Tanya Palit, viagra 100mg mind the mastermind behind Boston’s very own post-colonial pop Hindu avatar demi-god Saraswathi Jones recently cozied up on a balcony on a hot summer Saturday to talk about Beats for Bangladesh, buy the recent compilation for which she’s featured, and her two new projects—the Kitschenettes, fast all-girl doo-wop inspired grunge “with a wink,” and Awaaz Do, a band whose name literally translates to “Make some noise.”
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Could you tell me a little bit about who Saraswathi Jones is to you and why you’ve picked this alter ego to play under?
Tanya Palit: Saraswathi is the Hindu goddess of knowledge, art, wisdom, music. Everything that’s good, I think, and everything I enjoy. I grew up in a Hindu family and I really liked that goddess. She was the goddess who I connected with the most. The one idol I have in my apartment here in Boston is this idol of [Saraswathi] playing the veena and riding on a swan. She was naturally the goddess that, if I was going to take on this other persona, that’s the name I wanted to borrow.
“Jones,” to me, means something specific—or has different levels of meaning to it. I’m always interested about what other people think and assume about what Jones means. It’s a juxtaposition to me—this name like “Saraswathi,” which so unambiguously ties me to the subcontinent or to South Asia, India, and then “Jones,” which is, in my mind, a very generic American name, maybe the most, other than Smith, generic American name. For me, it’s something that spoke to this very bifurcated sense of identity that I have as a very all-American girl. I was raised in the Midwest, I pay my taxes, I love blueberry pie. I’m also deeply, genetically, culturally Indian. To me, it’s about the juxtaposition. “Jones” has other levels of meaning, too, but it’s always interesting what people think and assume when they hear a mixed name like that.
You sort of have a specific kind of costume you wear during your shows, too.
TP: It’s been developing as I’ve put on shows, but I very intentionally wear a sari and other garments that I associate with Indian ladies or Indian womanhood. A sari is a long, basically twelve-foot piece of decorative cloth. [It’s] tied in a very particular way and is a traditional garment. Part of [the reason I wear a sari] is because I think it’s a little bit unexpected… As I find through the Internet and [research] more and more [women] of color and South Asian women in rock, we’re everywhere. But I noticed that a lot of South Asian-American women that are playing rock and roll music dress a certain part. It’s like there’s a prescribed notion of how one who is a rocker should look. It involves a number of things, but I thought it was interesting [to dress in a sari because] when you see a woman in a sari, maybe you’re expecting her to serve you food or tell you some snarky thing about getting married, but you don’t expect her to pick up a Fender Stratocaster and rock the fuck out. For me, it’s little a bit of a performative art as well. I have no idea how to actually tie it [laughs]. Through the process of becoming Saraswathi Jones, I’ve learned how to tie my own sari actually! So it’s been this weird, unintentionally cultural experience [laughs]. I used to have someone else tie it for me.
Who would tie it for you?
TP: Uh… The closest brown lady I could find in the audience? [laughs] “Hi! You appear to be South Asian! Do you know how to do this?” My friend Pampi [Aparna Das], who’s an artist in Boston, has been really helpful. She’s been at most of my shows. I’m always running around half-dressed and asking her to do it.
There was a really strange moment when I was playing on the Steve Katsos Show and I realized I was in a room full of Greek men. I was like, “Oh my god, I don’t know how to put this sari on,” and some of them offered very nicely to help me, but, once they saw that it was a giant, twelve-foot piece of cloth, I think they kind of…
Wanted to make it into a toga or something?
TP: [laughs] Yeah, I think they probably would’ve done that better.
How was playing on the Steve Katsos Show?
TP: Oh, it was great! It was so amazing. They were so supportive and so open to it. And Steve is a really fun and quirky dude. He’s high energy and everybody on that show, because they do it out of sheer love and belief in art, it was a really special thing, a special experience…
How would you categorize Saraswathi Jones’s music?
