Rockhunter, Issue 16, November 2004
The Happiest Fellows Ever: Cheeky-Pop, 1965-1970
With Bollywood musicals, et al, the current hipster’s fave tune goldmine, it has surprised me that seekers of exotica have not yet cottoned on to one of India’s finest musical genres. By now surely everyone keen on Beat and Psych who didn’t attend the Simla Beat Contest has caught up with the two great LPs that stand as a memorial to that event. And the Bangalore scene is pretty well known. But between 1965 and 1970 there was a whole bunch of teenage western pop enthusiasts dealing in their own brand of hybrid east-meets-west, way out sounds to satisfy the growing demand for the hep cats to groove to in the beat clubs of Calcutta, Delhi, Bombay and even Chennai.
Dubbed “Cheeky-Pop” by veteran record producer V P Vendraswamiran, hundreds of would-be Johns, Pauls, and Peter Noones’s, grinned their way through sets of English pop covers and their own original songs, which were often based on traditional Hindi folk tunes, but westernised with the addition of fuzztone guitars, pounding drums and rinky-dink farfisa organ. All of the bands sang in English, and many covered their faces in rice flour to give themselves a more Caucasian look.
Most of the bands who were fortunate enough to cut discs were produced by the legendary V P Vendraswamiran in his primitive studio aboard a decrepit ex-British Navy minesweeper, permanently moored in Bombay. Unfortunately, this historic home of Indian beat music sank in 1972 after being hit by a cricket ball.
The Svengali-like figure, known to thousands simply as “VPV”, also managed a stable of acts and was the proud winner of Mr Nice Hair India in 1971. Interviewed in 1999 by G. Patel for Asiabeat magazine, the ailing producer, wheelchair-bound since 1973 after an unfortunate water skiing accident, when he collided with a boy, spoke of the success of the movement he calls his own and ponders why nobody in the west noticed the phenomenon. This was to be Vendrasawmiran’s last interview, as he died in early 2000 of “complications”.
GP: Why “Cheeky-Pop”?
VPV: Well, you know—(At this point, VPV takes swig of medicine from what looks like a small whisky bottle and lights a bidi.) All the young fellows who were making this music were such cheeky blighters, and I loved them all like sons. A lot of them were very handsome young things, and often I would persuade them to take off their shirts to show their bodies—for the girls, you understand. Oh, my dear, they were the happiest fellows ever for me helping them to make it big.
GP: Looking at some of the old record sleeves, what is most noticeable is the extreme youth of some of these guys.
VPV: Of course, but in order to make the hit records one must be very young to appeal to one’s peers. I think the youngest guy was the drummer for the Happy Boy Trio, he was only nine, but a jolly fine sticksman.
GP: Which were the most successful of the Cheeky-Pop acts?
VPV: That is a difficult question, because in my mind they were all successful. However, if I were forced to choose I would say, possibly, Heathcliff Mountbatten. He was a lovely boy.
You may remember the fantastic Ravi and The Swingers? Naturally. A shame I did not deal with that boy. I told him he could be the Indian Adam Richard or Scots Walker. I said to him, “Get rid of the band, they are so ugly, especially the girl playing bass and the tall fellow with acne and thin hair.” He said, “No, we play together, we stay together.” A great shame.
GP: Could you tell me a little about where the bands played, the names of clubs, etc.?
VPV: (Laughs and takes more medicine.) Oh, my dear, they played anywhere and everywhere! I remember a jolly fine show at Cawnpore Cricket Club, with Raj Praslee’s Rhythm and Blues. Later that evening, more of my boys played at the Beatji Club: Heathcliff Mountbatten. Terrific talented boys. The kids there were very gear and flocked to the front to enjoy my special sounds, which I created. By 9 o’clock most of the refreshments were sold out. Crazy times!
There were many hot nightspots, of course: KAG (Klub-a-Going) in Delhi was most famous. During 1966 and 1967 they recorded the India is Pop show there, it was an excellent groovy scene, young fellows dancing together, and so forth. There was also a fine place in Bhopal called The Smokestack.
GP: Did the records sell elsewhere other than India?
