March 31, 2006
Known by about three people for their accidental tunes of shot-up love, slippery democracies and the general consequences of the incorrect application of beer and freedom in the dailies of our lives, The Buckfever Underground will bring you spoken word in Afrikaans and English, large-mouth bass, slack-jawed drums, strange guitar sounds and a man with hair on keyboards.
You can catch Toast Coetzer and the Buckfever Underground's "I Shot A Muishond In Gauteng Just To Watch Him Die" Tour in Gauteng in April. And you should.
I'm only mentioning it because BVK will be there and I'm counting on Mr Fat to keep the rest of those pesky hippies under control.
Like Ben Lee, for example.
March 29, 2006
Unlike you, people actually posted comments to his article – some of which are surprisingly informative:
March 29, 2006
I seriously considered converting to Judaism when I was 12. This was just after the ill-fated pony phase, but still some time before I cottoned on to homemade hallucinogens and arson. My family are, by and large, a well-intentioned bunch of heathens, but it only took a couple of pool parties at the Horowitz's for me to become infatuated with the stern-looking men who range the streets on weekends like gunslingers, black coats a-flapping. That was before they told me I didn't get a hat, of course.
The appeal is not as far-fetched as it sounds. If the Old Testament was an album, it would be something by Priest. Or Sabbath. Something Heavy. Something Apocalyptic. Something Metal. If the New Testament was a band, it would be… The Carpenters. NTOTB. I don't think I need to spell it out any further. Besides, I don't think anyone is still reading.
None of which explains my – entirely respectful – fascination with Matsiyahu, "the Hasidic Reggae superstar". Honestly. The hairy holy-roller gives the The AV Club an interesting glimpse into what it means to Keep The Faith without dropping the beat:
The A.V. Club: What do you do when you have a night off during a tour?
Matisyahu: I have a chavrusa, a friend that I learn with, who I talk with over the phone. So I'll be speaking with him, and I have a couple meetings and interviews. I think there's the possibility of some bowling happening at some point.
'Purimpalooza'. That's funny.
March 27, 2006
March 26, 2006
Democracy has meant wonderful things for the people of this country. Just this weekend, f'instance, I was able to stroll a few pleasant blocks and watch one of the biggest bands in the world thunder through a 2 hour set for the benefit of 20 000 delirious white people. Oh, and there's that whole vote thing too, obviously.
Like I said, pleasant – and considerably enhanced by the fact that I arrived at Saturday's Coca-Cola Colab Massive Mix just in time for the main event, bypassing the queues and several hours of sun-baked tedium as every laaitjie within a 100 km radius waited anxiously for Metallica to take to the stage. Judging by the number of TT's and Beemers in the parking lot, their parents were there in full force, too. And so, of course, was everyone who has ever lugged an amp to the garage in the name of rock 'n roll. As a passing label owner noted, 'it's like Arties*, only bigger".
A quick poll suggested that we hadn't really missed out on anything by turning up late, although Lee Lips graciously conceded that Seether "were better than Michael Bolton." Michael Bolton, it transpired, was actually Ed Roland, vocalist for Collective Soul. I caught the last few songs of their set. Professional. Friendly. Bland. Everyone else must really like them, though – the audience sang along with the kind of gusto normally reserved for the Lumberjack Song during Rag Week. I would have joined in and all, but I was too busy evading everyone I've dated in the last 5 years.
There's a longstanding complaint – emanating from the support slots, mostly – that the headlining act's guitars are always turned up one louder, and Metallica were no exception. As the opening chords of Blackened parted the dry ice, I was a little surprised to discover Billy Crystal had replaced Lars on drums, but no one else seemed to mind, really. Then, midway through the third song, Harvester of Sorrow, I went deaf in one ear. At least that's what I thought had happened, but it turned out that the power had been cut to the right-hand side of the stage. After a few minutes, and to chants of “Eskom, Eskom” from a bemused crowd, the band lurched back into action. The momentum had clearly been lost – the sound was choppy and the band tight but workmanlike. It was only during Sanitarium, as Kirk flicked back his locks – a ray of light arcing off his ESP KH-2 M-II, and blinding Rob Trujillo mid ugga-ugga face – that everything dropped into place with a melodious clang.
