Ten Ragas to a Disco Beat.

The song that the bird sings in the tree

has another tree again in the song that

the bird in the tree sings.

In the tree the song that the bird sings

has again another bird in the song that

in the tree the bird sings.

- Purushottam S. Rege (1910 - 1978), Song

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Popular music in India is utterly dominated by the soundtracks spilling out of the nations' various movies factories, whether Bollywood (based in Mumbai (Bombay)), Tollywood (either the Telugu-variety based in Hyderabad, or the Bengali-variety based in Kolkota (Calcutta)), or Kollywood (the Tamil-variety in Chennai (Madras)). As a popular music form, the film songs break down into two main categories: the amalgamation of Indian folklore with imported Western trends preferred by the monied, mainly urban elites (often perceiving themselves as tastemakers), and the pure traditional music preferred by the mostly rural masses. It's a climate in which homegrown innovative pop music is particularly hard to come by, never mind create.

But occasionally even a conservative music scene is capable of producing surprises. That it should come from the talented hands of a maverick the likes of Charanjit Singh should be less surprising. Having spent nearly half a century at the Bollywood musical assembly line, diligently plucking away traditional instruments, Singh was allegedly responsible for promulgating new, imported instruments such as the Clavioline, the Farfisa Transicord, and the bass guitar into the Bollywood mix. Perhaps a childhood spent in his family's Mumbai (Bombay) instrument shop fueled Singh's lifelong curiosity for novel ways of creating sounds.

Whatever the real reason may be, the "throwaway" album he cobbled together over a couple of days in HMV studios toward the end of 1982 — trying to quickly cash in on a trend by performing traditional ragas to a "disco" beat — is truly remarkable. Particularly because of the electronic instruments with which Sing chose to record it. The three devices he carted into the HMV studios — the Roland JUPITER-8 synthesiser, the Roland TR-808 Rhythm Composer (or, plainly, drum machine), and the Roland TB-303 Bass Line — have since become staples of techno (and in particular Acid House) music, varieties of which can nowadays be heard pumping out of clubs around the globe. Rather than displaying an uncanny knack for anticipating future developments, Singh's choices were likely dictated by what was available to him, affordable, and by virtue of being made by the same company, happened to work well together in an era where MIDI and computers were only beginning to appear.

The machines employed are in part what makes Singh's album of electronic ragas so astonishing. On one hand, there's the steady pulsing, at present, "signature" four-on the-floor beat confirming not only the global appeal of dance music but also it's much deeper connection with more primordial forms of dance music (and perhaps, hence, the reason for its renewed and widespread appeal). On the other hand, there's the untreated, practically "raw" sounds of the devices employed, which to contemporary ears sound both "classic" and — in the case of the 303 and 808 in particular — "timeless", ironically because of their ubiquitousness. Not that Singh simply employs the machines' factory presets; he skillfully synthesises traditional Indian instruments, like the santoor, the veena, the shehnai, and the tambura.

The other part that makes Singh's recording extraordinary is the improvisational parts he performs over his preprogrammed backing. An accomplished musician, Singh doesn't merely knock out a series of quick knockoff-ragas; his performance is not only competent, but able to encompass experimentation as well. Particularly in the Bhupali and Meghmalhar ragas, where he brazenly introduces notes not "prescribed" in more traditional renditions of these ragas. Perhaps as a result of the comparative haste the album was recorded in, pretty much all the ten cuts stick to the same tempo, easily giving the impression of a modern techno remix-album, comprising ten variations on a similar theme (which, in essence traditional ragas can crudely be describes as).

There have been suggestions that Singh may have been inspired by the performances in Mumbai (Bombay) by Kraftwerk on their 1981 Computer World Tour, being among the few performances by Western purely electronic pop acts in India at the time. Yet Singh has denied any knowledge of either the German band's performances or any of their music. However, the comparison is a compelling one, as Kraftwerk's music, highly influenced by European classical music and — to lesser extent — folk music, had at this time arrived at a form not dissimilar to Indian ragas: motifs improvised according to specific rules over a set, minimal rhythmical backing. (Incidentally, for their Indian concerts, Kraftwerk were both preceded and succeeded by raga performers, with much of the audience remaining for the entirety of the performances.)