TP: I call it post-colonial pop rock or post-colonial pop. That doesn’t mean anything, really! [laughs] It just means something to me. But I don’t think it means a particular sound… It’s a particular place from which the music comes.
“Post-colonial” I kind of borrowed from post-colonial theory, which is this idea that, in this very new era of human history, people who were once colonized by the European colonies are now moving into the countries that once colonized them, like West Britain and, increasingly, America. It creates a unique brand of culture, which is sort of filtered through these both “Western” and “Eastern” perspectives. Is that vague enough for you? [laughs] I categorize my music as something that draws upon—it’s not just fusion. I wouldn’t just say it’s just a combination of Indian and American music because it’s not. It’s something that’s informed by my experiences of being a person of both worlds.
Who do you see your audience being? I know you’ve talked about the Desi Punk scene in the past—is that who you’re trying to appeal to?
TP: I definitely draw on support from the Desi Punk scene. The Desi Punks are this growing and increasingly politically and socially vocal group of people that, really, are scattered throughout the globe, from Lahore, Pakistan, to Tucson, Arizona. There’s this interesting virtual world where we’ve started to connect online—through Facebook, really, and other sites. The music that I create is honestly for ME—it’s stuff that I want to write about and the best way I know how to express it is through music. It definitely has a special appeal to people who are interested in political consciousness or people who I hope are politically conscious. It’s not specifically made for the Desi Punk scene, but I know that a lot of people in that scene are already aware of some of the things that I’m talking about or some of the instrumentation I use. But it’s really for anyone who enjoys music! And I hope that it opens doors to more people, no matter who they are… I wouldn’t consider myself a political artist, per se, but I just write about the things that stir me and that move me, like most people who write music. I think 90 percent of what moves us as humans is supreme heartbreak and loss. For most people, that takes the form of romantic devastation. I mean, who hasn’t had that, no matter where you are, who you are? I feel a similar passion for the things that are happening in Iraq and Afghanistan, and in Baltimore and in the urban areas, and in Detroit where I was born. Those are the things that stir me as much as a horrendous breakup… So I think anybody who’s experienced loss or that is stirred or whose passions are heightened [would enjoy my music].
In that same vein, you came out with your album Lingua Franca back in April through Bandcamp. I wondered—one of your songs in particular always makes me cry [Ed. Seriously. I weep.]. I wondered if you could tell the story behind “Senseless,” one of the songs off the album.
TP: Yeah, definitely. Almost a year ago on August 5, 2012, in a small town called Oak Creek in Wisconsin, a guy [who was] a white supremacist, we now know, walked into this gurdwara, which is a Sikh temple of worship, and murdered six people, injuring many others. It happened in a year in which there were a number of mass shootings… But that particular moment moved me tremendously—and it scared the hell out of me. It was the first time our community—and by “our,” I mean South Asian, or being a brown-skinned person—I realized the extreme vulnerability that we all have. Particularly being someone of Indian descent, I think there’s this mythology that we work hard, we make lots of money, we’re your doctors, we’re your cardiologists, we’re your lawyers and engineers, so we’re protected from this kind of violence somehow. That was the moment I realized it doesn’t matter that. In this sort of post-September 11 era, where people can mistake you for a 9/11 bomber, it doesn’t matter who you are or what your credentials are, that we are still vulnerable… That’s what really moved me to write that song—that any kind of violence is painful and, god, last year, with all the shootings, it was incredibly painful. But I think most Americans probably couldn’t see themselves in a gurdwara, couldn’t relate to those people. Anybody goes to a movie theater [like in the Aurora theater shooting], you can relate to someone in a movie theater. You can relate to someone who has a child in school. What was amazing was that very few articles [about the Oak Creek shooting] talked about these people as Americans. They always said Sikhs were killed or Indians were killed or people praying in a gurdwara were killed. But these people were American people as well. To me, writing that song was an emotional release because I had a lot of feelings tied up in that. I also wanted to underscore that we’re all Americans, that we’re all vulnerable, and that this is a time of solidarity.
