Monday, March 23, 2015

FLINGING KAK vs DROPPING K-BOMBS - A PEEK INTO THE SOUTH AFRICAN EDUCATION CISTERN...

Fuck.

It's time to get political again. I quipped earlier that the pooh-petrators of the Rhodes Statue debacle should rather concentrate on their studies and afford themselves the chance of bettering themselves. Not only in a socio-economic manner, but also in a way in which a decent education prohibits well brought up adults from chucking shit all over the place and defacing that which is not theirs.

After all the suffering and strife of an entire race, after all the political maneuvering and eventual dismantling of a hellishly prejudicial system, after all the redress, after all the bloodshed and sacrifice, I was under the impression that South Africa was at least making a token attempt at the rosy reconciliation so eloquently espoused by the late, great Tata Madiba. At least in 2005 and 2010, sport being what it is...

So the detractors of the juvenile public defacing (defecation?) of ol' Rhodes had the moral high ground. Or did they?

Well any rebuke we felt justified in dealing out was recently rendered utterly without worth. Enter some tit who felt it justified to retort with a hail of racist abuse, going as far as referring to these pooh-flingers as (close your ears) the K-word. Let me tell you something, youngster, that's WAY worse than a little excrement. And unforgivable. Thank you for lending credence to their gripe.

The question now is this: where does all this hatred come from? I was under the impression the lighties all got on. At least the ones privileged enough to have attended school and now university on equal footing. Yes, they may still have brand inequality in their lunchboxes, but nothing of the like experienced by their forefathers. I can understand the disenfranchised white retirement age resentment. Even sympathise with their incensed refusal to believe we're better off. They don't (all) know better, having had that kind of thing ingrained for as long as they did.

My generation had it the worst in terms of coming to terms with the dramatic change. I'm not complaining - I'm merely pointing out that we grew up perfectly used to a situation in which we had the unfair advantage. And then suddenly we didn't, and we were forced to embrace the very reason for our sudden demotion down the totem pole. If anyone has an excuse for finding it difficult to deal with change it is that generation, yet we've shown remarkable acceptance - even pointedly or actively joining in - and/or promoting - the process of transformation.

The lighties of today do not know how good they have it, black, or white, or coloured, or Indian, or anything else. You are protected by a wonderful constitution, if not your own government, and by extension the police force. But this hatred among you? Fuck colour. It means nothing! It doesn't mean you're denied the right to anything the person beside you does.

We cannot sweep what happened in the past under some convenient rug of "starting with a clean slate, eh?". Nor should we dredge up atrocities committed against the people of this beautiful country in order to make a statement. Wake the fuck up! That statement has been made over and over and over. The only way you, me and everyone else is going to make a change for the better is to bury the hatchet, acknowledge the inequalities of the past and move towards a more equal future together. I am no bleeding heart. I am even less politically motivated. But I do feel strongly that if you are too fucking dimwitted to contribute in a meaningful manner for the betterment of the situation, then SHUT THE FUCK UP!

And to those entitled little shitheads who still find it necessary to show their own backward barbarism, you do not deserve the right to a life of riches and privilege. Perhaps you'd be better off some place else where your racism is shared by the community. You are NOT welcome here in civilised society. And when you find this bigoted enclave, my sincerest hope is that it  mysteriously disappears off my planet. With you in it.

Fuck off. All of you.

Spread The Love. Your Country Needs It.

Friday, March 20, 2015

THE DEVIL'S DOORBELL...


So much catching up to get through. It's been a while...

Some of this may seem a little dated.

Cast your minds back to the PREMONITIONS gig. It was exactly like the good old days, when so many of us started out - the beginning of a journey that would eventually tally countless man hours and immeasurable expense, blood, sweat and tears that would eventually pay off. Yup playing to the other bands and their girlfriends was nostalgically gratifying. SUBVERS even had the opportunity to welcome Ian Watson to the stage for a rousing guest vocal appearance on our lovely little ditty 'Conviction'. Fuck! He tore that song a new one! We are truly blessed in Cape Town to have so many active and awesome bands. The punters are spoiled for choice week in and week out. Long may it last - it's the basis on which a great future is being built.

