Six days apart, two concerts, two different orientations, and two completely different arenas, but we were unified by one quest for diverse influences, and for making a lasting connection.

Towards the end of November, and early December, 2025, Jacob Collier and Manu Delago performed in Bombay (Mumbai) as part of their respective India tours. Jacob travelled with a full band of musicians and 100+ instruments, and Manu winged in as a trio accompanied by their sound engineer. Individually, they have collaborated with diverse musicians from across the world, and for those two evenings, they channelled their spirits on us.

The Sum of Human Connection

Jacob had a few thousand people in attendance for his gig, and Manu played for 200+ people in a very intimate setting. The acoustics of the concert arena has a lot to do when it comes to translating the emotion and power of an artist’s composition to their audience—make them feel the notes and lyrics, have them reflect on the context of the composition, and help them emerge with a point of view at the end of each song. The other aspect is the energy of the people in the audience around you—how they behave, how they engage, and how they respect the artist and the art.

However, the aspect that is critical to my experience is simply how the artist engages with you at an individual level, which is where I found Jacob and Manu on the same stage, even if they were performing in two different arenas on different days. They were being honest and vulnerable, and they created an engagement loop with the audience. Their conversations and compositions punctuated their childhood memories, life experiences, and perspectives on simple, everyday relatable feelings.

There were times at Jacob’s court, where he was seeking permission from the audience to play a certain number from his albums. This is seemingly insignificant, but it’s such a deeply human deed that shows how much do the artists respect their audiences’ presence, time and space. Manu, during his concert thanked the audience for coming along, being patient, and listening silently. He was quick to follow that up with a light-hearted take on how silence can either mean that everything is going well and there are no complaints, or it’s not going well at all.

Jacob had the crowd sing along as he traversed his album catalogue from the past decade, backed by talented musicians from different countries. While, there was a lot of chatter on social media related to his collaboration with an Indian singer that was magnified with arrows of opinions, but the audience that day, beamed and swayed, cheered and passed on the happy vibe from one section to the other. Yes, he had his much-acclaimed act of conducting the audience choir, but beyond his juggling with gestures and instruments, the aspect that stood tall was his voice—warm and soulful, wrapped in an honest submission, and grounded in the service of a communal experience.

Manu along with Isa Kurz on violin, piano and vocals, and Clemens Rofner on bass and synth, had a similar hold on their audience. The trio took the audience through a meditative ride across the European landscapes, painting dreamy pictures amid life routines.

The Happy Place

The artist and audience interactions between songs are like grammar of human connection, which always tends to outlive the performance. These days, I’m more taken by these moments of one-on-one connection in a crowded space—something that’s personal and not performative. Both Manu and Jacob welcomed me to an open canvas, serenaded my ears with a rich tapestry of universal music with worldly grace, and gave me a happy place for those 90 to 120 minutes. Life’s work is often to find solitude in chaos, and these connections make the work enjoyable.

Listen Up

Little Blue from Jacob Collier’s 2024 album, Djesse Vol. 4, featuring Brandi Carlile on vocals. I love these lines that make up the chorus.

“Don’t be afraid of the dark

In your heart

You’re gonna find a way

To carry the weight of the world

On your shoulders

You’re gonna find a way home.”

Still from Manu Delago’s 2008 album, Adventions. The Hang Drum, Sitar, and the Didgeridoo chasing that illusive feeling of holding the pause.

I’m forever on the lookout for tunes old and new, You can check out my expanding Trove Of Tunes that I’m curating in a Spotify playlist.