How did you go about recording Lingua Franca? I know you put it out yourself, but what was your recording process?
TP: I worked with a wonderful engineer and recording artist named Josh Cohen. I met him when I used to be in the Michael J. Epstein Memorial Library… The Library toured with Neutral Uke Hotel and Golden Bloom, which is how I met Josh [who plays live with NUH and GB], on that 2011 tour. Josh has a home studio in Medford. Recording with him was a really great learning experience for both of us. It was the first time I had ever recorded my own stuff. A lot of the things I had written were chord progressions and lyrics and melodies in mind, but I hadn’t done a lot of arranging in the past. Josh is just masterful at hearing a song and thinking about a bass part, knowing that it needs to be stripped down or built up, and understanding a lot about song dynamics. For me, recording with Josh was like Arrangement 101. From Josh’s perspective, he said he had a good time learning about Indian instrumentation. I had sarangi, which is a bowed Indian instrument [and] is extremely difficult to mike because the player has to sit on the floor. My friend Bunty [Singh] played the sarangi on my record. Recording that and getting a good sound out of that hundred-and-fifty-year-old instrument, which [Bunty] restored himself, was a challenge… That was a unique experience for Josh. [We had] a tanpura, too, for example, which is a drone, and we explored different sounds to have the drone sound on it… It was a learning experience for us both and we were both really stoked over the result of it.
Who were some of the other musicians you included on the record?
TP: On the record, Josh Cohen did a lot. He recorded, but he also contributed a lot of the backups. He did all the drumming, he played all the bass lines. Bunty Singh, as I mentioned, played the sarangi on the track “Jewel in the Crown.” The very talented Susannah Plaster did a number of viola tracks on “Senseless,” which added so much to that song, as did Ben Stephens, the cello player—he’s a friend of mine from graduate school. He’s an extraordinary musician himself… There’s one person I didn’t get a chance to [have on the record]—she’s played nearly every show with me, but for some stupid reason, I did not get her on the record. Her name is Jada Willard. She’s an extraordinary musician. She’s a sitar player. For whatever reason, I wasn’t able to get her on the album, but she’ll definitely be on the next one. It was so strange, not having sitar tracks. She plays with me a lot.
So it’s sort of like, in addition to having this persona that’s a sort of East Meets West, your music, too, has an East Meets West feel. Do you think miking these difficult instruments was one of the more challenging aspects to recording your album?
TP: The most challenging part of it was timing, to be honest. We all have such incredibly busy lives and we do music because we absolutely love it.
You mean it’s not how you make all of your money?!
TP: Shockingly, no. [laughs] A very, very famous folk guitar player once said, “There are dozens and dozens of dollars to be made in music.” [Ed. I looked it up! Ronny Cox is quoted as having said this.] And he’s right! [laughs] It’s a very lucrative business if you are still in elementary school. But, for the most part, we all do it out of the sheer love of making music. Making the space and time in your life to make music happen is really the most challenging thing.
“Mother Tongue” was included on the Beats for Bangladesh compilation. Could you tell me more about this comp album?
TP: The compilation is the project of Mishthi Music. Mishthimusic.com is a blog that was started and continued by the extraordinary, LA-based blogger Tanzila Ahmed [Taz]. She toured with the Kominas. She’s a brilliant blogger and writer who I only know through the magic of the Internet. She is Bangladeshi-American and I’d been following her blog and her music, which focuses on South Asian diaspora and their music, or our music, I should say. She’s been blogging about awesome musicians around the world, really, who are part of the South Asian diaspora. She heard about the garment factory collapse in April, the largest industrial accident of its kind in Bangladesh in which 1,000 people died and hundreds more were injured in a factory in Savar, Bangladesh, where I actually used to live… I lived in Savar in 2003 for about three months on a research trip. I remember that factory—I had never been inside, but I remember driving by it. It was an enormous structure. These kinds of accidents unfortunately happen frequently in Bangladesh, but that particular accident, for Taz and so many of us, it was just a real moment of We Have To Do Something. What Can We Do? Especially as artists and people who are in front of a microphone, people who have the privilege of being people who are listened to—what can we do?