Following the show, instead of the usual "rock star treatment", we were up early to go to The Hot Girlfriend's work function at Fairview. Disgruntled goats on display aside, it was brilliant. Nice work if you can get it. Her one colleague - from behind the glazed mask of complete misunderstanding - commented that I looked like "Nickelback". I can only assume she meant that poodle who almost single handedly ruined rock'n'roll. Personally I think I look way more like Avril Lavigne. Perhaps that's where the confusion came in.

Then it was off to Joburg - much to my equal excitement and mortal trepidation - to catch the Ministry show. Toilet visits were very thoroughly scheduled way in advance and strictly adhered to throughout my trip. Except the night I landed. I spent the entire night with my head in the bog, like a teenage girl with aspirations of becoming the first to claim bad judgement in Spring Break. The Ministry experience, much like the Rammstein one, was a little less enjoyable then due to my tragic illness, nevertheless nothing short of fucking insane. All hail his majesty indeed! Terminatryx brought their own brand of stomp to the proceedings and the crowd went full lunatic to their set.

So after spending my week long holiday in Joburg cooped up inside for fear of further gastric pyrotechnics, aside from breakfast with my old friend PyeGye, it was back home. Do not pass begin, do not even look at Lanseria's time warp toilet. Thanks to Princess Pants and Lord Doom for looking after me.

I know this isn't going to come as any sort of shock, but Zuma is a poes.

And in the ongoing - and ever growing - list of disquieting observations on humankind and what makes them tick: If you're not the perpetrator of some heinous crime against humanity, you're obliged to point out what a doos all perpetrators of crimes against humanity are.

I know this little observation is a little late, but considering that I've been jotting down little points on which to make comment for almost 2 weeks, lest ye suffer from missilitis, here it is anyway. Witchfest should just be held in Cape Town. Clearly our religious fundamentalists are more relaxed than the fanatical zealots of The Norff. It has since been moved to a location where they cannot be pre-emptively fucked with, so here's hoping the festival goes off without a hitch after all these needless setbacks.

And then there was the fairytale wedding on Saturday. I broke a wine glass on the dancefloor and by that time had already discarded my kerkskoene and was on bare feet... And I wasn't the only one suffering from a touch of over exuberance. The bride blurted out "I DO!" three times. THREE times! What a lucky fellow the groom is. I wish both of you the best for your future together - if the wedding was anything to go by, you have nothing but the most amazing life to look forward to. I passed out in the back of the bakkie on the way home.

Oh and Rhodes was a bad man and a colonist, but surely you have something better to do than fling pooh? You're doing nothing more than exposing yourself as a morally bankrupt arsehole who probably stole your younger sister's Barbies for fun time in the back shed. Concentrate on your education dickhead, and perhaps then you won't be tempted to act out in such barbaric ways. If you were any smarter you wouldn't lend credence to the very utterances he made to which you take such umbrage.

Also LEFTY'S is the shit! The Hot Girlfriend is now officially the longest incumbent Minister Of Home Affairs in my life. We celebrated this and our anniversary by going to Lefty's for a meal. And what a meal it was! The staff are friendly and quirky. The food is imaginative and out-of-this-world delicious without being precious or pretentious. And the vibe is infectiously charming in an urban setting kinda way. Given this combination, you simply cannot help but have a good time.

Then there's the cricket. South Africa confounded the book makers on Wednesday by chewing and swallowing Sri Lanka whole. I was lying in bed with my coffee and my rusks and a big fat grin all over my face. Days like that are rare and should be cherished. Meanwhile I think Pakistan's fielding coach is already filling out online job applications.

I know I've forgotten a few things, but that's pretty much it in terms of catching up. I have a million other things I could whinge about, but right now it's Friday afternoon in the Mother City and, like peering into a stripper's butthole, I can see the light at the end of the tunnel. Have a safe and sensational weekend, everyone.

Spread The Love. Double Click That Mouse.

Thursday, March 19, 2015

SICK SICK SICK!!!


So what are you all doing on the weekend? Beating up a couple of old ladies? Sniffing a few petrol tanks? Nice quiet Sunday morning brunch at Stodels? I've a better idea...

Why don't you take in what is possible one of the most historical (and dripping with nostalgia) shows presented in recent times? That's right folks! Here's you chance to be part of something you missed. And trust me, you will DEFINITELY hanker back to the glory days when you get an earful of these venerable veterans.

