Why your favourite Indian band broke up (and might get back together)

More and more artists going solo of late, what is it that’s making some musicians reunite with their respective bands? 

In 1997, when listening to songs on the radio and collecting cassettes defined the way music was consumed, musician, music promoter, and journalist, the late Amit Saigal, started a competition for bands in India. It was called GIR (Great Indian Rock Festival), wherein bands sent cassettes and CDs, which a panel listened to extensively for a week, shortlisting 12 bands to perform. The festival went on for 15 years, till Saigal’s passing in 2012. It was instrumental in highlighting Indian bands like Parikrama, Orange Street, and Indian Ocean, as well as hosting international artists like Meshuggah and Tesseract.

Meanwhile, Independence Rock, founded in 1986, made a comeback in 2022, rebranded as Mahindra Independence Rock. These two festivals brought together bands from across the country annually, fuelling musicians’ fire to collaborate with each other, working towards an exclusive, common identity: that of the band’s.  

Bands like Zero (1998-2008), Pentagram (1994-2014), Them Clones (2000-2018), Indian Ocean (1990-), Mother Jane (1996-2012), The Supersonics (2006-2010, 2012-2015), Millennium (1988-2008), Rock Machine—now called Indus Creed (1984, renamed in 1993, disbanded in 1997, and regrouped in 2010)—and Thermal and a Quarter (1996-) propelled live music in the country. Meanwhile, bands like Pink Noise and Skinny Alley inspired the live band scene in Kolkata till the passing away of bassist Gyan Singh (father to Jivraj Singh of music duo Parekh & Singh) in 2012. 

The indie pop scene, which was burgeoning back then, saw the likes of Euphoria (1998-) and Silk Route (1996–2024) gaining popularity. The latter moved its trajectory to focus on lead singer Mohit Chauhan’s solo career, sparked by Lucky Ali’s popularity. This trend from the ’90s has found its way back, causing the decline of bands from the 2010s. 

But this shift away from bands wasn’t just playing out in India— it echoed globally,  with guitar sales plummeting so sharply—as musicians increasingly took to softwares to make music—that legendary guitar brand Gibson Brands  filed for bankruptcy in 2018, before eventually recovering. 

Why do Indian bands break up? From college gigs to career realities

In India, members of most bands don’t part ways with a dramatic fallout—they fade quietly, outpaced by adulthood, distance, and diverging ambitions. What often starts off as a college jam session with dreams of headlining music festivals eventually collides with the reality of day jobs, financial pressure, and changing priorities. 

It happened  with Them Clones (2000-) and  Pentagram (1994-2014/2015). And more recently, Parekh & Singh (2011-2025). Nischay Parekh and Jivraj Singh went from living on the same street and hanging out everyday to living in different countries—Parekh moved to Dubai, became a father, and life got in the way.. “Parekh & Singh brought us experiences and brotherhood. Trying to use it for more than it’s worth is just greedy,” says Parekh, 32. The duo released three albums and some unreleased songs that he hopes to put out as demos someday. He’s since launched his solo project, TV Dinner, released two songs under it, and taken over the erstwhile duo’s Instagram page. 

The rise of solo music careers in India—and why it’s about the money 

The early 2000s also saw the concept of restro-bars pick up in urban India, doubling as venues for bands to perform covers of popular Hindi songs. “Owners realised the revenue being made was paper-thin. Today, financially, it doesn’t make sense to have a band. As a solo artist, if you develop your skills you can also tap the film industry, where the potential to earn money is great,” says Abhay Sharma, 33, saxophone player and founder of funk jazz band The Revisit Project (2014-), which has seen several line-up changes, besides touring with the likes of Think Floyd and Adnan Sami. 

The late 2000s had DJs get inspired by Nucleya’s success—that followed close on the heels of him quitting the Bandish Projekt (1998-2007)—with his debut album Bass Rani in 2015, paving the way for more solo opportunities. Even then, solely playing at shows and recording music wasn’t financially viable, so musicians had to find other sources of income, be it composing music for films or jingles for advertisements. Which is where being a session musician, who is a part of multiple ensembles simultaneously, helps attract more gig opportunities. 