So Taz put this call out for contributions to a compilation album. She got a bunch of relatively more well-known bands to contribute to it, including the Kominas, who were Boston-based and a self-proclaimed Islamic punk band, though they’re kind of going in a different direction now that they’re in Brooklyn; Red Baraat, who is also Brooklyn-based and a funky, brass ‘n dhol band; and Vijay Iyer, who is actually a renowned jazz musician who is Indian-American as well. I think there were about twenty different musicians who contributed to that album. It’s been a really interesting project because we’ve gotten to know each other [when Taz] asked us to blog about each other [as well as asking] other people who write about music in the West [to write about the bands involved]. There’s probably been about fifty or seventy-five people involved in the process of listening to the music, compiling the music, Brooklyn-based producer Brooklyn Shanti producing the album… It’s been pretty cool because we were all able to do something good that raised consciousness. I hope we continue to work together. Who knows? Maybe a music festival or something in the future.
Has there been talk of doing some kind of future music festival?
TP: [laughs] I’ve kind of been pitching the idea that we should do something and play and hear each other’s music… More collaboration is always good.
So you have two new projects you’re working on. It’s interesting to me because they’re sort of the branching out of the two subgenres you’re a part of—the women in music part and then the Saraswathi part of your music. Could you talk a little about the Kitschenettes?
TP: Yes, the Kitschenettes! Like ‘50s “kitschy.” The Kitschys. The Kitschenettes really grew out of Girls and Ladies Rock Camp Boston, which is a really fucking awesome nonprofit that I got involved with a few years ago… I was actually a camper of the first inaugural class of Ladies Rock Camp Boston… I learned how to play the drums and met some of the most amazing women… Previous to that, I was always a strings player. I would say I’m more of a vocalist than an instrument player, but those were my [mainstays], mostly guitar and ukulele. I think everyone should take a shot at [learning to play the drums] because you think about songs differently… You think more about rhythm. You think more about structure. Ladies Rock Camp was such an awesome experience that I didn’t want it to end and, in a way, it hasn’t. I’ve stayed involved with the organization and I volunteer when I can for Girls and Ladies Rock Camp, sometimes as an instructor, sometimes as a dishwasher, sometimes as just someone who’s there to help load in gear—in whatever way I can stay in touch with that community in which women support each other and create role models, to create a world in which girls and women always support each other and it’s not about how you look, it’s not about your body. It’s about what you can do, it’s about your ideas, it’s about your voice. That is a novel concept, unfortunately. I shouldn’t say “novel”—but it’s still the exception more than the rule. To be in that space where you’re around other women and you don’t say, “I’m sorry,” is such a powerful thing.
So the Kitschenettes grew out of a number of us who were instructors and band coaches to the other girls and the other ladies. We wanted to just form a band for fun! We rented a room out of JamSpot and we played a few Bikini Kill songs and we played the song “Johnny Are You Queer,” which I’d never heard before, and it was fun… On vocals and bass is Ashley Willard, Rebecca Mitchell is our guitar player, Kathleen Mahoney plays keys, and I play drums as Tanya Palit. It’s a ‘50s-inspired girl group, doo wop, but we kind of play things in a faster, punkier way… We started as a punk band, but the sound—it’s kind of garage rock. We’re all children of the ‘90s, so we’re definitely playing some Vaselines covers and things like that… [The songs] all kind of have a wink in them.
And you guys have your first show coming up!