3 of Cape Town's most beloved bands, who last played together more than a decade ago, have decided to present to you this once in a life time show. Well, your more recent life time. And it is going to be, as the the term "glory days" so subtly insinuates, GLORIOUS!

Allow me to introduce you...

V.O.L. was formed in 2003 and was prolifically active on the local circuit. Kevin Rule, Art Pereira and Miggs Auer are legendary stalwarts in the local live music scene and have gotten together with original guitarist Jonathan Commerford to recapture their explosive sound and dish it out to you, you lucky bastards!

Roswell Kings have been described as epic alternative rock, utilising aspects of metal to add grandeur to their immense sonic soundscapes. Featuring one man music masterclass, Andy Lund, Jason Ling of Taxi Violence infamy, and the omnipresent Art Pereira, they'll have you reminiscing, glowing, and happily recalling the wonder of musical discovery and the majesty of misspent youth.

And then there's Ill System. Recently reformed due to popular demand (following a once off reunion show), they offer a unique take on metal, blending together interesting percussion and elements of ska. If the clamour of the crowds is to be seen to be believed, then you do not want to miss Sean Olsen, Bobby Addison, Mike Cubic and Ramone Pickover once more combining to sublime effect to bring you what they call African Reggae Metal.

So put on your dancing shoes, dig out your old Korn tshirt, take 2 Prohep and come and see for yourself what all the excitement is about. Mercury is the place to be as these home town heroes BRING ON THE AWESOME! 

I've Said It Before And I'll Keep On Saying It. Spread The Love.


Friday, February 27, 2015

BLOGGING... A DEAD HORSE?


Why do I do this? Because I can.

I get to relieve myself of any issues that are bothering me. Much like a satisfactory dump, I cleanse my colonic conscience and move on with my life. It's cathartic and therapeutic to rant and whinge and then have a private chuckle at all the reactions. It affords me the opportunity to fling my pooh all over the internet and come out the other end refreshed and ready to tackle the problems of the world once more...

And not unlike every other motherfucker with something to sell, it also allows me to shamelessly punt my interests. For instance, I am excited to be playing a show tomorrow night with my band SUBVERS. We're performing at Mercury with some stellar bands. BULLETSCRIPT, THE WARINSANE and WITH DAWN are not only all immensely impressive, but they're all the sorts of lads you could take home to meet your mother. What they get up to with your mother is another issue, although I guarantee you between stealing her cupcakes and stealing her soul, she'll be a satisfied customer either way.

Having my own personal virtual soapbox also allows me to bring certain things to your attention. (As I was waffling/typing out that last paragraph, I had such an important thing to tell you, and now it's gone, like fyne poepies...) Just be glad I don't litter your lunch break reading pleasure with unwanted pictures of cats. Or like everyone else, the result of their first, second and third successful sweaty, heaving pomps. I draw the line just shy of purging my soul by busting out my thoughts on love, life and the universe too. Unless of course there is an urgent message in there somewhere. Like this clearly well thought out post.

I even wax political sometimes. Although I try and retain some modicum of perspective, I am just as guilty as most when airing my views. And my views are generally "don't be a bigoted doos, you bigoted doos". If my mom ever read this shit, I'd get so grounded...

After my friends in other bands had been around for a visit, obviously.

Speaking of, I'm beginning my practice routine in order to perfect my funny walk. I have no idea how on earth it hasn't established itself as a tradition to do a silly walk at every Ministry concert, but I fully intend on rectifying this aberrant oversight. That's right, folks! Next week I jet off to the Big Shitty to see one of my favourite bands right here in South Africa - thanks to Witchdoctor Productions and my ability to survive on end-of-the-month Salticrax all month long. Every month. And Patrick Davidson, the living legend. Thank you.
When he isn't the Grand Facilitator, Patrick enjoys long walks on the beach and romantic gestures in public. He also plays in a band. He and the rest of TERMINATRYX are sharing the stage with Ministry next week! Fucking awesome! Kill 'em dead, guys!

