QUOTE(Mark Sien @ Jul 25 2007, 02:25 PM)

I heard Karachi in the 1960s had cafes where bands would gather and sing...
Mark...just out of curiosity i searched for "Karachi in sixties"...and you are correct on bands and gigs...see the article below...intresting indeed !!!
Karachi in 1960s
The 1960s have been called "The Soaring Sixties" - and that, in fact, is what they were in many respects, not just in places like "Swinging London" with its revolution in music, movies, fashion and the like, but also in places like "Swinging Karachi" and even (would you believe it!) "Swinging Lahore".
After all the traumatic events of the 1980s, '90s and the new millennium, "Swinging Karachi" may sound like a misnomer today to people not old enough to remember what the city was like back in the '60s. But members of my generation recall that Karachi with great fondness.
For one thing, the Karachi of those days was a place where ethnic violence, bomb blasts, kidnappings and acts of terrorism were unknown. The per capita incidence of crime was far, far lower back then than it is today. Indeed, the Karachi of the '60s was one of the safest cities in the world. You could go anywhere at any hour of the day or night without any concern for your safety. There was so little crime in Karachi in those days that even burglaries were front-page news. Muggings were unknown, murders few and far between. My memory is pretty good, but I can't recall anybody back then ever telling me that their car had been stolen. Nowadays, of course, car thefts are a dime a dozen.
The city was much smaller then, not just in terms of its population but also in terms of its area. There was no Gulshan-e-Iqbal, no Defence, no Seaview. There was also much less traffic in those days, and you could cross the whole city - from, say, Keamari to Pir Ilahi Bakhsh Colony, or from the Nursery to the Sindh Industrial Trading Estate - in half an hour by car.
Today's Karachi is a vast sprawl that seems not like one city but many different cities, which increasingly, have less and less to do with each other. The North Nazimabad crowd has its own outlook on life, the Defence crowd its own, with the Bahadurabad crowd sandwiched somewhere between the two. PECHS's residential neighbourhoods have become a neglected backwater, while the chaotic traffic conditions in Tariq Road's commercial area grow worse by the day. Back in the '60s, however, Karachi was still a city with a well-defined central downtown area. Saddar was where people went to shop, to watch movies, to stroll along the pavement of an evening, to eat out at a Chinese restaurant, to buy a loaf of Romeo Pereira's famous black bread.
If you wanted to buy flowers for a girl, you bought them from the flower-seller in the verandah of the Bliss & Co. building on Elphinstone Street. If you wanted to buy a tin of Erinmore pipe tobacco, you bought it from Rodriguez's shop on Elphi. Rodriguez migrated to Canada years ago, along with thousands of other members of Karachi's Goanese community, and his shop is no more.
Capitol Cinema, Paradise Cinema, Rex Cinema, Palace Cinema, Rio Cinema, Godeon Cinema, Bambino Cinema and Lyric Cinema were all located in and around Saddar. Until the early 1960s, they showed the latest Hollywood blockbusters and British movies - not the badly-dubbed spaghetti westerns and Hong Kong martial arts rubbish of later years. Rex was the first Karachi cinema equipped with cinemascope. Bambino was the first to be equipped with a 70 mm screen and projection equipment. Its first 70 mm offering was David Lean's stunning 1962 film Lawrence of Arabia starring newcomer Peter O'Toole in the title role of T. E. Lawrence, the complex English leader of the Arab revolt against Turkey in World War I.
Many people in this part of the world thought Lawrence was a spy, and he remains a controversial figure even 70 years after his death in England in a motorcycle accident in 1935. In the late 1920s, Lawrence enlisted in the Royal Air Force under the assumed name of Shaw and was stationed for a while at the Malir air base in Karachi.
Of all the Saddar cinema houses, only Bambino and Lyric still survive; the rest were all torn down years ago to make way for concrete carbuncles or converted to other uses. Going to the movies is no longer something the whole family does. It's all-male audiences now, with catcalls and loutish behaviour being the norm.
1960s' Karachi had a thriving nightlife. The city had many nightclubs, all of which regularly put on shows - with acts like Chelo Alonso "The Cuban Bombshell" and Princess Amina "The Belly-Dancing Sensation" packing in the crowds.
In 1962, the KLM Midway House at Karachi airport opened for business and became an immediate hit with the late-night crowd. Everything it served was imported, right down to the peanuts, beer, and chicken with peaches. People would drive to Midway House for a meal after a late-night movie, and one often ran into friends and acquaintances there. The best steaks in town, however, were to be found at the Hostelerie de France, another hotel-cum-eatery near the airport.
In the early 1960s, Trini Lopez's up-tempo pop songs began to sweep America, with mega hits like 'La Bamba', 'Lemon Tree', 'If I Had A Hammer' and 'This Land Is My Land'. Lopez spawned a host of imitators in America and Europe. One of the best of the European imitators was a Dutch group called Johnny Lion and the Jumping Jewels. Johnny Lion sounded more like Trini Lopez than Lopez himself.
In 1963, KLM - a Dutch airline - had the bright idea of booking Johnny Lion and the Jumping Jewels for a six-week gig at the Midway House in Karachi. The shows were billed as dinner/dance affairs and were a smash hit, with up to 150 to 200 couples jiving away into the small hours every night. It all seems like a million years ago now.In 1964, the Intercontinental Hotel opened its doors for business. It was Karachi's first international hotel and the opening created much excitement among the city's socialite crowd - so much so that some Karachiites left their homes and checked in to the hotel for a few days during the week-long opening festivities.
Bikki Oberoi, the son of the founder of India's famous Oberoi Hotels chain, came to Karachi from New Delhi especially for the opening, along with his attractive wife, Guddi Oberoi. The Oberois were booked into a VIP suite at the Intercontinental. Bikki Oberoi had also brought his valet along. The valet, a turbaned Sikh name Tirlok Singh, stayed at the Palace Hotel, across the street from the Intercontinental. Tirlok Singh was a splendid-looking figure, and rumour had it that some Karachi ladies had been seen batting their eyelids at him on more than one occasion. Many Karachi gentlemen, meanwhile, kept trying to chat up the dazzling Guddi Oberoi - without any success, I might add.
The Intercontinental Hotel's supper club, Nasreen Room, became the place to be seen in of a Saturday night. There were times when the place seemed like a private party, because all the people there knew each other. Over the years, a succession of foreign bands were booked to play at the Nasreen Room. One of the most popular bands was a Italian group called Ivo Gillian's band. Ivo Gillian was the lead singer. He had a fine voice, but English was not his strong point. In 1967, four friends of mine decided to jointly host a masked ball at the Clifton residence of one of the hosts. They had the idea of sending out invitations for the party in the form of a song specially composed for the occasion and recorded on 45 rpm records. The song began with the words: "This is an invitation to a ball/ An invitation to a wild masked ball/ We're making a date/ For Saturday, February the 28th..."
Now, all they needed was somebody to set the song to music and record it. They chose Ivo Gillian and his band for the job. The wife of one of the hosts spent days coaching Ivo with the pronunciation of the English lyrics as the band recorded version after version of the song. Finally, after about a week of this, the lady was satisfied that Ivo had had got the lyrics right.
"I hope you'll come to the party, Ivo," she said.
"Partie? What partie?" asked a bewildered Ivo.
(By Kaleem Omar, The News-29, Koachi-5, 28/08/2005)