When news of Glenn Frey’s death was published on Tuesday, my Facebook feed didn’t fill with tributes the way it had done after David Bowie’s passing the week before. Frey was born around the same time as Bowie, and his band the Eagles sold far more records, but he wasn’t cool like the British rocker. Bowie was edgy and experimental, influenced fashion and sexual politics, and collected and wrote about art. The Eagles wrote hummable country rock songs that all sounded the same. They produced one great composition, Hotel California, but the tune’s reputation has been hurt by its overfamiliarity, with four generations of teenage rock fans having played air guitar to its final solo.
I find Bowie’s vibrato, always on the verge of skidding off the road though always brought under control, a little nerve-wracking. Besides, the over-the-top theatricality of glam rock never appealed to me. On any given car ride, I’m far more likely to reach for an Eagles collection than a Bowie album. Not only are a number of Eagles songs about driving, and inspired by driving around Los Angeles and the neighbouring countryside, they make perfect background music by never demanding close attention. Should I find myself in the company of rock aficionados, though, I’d bring up Ziggy Stardust a hundred times before saying anything approving about Take It Easy for fear of being marked as terminally uncool.
Intellectual snobs are very judgemental, carefully parsing what new acquaintances say about food, movies, music and politics to gauge if they deserve admission to the club. I include myself in that group, with one caveat. I am an old-style snob. I’ve always preferred literary fiction over bestselling paperbacks. If asked to name my favourite author, artist and film-maker I might say, without a trace of deception, “Joyce, Caravaggio and Tarkovsky”. The answer will change depending on my mood, it might be Marquez, Manet and Ghatak, but will stay resolutely highbrow. It’s never going to be Dan Brown, Ravi Varma and Spielberg.
The new snobbery
Old-style snobbery is now passé, as I discovered 15 years ago when an exceptionally intelligent colleague of mine told me he was going to spend the next few months writing about the Hindi film actor Govinda. I thought he’d do the normal sociological analysis, but as he described the project it became clear he loved David Dhawan’s films in a manner that was almost indistinguishable from regular fandom. “I get that Govinda is a great dancer and passable actor, but do you seriously like his movies?”I asked incredulously. “Love ‘em,” he replied.
As an old-style snob, I observe new-style intellectuals as a part-outsider. I share some of their preferences and am bewildered by others. Although I love Jagjit Singh’s voice and have spent far too much time listening to Ghulam Ali, I understand why qawwalis are cooler than ghazals. Great qawwals are visceral, they hit you in the gut, while ghazal singers are all heart. Moreover, ghazals are very 1980s, they remind me of Rexine sofas, smuggled Vat 69, and drunk uncles singing, as more whisky was poured into their glass, “Sabko maloom hai main sharabi nahin, Phir bhi koi peelae to main kya karun?” In time, when beards decked with flowers are universally understood to look ridiculous, Rexine sofas and Vat 69 might make a comeback, but for the moment it’s better to keep your fondness for Pankaj Udhas a secret.
With movies, you can praise most commercial films made before 1975, provided you also convey you see more in the film than did its original audience, and even its makers. Likewise, any Muslim actress who made her debut before 1975 is to be praised lavishly, though it’s better to look beyond Waheeda Rehman because she is now so thoroughly rediscovered. Hindu actresses like Asha Parekh and Vyjayanthimala are less cool, but you’re on safe territory with Sadhana, Nutan, Rekha, definitely Sridevi, and perhaps Madhuri Dixit. Avoid any actress and most actors who have been Members of Parliament.
New standards
With male actors, the retro halo is not prominent, and you’re better off sticking with the recent or current crop. New-style female intellectual snobs love Shah Rukh Khan, and many males adore the post-Dabbang Salman, but nobody cares for Aamir. This is where the gap between old-style and new style is most visible. Old-style snobbery places the highbrow at the top of the ladder, followed by the middlebrow, with the lowbrow at the bottom. From an old-style perspective, Shah Rukh and Salman are charismatic hams who perform in more or less dreadful films. Aamir Khan, on the other hand, is a good actor who has expanded the possibilities of commercial cinema. Asked to choose between the three Khans, the old-style snob would pick Aamir any day.
New-style snobs, however, have shaken up that hierarchy, placing the lowbrow above the middlebrow. The middlebrow is too close for comfort, while the terrain of the lowbrow is so clearly differentiated that it poses no threat. It’s fine to rhapsodise about Chennai Express, but 3 Idiots and PK are a different matter. The distinction extends to television as well. It is perfectly all right, in new-style highbrow circles, to profess an obsession with Big Boss. But say you’re looking forward to the next season of Satyameva Jayate and you’re sunk.
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