Cheers,

Shri

It’s been a year now, but loss doesn’t keep time, and time doesn’t understand loss. They orbit in their own circles, leaving the humans at the center of it. Sometimes loss hits you like pauses marked by three quarters of a beat twice over in a Tihai, or it’s a never-ending Chakradar for the rest of your life. With Zakir Bhai’s passing on December 15, 2024, it’s going to be the latter for me, and a lot of his fans, students and musical brotherhood across the world. When I first heard about his passing, it was a fleeting forward on a WhatsApp group. I messaged my brother, and he pointed me to a conversation thread on Twitter that was still calling out him being in a critical state, and asking people to create a web of faith and prayers, versus fearing the worst. I went off to sleep, hoping the doctors would play the vilambit taal to perfection till the morning, and when they reach the Sum, the faith will revive his life, and the morning will continue with its rhythmic routine. But we lost the beat that day!

I wrote this piece earlier this year, about six weeks after his passing, and have tried to make sense of it to myself, on the eve of his first death anniversary. When I look at the joy of sharing, and the feeling of a loss beyond any diction, there’s one thing common—they never fade away from one’s memory. But memory is a great healer too. It makes the happy residue from the living days crash into the thoughts of the missing present, thereby creating a ripple of deep reverence.

First Impressions

I was amongst the many who was captivated by the Brooke Bond Taj Mahal Tea ad from yesteryear. For its simplicity, the short composition, and my earliest exposure of solo head banging. But it wasn’t just the shake of the head to the rhythm, but the swirl of the hair—magnificent capture in a frame. The ad could have been one of the factors influencing my interest to learn a percussion instrument back in the day. Tins of Complan and Protinex gave way to Tabla, which stayed with me for years. One of the fascinating parts of my learning journey was the number of stories involving Zakir Bhai from my then Tabla Guru—From Zakir Bhai’s quest to explore music of different genres, cultures and origins, to his reverence to the stage and every artist, old and young. Part of one such hearsay was when Pundit Vijay Ghate was on stage, playing the Pancham Sawari Taal, and Zakir Bhai walks into the greenroom with complete awe and was wondering how he’s going to follow the act, given he was also thinking of playing the Pancham Sawari that evening. One of my first records of his was Ecstasy, a jugalbandi with Abbaji – his father, Ustad Allarakha Khan. Keeping time to the compositions was on one side, but I’d always keep my ear out to catch the synchronous landing of the bols Din, Thin and Thun.

The Joy of Expression

It was a Saturday evening in the January of 2001/02 when I caught his first ever live concert, where he was playing with Remember Shakti on the lawns of the Gateway of India, Bombay. It was our first Zakir Bhai concert as a family, and possibly the first-ever concert ever in attendance as a family quartet. There was probably 1 more Shakti concert we had the opportunity to attend years later, but more importantly that concert in January of 2001/02 opened us up to seek, listen and appreciate cross-genre collaborations and influences from different decades in time.

One of the biggest series of concerts we’ve attended over the years, was the Barsi celebration for Abbaji—Ustad Allarakha Khan put together by Zakir Bhai and his brothers. The concert was always free, and understandably so, it’d be too difficult to get the passes. As soon as we would get to the last week of January, the only thing that mattered was getting those passes for the concert on Feb 3rd every year. We got to listen to a rich tapestry of artists from across the world while celebrating this day-long homage to Abbaji, ranging from Leonard Eto, Steve Smith, Sivamani, Trilok Gurtu, T. K. Murthy, T G Muthukumarasamy, George Brooks, John Mclaughlin, Kawa Brass Band, Ustad Rashid Khan, Ajoy Chakrabarty and many more.

Reverence and Grace

I’ve always called him ‘Zakir Bhai’ while conversing about him in third person. I’m not related to him, even with the 6 degrees of separation, nor we’ve learnt from the same guru to call him ‘Bhai’ (brother in Hindi). But there’s this inexplicable connection that we have, through his records and performances that refuses to have me speak of him in distance by calling him ‘Ustad Zakir Hussain’, or on the other hand surrender all respect to casual speak by referring to him as ‘Zakir Hussain’. Calling him ‘Bhai’ is no way to come across as a dear connection, or a musical connoisseur. It’s just a humble association through art that we were blessed to partake in his presence.