Originally released early in 1983 by EMI's Indian subsidiary, the Gramophone Company of India (also responsible for releasing Kraftwerk's principal recordings in India), Singh's "instrumental disco" ragas were met with critical acclaim, but — as is often the case with pioneering electronic pop records — was far from a commercial success. Since being "rediscovered", quite by chance, by the Dutch Bombay Connection label's Edo Bouman, the renewed interest in Singh's pioneering record has sparked a hunt for original issue vinyl LPs, with the odd copy cropping up on internet bidding sites commanding prices in the thousands of dollars. Luckily, the Bombay Connection's reissue is far more affordable, and available in digital as well as analogue (vinyl) formats, though the new sleeve — designed by Stefan Glerum — not only messes up the running order but also some of the titles.

However, the extensive sleeve notes — which include the original LP "blurb" — compensate somewhat for these errors, and the discs themselves retain the original running order. Whether the belated appreciation among Western audiences will translate to greater recognition for Charanjit Singh's talents remains to be seen. The performer himself meanwhile continues his career, touring with his synthesised One Man Show, performing with other bands, and contributing to Bollywood soundtracks. Among his many recordings, Singh personally considers the "disco" ragas the best, representing something original, of his own making, rather than just performances of other composers music.

Juhu Beach.

Across the harbour the vertical city of the rich

keeps rising — grotesque heads on unsteady shoulders.

The slum city of asbestos squats at its ankles,

huddled behind a smokestack.

- Keki N. Daruwalla, Mandwa

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One of the most prominent beaches in Mumbai (Bombay) is the six kilometer stretch parallel to Juhu Tara Road, connecting the uptown suburbs of Old Khar West and Juhu. A favourite spot of local filmmakers, no doubt providing an inexpensive backdrop complete with dramatic sunsets, it's long been the cheapest and most viable destination for family outings to many of the city's nearly fourteen million inhabitants. A recent drive to clean the beach up has resulted in some four kilometers suitable for romantic strolls, if passage can be found among the crowds pouring in by cars and buses, though the beach still remains unsuitable for swimming or sunbathing.

To actually reach the beach one has to brave the incessantly bleating traffic — a seemingly mad flock of birds of every feather teeming hither and yon — which with some practice does begin to make sense after a while. Drivers don't hang on their horn so much in anger as attempt to alert others of their presence, or simply try to dispense helpful suggestions. Once seated at a café, sipping the domestic franchise espresso which appears to be the sole alternative to the otherwise predominant instant coffee, observing starched, uniformed children being delivered home from school by auto rickshaws, it's even possible to forget about the multitudinous peddlers on the beach, the precarious sidewalk, and the various flocks of beasts of burden and bedraggled street-urchins (estimated at 18 million in India) accompanying one along the way.

However, the most direct threat to the beach's integrity is posed by the nearby Juhu Aerodrome, where plans to extend the runway of what is now a parking plot for the helicopters and jets of the rich and famous would claim part of the seafront, jutting out into the Arabian Sea and cutting the beach in half. So far, the extension plans have been denied permission to proceed by the Indian Government's Ministry of Environment and Forests, but in a polity such as India's it can surely only be a question of time before the right palms have been greased up in the required fashion.

Aviation has been part of the beach's history since 1928, when the Juhu Aerodrome, the closest and oldest of the three airports in the area, first opened. As the flightpath of international travelers takes them across the beach on their way to (or from) the Chhatrapati Shivaji International Airport (known as the Sahar International Airport before Hindu-nationalist fervour overtook the nation), they'll pass over the former main airport of the city, the Santa Cruz Airport (now the main domestic airport), as well as the Juhu strip where the first pilot and two apprentice mechanics of what would one day become Air India were based.