Y'know – I was as bummed as the rest of you by the whole Newsted / Bob Rock thing, but when Rob isn't swinging from lianas or scraping his knuckles along the stage – seriously, the guy looks like a Jamie Hewlett cartoon – he plays the bass with the grace and ease of a Bolshoi-schooled savant. He's pretty damn awesome, actually. Somewhat surprisingly, the setlist steered clear of much of their commercial stuff, opting for a heavy ride through Metallica's earlier output – including the really thrashy stuff, which caused some pants-wetting among the purists immediately to my left. And the band looked as if they were as pleased with the results as we were. The only album that didn't get much of a look-in was St. Anger. Which is good. Because the album isn't, really.
Lastly, if anyone else is thinking of calling to tell me that I missed a chat with monkey-man Trujillo at Green Point Market the next day by electing to stay home and do my laundry: thanks, but the prospect of all that ironing is depressing me enough as it is.
*For those of you who had less complicated childhoods: Arties Cellar Pub was tiny, dank venue in the kak part of town that must have hosted every two-bit punk and metal band in the country during its 'heyday' in the early to mid 90s. The ceiling was so low that punters invariably left with their mohawks flattened to one side. S'true.
March 26, 2006
March 23, 2006
If you’ve seen Charlie Jade, the slick and incomprehensible Sci-fi series that has a Canadian flitting between accents and parallel universes in and around Cape Town, then the South African Music Award (SAMA) nominations will make perfect sense to you.
If not, let me try and make things a little clearer: in a place that looks a lot like this one, Kurt Darren lounges on a pile of Kruger Rands as wan label execs mop his brow and gesture to the dozens of adoring fans clutching “Vat My, Maak My Joune” to their ample bosoms. Around the back, Seether are handed a small plaque and congratulated on their ‘freshness’ and ‘originality’, before being stripped of their passports and told to trim their hair. The SAMA marketing police patrol tirelessly, handing out accordions and marimbas to kids in Three Cheers for Sweet Revenge t-shirts. In this universe – the Jo(ma se)verse, I am a P.A. named Cindy.
Fortunately I’m typing this in the next universe over. I inhabit this reality as myself, only taller and slightly whinier. Here the bands play loud, thrilling songs about drunks and Satan – on guitars, not keyboards or thumb-pianos. They even have better hair. Yes, of course the likes of Kurt Darren and Watershed still exist, but no one pretends that they own any of their records or that they think they’re any good. This universe is called Secondverse. And it’s not quite the same as the first.
March 21, 2006
When you date someone in a band, there are really only two things you can count on:
1. He will walk in on you cradling the shattered neckpiece of his guitar – the one you’ve just knocked over and stood on.
2. you’ll be asked to film all their gigs, because, you know, you just “get it.”
Except I don’t. Having endured my share of cramped fingers and serious internal injuries just so we’d have some indistinct heaving shapes and glimpses of the drummer’s knee to reminisce over, I fail to see how Awesome; I Fuckin’ Shot That!, the Beastie Boys concert film composed entirely of footage shot by fans, is anything other than a monumentally stupid idea.
The least attractive Beastie, Adam Yauch, gave 50 fans hand-held cameras at a Madison Square concert and instructed them to film their entire experience. Yauch came up with the idea shortly after being hit on the head by a gong-wielding Buddhist at a mandala drawing ceremony. Or, possibly, after seeing footage captured by a fan on a camera phone:
“It just looked really cool, like it was all grainy and low resolution,” Yauch says. “And I just thought it would be interesting to try documenting a whole concert like that.”
