Rav opened his front door. We exchanged ‘What’s up’s’ and then he called me over with a grunt. ‘Lift me up and pull me Ranj’. His directness is jarring. There is no please. I do as he directs. ‘Lift me up AND PULL ME Ranj…’
‘Rav you’re directions are rubbish, I’m gonna throw you on the floor, you cunt.’ I’m only half joking. He laughs. We get to the car and he swings his legs in first and then shuffles in. I get the wheel chair and place it in the boot.
‘Listen to this man…’
‘What is it?’
‘A song called ‘Richer’ me and Sarb wrote, now Temple are working on it.’
I press play and the wall of noise makes Rav bop.
‘This is sick!’ He continues to bop. He’s still like a big kid. He moved this way in high school… I remember him bopping like this to Busta Rhymes’ ‘Woo haa’.
Rav goes on to tell me how to mix the vocals, and about the the width of the track. How to make the bass pop and still provide the bottom end. I take mental notes as he mentors me.
I played him my first 4-track recording ever, ‘Whoresong’, 20-odd years ago. I remember how blown away he was by it – even in its primitive incarnation before Tom and Sarb transformed it into something more like an actual real song.
Rav helped us produce our first recording in his house, wires strewn across the rooms and up and down stairs as we tried to get as much separation as possible. He gave Tom his first lesson in eating real home cooked Indian food with his hands.
Multiple Sclerosis might have dramatically reduced his mobility, but he’s still telling me what to do, how to do it better and being a cunt.
