeah, that’s a good approach to have.”

After a few moments, she added, “I think it’s how I approach music as well. Through it, I’m learning so much about how people think and feel. And I’m constantly fascinated by all the beautiful ways musicians find of expressing themselves.”

“Do you create art of any type too, then?”

“Sometimes. I draw cute little stick figure comics in my notebook.”

“I’d love to see them.”

“Maybe some day. I haven’t shown them to anyone.”

“To some day,” said Vedant, and offered Aarjavi the blunt.

She stood up and took it. They smoked the rest of the blunt in silence.

Vedant thought about how this silence didn’t feel awkward. There was something comforting about her presence. He felt like he could fully be himself. He looked at her as she stood close to him and smoked. Her lips were shining. He stared for a moment, and then realised it was probably makeup. He wanted to get to know her. Her life, her fears, her dreams, her moments of pride. But he also needed to keep it light. “Tell me how you relate with music,” Vedant asked.

“Not as intensely as a musician, I’m sure,” she said with a laugh.

“That might not be true, you know. Listening to music and creating music are two different things. Listening to music could be more meaningful for you than me. It’s entirely possible.”

She thought about that for a moment. “I think listening to music is about meditation for me.”

Vedant smiled. “Let’s meditate. Play me your favourite song.”

“I actually don't feel like listening to it right now.”

“Okay play whatever you feel like listening to then,” he said, handing her the phone.

She played Nusrat Fateh Ali Shah. Vedant hasn’t heard any of his music and he was slightly miffed that it wasn’t a song he could sing along to in his head. She closed her eyes and rested her back against the wall. He looked at her for a few moments, then dropped his gaze with a smile. He stubbed out the blunt, leaned against the window and closed his eyes too.

Shah’s raspy voice settled all around them. Vedant had trouble catching a lot of the words. But the music had a nice, growing rhythm. Shah’s voice, at times, broke through Vedant’s reverie with its high notes. He dominated the scale, his voice easily going from low to high and back. Even when he was repeating the same line a million times, there was fresh feeling each time. That’s how Vedant had learnt to appreciate Hindustani classical music too, enjoying the variations with each new repetition of the same line.

“Did you like it?” she asked, once the song ended.

“Yes. It’s the first time I’ve heard him. What’s the song called?”

“Sochta Hoon Ke Woh Kitne Masoom Thay. It’s pretty popular.”

“I’m going to give it another listen soon.”

She smiles.

“Can I play one of my favourites now?”

“Of course.”

He looks up the soundcloud of Seven Impale.

“I’ve never heard of that band before,” says Aarjavi, peeking at the screen.

“They’re a band in Norway. They combine prog and jazzrock. Pretty interesting stuff.”

“I don't listen to a lot of prog.”

Vedant thought for a moment about how to explain the feeling to her. “You know how before an artist gets on stage the lights dim, the room goes silent and the smoke flows? And then a few beams of blue light come on. There’s anticipation in that moment, right? Some prog keeps that mood of excitement up for the entire set.”

“But you don’t play that type of music right?”

“Listening and creating are two different things.”

“Right, right.”

“I’m not sure which of their songs to play for you. Their music is so absorbing, it really carries you. Okay let’s go with God Left us for a Black Dressed Woman. It’s the last song off their debut. Very deep-sexy,” he says, and gives her a playful wink. She laughs and the two settle into listening again.

The song starts softly, the jazz slowly coming to the front. Then the pace picks up and the sound broadens as the prog elements enter the scene. The mind bending time signatures dazzle with precision. The song then settles into an easy jazz again, and the vocals come on, yearning and bare. 

“I’m really liking it,” she says, turning to him halfway through the song.

Vedant smiles and holds her gaze. He finds encouragement in her eyes and takes a step forward. He brushes her cheek with his fingers. She smiles and he takes another step forward. He kisses her softly, matching the mood of the song. It’s a good kiss. He kisses her again, deeply now. 

That rhythm continues as the night progresses.

***

Collaborating with musicians is always interesting, but today Vedant was on his way to jam with his heroes, the black metal band Half Humanity.