When I think of music, it dawns different hats—an agent of peace; a stimulant of energy; a gathering of diverse cultures; an inclusive stage that’s bigger and richer than our individual selves. And Zakir Bhai would continue to be its son, advocate and Masaya. It’s not just the kind and stature of artists he’s accompanied over the years, but the thing that will continue to stay with me is the combination of respect and mischief he’d have with other artists on the stage. His smile would light up every interview, stage interaction, and for that matter, every opportunity to connect with a viewer or a listener. One could feel his warmth and respect when he’d introduce his fellow artists on stage like when he would cheer and introduce U Srinivas as ‘The Mandolin Maestro’ and Shankar Mahadevan as ‘The Voice’ during their Remember Shakti concerts.

Today, as I continue to attend concerts by artists who have played with him over the years, I leave one year on the stage, and let the other drift into a wistful hope for what will never be. The stage will miss one of its chief celebrants in service. Maybe he’s got the best seat in the house to watch the prayer in motion, from the queues outside the hall, the greenroom, the stage, and the audience, all at the same time. The rhythm will continue just like time; it’ll reverberate and echo; it’ll heal and cheer; it’ll keep on, many encores over. But rhythm, unlike time, can slow down and accelerate, and emote with grace. And every one of those emotions lit up by a percussion instrument across the world has the handprint of the faithful servant of rhythm, Zakir Bhai—Ustad Zakir Hussain.

Listen Up

There are compositions, albums, collaborations and live performances that will continue to be played in full lengths and on Instagram reels, catering to the trend of the times. From traditional to popular, from evergreen melodies to forever treasure; here are a handful of them for your listening pleasure.

Zakir, a composition by Zakir Bhai’s dear friend of 55 years and counting, John McLaughlin. This featured in his 1986 album—Making Music.

Jig O’ Beer & Chai from the 2015 release—Distant Kin, featuring a host of global artists.

I’m forever in the lookout for tunes and melodies old and new. You can continue to check out my Trove Of Tunes curated in a Spotify playlist by clicking here.

Cheers,

Shri

We’re going back to the 1960s and ’70s for a little soul-reflection. It’s layered with history, politics, and a pinch of philosophy — but at its core, it’s a flat-out entertainer.

Listen to ‘Soul Man’ by The Blues Brothers, part of their 1978 album, ‘Briefcase Full of Blues’.

Riots, A Billboard Smash, And A Grammy

It was 1967, and the Civil Rights Movement in America was gaining in chorus, momentum, and action on the streets. In July of that year, a riot was triggered post the Detroit police raid on an unlicensed bar. Bar raids weren’t uncommon in Detroit, but this one triggered destruction of peace, property, and loss of lives.

Isaac Hayes and David Porter, belonging to Stax Records, put pen to paper after the Detroit uprising. Hayes said, “I remember in Detroit, I saw the news flash where they were burning the neighbourhoods. Where the buildings weren’t burnt, people would write ‘soul’ on the buildings. The big thing was ‘soul brother.’ So I said, ‘Why not do something called “Soul Man” and kind of tell a story about one’s struggle to rise above his present conditions. It’s almost a tune where it’s kind of like boasting I’m a soul man—a pride thing.” The R&B duo Sam and Dave (Sam Moore and Dave Prater) added their voices to the lyrics. The song graced the Billboard charts and won a Grammy in 1968.

The ’70s, Saturday Night Live, And The Blues Brothers

I recently spotted The Blues Brothers’ version of ‘Soul Man’ on X (formerly Twitter). The groove is insatiable, and the swagger is all class. John Belushi and Dan Aykroyd, the two veteran Saturday Night Live (SNL) comedians decided to turn their sketch characters into a working band. They brought in Steve Cropper (guitar) and Donald Dunn (bass), who were the performers on the original Stax sessions of ‘Soul Man’ in 1967. They first performed as the opening act for Steve Martin, carrying their SNL sketch characters into a full-fledged band called The Blues Brothers. The line-up went through many changes over the years, but their first major milestone post gracing the SNL stage, was the 1979 live album ‘Briefcase Full of Blues’, on which their roaring version of ‘Soul Man’ was released. It again charted on the Billboard Hot 100, catching audiences who were swaying between disco, heavy metal, glam rock, R&B, and Pop in the late ’70s.

