Harping on their differences

Nush Lewis and Veer Kowli at The Bagel Shop in Bandra West. Pic/Shadab Khan

There is already a lively conversation going on between Nush Lewis and Veer Kowli aka Chrms when we arrive at a relaxed Bandra eatery off Carter Road to interview the two musicians. They are reminiscing about the time they had first met, around three years ago, at Kowli's debut gig as an electronic music producer. He was only 15 back then. Lewis is 13 years his senior. But the age gap seems to have nothing to do with their camaraderie as they continue their reminiscence once we take a seat after exchanging greetings.

The reason we have got the duo face to face is that both of them are ready with new EPs. Lewis - a harpist, vocalist and pianist - will launch Bridges at a gig in Mahalaxmi tomorrow evening. It's the sort of introspective album that can serve as a soundtrack for a blissful dream you're having. The vocals have a caressing quality. The keys have a hypnotic lilt. And the harp - the musician's primary instrument - makes guest appearances where it lulls listeners back to their dreamlike state in case they are close to waking.

Kowli, on the other hand, is an electronic music producer who's built a reputation for creating lush soundscapes. His tracks have an ambient vibe that's suited to a pleasant afternoon in Goa when you're sitting in a shack with a beer in hand and staring at the sea. But with Lover Boy, his new EP, Kowli's deep-dived into the pool of his emotions to fish out dormant feelings that he's then translated into tunes that don't fit any one musical genre, he says. In that sense, it's a departure from his previous work that - to cook up a genre that describes the sound - can be labelled as chilltronica music.

In sync

So, how do these disparate artistes approach their craft at an individual level? What was the creative process that each employed to compose their EPs? That's the question we put before them and Lewis goes first. "See, for me, it's always been a simple combination. My first EP was written completely on the harp. I would sit with the instrument and keep messing around with it till I had some sort of progression or hook, and I'd play it over and over again and slowly start singing on top of it. And I'd keep singing rubbish till I felt that four or five ideas fit. I'd then literally record voice notes on my phone, mark them down, and pick the one most suited to the tune. And the same goes for the piano. That's the instrument that all of Bridges was written on and only one song was later moved to the harp," she says, adding that with this EP, she's made a conscious decision to steer clear of being increasingly stereotyped as one of India's only practising harpists.

Kowli's process, though, is entirely different. His musical inspirations hardly ever come from any instrument. Instead, he uses his life experiences as colours with which he fills up an empty canvas of music. "I get inspired by a lot of different things. A lot of visual art and movies for sure. Even moments in my life that stick with me for a while - maybe a sunset I saw or a tiny speck of a second that I experience with someone - can [inform] my music. I've figured now that the fuel [for my tunes] is the experiences I have had. And when I am sitting in my studio, I go back to them. I chill out for a while before actually jamming, thinking about what I have gone through over the past few weeks and letting the feelings soak in, because I definitely want to be authentic in what I make. The song should have a purpose and mean something to me at least. I mean, you can't write a track about camouflaging in the mud in Vietnam when you haven't been there," he says about a routine where he translates his inner emotions into electronic music through the use of softwares like Fruity Loops.

At least at face value, then, these two creative processes seem like chalk and cheese. But there are common grounds nonetheless. Kowli sometimes gets a vocalist on board since a singer's contribution, despite being a "surprise element" for him, can add to the structure, he feels. Similarly, Lewis has collaborated with electronic musicians for certain tracks to add a different sonic texture to her compositions.

Indie scape

But an even bigger common ground they have, the duo confess, is being on the same rocky boat when it comes to releasing an independent EP in the Indian market. The entire process entails a heavy financial burden, the returns for which are not commensurate to the money pumped in. There's the cost of recording, mixing, mastering, distribution and merchandise that can run into lakhs of rupees. At the end of that, they sometimes make only about 10 to 20 per cent of the money they spent. Plus, Lewis adds that she's been performing live for nine years, and the sort of money she gets paid for each gig hasn't changed in all that time. That's a sad reflection on the city's music scene that has steadily become the darling of brands and promoters alike. But when will independent musicians in India be given the sort of remuneration that their talent deserves. When will their EPs translate into a substantial amount of money in the bank?

That, unfortunately, is an answer that only time can reveal.

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