It’s been about two months since I first had the opportunity to listen to Junip. Enthralled by its old vintage sound I made my analogies and presumed them to be peers of The Doors, only to be insanely mistaken. A trio from the distant European reaches of the Viking, Sweden, Junip reminded me of the outrageously overwhelming power of music. I never tire of my instantaneous escape to the black and white era of psychadelia induced by these very people. Its rather confusing when one thinks of how much colour certain “Old” bands exude through their music, its almost a prophecy of the future. On the other hand, there is Junip, founded oh so recently(2005), that bestows on me, the Experience that Mr. Jimi Hendrix once spoke of.

I didn’t take too long to appropriate the verified facts about this musical act, and was pleasantly surprised to see Jose Gonzales’ name figure in the list of members. I had chanced on Jose Gonzales a year back by way of an uncoordinated shuffle on my Ipod. A collaboration with UK downtempo act, Zero 7, had left me with a solid memory of Gonzales. A smooth mellow sound that he engulfs in a sea of flamenco guitar work and a characteristic Djembe beat, Junip always gives me a case of I-wish-I-was-Born-In-A-Different-Decade.

I assume Junip has now been mentioned enough number of times to force you to open one of those Bally tabs on your browser and give them the listen they deserve. If not, then, Junip Junip Junip Junip Junip.

The empty white canvas makes its first appearance now, and like every other Jeeves Story, I would like to give you a short history of proceedings of this development. I enjoyed flirting with my paint brushes even though my skills were highly debatable. In the quest to produce master pieces of mass public appeal, I decided to omit the need for a teacher believing that, the incentive to create is curbed by the hand of a physical guide. Through months of denial and obstinance I finally gave in and realised my learning curve would exponentiate with the help of a mentor. And hence, in the adverse conditions of my room, I found myself staring into an empty white canvas with my first project after my first lesson, The Russian Third Wife.

Ill equipped to the extent that I hadn’t even managed to procure the appropriate brushes, I began my journey into possible discouragement. You don’t create a master piece in your first go, they said. I wasn’t prepared to believe them,  because to rebel was an involuntary reflex that persisted within my functioning almost like a birth defect. As I picked a brush swaying to the sounds of well yes, Junip, I put my first stroke of colour to the virgin canvas. Startled by the potential beauty, my brushes had their way with the temptress. And when they finally decided to let her breathe, I had in my hands, a blood stained Canvas adorned with the silhouette of that Third Wife. Swaying to the mesmerising tap-taps of their drums, I said

“You’re the centre and you’re always free

In every direction.”



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