The chorus ‘I’m a soul man’ has been a crowd puller across many a stage and genre over the past six decades. For me, it’s a line that transcends pride, joy, identity, and recognition.

I’ll be back soon with another number that pins my ear, finds my trove, and stays with me. Till then, you can continue to check out my Trove Of Tunes curated in a Spotify playlist by clicking here.

Cheers,

Shri

Music has always been looked at as a messenger of peace, happiness and unity by practitioners, politicians, and the civil society at large. Commonly hailed as a universal language, music is a great source and showcase of improvisation. In this piece, I reflect upon the freedom to improvise, and owning the stage of relevance, through the lens of International Jazz Day celebrations and the Coachella Valley Music and Arts Festival from earlier in the year. Read on!

All That Jazz

My first exposure to jazz was possibly on the radio, listening to Kenny G’s 1986 release Songbird, which was just instrumental music to me back then. The first jazz record I’d picked up was Charlie Parker with Strings in the early 2000s. Between Songbird and Bird (a.k.a. Charlie Parker), I went back 3 decades—from smooth jazz to bebop, from a memorable tune to free-flowing mischief, freedom, and reimagination of possibilities with music in every note. It’s difficult to cage jazz and the improvisation it breeds into a spectrum. I was reminded of this when I attended this year’s International Jazz Day celebrations in Bombay curated by Louiz Banks, which was also offered as a tribute to Ustad Zakir Hussain. The final piece ended with the artists fusing Indian Classical elements with individual solos, balancing predictability with finesse—just enough to keep the audience hooked.

I’d always looked at jazz as something that punches a global expression with a range of regional and local influences. It got me revisiting the chronology of jazz, tracing the origins and influences from different continents, countries and cultures. Starting with the coming together of African American, Latin American and European elements, shaping the 19^th century version of jazz, to evolving into a global phenomenon that became inclusive of multiple musical styles and interpretations over time. Artists like Miles Davis, Herbie Hancock, John McLaughlin to name a few, shaped the extension of the genre into what they called ‘jazz fusion’ in the 1960s and ’70s, but all that jazz is just jazz in my books. Jazz artists broke musical boundaries, became curious to learn and understand different playing styles, and created a space to collectively interpret music and shape something new. So, when I look back at the jam from the International Jazz Day celebrations, it had influences of Indian Hindustani and Carnatic music, fused with western jazz, it was a celebration of jazz in the way it’s evolved today.

‘Relevance’ is a currency

A few months ago, at the 2025 edition of the Coachella Valley Music and Arts Festival, Brian May—the guitarist of the seventy’s rock band, Queen—took the stage with Benson Boone to perform Bohemian Rhapsody. There were a number of reactions online ranging from admiration and nostalgia, praise for Benson Boone taking on a Queen classic, and a lack of energy amongst the audience when Brian May took the stage. A 22-year-old Boone and a 77-year-old May performing for an audience averaging in the early twenties was always going to be a tough act—bridging the current popularity with yesteryear legends and nostalgia. Today, music festivals are no longer just about music and artists—it’s just social media fuelling social media. This opinion piece by Kamdyn Sargent sums up the current state very well, highlighting the trade-off between focusing on soundchecks and fuelling consumerism. The baseline ticket prices for Coachella have gone up 12x in the past 27 years—icing inflation with indulgence.

Brands continue to infuse themselves with the cultural exchanges, trying to be relevant with each swipe. In the backdrop of so many players buying space for relevance—artists and brands; the audience is struggling to pitch a tent. Everyone is experimenting as one should with evolving trends, which is what Boone and May did at the 2025 Coachella stage. One can hope for recognition and respect for a legendary artist from 5 decades ago, but expecting a reaction similar to a Lady Gaga set from Coachella 2025, or Queen's Live Aid set from 1985, is hoping for one swipe too many.