March 20, 2006
Yup, not only are Fat Wreck stalwarts Lagwagon playing this shit hole, but we're going to be presenting the band with witchdoctored trinkets and juju'd-up curios that will eventually convert every North American audience member with a double-digit IQ into a Blackmore's Night devotee. Don't take it personally, or anything.
Catch Santa Barbara’s finest, along with our own 'Southern Ska Stompers', Fuzigish, at the following venues:
20/06/2006: Foundry Fly Lounge, Pretoria
21/06/2006: Bassline, Johannesburg
22/06/2006: Mercury Live, Cape Town
That's a great limo, jo'blog.
March 20, 2006
My people in Jozie inform me that Saturday’s Coca-Cola Colab Massive Mix Concert was a blast. That is, until the refreshment stands ran out of beer, leaving roughly 43 000 hot and bewildered punters baying for blood and whatever other warm, flat, beverages were doing the rounds.
March 20, 2006
1. Flu. 2. Deadlines. 3. Australians.
Let’s just pretend I haven’t been unbelievably slack and take it from here, ok?
March 15, 2006
Someone important to me died exactly a year ago today. I carried 2 bottles of Jamesons and
some Nembutal a Pogues album around for a few days afterwards in case anyone needed a bit of a leg-up. But as it turns out, we aren’t Irish or retarded, so we did all right on tea and polite conversation instead. My brother drove me home to write a eulogy and do what I’ve done at the beginning and sloppy, sentimental conclusion of every defining relationship in my life: make a mix-tape. Not much of a gesture, all things considered, but ultimately more sustaining than sedatives tea and sandwiches.
Still, if I’ve learned anything from the past year, it’s that you can’t stay angry forever. So today seems the perfect time put aside the dirges and bleak laments and replace them with a couple of songs that actually make me happy, instead of just homicidal. Sing along if you know the words:
Fragile Thing, Big Country: This duet by Stuart Adamson and Eddi Reader – the Cash and Carter of Northern England – might not strike you as a particularly uplifting choice for an opening track – Adamson sounds like the loneliest man on the planet, for god’s sake. He hanged himself in a hotel room in Hawaii a couple of years after this was released, and it’s impossible not to imagine him practising the knot between verses. And yet, somehow, it manages to be both heartrending and hopeful. I always feel better for hearing it, so it stays.
Gone Away, The Offspring: Yes, I know. It’s a ‘Cemetery Gates’ for adolescent boys in low-slung trousers, and really quite spanky at that. In the video, Dexter wears his best Tom of Finland shirt and sings to a light bulb. Which always cheers me up.
Kerosene, Big Black: Steve Albini used a dictaphone to record himself running a saw across a cheese grater. Underwater. And it’s still sounds better than anything I’ve ever produced.
Some Kinda Hate and Die, Die My Darling, Misfits: Actually, I love everything off their first 3 albums. More importantly, Doyle is single again. Give him my phone number – that would make me really happy.
Waiting Room, Fugazi: I went for a Bass lesson once because playing along to The Ramones is fun, but not necessarily instructive. Once the instructor had finished admiring my trousers, I explained that I was there to learn how to perfect the bass line to this song. After a pause, he said, “Mr. Big are quite good, don’t you think?” So I learned a little Bach and then I went home. (Don’t even think about mouthing ‘emo’ in my direction, or I’ll slap that carrot juice right out of your hand. Vegan.)
Surprise! You’re Dead!, Faith No More: When I first heard this album I dropped my eyeliner, kicked my Bauhaus album under the couch and fell in love with crunchy guitars. Embarrassing, isn’t it? I became so enamored of this album that I used to walk around with the lyrics to “The Real Thing” and “Falling to Pieces written in smudgy marker on my arms, along with crude representations of the tattoos I planned on getting. Fittingly, my first tattoo does look a little like someone scrawled it on in black crayon. Fuck.