Their original palm-thatched roof hut long since swept away by development, and the desires of the well-heeled and tony, who have flocked to Juhu ever since Jamsetji Tata (1839 - 1904) — the "father of Indian Industry" — bought a plot here back in the 1890s. Perhaps more than any other family, the Tatas have left their indelible mark on Juhu, as it was Jamsetji's first cousin once removed Jehangir Ratanji Dadabhoy Tata (1904 - 1993) who founded Air India's predecessor Tata Airlines in 1932. Increasingly though, Juhu — as well as the Pali Hill neighbourhood in Old Khar along the beach's southern end — has become the preserve of Bollywood stars, industrialists, and assorted "business" wallas seeking refuge from the less affluent inhabitants of the world's second most populous city.

Additional photography by Shauna Wilton.

Airports 2.

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Situated southeast of Göteborg (Gothenburg), the Göteborg-Landvetter airport leads a mostly dull, quiet existence since superseding the city's former airport, Torslanda flygfält ("Torslanda airfield"), in 1977. Although the second largest airport in Sweden, Landvetter (as it's colloquially known) languishes in the shadow of the much larger airline hubs of Copenhagen and Stockholm, mostly handling the west coast region's business passengers and assorted freight. Its sole moment of notoriety perhaps being the scene of what likely was only the second "plane hold-up" in history. On March 7, 2006, three men in an SUV smashed an access-gate at the airport, drove up to a plane just arrived form London, threatened staff with semi-automatic weapons, and stole some SEK 7.8 million (≈C$ 1.2 million) in foreign currency.

Additionally, the robbers planted a fake bomb — consisting of a bag of flour, a lamp, and an antenna — near the plane, leading to to the airport's international terminal being closed for nine hours. (They also spread caltrops on a nearby highway to hinder access by emergency vehicles.) A year later, some eight men apprehended for the robbery were tried, with the main trio being sentenced to serve seven years in jail, one man sentenced to serve two months, while the remaining four were exonerated. The money was never recovered. Because it was preceded by a similar event on Curaçao in 1997, even in the annals of "great plane robberies" Landvetter — the eighth largest airport in Scandinavia — merely places second.

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Ever since Københavns Lufthavne A/S (Copenhagen Airports Plc.) assumed operation of the Roskilde airport in 1990, less frequent fliers could be forgiven for thinking the Danish capital region is serviced by not one but two airports — differentiated in a small way by name and somewhat more substantially by size. Yet Københavns Lufthavn, Roskilde (Roskilde Airport) only ranks as the sixth largest airport in Scandinavia, having been established in 1973 as a relief airfield for the main Scandinavian airline hub Københavns Lufthavn, Kastrup (Copenhagen Airport), which in turn has steadily grown to became the region's largest and busiest.

The Danish capital's main airport was established in 1925 near the village of Kastrup (a contraction of "Karls torp", "Karl's village"), and has been intrinsically connected with the modernist architect Vilhelm Lauritzen (1894 - 1984) since the late 1930s. Lauritzen's original terminal building, inaugurated in 1939, is considered one of the finest examples of Scandinavian functionalism, and was fully refurbished in 1999 when it was moved nearly four kilometers to accommodate further expansion of the airport. Lauritzen also designed the second terminal (which superseded the first in 1960), while the firm he founded in 1922 has been responsible for the third terminal (opened in 1998), and continues to be involved in the airport's expansion to this day.

Though the Kastrup airfield's history of incidents and accidents has been largely unremarkable for a facility of its import and size, the crash of a KLM Douglas DC-3 in January 1947 stands out — in particular for the neighboring Swedes. Having landed for a brief stop en route from Amsterdam to Stockholm, the flight crew found themselves strapped for time and skipped the usual safety check before resuming their journey. A gust lock on one of the plane's rudders was overlooked and left engaged, sending the machine straight into the ground soon after take-off, killing all 22 people aboard; among them American opera singer and actress Grace Moore and Prince Gustav Adolf of Sweden (father of the current Swedish regent Carl XVI Gustaf).

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The Flughafen Zürich-Kloten (Zurich Airport) likely first gained international renown in 1969, the year that saw the greatest amount of aircraft hijackings in a single year (82 in total), when it perhaps first seemed that the days of glamourous air travel may indeed have come to an end. On February 18, 1969, four Palestinian terrorists attacked an Israeli airliner at this airport, killing one of the pilots and injuring another eight people. One terrorist was killed in the ensuing gunfight by an Israeli agent, while the others were apprehended by airport firemen and imprisoned — yet released the following year in the aftermath of the destruction of Swissair Flight 330 and the Dawson's Field hijackings.