Listen In

‘All That Jazz’ – the introduction song of the 1975 musical, Chicago, performed by Chita Rivera. The song had nothing to do with bringing the English phrase ‘all that jazz’ into the mainstream.

I’m forever on the lookout for tunes old and new, You can check out my expanding Trove Of Tunes that I’m curating in a Spotify playlist.

Cheers,

Shri

A version of this piece featured on my LinkedIn Newsletter earlier in the year.

We’re going back to the year 2006, to the temple streets of Triplicane — a neighborhood of Chennai (formerly Madras), India. It’s not a typical bustling morning, where the hustle is visible on the streets and there’s a rush in every step.

The day wears down, and there’s a little suspense in the air—a roaring silence engulfing the neighborhood. The night invades, and suddenly you hear a percussion instrument giving a beat to a lonely evening walk. In a little while, the bass kicks in, and then the guitar falls in step side by side. The night is young and isolated, and the conservative corners of Triplicane are about to get a multi-genre soundscape.

Tune in to ‘Dark Sundae in Triplicane’ by Prasanna (Guitar Prasanna), part of his 2006 album ‘Electric Ganesha Land’.

A Raga Date Of A Curious Engineer

What happens when you let an architect in close proximity to a fretboard with mounted strings?

You get Guitar Prasanna — and his lyrical notations overlaid with sonic imagination. Fusing genres by retaining their core essence. Making them distinct by surrendering to individual differences. Sounding synchronous while allowing room for personal brilliance.

Dark Sundae in Triplicane turns a lonely walk in the dark into a crescendo of happy company. There’s a harmony between the guitar and every beat and bass line in different sections — like someone timing their steps to be sure of where they’re headed, or afraid of going astray. Then there’s that section that sounds like a bass solo — like someone doing a happy dance after being released from captivity—free spirited and full of joy. And finally, the ending — when all of the sonic characters come together with vocal chants—the piece rests its respects to the night, leaving the oncoming morning with a new hope, and a new experiment.

Electric Ganesha Land comes across as a divine intervention — The Jimi Hendrix Experience wrapped in a melodic grasp of 27 ragas. Each song takes us to the edge of music’s malleable nature and the wild potential of human imagination.

I’ll be back soon with another number that pins my ear, finds my trove, and stays with me. Till then, you can continue to check out my Trove Of Tunes curated in a Spotify playlist by clicking here.

Cheers,

Shri

It was 1956, and there was a mix of hope and rebellion in the air. Velvet smooth melodies played alongside rock and roll hip-shakers. My father was born on the eighth day of August that year, which means he steps into his seventieth today.

Listen to ‘My Prayer’ by The Platters, from the album ‘The Platters’, released in 1956.

From Daylight To Twilight

‘My Prayer’ was given a facelift by The Platters in 1956, and the soulful ballad became an instant chart-topper. But the song’s roots go back three decades—to 1926, when violinist Georges Boulanger composed an instrumental called Avant de mourir (Before Dying). Thirteen years later, in 1939, lyricist Jimmy Kennedy added words to it, turning it into ‘My Prayer’. That same year, Glenn Miller and The Ink Spots released their own vocal versions, both climbing high on the charts.

Cut to 1956 — the song almost didn’t get recorded by The Platters. Mercury Records hesitated, until they learned The Four Aces were planning their own version. Competition and commercial instinct put any doubts to rest, and what we got instead was Tony Williams’ soulful tenor sliding into our ears — and onto our slow-dancing feet.

It’s a song built on patience. There’s no rush to the hook. The Platters let the harmonies breathe, with Tony’s voice rising and receding like a tide. It’s part prayer, part love letter, and part time capsule of mid-50s romantic pop.