TP: Yes! It’s Wednesday, the 21st of August at Johnny D’s. It’s actually a Summer Social for Girls Rock Camp and Ladies Rock Camp because no one ever wants the magic of those things to end. So we decided to have a show on the heel of the last Girls Rock Camp of 2013 in which people can kind of reunite and be in that warm amniotic fluid of ladies supporting ladies. It’s a benefit for Girls Rock Camp, too. It’s an early show and all the money at the door goes toward supporting the girls next year…
Shepherdess is [also playing]—Hilken Mancini, Alison Murray, Emily Arkin. They are all very involved in the camp with Hilken, in fact, as one of the founders of Girls Rock Camp Boston… The Atomic Savants are also playing—Kristin Scioli’s band, who finished a session [of Ladies Rock Camp] last year. And she’s just an awesome person to have in the scene in general… She’s kind of a friend of bands and also an incredible music-maker herself, which I don’t think she’d ever originally ever envisioned, but look at her! Weather Weapon is involved, too—with the incredible Steph Stix, who’s a great drummer, and Gil Tamny, who’s a great writer in town. [There are] a number of cool women. It’s all women. Our male partners and friends are all involved, but the only people on stage are XX, baby.
Do you have any nervousness about playing your first show with the Kitschenettes?
TP: Yeah. I’m terrified, actually. [laughs] You know, playing a Ladies Rock Camp Showcase is one thing. When you’re up there and everyone knows you just learned your instrument and everyone wants to scream and clap for you, it’s fine if you drop the beat, if you lose a drum stick, it’s totally cool. But I realized that people are paying [to come to the Summer Social show] and it’s a fundraiser. [laughs] I really don’t want to mess up… I’ve actually clocked quite a few hours behind the drum kit, but I still don’t feel comfortable with it. For me, though, if you’re not feeling discomfort, you’re not growing as an artist… Not physical discomfort, but if you’re not doing something you’re not unsure of, then why do it?
I’m also super curious about your other new project, Awaaz Do.
TP: “Awaaz do,” means in Hindi or Urdu, “Make some noise.” “Awaaz do”—or “awaaz karo,” which means, “Do noise”—is painted on the back of lorries, which are big trucks. They’re all over South Asia, in India, Pakistan, Bangladesh. What they’re saying, really, is, “Please honk wildly because I cannot see you on this tiny country road and you are probably a scooter and I am a giant truck.” [laugh] So I always saw “Awaaz do” written on the back of trucks and I would laugh because, to me, it can also mean a very political thing. It means, “Make some noise,” or, “Make yourself heard.” I really liked the double entendre there. Anyone who’s ever been to or lived or worked or traveled in South Asia will know Awaaz Do means this very particular traffic thing, but that it also means something deeply political.
Also, for me, this is the first time I’m in a loud band. I’m not used to playing while plugged into a Marshall amp trying to sing over really loud guitars. That’s also something I’m nervous about. I’ve played guitar and sang, but it’s usually in a very acoustic setting. Playing in this louder band has changed me as a vocalist, not to kind of strain and overdo it, but also to be confident in muscle memory. It’s been a really interesting project. I’m playing with Jagdeep Singh, who’s an amazing guitar player, plays in the band Faux Ox. [There is] Maanav Thakore, who is an amazing, amazing, very melodic bass player. He’s used to more jazz and funk projects, so rock is a departure from his norm. And there’s also Leilani Roser, who’s drumming [and also drums with] Viva Gina and is the guitar player in Hammer and Snake… She’s a force to be reckoned with and such a good drummer, self-taught. So! Playing with these three people—we all come from different places musically… I basically recruited and I was like, “Hey, I’m doing this thing and I need you to be in this.” And they all said yes! I was really stoked!
So it’s sort of your vision that you’re all following, though it’s branched out based on everyone’s separate experiences?