Prior to unwittingly becoming a stage for international militant histrionics, the Zürich airport rose from the ashes of the abandoned Swiss National Airport Utzenstorf project, and grew in carefully planned stages somehow fitting the perception of nation preoccupied with horology. The fifth expansion since 1948, completed in 2004, saw the addition of the satellite terminal Pier E, which is connected to the rest of the airport solely by an automated people mover (APM), essentially an underground cable car, somewhat ironically named Skymetro.

Since 2006, the subterranean air cushioned cableway compensates for the lack of breathtaking alpine views by entertaining its passengers with a ride past 160 lightboxes, installed every 100 meters, which act as a zoetrope when passed in quick succession by the trains. The "topical films" (one featuring Heidi, the other the Matterhorn) seemingly projected on the tunnel walls are accompanied by a soundtrack of "typical Swiss sounds" (cowbells, yodels) inside the train cars during their brief (2 min, 45 s) transit between terminals.

Two Rooms & a Kitchen.

Better a humble house than none. A man is a master at home.

A pair of goats and a patched roof are better than begging.

- Hávamál

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Reminders of Göteborg's (Gothenburg's) purpose-built nature appear both throughout the city and over the course of time, throughout the city's history. Once its fortified walls came down, Göteborg grew in a distinctly planned rather than organic fashion. It easily impresses visitors as a city consisting of a number of small towns tenaciously held together, rather than large municipality — the second largest in Sweden, fifth largest in Scandinavia — with a natural centre. The principal reason for this is that the city has had town plans drawn up (despite the challenging geography of a barren, rocky, hilly archipelago, interspersed with wetlands) at practically every point in its history, with every major style that dominated Swedish architecture — Classicism, National Romanticism, Functionalism, Modernism — leaving indelible marks on the cityscape, and very brief periods of unregulated planning and construction.

One of the best examples of the practically self-contained "mini-communities" that make up the city of Göteborg is the primarily residential district of Kortedala. Laid out and mainly constructed between 1952-1957 in what until then was a rural area, Kortedala was the second Satellite Town in Sweden (the first being Vällingby northwest of Stockholm) — a smaller metropolitan area established at some distance from and largely independent of a neighbouring larger metropolitan area (similar to Britain's New Towns). The first such district to be created in the Göteborg area, Kortedala (derived from Korta dalen, the "short valley", as opposed to nearby Djupedalen, the "deep" or "lengthy valley") consisted largely of three to four story low-rise buildings, eight to nine story high-rise buildings, and some 300 single family houses, comprising 8,300 flats in total by the early 1960s. Exceptionally few among these were larger than one bedroom flats.

Kortedala's buildings were constructed in eight neighbourhood units around four local squares (one large and three smaller ones), with a streetcar line (opened in 1957) running through the middle of the district, connecting it with central Göteborg. Most of the district's streets received names relating to horological and calendar events, hence the first families moving to the brand new district in November 1953, found themselves living on Kalendervägen ("Calendar Street") and Månadsgatan ('Month Street"). Planned for 21,000 inhabitants, the district peaked at 28,000 in the mid-1960s, and is currently home to some 15,000 people. Built a decade before Sweden implemented its infamous Million Programme, Kortedala has largely managed to maintain its ambitious character of a welfare state's idealised "good homes", with fully equipped kitchens, bathrooms, and hardwood floors available and affordable to every citizen.

Where international delegations once descended to learn how to construct "good-quality" housing areas from scratch — complete with easy access to education, healthcare, shopping, entertainment, and other essential services — the average visitor can now inspect a two room flat restored to its original, mid-1950s-state at the Kortedala Museum. Housed in a standard 65 m² (≈ 700 Sq Ft) flat, carefully restored with original paints, wallpaper, and period-style furnishings, the museum offers a glimpse of what comfortable, modern living SEK 165/month (roughly C$ 31.85 in 1965, the equivalent of C$ 217 in 2009) could rent in Sweden 55 years ago. It's an opportunity to literally step back half a century to the point in time when the Swedish welfare society — the project which for a brief period provided worldwide renown to this otherwise quite parochial nation on the outskirts of Europe — began taking shape, and the dream of a place of one's own (with indoor plumbing) became a reality for an increasing number of Swedes.