“So, become an incredible musician before you venture into earning through being one because you can’t build an army during a war. You’ll have to pick three to four things—-if you’re a producer, it makes sense to go to Mumbai and produce for multiple people, while trying for the OTT space as composer or arranger,” says Sharma. 

From bars to big fat weddings: Inside India’s private music gig economy 

“In 2025, unless you’re a good original Hindi band like The Local Train (2008) or When Chai Met Toast (2014-) or Parvaaz (2010-), you will have to struggle. Your presence has to be [made] through your original music. Playing covers will bring you commercial gigs, weddings, and events, but will only last a while,” observes Subir Malik of Parikrama, who also has an artist management venture.

Private gigs—which usually comprise the musicians singing covers of popular songs—are a crucial source of income for artists in the Indian ecosystem. The difference between what a musician gets paid as a part of a band at a gig at a  club/pub and at a private event, be it a wedding or store opening, is stark: Most pubs start by paying ₹ 4,000-5,000 per musician, with a budget of about ₹25,000-30,000 for a band, versus over ₹ 1 lakh per band for private gigs. “Pub gigs are crucial for bands to get clients for corporate gigs. So, the same band that earns ₹2.5 lakh per private show also plays the ₹ 30,000 pub show,” says Malik, who recalls getting paid ₹ 500 per band member for Parikrama’s debut performance on 15 September 1991, at Delhi’s Father Agnel School. 

So, what a musician earns via YouTube through ads, brand partnerships, and views, cannot be compared to what they make through live shows.

The impact of Instagram and YouTube on Indian music careers

Today, the tussle to grab eyeballs has pivoted online: to sustain people’s attention for longer than five seconds. This includes the musicians themselves, who need to wear the hat of content creators for greater social media engagement. 

“Time management is the most important skill a creative individual needs to develop. You can’t be the person making the poster and doing the arrangements and the live shows and scheduling things,” points out Parekh. 

Being a musician isn’t just about making the music and being in collaboration but also focusing on how streaming works. “As much as we liked to hate the algorithm, for better or for worse, it’s a crucial factor for all artists. Reach, engagement, and playlists, which weren’t terms in our consciousness as a race even seven years ago, are crucial tools of the trade today,” says Parekh, admitting that one of the reasons Parekh & Singh broke up was that Singh felt like the social-media driven space that indie music has entered wasn’t for him at that point in life. 

Social media has had a major role to play in the success of solo artists, as  the easiest way to access an audience. “It’s about how you build and cultivate the music, with a mix of releasing it and touring or marketing it over a period of time. Earlier, people would just release a song on YouTube and forget about it, without any marketing around it. Today, there’s a lot more structure to marketing,” explains Anirudh Voleti, head of strategy and new business, REPRESENT, a Mumbai-based artist management agency.  

“Bollywood is no longer the only way [for musicians] to become popular. [Singer-composer] Papon can exist without Bollywood today; it might just take a little longer for him to become as popular. In the early 2010s, you’d barely hear of solo musicians in India. But today, you rarely hear of a band cutting through,” observes Volti, admitting that it’s much easier to manage a band with permanent members instead of sessions players, because looking for a new guitarist every few gigs can be a pain. The management has to ensure the band members are in the same financial earning bracket to avoid ego clashes that may happen if one band member gets paid much more for the same gig, which is common in ensembles comprising session musicians.

What’s even more challenging in a band is managing the emotions, egos, and decisions that come when money-making comes into play, with 4-5 band members. In recent times, there is a bit of an ego tussle with sessions musicians admitting that they play “sell-out” music at corporate shows. “No one gets into music to play at weddings but it’s an easier sell and can make musicians some capital. Even if there’s no audience, the musicians still get paid to perform, whether they get paid in crores or ₹ 10,000,” observes Voleti. 

The rise of personal branding: How Indian musicians market themselves

Going digital has made almost everyone an entrepreneur. In 2025, when musicians are vying for an individual identity and are open to being multidisciplinary, the audience is less likely to be invested in the idea of a collective identity of a band that’s exclusively playing together. This also leaves greater room for collaborations.

