The misplaced genius
This week we heard the sad news of the demise of Aamir Zaki, our guitar hero
The writer is the former editor of The Express Tribune. He tweets as @tribunian
This week we heard the sad news of the demise of Aamir Zaki, our guitar hero. There were many tributes from fans and admirers. Most lamented his early death while others hinted on how this genius remained in the shadows and could not exploit his full potential. I am not familiar with the finer points of music or the industry that runs it but Zaki’s story is yet another reminder to us as Pakistanis to try and recognise and respect the heroes in our midst.
I never met Aamir Zaki but had heard his praises from colleagues and friends. His music did touch me but I did not realise how gifted and great this man was until I read a piece in 2010 by then student Ali Haider Habib. Many guitarists produce good music but the attitude of Aamir Zaki to share his talent with others made him a different person. Ali Haider Habib in an article recalled how he saw Aamir Zaki perform at his school back in fifth grade and never for once thought he would get a chance to share the stage with his hero. But that’s exactly what happened when Aamir Zaki agreed to play with Habib and his underground band Spoonful – his way to encourage this band of youngsters. Habib recalls his phone conversation with Aamir Zaki, who said he had heard Spoonful was playing good music and invited them to play together. “For the next few seconds, I just had the goofiest smile on my face as I was looking at my friends and they were all smiling back at me. I was so astounded that I couldn’t speak a word,” recalled Habib. The band gave credit of a successful jam session to Aamir Zaki’s helpful and accommodating attitude as he never made them feel like they were amateurs.
This is a rare quality in Pakistan. Habib recalls that in subsequent jam sessions, the band arranged for a bigger Fender amplifier for Aamir Zaki who would gleefully turn it all the way up. “We all probably lost a bit of our hearing in those jams. Just as well. We may never ever hear something like that again.” Habib says that there’s so much that will be written about Aamir Zaki in the coming days. About his ability to serve the song, to let it rip when he wanted to. “He was Pakistan’s greatest guitar hero, our Jimi Hendrix, our Stevie Ray, our troubled, enigmatic rock star.” But like most great rock stars, Aamir Zaki was a troubled soul. Another journalist, Rafay Mehmood, in his tribute to Zaki recalls an unusually candid conversation in which Zaki tells Mehmood of how he had given up on society and the commercial requirements of the music industry.
Zaki also told Mehmood how he had fallen on hard times but was too proud to ask for help. He was refusing to compromise on quality and his originality and possibly that is what led to his depression and untimely demise. Zaki’s story is not a new one in Pakistan. In fact, in many ways it’s a sadly familiar one. We continue to treat our musicians and other artistes shabbily. In most instances, they are required to work on the whims of an industry that encourages mediocrity. And yet we wonder why we are unable to produce international quality work. Many say that Zaki’s friends were wary of his eccentricities.
They wanted someone reliable, someone who fit the mould of the corporatesponsored cupcake that mainstream music had become. But that was exactly what Aamir Zaki was not. While he managed to make an appearance on a commercial studio venture, his fans say that Zaki’s heart was elsewhere. The question, of course, is whose fault was it that Aamir Zaki ended up the way he did. No one doubts his talent. But should he have taken the route he did? There were many who praised Zaki but few who came to his help. Even fewer understood his rejection of mainstream commercial music and the need for originality. While everyone was singing his praises, no one was willing to accept the fact that Zaki had little money or savings to tide himself over. More important there was no one to help him at a time when he needed it the most. Is there some way we can help artistes like Aamir Zaki without taking away their self-respect? Maybe the industry has an answer.
Published in The Express Tribune, June 5th, 2017.
I never met Aamir Zaki but had heard his praises from colleagues and friends. His music did touch me but I did not realise how gifted and great this man was until I read a piece in 2010 by then student Ali Haider Habib. Many guitarists produce good music but the attitude of Aamir Zaki to share his talent with others made him a different person. Ali Haider Habib in an article recalled how he saw Aamir Zaki perform at his school back in fifth grade and never for once thought he would get a chance to share the stage with his hero. But that’s exactly what happened when Aamir Zaki agreed to play with Habib and his underground band Spoonful – his way to encourage this band of youngsters. Habib recalls his phone conversation with Aamir Zaki, who said he had heard Spoonful was playing good music and invited them to play together. “For the next few seconds, I just had the goofiest smile on my face as I was looking at my friends and they were all smiling back at me. I was so astounded that I couldn’t speak a word,” recalled Habib. The band gave credit of a successful jam session to Aamir Zaki’s helpful and accommodating attitude as he never made them feel like they were amateurs.
This is a rare quality in Pakistan. Habib recalls that in subsequent jam sessions, the band arranged for a bigger Fender amplifier for Aamir Zaki who would gleefully turn it all the way up. “We all probably lost a bit of our hearing in those jams. Just as well. We may never ever hear something like that again.” Habib says that there’s so much that will be written about Aamir Zaki in the coming days. About his ability to serve the song, to let it rip when he wanted to. “He was Pakistan’s greatest guitar hero, our Jimi Hendrix, our Stevie Ray, our troubled, enigmatic rock star.” But like most great rock stars, Aamir Zaki was a troubled soul. Another journalist, Rafay Mehmood, in his tribute to Zaki recalls an unusually candid conversation in which Zaki tells Mehmood of how he had given up on society and the commercial requirements of the music industry.
Zaki also told Mehmood how he had fallen on hard times but was too proud to ask for help. He was refusing to compromise on quality and his originality and possibly that is what led to his depression and untimely demise. Zaki’s story is not a new one in Pakistan. In fact, in many ways it’s a sadly familiar one. We continue to treat our musicians and other artistes shabbily. In most instances, they are required to work on the whims of an industry that encourages mediocrity. And yet we wonder why we are unable to produce international quality work. Many say that Zaki’s friends were wary of his eccentricities.
They wanted someone reliable, someone who fit the mould of the corporatesponsored cupcake that mainstream music had become. But that was exactly what Aamir Zaki was not. While he managed to make an appearance on a commercial studio venture, his fans say that Zaki’s heart was elsewhere. The question, of course, is whose fault was it that Aamir Zaki ended up the way he did. No one doubts his talent. But should he have taken the route he did? There were many who praised Zaki but few who came to his help. Even fewer understood his rejection of mainstream commercial music and the need for originality. While everyone was singing his praises, no one was willing to accept the fact that Zaki had little money or savings to tide himself over. More important there was no one to help him at a time when he needed it the most. Is there some way we can help artistes like Aamir Zaki without taking away their self-respect? Maybe the industry has an answer.
Published in The Express Tribune, June 5th, 2017.