I’ll take it as a prayer — and as my father walks into his seventies, just like the song, I sing:

‘Tonight while our hearts are aglow

Oh, tell me the words that I'm longing to know

My prayer and the answer you give

May they still be the same for as long as we live

That you'll always be there at the end of my prayer.’

– My Prayer, The Platters

I’ll be back soon with another number that pins my ear, finds my trove, and stays with me. Till then, you can continue to check out my Trove Of Tunes curated in a Spotify playlist by clicking here.

Cheers,

Shri

The year is 1959.

The first jazz standard with a 3:2 hemiola.

A number that has a lot going on between the melody and the rhythm, but it’s just pure joy for the listener.

Listen to “Afro Blue” by Mongo Santamaría, from the album Mongo, released in 1959.

What’s A Hemiola?

It’s when two rhythms run side by side — one counting in threes, the other in twos. Think of two people walking at different strides but somehow arriving at the same place.

In Afro Blue, the bass pulses in three (one-two-three), while the melody grooves in two (one-two).

The result? A pure musical, auditory hypnosis.

Cuban percussionist Mongo Santamaría penned and composed Afro Blue, and performed it during a LIVE session with the Cal Tjader Sextet in 1959. There have been many renditions over the past six decades, and I never get tired of listening to all of them, on loop, for hours together.

Interpretations And Impressions

I heard Afro Blue a few years ago, and the first version I was exposed to was the one by The Derek Trucks Band — slide guitars, soul, and a ride through the jazz forest of Americana. It’s one of those songs that’s a delight for musicians who wander into extended solos and treat them as spiritual experiences.

Similar to Lynyrd Skynyrd’s ‘Free Bird’, in my books.

In 1963, John Coltrane gave it a twist—flipping the phrasing by letting the melody drift in three, while the rhythm moved in two.

There are also renditions of the song with vocals and lyrics. I love the versions by Dee Dee Bridgewater and Melanie De Biasio—both transcend you into completely different settings and moods.

· The former opens with ambient sounds and bells, building a textured world before the voice steps in.

· The latter is anchored by prominent basslines and vocal improvisation that borders on meditative.

I’ll be back soon with another number that pins my ear, finds my trove, and stays with me. Till then, you can continue to check out my Trove Of Tunes curated in a Spotify playlist by clicking here.

Cheers,

Shri

We’re going back to the year 1968. The band Cream had just disbanded, and Steve Winwood was taking a break from his band, Traffic. Winwood and Eric Clapton had a few jam sessions at the latter’s basement in Surrey, England later that year.

The year turns to 1969, and Ginger Baker (drummer, and fellow Cream member), and Ric Grech (former bass guitarist of Family), join Winwood and Clapton to form a supergroup—Blind Faith. They released one album, comprising six songs, toured for three months, and went on to have many successful collaborations with different artists in the decades to follow.

Tune in to ‘Can’t Find My Way Home’ by Blind Faith, from the album by the same name, released in July/August of 1969. Here’s the 2010 remastered version of the song.

Different Shades of One Song

I think a lot about the opening song when it comes to albums and concerts. When you listen to the 6 songs in the Blind Faith album, they all make for a great opening song. When I listen to ‘Can’t Find My Way Home’—one of the 6 tracks, I think of its elasticity to extend into several improvisations. I think of extended solos, a choir-backed rendition that has different interpretations of the song on each voice, a soulful and slowed-down country version that will accompany you during your long highway drives. I heard the song again a few months ago when Robert Randolph, Ruthie Foster, Megan Murray, and The Teskey Brothers performed it as an all-star encore at the Mahindra Blues Festival, 2025 in Mumbai, India.

Figuring A Way Home

Steve Winwood wrote the song, but there’s no public account of its meaning and origin. Winwood has said in the past that, ‘When I write a song, I don't like to have to explain it afterwards. To me, it's like telling a joke, then having to explain it. The explanation doesn't add to the song at all.’

