It was past midnight in Kolkata.
Early evening in Calgary.
Two time zones. Three glowing screens. One guitar leaning casually against a wall behind Blade. A slightly unstable Wi-Fi connection. A conversation that felt steady.
That’s how this began for me.
Not with a press drop. Not with an algorithm. Not even with the song.
With a Zoom call.
And then, later, with the track playing on repeat in my room long after the call had ended.
The first thing you notice about Notun Itihaas isn’t its geography.
It’s its build.
The guitar doesn’t rush. The rhythm doesn’t panic. There’s a deliberate lift in the structure — a slow rise that feels intentional, almost patient. And when the chorus lands, it doesn’t explode for drama. It arrives because it was always meant to.
The song feels claimed.
And once I spoke to Soumya "Som" Ghosh and Priyam “Blade” Baksi, it became clear that the feeling started long before the first note was recorded.
Running Toward Alignment
Som’s journey into this moment didn’t begin with this collaboration.
It began years ago.
On Zoom, when I asked him about leaving his corporate career in 2015, there wasn’t nostalgia in his tone. There was clarity.
Som: “I wasn’t running from stability — I was running toward alignment. Corporate life gave me security, but music gave me meaning. The longer I stayed away from creating, the more unfinished I felt. It wasn’t about rejecting a safe life; it was about choosing an honest one. Leaving was scary. It meant giving up certainty for a dream with no guarantees. But I realized I’d rather build something uncertain that feels true than live something secure that feels incomplete. I didn’t leave to escape. I left to become who I was meant to be.”
That word — alignment — echoes through the track.
You hear it in the steadiness of the vocal. In the absence of hesitation.
But the sharper shift came in 2025.
When he stopped performing covers.
When you chose to stop performing covers in 2025, what did you have to let go of — security, familiarity, audience comfort?
Som: “When I stopped performing covers in 2025, I had to let go of comfort — not just the audience’s, but my own. Covers come with built-in familiarity. The crowd sings along, the response is predictable, and there’s a certain safety in that. Walking away from it meant giving up that instant validation and the steady engagement that comes with known songs. But I realized I didn’t want borrowed applause. I wanted to build something of my own. Choosing originals meant accepting silence before recognition, risk before reward. It meant trusting that my voice, my stories, and my sound were enough — even if it took time for people to connect. I didn’t stop covers because they were easy. I stopped because I was ready to be heard for who I truly am.”
When you listen to Notun Itihaas, that readiness is audible.
It doesn’t sound like someone testing originality.
It sounds like someone standing in it.Bangla, Without Changing the Guitar
Blade joined the Zoom from Calgary. Calm. Focused. Measured.
His sonic language has always leaned into classic ’80s rock and glam metal — structured riffs, soaring leads, controlled aggression.
But this was his first song in Bangla.
His mother tongue.
And that shift wasn’t superficial.
You’ve written and performed in English for years. What changed when you stepped into Bangla — emotionally, musically, instinctively?
Blade: “Writing in English often felt like speaking to the world. Writing in Bangla felt like speaking to myself. There’s a directness in Bangla that’s hard to escape. In English, I could intellectualize emotion — frame it, stylize it. In Bangla, I felt exposed. The words carry cultural weight, childhood echoes, conversations overheard growing up. So emotionally, it was less performance and more confession. Musically, I will say nothing has changed. My style, my sound which is 80s Rock/Hair Metal, that’s still there. So I didn’t feel like doing any significant changes in music just because the language is changing. Instinctively, I stopped trying to ‘write a song’ and started trying to ‘say something.’”
That distinction matters.
The guitar still carries its classic rock backbone.
But the emotional register feels closer to the skin.
Blade also arranged, mixed, and mastered the track.
And when I asked him about the build — that gradual lift that refuses to rush — he explained why it stayed.
When you were shaping the final sound, what feeling did you refuse to polish away?
Blade: “When shaping the final sound, I refused to polish away the gradual lift of the track. It would’ve been easy to shorten the build to make it more radio-friendly, but that slow rise is the heartbeat of Notun Itihaas. Hope isn’t instant — it builds. And I wanted listeners to feel that lift.”
That lift is the emotional spine of the song.
It’s not engineered for skip culture.
It’s structured for immersion.
