Imagine, as a lark, putting together a heavy metal band with the goal of “destroying [Punjabi] pop songs.” Imagine picking “Tunak Tunak Tun,” a late ‘90s smash by the pop singer Daler Mehndi, who played a significant role in facilitating Punjabi culture’s domestic as well as international popularity, as one of your early cover projects; imagine the resultant track becoming a hit in its own right. The band started out as a bit. Then, against expectations and intentions, it metastasized into a legitimate outfit with a singular style and sound, guided by a core metal principle: that any country or culture’s musical traditions can meld with metal to create new music that rocks incredibly hard.
Bloodywood’s journey from 2016 to their third studio record, Nu Delhi, is as idiosyncratic as their marriage of Indi-pop (which is itself a confluence of the nation’s classical and folk music, qawwali and electronic music) with the loudest, blackest, most brutal music on the planet; Karan Katiyar, the band’s guitarist and flutist, as well as its composition and production wrangler, bid adieu to his career in corporate law nearly a decade ago, called up vocalist and growl maestro Jayant Bhadula, and formed Bloodywood as their “parody” band. They put out a compilation of covers in 2017, and added Raoul Kerr—previously one of their session musicians—to their main roster not long after. Rakshak, Bloodywood’s first original record, dropped in 2022; now comes Nu Delhi, a clear distillation of the band’s proclivities and one of the most compelling metal records from this half of the decade.
Nu Delhi leans into the sound of its namesake niche, an unabashedly fun play on the name of the band’s home city that even the average blue collar white dad would laugh at. His chuckles would catch in his throat within the first 45 seconds of the record’s opener, “Halla Bol,” where backmasked chanting is slowly joined by Katiyar’s trembling bansuri and the rolling thunder of touring drummer Sarthak Pahwa’s dhol. The words translate as “raise your voice”; they read as impetus, a charge the gang passes on to their listeners, to speak out against oppressive systems of rule, like the fascist regime currently steering India’s ship. Raise your voice and raise it loud, as Katiyar’s meat grinder drop-G guitar work if you can. (Assembled masses whooping in protest of injustice should make more of a din than one man’s ax, but Katiyar does play really goddamn loud.)
“Halla Bol” immediately establishes the album’s character—its tone, definitely, as well as its broad embrace of India, its people, its culture, its spirit and, subsequent to these, the band’s roots. There’s a reason Nu Delhi gets away with a tracklist comprising a fistful of growling anthems followed by its penultimate praise song, “Tadka,” a face value ode to Indian cuisine. But for Katiyar, Bhadula and Kerr, the food they grew up eating is of a piece with their political sentiments. Listening to Kerr rap, seemingly without breathing, about his mother’s cooking, and how a single bite will leave you “licking all the dishes,” is charmingly silly in an abstract sense. But “Tadka” is a chance for Kerr to express both gratitude for the meals that nourished him through his childhood, and to acknowledge his own privilege. Not everyone in New Delhi had the good fortune of a nightly dinner; it is tragic, but it is true. Bloodywood count their blessings, but they’re pretty pissed about them.
Anger, of course, has a way of being completely unconstructive without proper guidance. Bloodywood focus their outrage into Nu Delhi’s throughline; the emotion roils upon the album’s surface, but beneath it, there lie other sensations to give it grounding. “Hutt” is a terrific example, a rager built on tempo changes, where Bhadula and Kerr each, in turn, impel their audience toward self-betterment. Together, they broadcast righteous fury up to the last minute, where all briefly hushes, save for a piano’s muted ring and a sarangi’s ethereal hum. Suddenly, “Hutt” communicates empathy, and the understanding that the path of personal improvement takes all those who walk it over treacherous ground. The judgment baked into the song’s sonic qualities is, perhaps, directed less at the individual than at those pesky systems, once again.
It’s these moments of contemplation bookending Nu Delhi’s inventive storm of musical influences that make the record feel so urgent, and Bloodywood so vital in contemporary metal. They’ve been making music together for years now, of course. Calling them “new” would be a misnomer. But like so many of Asia’s metal bands—including BABYMETAL, Japan’s kawaii metal outfit, who make a guest appearance on “Bekhauf”—they’re finding their way and fine-tuning their aesthetic, and expanding our idea of what “metal” is and can be.
Bostonian culture journalist Andy Crump covers the movies, beer, music, and being a dad for way too many outlets, perhaps even yours. He has contributed to Paste since 2013. You can find his collected work at “his personal blog.” He’s composed of roughly 65% craft beer.