In my books, the lyrics talk of seeing the need for change, but being helpless with no direction. I’m fascinated by the placement of ‘but’, ‘still’ and ‘and’ before the main line that’s repeated throughout the song. They make the lines more disconnected, and the interpretation more confusing.

Many artists have covered the song over the decades, ranging from Joe Cocker, Alison Krauss, Bonnie Raitt, Styx, Swans, etc. I love the original as is, alongside versions by Yvonne Elliman and Rachael Price.

I’ll be back soon with another number that pins my ear, finds my trove, and stays with me. Till then, you can continue to check out my Trove Of Tunes curated in a Spotify playlist by clicking here.

Cheers,

Shri

It was over 2 decades ago. I had picked up a CD titled ‘Hard Rock’ from a nearby record store. It had 157 assorted songs by Alice In Chains, Iron Maiden, Black Sabbath, Metallica, Nirvana, Pearl Jam, Scorpions, and many more. That was the first time I heard of Black Sabbath, and some of the songs from their first two albums. I can’t call myself a fan, but some of their songs feature and decorate my life’s always-spinning playlist. Tune in!

A Romantic Weekend In A Spaceship

I took a liking to N.I.B, Paranoid, Supernaut, War Pigs etc., when I heard some bands from across India covering them live. But the first Black Sabbath song that got me hooked was ‘Planet Caravan’ from the album Paranoid. a slow, psychedelic jam that feels like a campfire on the moon. The song was born spontaneously in the studio when guitarist Tony Iommi started playing a gentle, hypnotic guitar riff, Bill Ward joined in on hand-played congas, Geezer Butler added a fluid bass line, and Ozzy Osbourne began humming a melody. While Ozzy sketched the initial words, bassist/lyricist Geezer Butler penned the final lyrics. Butler later explained ‘Planet Caravan is about two lovers on the ultimate romantic weekend, floating through the universe in a spaceship together, rather than going down to the pub and having some chips back on earth.’ Maybe it was a time-out after War Pigs! The piece is an ethereal soundscape - gentle conga rhythms, a jazzy guitar play, a murmuring bass, and Ozzy’s distant vocals, all swirling together as if submerged in a dream.

More Than What Meets The Eye

After a little over a decade, Ozzy parted ways with Black Sabbath due to internal disagreements. I heard ‘Mr. Crowley’ for the first time during the ‘Back to the Beginning’ concert on July 5, 2025, when Ozzy performed the song as part of his solo set. ‘Mr. Crowley’ is one of the tracks on Ozzy’s debut solo album, ‘Blizzard of Ozz’, released in 1980. The song was inspired by Aleister Crowley, a British occultist, ceremonial magician, and writer from the early 20th century. Known as ‘the wickedest man in the world’, Crowley was a controversial figure and the subject of fascination across pop culture. The lyrics explore themes of deception, mysticism, and existential curiosity. With Don Airey’s haunting keyboard intro backed by Randy Rhoads’ guitar solo, the composition made a chart topper out of a curious inquisition.

A Ballad Of Internal Reflection

Ozzy’s duet with Lita Ford, ‘Close My Eyes Forever’ was a clear case of a few lyrics chased by intention and irritation to become a hit in 1988. The song featured in her second solo album titled ‘Lita’. The backstory takes us to a late-night writing session in a studio, during which both artists were drinking (heavily, by their own admission) and began casually working on lyrics together. What started as a spontaneous experiment evolved into a haunting power ballad about mortality, pain, and emotional despair. The song deals with themes of heartbreak, and the ultimate sleep; but it’s more about emotional exhaustion than a glorification of death. The dual vocals create a conversation between two tormented souls who are trapped in a cycle of pain. It’s a dark, introspective reflection on internal suffering.