TP: Yeah, exactly. These are really talented people. I had an idea and said, “Look, I have these Saraswathi Jones songs that I think would sound weird acoustic. They’re too loud, too aggressive. It doesn’t fit in with my sari and ukulele thing. I want to play them loud… There are also some Bollywood songs that I love, but there are very few rock versions of them. Can we work on this?” I just came in with some ideas. Having faith in the musicianship of the people you’re around is such a magical thing because you can come in with an idea and it suddenly fills itself in… When you’re learning constantly from the people around you, it’s tremendous.
So that’s sort of what inspired Awaaz Do? To (literally) play louder?
TP: Yeah, basically! I always wanted to be in a loud-ass band! [laughs]
And you guys also have your first show coming up?
TP: Yeah, on Saturday, August 24, we have our first show [with the Interrobang’s residency at Radio]… I know [the Interrobang] from the Steve Katsos Show. About six months ago, Mick Greenwood, the guitar player of Interrobang [and the Steve Katsos Show’s music producer], kind of recruited me to play on the Steve Katsos Show and we had a great time with that, so later, he asked me to do this show at Radio in August. Back then, I didn’t even know where I’d be living in August, but I said yes. It’s been fun to work with him. We created a little trailer for our show. [Ed. Seriously, a clever video flyer for a show.] A few weeks ago, we spent a crazy Saturday just shooting scenes in back alleys—there were battle scenes in which Leilani is kicking some ass. [laughs] We tried to make it like a Bollywood trailer. We shot some of it in an Indian restaurant and almost got kicked out, in a field while I was spinning like a Bollywood starlet. Mick was really cooperative and helpful with that.
With these three big projects you have going on—Saraswathi Jones, the Kitschenettes, Awaaz Do—do you ever find it difficult focusing on any one of them? Is something on pause right now so you can work on something else?
TP: It IS difficult. That’s kind of the administrative, management side of it, right? Sometimes I feel that things are always in motion. I have this bad habit of booking a show and then learning how to play an instrument for that show. [laughs] Sometimes I feel like there’s a momentum that drives at yourself. It’s been challenging to sort of say, “What are my goals for X Project? How do I need to delegate my time?” It has been tough to focus at times. Sometimes, when you have a show coming, it forces you to prioritize.
You find your balance.
T: Yeah, exactly. And I haven’t done a show for Saraswathi Jones since April [for the album release]. I said, “No more gigs this summer. I need to focus on my wedding.” I’m supposed to get married next June!
And yet! You still have these shows coming up for these brand new projects outside of Saraswathi Jones.
TP: [laughs] It’s a strange thing. I think a lot of brides—oh god, I’ve never called myself that—a lot of brides-to-be would be freaking out about, oh, I don’t know, their wedding venue? But I’m like, “No! I have to learn how to play the drums!” [laughs]
What can we expect after these upcoming shows? Will you continue to play with these new groups, with the Kitschenettes and Awaaz Do? Continue to practice? Saraswathi? When is her next show?
TP: I know I’ll be playing music…
Maybe you’re waiting to see what kind of reception you’ll receive?
TP: Speaking of reception, I haven’t even thought about my wedding reception, so I should probably plan that. [laughs]
I’m going to slow down for sure this fall… But, I love making music so much and it’s so hard for me to say no. I know there’s another Kitschenettes show already brewing for October at the Middle East… And there’s talk of recording. It’s very hard for me to say no, so I would be shocked if I didn’t play music this fall.
I guess I’ll leave you with this silly analogy: in Hindu cosmology, the gods come down to earth and they take multiple forms. They’re called avatars—thanks, James Cameron, for ruining it for us all—but you never know what form [they come in]. You may be talking to a particular deity and not realize it. It’s kind of silly, but I think it fits in with my music projects. Sometimes I’m Saraswathi. Sometimes I’m Mahakali, the [blue, multi-armed] terrifying goddess of destruction. [laughs]
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Check out Saraswathi Jones’s music at her Bandcamp page, the Kitschenettes at Johnny D’s on Wednesday, August 21, and Awaaz Do at Radio on Saturday, August 24!