Metal had come to Vedant by sheer chance. He was checking out a venue for one of his early shows. Half Humanity was there, prepping for their show that night. He’d decided to stay. No matter if he’d never heard metal music live. He wanted to give himself the chance to explore all types of music. 

What he’d experienced that night wasn’t just music. It was electricity. It was connection. When Aniket, the frontman, screamed and screeched into the mic, it was like he was articulating the collective pain of that audience. Half Humanity’s sound was large; it filled the room. And Aniket commanded that room. The music was making Vedant deeply vulnerable, yet he felt comfortable. 

He has a protective energy, Vedant had thought about Aniket.

So once he’d wrapped up his tour, realising that this is the type of music he wants to make more of, he’d sent out a few requests for collaborations. And Half Humanity had agreed.

Now, Vedant sat in a rickshaw, his keyboard leaning on the side. His arm rested around it, holding it close, protecting it from the rain that was hammering all around. If he saw firsthand how Half Humanity makes music, maybe he would understand more about Aniket’s capacity for vulnerability as an artist. Vedant’s fingers moved in the air as he remembered the melody he wanted to share with them.

Vedant rang the bell of Aniket’s house and was welcomed into the living room where the band members that made up Half Humanity were setting up.

“Crazy weather,” Vedant said as he walked into the room.

“Yeah, it’s annoying to be out, I’m sure,” said Aniket. “But I also love jamming when it’s raining outside,” he added with a laugh.

“I’ve never really felt the impact of the weather on my music.”

“I find the rain liberating.”

Vedant thought about that as he greeted the other band members. He was quite in his head when making music. For inspiration, he travelled to his past and looked ahead at the future. He called upon his joys and pains, his experiences and epiphanies. But he never looked outside and connected with the world as it was. 

He stared out the window for a moment now. The sky was a beautiful meeting ground of grey and purple. And against its beauty was the rain which concealed and offered privacy. But its patter also sounded playful. It gave away a little bit of the rain’s personality. Wow, and I’m not even high, he thought as he giggled.

The five men set up their instruments mostly in silence.

“How was your tour?” asked Jay as he tuned his guitar.

“Really good,” said Vedant. “It’s a very different sound from my first two albums and people have been largely accepting of it.”

“Yeah. It’s a brave thing to do,” added Jay, meeting Vedant’s eyes.

Vedant bowed his head in response, a small blush turning his lips upwards.

“So what do you have for us?” asked Harsh, sitting behind his drums, the sticks dancing in his hands as he waited to start playing. 

Vedant played. Through the course of the track, Vedant slowly scaled the high notes, their voice starting out soft but then gaining footing as he scaled upward. He’d played with the tempo quite a bit. It built up slowly, jumped into speed, slowed down again. He played the higher notes slowly and as he came back toward the centre the track’s speed picked up. All the while, the bass sounds were cushioning each note, backing them up but never taking away the spotlight from them.

“I’m ready,” said bassist Gaurav, a few moments after Vedant was done.

Aniket was standing with his eyes closed, his hands intertwined behind his back. 

“Play the ending again,” said Harsh. He did.

“Are we ready to hear it again, boys?” asked Jay.

Nods all around. Vedant started playing again. Gaurav joined in. His guitar lifted the bass notes, amplifying their every sound. The drums picked up at a double speed, adding urgency to the track. And the guitar glided along, Jay adding riffs where he could. He’s chatty, thought Vedant with a small laugh.

“Start again,” Jay said, as soon as they were done.

Vedant started playing again. The drums and bass guitar joined after just a few notes, interjected suddenly by a riff from the guitar. And then Vedant heard a guttural sound from his right. Aniket’s voice sailed in, padding its way through the other sounds, and then emanating into a screech. Vedant’s eyes widened momentarily. He held Aniket’s voice as an anchor as he went through the rest of the track.

“Aniket, try less growling?” said Harsh.

“Yeah, I was briefly considering a more misty approach. Let’s go again.”

This time Aniket’s vocals were lower, more gliding through the sound than standing out against it.

“I love that!” Vedant said to Aniket.