Back To The Beginning

Villa Park, Birmingham, England – July 5, 2025, would be part of many a memory for years to come, especially amongst the lovers of heavy metal music – the last concert of one of the genre’s torchbearers. It was designed as a heavy metal extravaganza, with participation from the likes of Metallica, Guns N’ Roses, Slayer, Anthrax, Gojira, etc. One of the biggest talking points before the show was Ozzy’s ability to carry through a full set given his Parkinson’s disease. And he pulled through fine—seated on a throne, being grateful to the audience, and taking the 40,000 people present in person, and millions online, on one final ride on a crazy train. It wasn’t just another concert, it was an emotional ride both for the performers, and the fans.

According to me, the band’s distinct sound was always with Ozzy at the helm, Tony on guitar, Geezer on bass, and Bill on drums. Back in the late ‘60s, what got Ozzy into the band that was to become Black Sabbath, was the Public Address system (PA system) he owned. Talk about leverage!

He Did It His Way

On the night of July 5^th, when Ozzy sang ‘Mama I'm Coming Home’, many of us had a lump in the throat. Seventeen days later, it felt like the emotion behind the lyrics set free. On July 22, 2025, Ozzy got into another arena, another train, maybe another caravan, leaving behind the echoes of ‘I love you all’.

Ozzy’s life was a reality of every professional’s dream of constantly reinventing oneself. Whether it’s his solo career; or ‘Ozzfest that helped propel bands like Slipknot, Korn, and System of a Down to stardom; or The Osbournes that brought out Ozzy’s human and humorous side; he played many hands, and took home all the winnings. A lot of musicians and commentators have been publishing some of their memories and moments with Ozzy since the day of his passing, and the 3 big themes that cut across all of them are his big-heartedness, his humour, and his ability to relate with personas—not just with people.

For the past few days, I’ve been imagining Ozzy Osbourne singing Frank Sinatra’s ‘My Way’. I don’t know why. Maybe the lyrics speak to his life. Maybe his voice would go well with the song. So, just to do something about that thought in my head, I dropped a search query, and the internet through back Anthony Vincent, and this version of Sinatra's My Way in Ozzy's voice.

In the end, if there’s ever a combination of a fitting tribute and a princely salute, Ozzy got one from the Band of the Coldstream Guards. Rest In Music.

Peace, Ozzy!

You can catch all the songs captured here, and more in my Trove Of Tunes curated in a Spotify playlist, here.

Cheers,

Shri

Tune in to ‘It’s A Beautiful Day’ by Queen, from their 1995 album, ‘Made In Heaven’.

A Vocal Doodle With Emotions

It was 1980, and Freddie Mercury was just letting his voice be in the playful company with the keys during the recording sessions of ‘The Game’—Queen’s eighth studio album. Nothing unusual. But fifteen years later, with some string simulations and ambient sound samples, the song was digitally synthesised for Queen’s posthumous album ‘Made In Heaven’ released in 1995, four years after Freddie’s death, and the last album under the ‘Queen’ name.

It's a song that is so simple, but drifts so effortless through time. The meditative introduction that makes way for Freddie’s keys and John’s bass to enter into a short and synchronized routine, leading to ‘It’s A Beautiful Day’ in Freddie’s voice. The dismissive wave with assured confidence on ‘no one’s gonna stop me now’, the quiet regret mixed with optimism when he talks about feeling ‘sad’ and ‘bad’, and a smooth proclamation to himself during ‘Ooh, it’s hopeless - so hopeless to even try’ pushes you into a reflective mood.

Sometimes, you keep searching for a source of energy, or time for introspection, but they’re too busy for your calendar. And sometimes, they slide in during your first few steps on the treadmill. For me, this number was just that, the 2.32 minutes of energy and time to myself I needed to get on with my day.

The same album features an alternate version of the song, titled ‘It’s A Beautiful Day (Reprise)’ for the ear that craves a little heavier sound with conventional rock elements, and for the mind that forever wishes to watch Freddie performing live on an earthly stage.

I’ll be back soon with another number that pins my ear, finds my trove, and stays with me. Till then, you can continue to check out my Trove Of Tunes curated in a Spotify playlist by clicking here.

Cheers,

Shri