I never took Billo too seriously when it was first released. It reminded me of "Pani ka bulbula" by Yaqoob Atif. A rather joyful folksy rap song with urban influences. Billo sounded fun but I always found it a guilty pleasure, my music snobbery preventing me from really appreciating the beauty of it. However, after hearing it on CS now, I am amazed by its genius and pure magic.
Billo is a pop masterpiece. Its so much fun to listen to and I am dead sure anyone with even a single music bone in their body will find it hard to stop themselves from grooving to it. The backup vocalists have really done wonders on this version. Abrar is a genius for making this song, pure and simple.
My experience was similar. The song was released in late 1995, and I never cared for it initially. I recall Junoon’s Inquilaab being released in early 1996, and because the cricket World Cup was taking place, Abrar and Junoon were both part of the series of concerts taking place as part of the World Cup festivities, both being among the most popular acts in the country. At one such concert, Junoon showed up on stage to replace Abrar too soon for the enraged crowd’s liking, who then proceeded to charge the stage, attack the band, and damage their equipment. I considered this proof of the hoi polloi’s tastelessness, because in my book, Abrar came across as the quintessential post-Zia Punjabi urban petite bourgeoisie (which also described much of my extended family). He was a lecturer at Aitchison of all places (who fired him soon after the song came out), but there was something about the song that just rubbed me the wrong way. The music seemed too filmy, the lyrics tacky, the video badly done.
It was only later I grew to appreciate some of the subversive references which were initially lost on me. The concerts I mentioned earlier were attacked by Jamaatia mobs because of this song, because although Abrar speaks of taking witnesses (his chacha, mama, phuppha and taaya no less) to Billo’s house, and strutting proudly to his prospective father-in-law’s village, the references to taking an entire crowd of people along, all of whom he exhorts to purchase tickets, were seen as a clear hint that Billo was, to put it euphemistically, a lady of ill repute. There were even writ petitions entered into the courts by the usual suspects to get the song banned.
I’ve since found Abrar to be a very street-smart, culturally literate, and surprisingly subversive lyricist. Billo had once been a very popular nickname, but by 1995, had already fallen out of favor. The very name conjures images of a saucy village belle, the exact opposite of that other great stereotype, the Nek Parveen. Incidentally, Abrar has a song called Parveen as well, which actually was banned by the Supreme Court. Another that fell foul with the authorities was Nacch Punjaban, which had to be re-released as Nacch Majajan.