Run by volunteers, who are on hand to share their own memories of growing up and living in the district, the tiny time capsule opens up practically every Sunday of the year to display its exhibits of an optimistic post-war decade, when the future seemed brighter for the typical family of five (two adults and their three children) that would've inhabited a flat such as this one. The majority had moved to Göteborg following the Second World War, primarily seeking employment in industry, and most had been relegated to the city's 30,000 one-room flats (barely 200 of which had indoor plumbing). Yet the Kortedala museum-flat isn't merely an artifact of a time when "common people" began to afford decent housing with essential amenities close by, but also "luxury" goods like record players, televisions, even holidays abroad — evident from some of the kitschy, "exotic" bric-a-brac strewn about the place. It's also a unique testament to a time when Swedish politicians still had the audacity to envision a decent standard of living for all their citizens, to elevate the poorest above the sordid squalor of industrial slums. Kortedala remains a reminder of a time when it still seemed possible to create an ideal society according to a master plan.

(More images of the museum-flat here.)

Fortification & alimentation.

When passing a door-post, watch as you walk on, inspect as you enter.

It's uncertain where enemies lurk or crouch in a dark corner.

- Hávamál

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Göteborg (Gothenburg) is a purpose-built city, its current incarnation developed from the Swedish kingdom's fourth and ultimately successful attempt to establish a presence on the North Sea coast. Having clawed possession of the Göta river estuary at Rivö fjord by the middle of the 13th century, the Swedes set about constructing a port to not only make their presence permanent, but also detract trade from the Danish and Norwegian settlements previously dominating the coast. The first Swedish attempts either failed to draw enough visitors, or were so successful the dominant Danes couldn't help but raid and burn them to the ground.

Yet by the time king Gustav II Adolf's Göteborg (as it became known) was completed at the beginning of the 18th century, it was one of the strongest fortified cities in Northern Europe. However, little of its once-impressive fortifications remain, as the winds of war not only shifted away from the city, but also because advances in martial technology and strategy rendered its stationary fortifications obsolete. The majority of the city's defences were torn down at the beginning of the 19th century — leaving only the armoury, Kronhuset (the "Crown's House", one of Göteborg's oldest brick buildings, erected 1643-1655), a single bastion, most of the moat, and two fortified sconces constructed on hills once overlooking the city.

The oldest sconce, Kronan ("the Crown"), erected between 1678 and 1689 on Rysåsen ("Ryd's Hill"), was originally connected to the walled city by a caponier, and has been topped by a gilded copper crown since 1697. Having lost its military importance by the early 19th century, it served first as a prison, later a shelter for the homeless, before being purchased by the city from the state in 1925. For nearly a century, between 1904 and 2004, the sconce housed a military museum (now mothballed) before being turned into a private function hall. As the last Danish attack on Göteborg took place in 1643, before any of the currently remaining defenses were even constructed, neither Kronan or any of the other fortifications were ever tested in battle.

Though the second sconce, Västgöta Lejon (commonly Lejonet, "the Lion"), was begun at the same time as Kronan, it wasn't completed until 1699 — at which point it became apparent that, although built on the strategically important Gullberget ("Gull's Hill"), it could quite easily be bombarded from other nearby hills. Hence, the dud sconce mainly found use as a warehouse for gunpowder made in an adjacent factory. Yet it remained a military installation until 1942, eventually becoming (after restoration work in the early 1970s) the private hall of Götiska Förbundet ("the Geathic Society", a social club of national romantics). The crowned lion brandishing a sword and shield currently crowning the sconce is an 1893 reinterpretation of an earlier original.

The sole remaining bastion, officially named Carolus XI Rex (the Latin rendition of "King Karl XI") but commonly known as Carolus Rex, is the last standing reminder of the city's once imposing fortified wall, which gradually replaced earlier earthen fortifications. One of thirteen such polygonal bulwarks projecting out from the wall, Carolus Rex wasn't completed until 1731 — over a century after the city's official founder, Gustav II Adolf (1594 – 1632), had (as the story goes) stood on the hill the bastion now occupies, and pointed toward the site where he desired the new city to be constructed.