For the next two hours, the sound kept evolving. The boys went back and forth, trying new things, meeting at some points and disagreeing about others. The sound expanded. Vedant’s joy was soaring. They’d turned his simple melody into a bold and daring track, full of formidable punches and lighthearted asides that offered relief.

As he made his way back home, Vedant knew that this was going to be the second last track of his fourth album. He also knew that there were going to be more collaborations. He would have to be mindful about marketing it as a product of collaboration instead of trying to sell to his mostly singer-songwriter listening audience the idea that this was now him. 

Of the many things he and Aarjavi talked about, the idea of being curious in life stuck with him. He’d sat with himself, a few weeks ago, being curious about what he felt like creating. And what had emerged was the idea of a concept album that started with a sensitive keyboard solo, trekked onto collaborations that included a saxophone on one track, a sitar on the next, and heavy percussion after. Then it meandered into heavier territory, reaching its peak on the track with Half Humanity, before closing with a track that recalled the sonic motifs of the intro but coupled with snippets of some of humanity’s most famous speeches. He still had to find speeches that he liked and see what theme emerged. But overall, he was happy with the way the album was coming along.

***

It had been barely three months into seeing each other when Aarjavi asked Vedant to meet her. Her words were branded, verbatim, into his mind. 

“So, we haven’t spoken about being exclusive yet. And I’ve been seeing other people too. Well, one other person. He’s asked me for a commitment. And I want to give him and I a fair chance.”

He’d looked at her and said nothing. The sounds in the cafe had muted and the people had melted away.

“I’m sorry, Vedant,” she’d said softly. Then she’d gotten up and left. 

For a few days after that, he felt anger at that other man, at her for not clarifying they weren’t exclusive, at himself for not clearly expressing how much he liked her. The joy of the album he was building had also reduced somewhat. He wasn’t going to message her or drunk call her or in any way act like a child. But he stalked her social media every day. It had become part of his morning routine.

It was now four days since his fourth album, The Middle Path, was out. His tour announcement was on hold. The album wasn’t doing well. He’d put his everything into the music, but he’d slacked with the marketing this time around. He’d taken his audience for granted. And they weren’t convinced. 

As he sat in front of his laptop with his coffee that morning, he incessantly refreshed the pages, seeing his plays on all the platforms he’d uploaded his music to. His lowest first week numbers yet. Vedant stood by the music. All that was left now was to educate his audience a little bit about the merits of diverse music, and more importantly, to have an open dialogue with them, and personally invite them to listen. He spent the day building a content strategy and creating posts. He spoke with other musicians because advice was welcome from everywhere. Then he thought of Aarjavi.

I miss you, he typed in her chat box, and then he deleted it. Hey, long time! Backspaced on that too. He thought about what he really wanted to talk to her about. My album is bombing. I’m afraid. No, she wasn’t his girl, he couldn’t talk to her like that. Hey Aarjavi. He stared at that for a moment. Then he deleted it and closed the chat.

The next two months were a battleground of content for Vedant. He’d hired a content strategist. He had to get this right, later better than never. He focused on becoming relatable. He positioned himself as the ‘musical friend’ since his target audience was far wider than the immediate music scene. He highlighted the positive reviews his album had gotten. He did tutorials and posted funny BTS content. Marketing was part of being a musician and he was up to the challenge, no matter what it took.

Slowly, the numbers grew. His engagement increased. 

“Bro got us listening to sitar and metal in the span of three songs,” a kid had commented on one of his reels. There were a few other comments about the range of musical style too. He highlighted those comments in another reel. The audience would build their own narrative, he just had to give them a little direction. 

The Middle Path tour never happened, but Vedant was getting shows more regularly now. A year after the album had released, he went on stage at one of the city’s largest cultural festivals. There was food, shopping, workshops, interactive activities, comedy, and live music. And Vedant was headlining the closing day set.

As he set up, he thought how cinematic it would be if Aarjavi were in the audience, with her man, the two of them enjoying his music together. His set started. She wasn’t there. He laughed at just how dramatic his mind could be. He looked at the smiling faces around the stage. This is exactly where he was supposed to be, doing what he loved, and being loved for it. He started singing.