As with everything to which one can sellotape a hashtag, all of a sudden everyone is now a cricket expert. I for one am enjoying this festival of cricket tremendously. I'm really hoping our lads can overcome this very unfair noose of "choker" and go the distance. I don't think it's appropriate to use "choker" in such an unflattering light anyway. I have the greatest respect for the works of Lovelace, Grey, Rotten, Khalifa, Jameson, Rayne and company.Told you my mom would shit herself if she ever found out about this blog...
And whoever thought that "Protea Fire" was a good slogan has clearly never spent long happy summers cursing a variety of tourists who come and burn our fucking mountain down every year. Fuckers. Ryan McLaren, you were robbed, boy.

It's Friday. Go out and do something irreverent.

And a Grumpy Birthday to our very own Minister Of Misery, Lord Doom! See you next week, you gloomy git.

And that's just about all we have time for today. Bedeeah, bedeeah, bedeeah, that's all folks!

Spread The Love. Like A Toddler Smears Pooh On A Wall.

Tuesday, February 24, 2015

HONEY BOO BOO KITTY FUCK

Yes, luv. You may "hazz" cheeseburger...

Ja just another day at the office. Unless you're Chris Gayle. And whatever arse-headed shit stain soiling the hallowed halls of the SABC who decided against broadcasting this morning's game. I've had to follow the greatest individual batting performance of all time on cricinfo. Updates are typed at me. It's hardly a sufficient substitute for the visual spectacle. I mean, only one oke in the history of the entire world has pomped Zimbabwe harder and he's only ninety one not out...

Other than that I have precious little to complain about. And for someone who enjoys a good ol' whinge online and is usually clad in 50 shades of black, that's not an easy situation. In fact, I have a lot of positives on which to report. Last night SUBVERS was once again hard at work in the studio and I'm over the moon to report some serious progress. The pipe dream that is an entire album is almost in the can. Then the wonderful mixing and mastering phase will probably herald my demise. Thank goodness for both you and I that I am not doing the actual work, merely sitting there being a nuisance and pouring my unwanted opinion all over everyone and everything.

Also, between work, the beer special at Checkers, and my already well published proclivity towards the odd tipple, I am convinced I'm on an interesting journey that ends in a slow death by liver failure. That, and I've been watching far too much Shameless of late. It's currently the show de jour in my house, especially when The Hot Girlfriend is around. Speaking of, this week marks her first turn at hosting Dinner Club. I get to sit on my arse and do nothing more than make sure everyone has drinks. Unless I get roped into being Kitchen Bitch, which I am hoping to avoid like a venereal disease. Should be fun.

And on a completely unrelated subject, has anyone ever seen this clip of the infamous Honey Boo Boo, the child protege (and poster child for everything wrong with 'Murica) and her mom making what they call "Sketti n butter"... I hope you have a fairly strong stomach...

Anyway, am running out of time today. I really don't like this shit of being busy at work - it steals far too much time from my daily day dreaming allotment. Have a wonderful evening. And if that is not on the cards, at least try to avoid the cliche of polluting the rest of us with poorly written poetry.

Spread The Love. Pass The Cholesterol.

Wednesday, February 18, 2015

WRAP YOUR LIPS AROUND THIS!


So what are you lovely people all doing on the 28th of February? 28 is double 14, so it's an extra special day, being twice as romantic as Vallenfyre Day! And speaking of all things indescribably awesome, and heavy, I give you PREMONITIONS.

A mouth watering line up of diverse, and divinely damaging bands make up this showcase of Cape Town's underground metal. SUBVERS is thrilled to be sharing a stage with such illustrious heavyweights.
So let me introduce you - on the assumption that you've been living under a rock. Or a bridge. You can thank me later.

BULLETSCRIPT has fast risen to local acclaim with their riff laden groove underpinning Ian Watson's inspiring vocal vitriol. They lock shit down just as effectively as they fuck shit up. And fuck your shit up they will. They don't leave behind a crowd of smiling satisfied customers - rather a wake of stunned, shattered souls, always eager for more.
THE WARINSANE has cemented its place in the upper echelons of South African extreme metal for a number of years now, consistently producing ferocious metal guaranteed to bludgeon you into submission. It's that simple, although the music is anything but. You'll be left bruised and bloodied, and you'll love every second of it. Wallace Warner towers over any audience, an intensity that's impossible to ignore - he will have his vicious way with you like it or not...
WITHDAWN has more recently made its mark on the live scene with a year or two of relentless performances and finally an album of dizzying grandeur. They more than crack a nod toward the influences of more contemporary metal, combining introspective undercurrents with thunderous overtures, inventive time signatures with deafening walls of sound. And it'll move you. The astounding vocal range of singer Kevin Rule is the icing on this sumptuous sonic cake. You'll choke on every crushing musical morsel.