Am I Demon, Danzig: It’s hard not to snigger at a line like “seasoned schemes of slimy curs offer up their flu”, especially when it’s delivered by someone with an inflatable raft in each cheek. Unless you have the flu and feel a bit like a dog yourself – then it’s actually quite profound.
Vote with a Bullet, Corrosion of Conformity: This dates from when COC were still a punk band and didn’t sound like they ride around in red pickups and molest farm animals. Pepper Keenan has one of the best voices around, if you like Deliverance.
Bring The Noise, Public Enemy: I wish I had a posse and a low-rider. I do have a pimp living next door to me, though. Am I ‘street’ yet?
Everyone woman needs a positive female role model. Failing that, Kim Deal.
Gratitude, Beastie Boys:
All right, maybe I am a little retarded.
The Creeps, Social distortion: Old punks never die, they just go to rehab and make a Country album – because nothing hides a receding hairline like a Stetson. Ask Dwight Yoakam. It should be obvious to nearly everyone by now that I like my punks stroppy, skinny, and covered in tattoos. And they didn’t come much stroppier than Mike Ness back in the day.
Commando, Ramones: Nuhnuhnuhnuh, nuhnuhnuhnuh. Nuhnuhnuhnuh, nuhnuhnuhnuh. Nuhnuhnuhnuh, nuhnuhnuhnuh. Nuhnuhnuhnuh, nuhnuhnuhnuh. Oh, right. I also like them stupid.
Neat, Neat, Neat, The Damned: I saw The Cramps in London years ago – and the sight of Lux Interior – older than my dad, even – wobbling around in 9 inch heels was a little disconcerting. Not much of a lux exterior, unfortunately. Anyway, The Damned’s Dave Vanian materialised at my elbow and stood next to me for the remainder of the gig. Me! (Actually, he stood next to my boyfriend, but he doesn’t count.) Dave is married to another hero of mine – Patricia Morrison, former bassist for Gun Club and the Sisters of Mercy – and they recently had a daughter that they didn’t call Eloise. A real-life Addams Family. Sweet.
Roxy, Girls Against Boys: This is from the album that everyone agrees is their worst. But I’ve already worn out the grooves on Bullet Proof Cupid, My Night of Pleasure, and every other track of theirs I’ve ever loved. Anyway, this one has xylophones. Xylophones!
Atomic, Blondie: The first single I ever bought on my own was Blondie’s Call Me. I wish I’d had enough pocket money for the Parallel lines album instead. Atomic doesn’t appear on either of those, but it has a fantastically cheesy disco riff and Debbie Harry thinks my hair is beautiful. Plus she has the best cheekbones ever. I’ll pretend this was an ‘ironic’ inclusion.
Jack The Ripper, Nick Cave & The Bad Seeds: Nick has a woman who “screams out Jack the Ripper” every time he tries to give that girl a kiss. That’s funny, but hardly surprising. His new handlebar moustache can’t be helping matters, either.
Sick Things, The Meteors: A lifetime ago, someone gave me a fourth generation cassette with Wreckin’ Crew and 999’s Biggest Prize in Sport on the other side. I can’t play this track without hearing a bunch of sloppy punks yell “boiler, boiler!” over it in my head.
Fever, The Cramps: There’s a scene in Katherine Bigelow’s Near Dark where a group of vampires shut down a bar and drain the patrons of their bodily fluids. In an inspired bit of casting, one of their vics looks like Michael Bolton with stubble. This is playing in the background.
Low Place Like Home, Sneaker Pimps: I played this track to death while I brooded over a particularly annoying break-up. Then a neighbour slipped a note in my post box begging me to play a different song, and I switched to Fear Factory’s Replica for a couple of weeks instead.
Black No. 1, Type O Negative: Yes, this is the track that everyone who has never heard the rest of their albums selects as their favourite. I can’t help it – it always makes me smile. Also, there’s that picture of Pete Steele where his hair is sorta blown back and he… I forgot what my point was. Sorry.
