Delhi has never been quite so kooky, so fruity, and so fun. For those of us sick of the same old scenes – rock, metal, trance, hip hop, whatever – it’s wonderful to be exposed to a spectacle independent of categories and cliques, existing entirely in a realm of passion, creativity and joyous tribute to music, art and freedom.

The Royal Mirage at the Surya Crowne Plaza Hotel played host to the newly upgraded Medicine Show on Sunday, July 5. The troupe, with its rollicking roster of musicians (culled from local Delhi bands Stiff Kittens and Emperor Minge), singers, dancers, actors, comedians and performance artists, had clearly burst its seams at The Living Room, Hauz Khas Village, where its first two shows had established them with “must-see” notoriety. Notwithstanding the natural anxiety of leaving the womb, the new setting was actually perfect for this expansive collective’s unique brand of vaudevillian cabaret. There was enough kitsch décor to resemble a ghetto Moulin Rouge; enough gaudiness to make the most undistinguished of gentlemen blush. Regrettably, despite the new digs, there still wasn’t enough seating for the full capacity crowd. But this, as they say, is one of the many travails of success.

We were greeted by a young lady, Namrata Kala, in a flight attendant’s outfit, offering candy on a tray and politely welcoming guests to the show. Shortly, she made an introductory announcement on the PA system, in Hindi first, then English, an adorable little performance piece paralleling the night’s festivities with a trip on Royal Mirage airways, in-flight entertainment provided by The Medicine Show. As the Indian indie scene is generally a sausage fest, the prevalence of female talent at The Medicine Show is a breath of the freshest revitalizing mountain airs, an effervescent tonic with bitter lemon twist for added sensuality.

Professional, touring comedian Papa CJ took control of the cockpit at this point, and although many of his jokes were rather crude, he fulfilled his MC duties well enough, corralling the crowd to cheerful applause throughout the evening. The music commenced with a Michael Jackson tribute, ‘Billy Jean’ as sung by Bob Dylan, as imitated here by Neel Chaudhuri. The juxtaposition was odd, but heartfelt, and once Piyush Wadhera, who had frozen himself in a MJ pose, motionless as a mannequin for the first few verses, suddenly came alive and started wailing on his harmonica, the whole room was electrified.

Next up, Shelli Koffman, backed by Stefan Kaye on keyboards, performed a tantalizingly bizarro expulsion of ‘Pirate Jenny’ from the Threepenny Opera by early 20th century German playwright Bertolt Brecht. When rudely interrupted by a power cut (really, the power crisis is so bad that even 5 star hotels can’t cope), Steffi persisted with her performance a cappella. Her voice gained a malicious vigor as it filled the ensuing emptiness of the dark hall with perhaps a ghostly simulacrum of the very real, true-life, swashbuckling Pirate Jenny, whom Brecht may or may not have known about at the time of composition.

The “music box act” that followed involved a young fellow named Neel Debdutt Paul exhibiting a tiny little wind-up music box with Ray Charles’ shades & smile on his face. However, after a couple of minutes of barely audible tinkle-twinkle, mister music box had to be forcibly escorted off-stage, with hilarious results. The next act was introduced as Tarun, a budding comedian, but actually turned out to be the subversive actionist theatre of the Tadpole Repertory. Not to reveal too much, but there was tension so thick you could cut it with a knife and a tickle fight between Tarun and a certain overly arrogant, apparently drunk heckler in the audience, who may or may not have been a plant.

For everyone who’s ever looked at their hippie friends and fantasized about cutting off their unkempt hair, Antoine and Romain’s parody of two misguided flower-power cult devotees playing their folkie songs about how they want to “save all of the galaxy” was a total laugh riot. After another brief interruption by a power cut, the duo launched into cutesy Cuban classic ‘Quizás, Quizás, Quizás’ (‘Perhaps, Perhaps, Perhaps’), and were joined by Anjoe towards the end for a flourish of flamenco dancing. Anjoe Teresa Chadha, the star attraction I’d say of the last Medicine Show, when she belly-danced as if her hips were on fire, is full of surprises, and an apparently endless list of talents.

After a brief intermission, drummer Nikhil Vasudevan joined Stefan to jam out some juicy jazz before Kriti Pant, in a red cheongsam (traditional Chinese dress) engaged in a dramatic duet with Neel Chaudhuri over an original Emperor Minge track, ‘Spy Thing’. Dangling a martini glass in her hand, a belligerently inebriated Kriti rebuffs Neel’s pleas for her to abandon the hooch and her footloose ways. These gender roles were reversed in the following piece so that it’s the dude that’s a doddering drunk, in Anjoe’s femme fatale song and dance number, Peggy Lee’s ‘Do Right’. Anjoe’s fumbling fool, Neil, mister music box from earlier, suited his role splendidly, clearly due to years of practice in real life. Yet, a little more choreography in his aimlessly clumsy meanderings could have greatly complimented Anjoe’s more intricate routine, half Madonna stage-show and half steamy sixties disco-a-gogo. Yet, this time around, it’s Anjoe’s shimmering voice, not her shimmying hips, that still linger in memory for it had a remarkable resonance reminiscent of a vintage 78 rpm vinyl recording from the 1930s.

The final round brought spunky Piyush back to play in his trademark folkified Bollywood oldies style that had been a huge hit with the crowd at the previous Medicine Show. This night, the crowd cheerily clapped along to his rendition of ‘Na Chaahoon Sona Chandni’ from 1970’s Bollywood classic Bobby. Again, his harmonica solo was no less than brilliant. After an extended round of thank-you’s, the night’s finale was a full-on desi disco dhamaka of ‘Muqabala Muqabala’ with Piyush and Mallika Taneja backed up by a wedding band’s brass and percussion. For all I could tell it was the Tamil version, due to Piyush’s striking efforts at mimicking south Indian plastic-man Prabhu Deva’s MJ-esque dance moves. It wasn’t long before the entire cast of The Medicine Show thronged the stage, pulling in audience members (this reviewer included) to festively dance away the rest of the night.

Indiecision: A-

Links
Stiff Kittens’ The Medicine Show
Emperor Minge
Tadpole Repertory
Papa CJ