Oooooh look at you. You clever clogs... you've gone and noticed that I've been singling out the vocalists of these outfits. Well, other than the fact that they most certainly represent "a selection of SA's finest frontmen all on one stage", it also brings me neatly to my good friend and band mate Matthew Miller. SUBVERS has been described as a hard rocking Type O Negative or a rampant Rammstein. Personally, I think there's way more to us than that, but come to the show and see for yourself. The reason for the positive feedback (not mine - everyone always complains when I do that) is mainly due to our own superb singer. Andrew Eldritch fucking wishes...

Anyway, you don't have to believe me. Just click on the gifts I have left for you and you will run immediately to stake your place in the queue, even though it's another 10 days to go:

BULLETSCRIPT - Enough

THE WARINSANE - Burned Alive

WITHDAWN - Diminished

SUBVERS - Flatline (demo)... Ja! Ja! The album's almost done. Hold your horses...

This is going to be a show of monumental proportion. Hold onto your panties. Except when SUBVERS plays - all projectile knickers welcome. Preferably not ironically large Pep Stores bloomers. I have enough guitar lappies to last me a life time...

Spread The Love. Pass the Earplugs.

Tuesday, February 17, 2015

AMATEUR BONDAGE - FIFTY SHADES OF FUCK OFF.


As the more astute of you would by now have realised, I recently took up farming. It was a timely combination of a chronic addiction to wine and the fact that Julius is currently more concerned with Zuma paying back the money than killing any boers. Anyway, in the spirit of the entire world airing their laundry online and posting pics of their darling babies all over the net, MY KIDS ARE SICK!

Yes, my vines have developed what my discerning eye can only describe as "yellow leaf with little holes in them" or "the jaundiced cancer plague of death". I'll find out more on Sunday when I visit the nursery.

So in the wake of the country's second largest shake up ever, what are y'all up to? A quick glance at social media has the world back to business as usual. Entirely dissipated is the outrage and the disbelief. We're back to worrying about bills and branding our offspring uniquely gifted. When I have real kids one day - and yes, I plan to assault the earth with my genetic superiority - I'm going to post glib little updates like "Johnny called the chemist" and see if anyone gets it...

In other recent news, we tracked some more vocals for the hugely anticipated SUBVERS album last night. It is hugely anticipated in my universe, thank you very much. But almost as exciting is the return of Champions League football on the telly tonight! Granted, the competition lacks a little lustre without the brilliance of United, but it's fun to watch anyway. With any luck we'll be back where we belong next season. And Liverpool can return to nicking hubcaps.

Speaking of... ah yes, the feelgood story of the week. Nick Becker left his beloved saxophone in his car and it got nicked. Stash it, don't flash it, Nick! But as a fellow owner of musical instruments (note, I didn't lump myself in the same category, as Nick is a real musician) I empathised hard. If something had happened to any of my angels, I'd have gone homicidal. In fact, to the fucker who stole Julie 8 years ago, I hope you died an excruciatingly painful and profoundly sickening death, and thank you for all the replacement gear from my insurance pay out. One day she will be mine. Once again. Oh yes!

And yes, all my angels have names...

My mother never understood why I needed more than one. Actually my father actively discouraged me from owning any. He may have had a point. If I'd avoided the immeasurable expense, both financial and emotional (not to mention time) I'd probably be a damn site further ahead on the "suggested aspirations for a successful life" curve. If I ever make enough money for a property big enough for a dog, I'm naming it Plutus. The dog, not the property. Do you think Disney will come after me? That is of course, after I've acquired a few new angels.

And today marks the birthday of one of South Africa's music industry's true legends. He may not have the album sales associated with commercial success, but a more revered figure you will not find. Cult following for every band he has ever led from the front. Numerous critically acclaimed releases over 2 decades. Overseas tour. And the respect of everyone who matters. Happy birthday Fatboy! \m/

Spread The Love. Julie, I Miss You! Come Home!