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The pandemic years have cast a shadow — a sense of retreat and isolation that still persists, even though we’ve weathered the worst and have started looking forward to a sense of normalcy, a hope that better things will follow. The shadow comes and goes in waves though. On days when the darkness gets a little too deep, the longing for a friend that understands you and connects with you can become overwhelming. Music for me, as for many, is that friend.

“I need a song that can help me overcome whatever I’m feeling, take my hand and show me something more and dare my mind to dream again,” I said to myself one fine not so sunny day. This particular day, I didn’t feel like going back to old friends. They were dependable and familiar, sure, but I felt like exploring. To relive the experience of stumbling upon something new, something unfamiliar and thrilling — to make a new friend.

I remembered the incredulity my heart felt when I first heard a Junoon song. The fire that lit up when Salman Ahmed played those solos, and the adrenaline that rushed when Ali Azmat sang. Those albums had some fight in them. I also remembered feeling comforted by songs of heartbreak from the Vital Signs, feeling part of a happy-go-lucky gang with Awaz, Faakhir and Haroon, Strings.

Looking back, I could feel a tangible sense of urgency; of being right on the brink of breaking through, while listening to 'Khoeey Aankhein' (Junoon). The song was about falling for someone, realising that there is more than one possible outcome to the situation, reflecting on past heart breaks and yet making the decision to move forward. Maybe it was the groovy bass line, the amazing guitar riffs, or the writing, but the track always left me with a positive vibe, a feeling that I am, and will be able to control the state of my own being in hard times, so to say.

Or take for example 'Do Pal Ka Jeevan' by Vital Signs. Here was a song that talked about how life was short and spoke about how perspectives shape the human experience; that outcomes may not be in our control all the time, but unless one fails, success has no meaning. The lyrics have an everlasting quality to them — to this day, this is my go-to song for whenever I feel down or stuck between a rock and a hard place. A song that can will you, by sheer force of music and poetry, to move forward. To find positivity in all the darkness and noise. A true anthem.

I needed to find a new one.

Look up the word ‘anthem’ in a dictionary (Google!) and you’ll find it being described as “a rousing or uplifting song identified with a particular group, body, or cause”. Rousing. Uplifting. Group. Cause. Exactly what the doctor ordered. The quest had begun, and I ventured to explore as much as I could. Now, like most self-professed music aficionados, I had my particular tastes. But this time, I was ready to let go.

I rummaged through the wacky Shamoon Ismail, the wonderfully affable Hasan Raheem, some new rap from the Young Stunners, songs by the electronic maestro Abdullah Qureshi, the eclectic Natasha Humera Ejaz, good old friends Poor Rich Boy and Bayaan and a few others that make up the indie and popular Pakistani music scene. It was quite the journey. I felt many things — intrigued, fascinated, emancipated and irked in unequal measure. But the one thing I didn’t feel was uplifted.

Good music is an unfiltered reflection of feelings. These feelings come from within, from being affected. This was undoubtedly good music, but there was an underlying emotion that felt just as isolated as me. Perhaps I was missing something, or maybe I hadn’t opened my mind enough? But the feeling I was looking for isn’t something you have to be consciously open to. It’s like a bolt of lightning that, when it hits, leaves an immediate, terrifying mark.

Listening to ‘Paisa’ by Hasan Raheem, I was intrigued. The song described being surrounded by the “Paisay walay [rich]”,having the courage to stand tall and comfortable with one’s own self while rejecting social pressure. But, at its core, the song felt like someone else’s story that I could definitely listen to, but wasn’t really meant for me.

Take ‘Hot Mango Chutney Sauce’ by Meesha Shafi. Quirky, fun. Definitely personal. ‘Faasla’ by Shamoon Ismail, a song about a girl and the "pursuit" wasn’t particularly relevant to my search. Abdullah Siddiqui’s ‘Come Thru’ did stand out. The song spoke about having the spirit to stand up after suffering a fall. But this was Abdullah having a conversation with someone close. An attempt to convince, a promise that if you "come thru" I’ll prove why I believe in myself. The dependency factor here, didn’t really allow me to connect.

Bayaan’s ‘Din Dhalay’ was about a lonely heart. It was definitely a rousing experience, but the complexity of the writing and music, while beautiful to listen to, left me feeling further confused. PRB’s ‘Yaqeen’ was a contemplative experience. It forced me to think, but solitude was the song’s backbone. I dove deeper into the melancholy without a rope to cling on to.

Wondering if I was alone in feeling this way, I decided to call upon friends and family for some opinions. "Today’s music is selfish", "They don’t talk about anything but themselves", "It’s fresh and is something I can dance to", "I don’t need a lecture, I want to dance!" You get the gist. Most felt alienated, others felt connected. Divisive.

It was clear to see these songs came from a place of self-reflection — they were personal. And understandably, what’s personal can sometimes cause friction when set free in the public domain. What was striking though, was that the music felt caged somehow, yet was strangely free. It was unapologetic and clear in context, but felt tethered to something.

We all realise that the world we live in today is at odds with itself and through a series of events, circumstances and inevitable evolution, somehow we’ve all been reduced to the fundamental factor — the individual. And that was the tether hook. But was that necessarily a bad thing?

Perhaps that’s the question that troubled me the most. While unsure, I always thought the cliche that we have collectively lost the value of true connection, while practically being more connected than ever before, wasn’t really true. But listening to these songs proved otherwise. Circles within circles.

While I may not have found the anthem I was looking for — and perhaps the days of the rousing song have passed us by — I did come away with the realisation that the underlying feeling of isolation was mutual. As if these friends might be in their own bubbles of solitude, but they’re holding their own and seem like they would be good listeners. There was order within disorder; connection by disconnection. In a strange way, I felt that even though I may not agree with a lot that was being said, or how it was being said, my sentiments would just be a calm difference of opinion, nothing more. Liberating. And a high testament to the music’s self-confidence.

Even though it may not appear so on the surface, there is no struggle for identity or relevance here. The music has a stamp of individuality and defiance and as sure as day, the Pakistani artist has evolved. Over the past decade or so, being passed through a homogeniser and glossed over by corporate sheen, our music was in dangerous waters. These artists are bravely, brazenly reclaiming their ground. And that is a cause worthy enough to be an anthem in itself. You don’t have to sing along, but you can surely buy a ticket and enjoy the show.