VPV: Of course they did, you silly boy! (And to emphasise his point, VPV hits your interviewer with a fly-whisk!) For a while there was a really exciting scene in Nepal. The Sherpas were an instrumental group based in that lovely country. They were all, in fact, Sherpas in real life. They once played a concert at the Everest base camp, but the drummer and bass player were killed when the vibrations from their electric instruments brought down several million tons of snow.
You know, some of my enemies have slandered me for my so-called Delhi-centric worldview. But, actually, I was responsible for many sounds. There were the Tamil recordings, too, and the local hits, too many to mention, in Punjabi, Gujarat. Of course, people only sadly remember the English recordings now. My name has been forever blackened by association with damn colonialists! Ha, ha, ha!
And I remember another group of Nepalese fellows, called the Khatmandonts. They were exceptionally groovy fellows, don’t you know, rebellious types with unloosened ties and winkle picker sandals.
GP: Can you tell me about other projects you were involved in?
VPV: Do you know, I had the first punk rocker group in all India? From Gujurat, called The Raj-Put-Down: very small and angry young men.
Actually, a few chaps from Tibet came to me for advice in secret. Naturally, because of my importance in music business, I imagined they were from the Intelligence Bureau! I offered my services, free of charge for those fine fellows. So, they formed an angry combo, very bold. They cut their hair and call themselves Lhasa the Mohicans. I got into trouble after I released their first 45, “Bring Back Llama, Chinese Dogs.”
GP: Is there any truth in the rumour that it was you who persuaded the Beatles to come to India?
VPV: It is not a rumour. I was top friends with Brian Epstein. He showed a great deal of interest in handling my splendid young Indian men if I could arrange a package tour of the UK. I said to him, “Listen, my friend, my boys for your boys.” This was 1963 and he agreed in principle. However, he died. But, nonetheless, the Beatles they came in 1968.
In fact, actually, George Harrison stole most of my ideas. Just listen to Norwegian Wood and my song Elephant Love Big Dance—I was never releasing this cool 45—and decide for your good selves. I think you will find it scandalous. He probably owes me many millions in royalties.
GP: Did you meet The Beatles?
VPV: Oh no, I was far too busy. Heathcliff Mountbatten was touring in West Bengal and I was appearing in Jukebox Never Lie, which was incidentally the third most popular teenage show that year. It was a groovy happening of which I was compere, of course, as you remember. Each week people come to the show to win agricultural implements if they can guess instrumental break. (Mimes guitar playing.) Nobody is winning. Ha, ha! So I got to keep the prizes. (Coughs and reaches for ashtray.)
GP: Can Cheeky-Pop be described as a mix of styles?
VPV: Oh yah, most definitely. A very sexy mix of traditional and modern. I had a group called Sunny and Shi’a. A Muslim beat duo. They were very progressive. These days, you would never be allowed. At the end of a show, the girl singer would show her nose to the fellows in the audience. It caused riots.
Actually, I made a surfing film called Sari for Loving You. It was a vehicle for Heathcliff Mountbatten and his band. They performed an instrumental set on surfboards, including, if I remember, “Bali Hai”, “Chaana Chaana” and “Mrs Brown you’ve a lovely daughter”. Dear Heathcliff was a massive Herman’s Helmets fan. He idolised the singer. I told him, “Heathcliff, just be yourself and you will be a massive star, maybe like Freddie and his Dreamer, or Leapy Lee, Dozy, Mick and Fish.”
GP: Why do you think your Cheeky-Pop acts were not famous in the west—perhaps in England, or the U.S.A, for example?
VPV: Well, actually, I don’t think they were ready for us. English are often thinking us backward because we are eating with our fingers, yah?
Well, actually, we were very progressive. I was doing amazing things with my boys in the studio. By 1970, the film industry had muscled in on many of my boys and spirited them away to make soundtracks, which was most damned disgraceful.
So, life is a circle, things will happen again. People will becoming interested again in my creations that I made. I understand some chaps in England are putting together a collection of Cheeky-Pop. Even if I don’t own the copyright, it was my genius which created it! I want my share, you fellows! Don’t forget to mail me a big cheque! Ha, ha, ha!
Ravi Shankar once said to me, “VP, old man, I have never heard anything like your recordings.” Which I think is speaking for itself.
Cheeky-Pop! Oh Yah! is released on 19 November 2004 on Sonic Moon Records.
Little Richardson, 2004
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