Though a statue supposedly depicting the event has stood in what once was Stora Torget ("the Great Square", now Gustaf Adolfs Torg, "Gustaf Adolf's Square") since 1854, the rapacious monarch founded no fewer then fifteen cities throughout his realm. Hence any sense of distinctness Gothenburgers may derive from their city's origin should be tempered by the fact that statues of Gustav II Adolf can be found in numerous other places, (clearly) equally proud of such royal distinction. Never mind that Göteborg, despite receiving city privileges from its founder as early as 1621, was largely constructed during the reigns of his successors.

However, Gothenburgers are likely unique in continuing to commemorate Gustav II Adolf's demise by stuffing their faces with pastry each November, on the very day the king was killed in the Thirty Years' War. For a while a battle also raged between the city's most prominent confectionary families, the Arnholts and the Bräutigams, as to whom had first devised the infamous pastry, and initiated the tradition. (Having provided Göteborg's inhabitants with marzipan and pastries since 1870, the current, fifth generation of Bräutigams appear to have won through sheer longevity.)

The late 19th century origin of the tradition is now as shrouded in fog as the king himself was said to have been the day he got shot. Nevertheless, the novelty caught on, and by the early 1950s the "Gustav Adolf Pastry" could be bought in 43 Swedish cities and towns each November 6th, in sixteen different varieties in Göteborg alone. Currently the most common incarnation is a variant of the classic Swedish Princess cake, topped with a relief of the king's head in chocolate. Though vaguely macabre, the notion of Göteborg's pastry chefs striking coin from a king's misfortune is largely consistent with the city's tradition of having been founded for militant trade.

Airports.

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It's easy to get the impression that the German air force is responsible for constructing all of Belgium's national airports. The first, at Haren, was opened following the First World War, on the opposite side of the German-built Zeppelin airfield at Evere — using the same field as the military. The second, current national airport, Brussels Airport at Zaventem, dates back to the Second World War, when — once again — German occupiers constructed an airport at Melsbroek, near the Belgian military backup airfield Steenokkerzeel. (Urban legend has it that the locals directed the Germans to Melsbroek, as it was an area often enveloped in fog.)

By 1948, civilian aviation in Belgium had outgrown Haren aiport, and Melsbroek was designated as the new national airport. However, in 1956 history repeated itself, as the Belgian authorities decided to construct a new airport in preparation for the 1958 World's Fair, utilising the same runways, but with the new terminal buildings located in Zaventem. Unable to shake its martial past, the old civilian airport is now used by the Belgian air force (as Melsbroek Air Base), sharing its runways with the current civilian airport at Zaventem — making this perhaps the only airport in Europe at which one can land and take-off from runways originally constructed by German occupational forces.

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The most common urban myth surrounding Sweden's largest airport, Stockholm-Arlanda, is that its name is pun on the Swedish verb "landa" ("to land"), and that it was chosen by a naming contest held by Sweden's largest weekly magazine. While a contest was in fact held when construction commenced of new airport in the Swedish capital region, capable of handling intercontinental traffic, the contest jury chose to endorse the name originally suggested by the projects toponymist. Derived from Arland, the archaic name of Ärlinghundra hundred where the airport is situated, the new airport's name had an "a" added to be analogous with other Swedish place names ending in "-landa" ("land of"), making Arlanda in fact the "Land of Streams" (with "Ar-" being an ancient Swedish form of "å", the noun for "stream".)

Despite the somewhat droll name, Arlanda merely lands one in one of the dullest airports in Europe, where the myth of the progressive, organised Swedish society is done in by something as rudimentary as lack of clear signage. (Even smaller airports in Sweden mange to make the transition from the international to the domestic terminal smoother.) Hence its main claims to fame remain having once been listed as an emergency landing site for NASA's space shuttle, the Jumbo hostel (a decommissioned Boeing 747-212B converted to a 76 bed hostel), its policy to never close due to snowfall, and that Sweden's first Starbucks franchise opened here last February.