Peter Cat and the Invention of Nostalgia

‘Oho, aaj purane gaane sunenge kya hum beta’

This is what my father had said the first time I put on Peter Cat Recording Co. at home. He wouldn’t believe that they are a new band till I showed him the release date of the album. At first, my father’s skepticism seemed strange to me. PCRC always seemed to me to be such a breath of fresh air, something so radically different. They played psychedelic gypsy jazz of course. But, at the same time it seemed like my father had put his finger on something quite strange. Half of their catalogue is marijuana-infused, but the other half reminds me of the 70s.

Now anyone who knows me would know that I am not old enough to remember the 70s. What is it then that PCRC reminds me of? What is it that it reminded my father of? It certainly doesn’t sound like anything Asha Bhosle or Jagjeet-Chitra Singh created. It also doesn’t sound like the classic rock that my father’s westbound generation grew up listening to. But it still manages to sound like the past.

The truly unique thing about the band is that the past they sing about never really existed.

Peter Cat reminds me of a time when having a passport was a matter of prestige, when Usha Uthup used to sing in smoky jazz bars, when it was fashionable to send sons to boarding schools. But also, it reminds me of wedding parties where the men wore Saville Row suits, and the women wore Benarasi saris. Of a world where English is the lingua franca, yet the population can quote the Gitanjali and Shakuntala with ease. Of a world where the gin came from London, but the tonic came from Darjeeling. The genius of the band is that they manage to do so without ever singing about such themes explicitly.

This world that they eulogise hasn’t come out of nowhere. It is found in the works of Vikram Seth and Saadat Manto. It is created by alcohols named ‘Bombay Sapphire’ and daughters named ‘India’. Embellished by stories of the cabaret performances of Calcutta that my grandfather told me about.

This entire elaborately created fantasy world lies in the smallest of details. Stylish album covers with the title in Hindi. Crisp English spoken in a deep smoky voice that almost reminds one of a trans-Atlantic accent. Old fashioned strings and brass. Tinkling laughter in the prelude of songs. Unapologetic elitism in its references to Lamborghinis and cocktail parties.

Even the legend around its very name. Old romantics from Calcutta will tell you that it is named after the legendary Park Street-based restaurant. Ones in the know will tell you that it is named after Haruki Murakami’s jazz club in Tokyo. The name is new, foreign, and unique yet it will make you think of Chelo Kebabs scarfed down on lazy Sundays with your grandfather.

To call Peter Cat’s music rose tinted would be an understatement. It is more akin to the 3-d glasses given in cinema halls. It’ll fool you into thinking that our grandparent’s generation was performing the cha-cha on the streets of the city.