‘Louiz Banks: A Symphony of Love’ book review| Celebrating India’s Jazz King

Express News Service

Somehow this book seems much longer than its 242 pages, which in most cases is an easy ramble for a book lover. Perhaps it is the fact that despite being a book on music, about a musician who is loved for his inventive approach to music as a jazz pianist who combined pop, classical Hindustani and other elements into his virtuoso instrumentation, the book plonks on in one single note.

That said, the book cannot be faulted on the content. Ghatak has done his research well. Every twist and turn in Banks’ career, from his early sittings for lessons at the piano as a sleepy-eyed boy whose father would not hesitate to wield the cane to correct a wrong note, right through to his earning international recognition has been chronicled faithfully.

Ghatak follows Banks from his early days, playing in Darjeeling, where the introvert Banks expressed himself through improvisations, to becoming the confident, dashing young man, whose ‘imposing appearance with an air of elegance on the musical stage of college fests would invariably create some ripples among the girls;.

Destiny steers Banks through the next few years, taking him to Delhi and then to the then Mecca for western music players, Calcutta. We meet the irrepressible, unforgettable Pam Crain, as well as other legendary musicians such as Braz Gonsalves, Carlton Kitto and Austen Plant as Ghatak elaborates on Banks’ journey towards becoming the best loved among the Park Street musicians.

RD Burman and his influence on Banks and the effect their collaboration has on Burman’s music is also covered in detail. As is the huge contribution Banks made to the world of advertising with unforgettable jingles for brands, such as Thums Up, Kwality Ice Cream, Maltova, Dyanora TV, Frooti, and many more.

Some of the brands may have vanished into oblivion, but anyone who watched the ads cannot but remember the tunes that made them sparkle. Banks’ talent found genius ad filmmakers like Prahlad Kakkar and Kailash Surendranath signing him on, and creating history in the process.

Perhaps the best written section in the book is about the creation of the ‘Freedom Run’ and ‘Mile Sur Mera Tumhara’ videos. Explained in detail from conceptualisation to final screen version, it makes for engrossing reading.

And creates a strong nostalgia for a time that was. It competes fairly with the chapter on Banks’ collaboration with Alyque Padamsee and Bharat Dabholkar in their unforgettable plays, from ‘Who’s afraid of Virginia Woolf’ to ‘Bottoms Up’. Also laudable is the fact that Ghatak manages to give us glimpses of the musician’s soft, caring nature.

But distressing indeed that no editor has tempered Ghatak’s prose that often goes into rhapsodies of overstatement. Sentences like Banks letting his life ‘afloat along the shores of Nepal, Delhi, Calcutta and Bombay,’ or  ‘after the initial years of working within a limited circle of friends and family, Louis finally got down to the (sic) brass tacks’ are jarring enough to break the flow of the story. As are the misplaced prepositions.

All told, an important book that adds a vital chapter to India’s musical history suffers from the lack of a competent editor. In a milieu where reading is a vanishing pastime, a book that fails to grab attention is a sad waste of potential.