Social media has also led to a change in patterns of cult fan following, besides just switching to online fandom. A musician’s fan following today depends on the nature of the musician’s persona online—for instance, in Prateek Kuhad’s case, whose songs feel like a series of confessional conversations. “Even the way it’s curated and marketed for an audience is personal and emotional. People are passionate about and think about Kuhad like a close friend. But it doesn’t have the same fanatic fervour which was present in the 2000s,” says Parekh. It’s also about how musicians are building a fanbase that is an audience for them as a person, and not just their music. “Also, only those who listen to a variety of music and have different perspectives of the music can really be fanatical about it,” adds Parekh, something that is perhaps impossible in the day and age of playlists dictated by the algorithm. 

The challenges confronting India’s independent music community today

Irrespective of whether you are a solo artist, a musician needs a band to perform live shows. Except for the tonality and presentation that is singular, every musician needs instrumentalists—they are core to the sonic identity of the band—besides a producer and mixing engineer. “It’s just that the decision-making sits with one person, making it easier and straightforward for the manager and the artist,” says Voleti. 

But, when it comes to composing, it makes a difference when musicians don’t feed off of each other’s energies. The acoustic guitar portion played by Sonam Sherpa in Parikrama’s original song But It Rained (1996) was actually figured out by Subir Malik on the bass. “That wouldn’t have happened if we weren’t sitting together and composing together in a room, passing energies onto each other. Besides, how many times will one compose a song alone?” wonders Malik.  

But, when it comes to composing, it makes a difference when musicians don’t feed off of each other’s energies. The acoustic guitar portion played by Sonam Sherpa in Parikrama’s original song But It Rained (1996) was actually figured out by Subir Malik on the bass. “That wouldn’t have happened if we weren’t sitting together and composing together in a room, passing energies onto each other. Besides, how many times will one compose a song alone?” wonders Malik.  

In fact, there’s a disconnect between audiences and artists today, because people have a greater sense of individuality, opines Dhruv Visvanath, 33, who just released his new single, Pieces, and has also played the guitar parts in the background score for Netflix show The Royals. 

“Musicians are lacking a sense of community in the current independent music scene. In the age of social media, where we have transitioned to presenting to a bigger audience in a small space, individuality is becoming the norm. With musicians producing their own works and recreating elements, there’s a rise in singer-songwriters, without the identity of a band backing them. So, there’s no sense of camaraderie,” says Visvanath. 

Visvanath then came up with the concept of The Bonfire, a community whose members comprise artists who actively listen to other artists while sitting in a circle, and share their stories, with audiences witnessing it. “There’s an opportunity to mentor each other instead of the negative notion of viewing each other as competition,” says Visvanath, who promises more editions of the community meet-up after its debut in April 2025, with 10 musicians each playing an original, yet-unheard song. 

Band reunions in India: Nostalgia, money, or a new audience?

Community is crucial because that’s exactly what helped band culture grow in India in the early 2000s through rock band nights at college festivals, whether it was Delhi University or an IIT. It died down during the next decade, but just last year, Parikrama received offers to play from seven colleges across India, informs a surprised Malik, who predicts this could mean bands are coming back one way or another. 

“Musicians whose bands disbanded when they were in their 20s, after they realised they weren’t making money, are now in their 40s, settled, and have a revenue-generating machinery, leaving them funds to do what they are passionate about—music,” says Sharma, who admits he’s not touring as much as he would like to because he can’t keep fronting up ₹ 3 lakh for every multi-city tour. 

“Reunions are the easiest thing for an act or older musicians, and India makes for the perfect audience given that they love consuming nostalgic music. Reunions are also happening in the West—Creed, Oasis, Guns ‘N’ Roses—all because of the money,” says Parekh. It doesn’t hurt to do one gig and then go your separate ways. 

“Being in a band is like [being in] a marriage,” shares Malik, alluding to the camaraderie with his bandmates. According to him, this camaraderie has also sustained because of one pro-tip: No drinking before getting on stage. Sounds unbelievable for a rock band, but 34 years of rock-and-roll is all the proof needed. 

In an age of hyper-individualism and algorithm-driven fame, perhaps the most unexpected move is choosing to build something together. Band culture may never return as it once was—but every now and then, its revival is a reminder that making music for connection outweighs virality.

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