Clarity That Doesn’t Apologise
On first listen, one thing stands out immediately — the lyrical directness.
There’s no metaphor maze. No protective distance.
So I asked Som directly:
The lyrics here are unapologetically direct. Was that a conscious choice to strip away layers, or does clarity feel more honest to you now?
Som: “It was conscious — but it was also inevitable. Earlier, I enjoyed writing in layers, letting metaphors carry the weight. But over time, I felt clarity becoming more honest for me. When you’ve lived through enough doubt, risk, and reinvention, you stop wanting to hide behind clever lines. With Notun Itihaas, I didn’t want ambiguity. I wanted impact. Being direct felt vulnerable at first — there’s nowhere to hide. But it also felt powerful. The message is about resilience and rewriting your own narrative, and that kind of energy demands clarity. So yes, I stripped away the layers — not because subtlety is weak, but because right now, truth sounds stronger when it’s loud and unmistakable.”
That loudness is not volume.
It’s conviction.
The First Time They Heard It Back
When a song lives in drafts and demos, it’s theoretical. When it’s mastered, it becomes real.
When you heard the final mastered version for the first time, did it sound like the song you imagined — or did it surprise you?
Som: “It surprised me — in the best way. In my head, I knew the fire the song needed to carry. But when I heard the final mastered version, it felt bigger than my imagination. Fuller. Louder. More fearless. What I had envisioned emotionally, Blade amplified it sonically. The guitars felt sharper, the rhythm more commanding — it wasn’t just my idea anymore, it had evolved into our sound. That first listen wasn’t just creative satisfaction. It was a moment of quiet realization — this is what happens when vision meets the right collaborator. It didn’t just match the song I imagined. It exceeded it.”
That amplification is exactly what the track feels like.
Shared energy. Not divided authorship.
Naming a New History
When you chose the name Notun Itihaas, was it about the collaboration — or about personal turning points in your own journeys?
Som: “It was both — and that’s what makes it meaningful. On a personal level, Notun Itihaas represents a turning point in my own journey. Leaving comfort, choosing originals over covers, stepping fully into my identity as an independent artist — all of that felt like rewriting my narrative. But at the same time, the collaboration with Blade was also a new chapter. It wasn’t just two musicians working together; it was two visions aligning at the right moment. That synergy gave the title even more weight. ‘Notun Itihaas’ isn’t just about starting something new. It’s about consciously deciding that the next chapter will be written on your own terms. So yes, it’s personal. Yes, it’s collaborative. And in many ways, it’s symbolic of both our journeys converging to create something that feels bigger than either of us alone.”
Blade: “It was both. On the surface, Notun Itihaas — ‘New History’ — marks this collaboration with Soumya (Som) Ghosh. Two individual paths crossing at the right time. But personally, it represents a quiet rebellion against repetition. We all reach moments where we realize we’re either rewriting old patterns or consciously creating something new. This song is about choosing the latter — musically and emotionally. It’s about not inheriting narratives that no longer serve us.”
Alignment Without Friction
Before you began writing together, what was your one non-negotiable? What could not be compromised?
Som: “My one non-negotiable was honesty. No matter how big or small the song became, I didn’t want to dilute the emotion just to make it safer or more “acceptable.” The sound could evolve, arrangements could change, but the core truth of what we were saying couldn’t be compromised. If the lyric felt raw, it had to stay raw. If the energy demanded aggression, it couldn’t be softened for comfort. Before we began writing together, I was clear about one thing — I don’t want to create something that sounds impressive but feels empty. It has to mean something. It has to come from lived experience. Everything else is flexible. Authenticity isn’t.”
Blade: “Honesty, If a line didn’t feel lived-in, it had to go. We agreed early on that we wouldn’t write for trend, for radio structure, or for algorithmic comfort. The emotion had to be real — even if it meant keeping imperfections.
The song could evolve in sound, arrangement, even genre shades — but it could not lose emotional truth.”
And when I asked about disagreements:
Was there a moment during production where you disagreed — and what did that disagreement teach you about each other?