Sistinas, Danzig: Slowdancing with Ed Gein to Elvis records in the basement.
I don’t know about you, but that always makes me feel a whole lot better. So does making lists while hopped-up on flu medicine, apparently.
March 14, 2006
I think it’s fair to say that if Shaughn Pieterse hadn’t launched Witchdoctor Records to promote his own band back in 1999, there’s little chance we would have seen the likes of The Haunted or Sepultura pulling up outside a local venue in our lifetimes. Or Entombed buying beer on Sacraphyx’s tab at the Purple Turtle, for that matter. That’s not necessarily a good thing. I can’t go to a braai or a sokkie these days without someone’s misshapen younger brother sidling over with an autographed t-shirt or anecdote about the time he evaded security and got to ‘shake’ that roadie’s ‘hand’ behind the tour bus.
And when Witchdoctor aren’t trying to convince international acts that they won’t be trampled by wild beasts if they come to Africa…
WR: What’s the funniest thing that’s happened on a tour?
A: So many many things happen every single day … from being nearly stampeded by elephants with SOULFLY, charged by rhinos with ENTOMBED … and the best would have to be Mark Rizzo being atttacked by a giant insect around the fire (I even got footage of it).
…they’re trawling white suburbia for the hardest and heaviest – and making sure your local CD retailer knows about it.
Catch Forever Will Burn, Chief Rebel Angel, Architecture Of Aggression, Nemesis Army and other Witchdoctor protégés at WITCHFEST 2006 in Jozie, Durban and Cape Town in April. Drunken punks Half Pint… er, Price and Three Chord Theory are also scheduled to show up and be stroppy.
March 13, 2006
Local Christian groups have taken a short break from disparaging homosexuals and joined forces to quell a new and formidable threat to the nation’s moral fibre: Fokofpolisiekar.
The Weekend Argus reports that Jesus Project, a Christian action media group, placed a full-page ad in Die Beeld condemning the little punks as blasphemous, and no doubt ‘hairy’, after bass guitarist Wynand Myburgh allegedly wrote “Fuck God” on a young fan’s wallet after a gig. Plague expected on Tuesday.
Not to be outdone, a group of Christian ministers in Oudtshoorn have lobbied sponsors and organisers to prevent Fokof from participating in the country’s largest Afrikaans arts festival, the Klein Karoo Nationale Kunstefees (KKNK), threatening to withdraw the use of church halls as venues if their demands aren’t complied with. Sales of
flaming cross-shaped koeksusters are expected to go ahead, though.
Yes, this is the same Wynand Myburgh from defunct Godcore band Seventh Breed. Stop, the irony is killing me, etcetera.
Contrary to appearances, I’m a big fan of organised religion. Particularly when it helps my favourite bands sell more albums.
Mooi kiekie, Liam Lynch.
March 10, 2006
I’ve been all over the web today, looking for something to pique your interest. Aside from an essay on how much I love Emile Jensen‘s hair, the best I could come up with is that Stereogum says The NY Post says the Pope has an iPod. Sorry.
Now, I know what you’re thinking – whip up a quick Black Metal playlist for His Holiness so you can once again prove how dark and sardonically hip you are, and then go and catch The Rudimentals* at Zula as part of the Cape Town Night Festival in Long Street tonight.
No. I’m going to sit back and let you write the piece instead:
Pick a headline:
* Jesus. Did I just hear right?
* Rock of Ages.
* Papal Rain.
* God Machine: Benedict got soul!
* Like a Virgin? Probably.
* The Devil has the best iTunes.
Lead with a paragraph on:
Briefly state your opinion on:
* Immaculate Conception
* Matisyahu, the Hasidic Reggae superstar
* The Rhythm Method
Quote freely from:
* The Bhagavad Gita
* The Blues Bros
* KISS liner notes
* Another list, because honestly, you got nothing.
* I can hear
them someone else playing as I type, and they are awesome. Also, I have no life.