Som: “Honestly, we didn’t have any disagreements during the production. Blade arranged the song so beautifully from the very beginning that it actually guided the writing. The sound carried a certain emotion — intensity, urgency, conviction — and that made it easier for me to pour my feelings into the lyrics. Instead of friction, there was flow. The arrangement didn’t restrict me; it inspired me. It felt like the music already understood what I was trying to say, even before the words were fully formed. Sometimes collaboration is about debate. This time, it was about alignment.”
Blade: “Honestly, no — there wasn’t any real disagreement.
What surprised us both was how naturally aligned we were. Even when we explored different ideas, it never felt like friction. It felt like expansion. If one of us suggested a change, the other instinctively understood the intention behind it.
That alignment taught me something deeper — that we were both serving the song, not ourselves. There was no need to defend choices or prove points. The focus stayed on what Notun Itihaas needed in that moment.”
Sometimes alignment is louder than conflict.
You can hear that cohesion in the finished track.
The Listener’s First Moment
When someone presses play for the first time, what do you hope they feel in the first 30 seconds — before analysis, before judgement?
Som: “In the first 30 seconds, I don’t want them to think — I want them to feel. Before analysis, before judgement, I hope they feel a surge. A sense of movement. Like something inside them just woke up. The opening energy is intentional. It’s not meant to ease you in gently — it’s meant to pull you forward. I want the listener to feel urgency, confidence, maybe even a little rebellion. Even if they don’t understand the lyrics yet, I hope they sense conviction. Because before music becomes intellectual, it’s physical. If the first 30 seconds can make their heartbeat shift even slightly — then we’ve done something right.”
Blade: “Recognition.
That subtle feeling of, “I’ve been here before.” Before they process the lyrics, I want the atmosphere to pull them inward — almost like the first few seconds of a memory returning. Not drama. Not spectacle. Just an emotional door opening.”
That pairing — surge and recognition — defines the intro.
And in a world shaped by playlists?
Som: “Today, most people won’t discover a song intentionally — they’ll stumble upon it. Maybe it appears on a playlist, maybe the algorithm places it between two completely different tracks. That’s the reality of this era. I imagine someone hearing the opening riff unexpectedly — maybe while working, travelling, or scrolling — and something about the energy makes them pause. What I hope makes them stay isn’t just the sound, but the sincerity. Algorithms can deliver a song to your ears, but only emotion can make you not skip. If the conviction in the voice feels real… If the intensity doesn’t feel manufactured… If even one line feels personal to them… Then it stops being “another track in a playlist” and becomes their song in that moment. Discovery may be accidental. Staying is always emotional.”
Blade: “Maybe they’ll find it through a Bengali rock playlist. Maybe through Soumya (Som) Ghosh’s audience. Maybe accidentally at 1:13 a.m.
Discovery today is accidental and infinite. But what makes someone stay isn’t strategy — it’s still goosebumps. If one line feels personal to them, if the chorus feels like something they couldn’t say but needed to hear, they’ll replay it. Algorithms can deliver a song; only emotion can make it linger.”
That line alone explains why this track works.
What Comes Next
If Notun Itihaas is chapter one, what would chapter two refuse to repeat?
Som: “If Notun Itihaas is chapter one, then chapter two will refuse to repeat hesitation. This song was about reclaiming voice, choosing conviction, and stepping forward without apology. Chapter two won’t look back for validation. It won’t soften its edges to fit expectations, trends, or comfort zones. It will refuse self-doubt. It will refuse creative compromise. And it will definitely refuse to repeat anything that feels safe just because it worked once. Growth, for me, means evolution — not repetition. Every chapter should feel like risk again. Because the moment it becomes predictable, it stops being honest.”
Blade: “It would refuse safety.
Chapter one is about beginning. Chapter two would be about consequence — going deeper, riskier, maybe darker. It would refuse to dilute itself for comfort. If we’re truly writing a new history, it can’t echo old formulas.
Every new chapter has to challenge the last one. Otherwise, it’s not history — it’s habit.”
After living with Notun Itihaas beyond the Zoom call, beyond the first listen, what remains isn’t just the collaboration.
It’s the build.
The way the song rises without rushing.
The way Bangla carries weight without softening the rock backbone.
The way honesty sounds when it isn’t negotiated.
This isn’t novelty.
It isn’t nostalgia.
It’s two artists deciding that alignment matters more than comfort.
And you can hear that decision in every bar.
You can listen to the song here.
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