Friday, February 27, 2015
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
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
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
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!
Monday, February 16, 2015
Check that view!
Much like the State Of Our Nation's Unrest, I am trying my best not to comment on the issue of loadshedding. More because I'd like to distance myself from all the intimidatingly insightful comments made by the public at large than to steer clear of the bandwagon, y'know...
But it really struck a powerful blow yesterday morning. There I was... all primed and excited for the World Cup, although to be fair I wake up in a similar state most mornings. Alas, I did manage to oversleep, but was looking forward tremendously to lying in and enjoying the second innings with some coffee and rusks. 7 Overs in and BLAM! the electricity is cut. Eskom, pissing on the ProteaFire... Take my eyes!
And on a similar note, I love how "we the few" are so hell bent on educating "we the few" regarding the corrupt ineptocracy with which we find ourselves burdened. If you're serious about effecting change, reposting DA memes and arguing your flaccid point on social media is going to achieve fuckall. If you want real change, you have to get to the voters, instead of giving people like me fodder to keep us distracted from work. It's called preaching to the choir; look it up. Personally, I could give less of a shit. I have a fairly jaundiced view of anyone in political office, so don't hold much hope for the next raft of rats, no matter which colour their tshirts.
But you know what, fuck it! I had an awesome weekend despite having to make coffee on gas. Vallenfyre Day with The Hot Girlfriend was amazing. We dived into the bottom half of my wine collection. Actually it was her wine we opened - I'm pretty spoiled. All in all the entire weekend was exactly what it's supposed to be about. Nothing too tacky, just spending time together. She is incredible and I count myself very, very lucky to have her in my life. Without being too soppy about it. Besides, you know, I like romanticalistical stuff.
So to everyone who had the opportunity to spend time with loved ones, good on you. And to those who found themselves alone, you have the unique experience of meeting that person who will light up your life - that's still going to happen, along with all the gooey emotions and cheesy shit eating grins. Enjoy. Hopefully sooner than later, my foolhardy flock.
Remember, only 312 days left for Christmas shopping!
Spread The Love. Buy A Generator For Your iPhone.
Friday, February 13, 2015
Stevie Wonder and Paul McCartney may have been onto something...
The saddest thing to come of this farcical circus otherwise known as the State Of The Nation Address is, contrary to popular belief, not the great revelation that the ruling party is a bunch of bungling buffoons interspersed with the odd maniacal manipulator. Rather it's the reaction of a dumbstruck proletariat. The willful ignorance. The plainly unsophisticated attempts at humour. The surprising surprise. The shock and indignation, as if they were expecting a civilised discourse concluding in a rational solution towards a colourblind Utopia.
And the unashamed racism. Oh the racism! Ja but it's kak unfair that we don't get everything the way we used to! Let me tell you something you blinkered fool. The degree to which I have struggled in my life time to find employment in the field for which I hold a Masters, is staggering compared to yours. Nothing says overqualified, under experienced, too white and too male more than a look in my mirror. Yet somehow I manage to refrain from blaming my woes on the inevitable redress. Amazing isn't it? Perhaps, instead of besmirching social media with your archaic and hate filled rhetoric, you went out and did something pro-active to improve your life and the lives of others you'd feel more fulfilled. I suppose it's a small mercy that you've taken a break from posting 20 billion pictures of your progeny, or someone else's pet.
How is it possible, in this the age of enlightenment, that we are surrounded by such bald faced bigotry? Did you watch 12 Years A Slave and root for the slaver? Do you yearn for the good ol' days when every person of colour was stripped entirely of their basic human rights? You're complaining because your undeserved privilege has been diminished and the elected leaders of the day are making matters worse. Fair enough. Almost. How about the vast majority that still endure daily strife and will never see the level of privilege you once enjoyed? Do they fit your cultural profiling, or is your resentment reserved only for the new black elite?
Perspective is everything. All you're doing is outing yourself as an infantile shithead incapable of discerning the dire from the dramatic. You're actually lending credence to the assertion that Steve Hofmeyr is as dangerous as he is awful. And that you're no better than the lecherous leeches dismantling our fragile co-existence. Yes, their actions are despicable, and their transparent lack of giving a fuck even more so. Your forefathers did worse and they were my colour. The way forward is not to point fingers and promote divide. That's a recipe for disaster more devastating than the current train wreck. Charity starts at home, ladies and gentlemen. And by that I mean your Homepage.
I'm not suggesting for one minute you fall silent on the irrefutable truth of the ANC government's glaring fuck ups, deliberate or otherwise. Please feel free to ridicule and repost as much as your black little hearts desire. God knows South Africa needs the humorous distraction. But for fuck's sake would you please stop blaming the colour, culture or creed of these clowns. I've said it before, but it obviously needs saying again. Cunts are cunts regardless of their pigment.
Spread The Love. Ebony And Ivory... All Together Now!
Wednesday, February 11, 2015
I remember the following joke from days gone by when I knew clean jokes. Two Jamaican gentlemen arrive at a fancy dress party in perfectly normal clothes and are denied entry. Told they won't be allowed in without costumes depicting emotions, and having no money between them, they come up with a plan. Returning to the party, both naked, the one has his dick in a bowl of dessert, while the other has his wedged into a fruit. Upon a rather nonplussed inquiry they explain "I'm deep in dis pear and he's fucking dis custard..."
Recently I had reason (or not) to write this at someone: Humankind - in all its glorious multi-coloured and multi-cultural history - has been nothing more than a savage and barbaric pantomime of hate in the name of greed.
I can't remember the context and I'm far too lazy to go back and find out. You'll also notice that it's an approximation of the original sentiment as best I can remember, but it'll do to illuminate my point. I don't really have a point, but then the handful of readers I've miraculously managed to hang onto over the past few years would probably have expected that by now.
So, the State Of The Nation Address. Or SONA. Or Same Old Negative Appraisal, if there was a shred of honesty left in civil service. I saw the best advertising board ever this morning...
Damn clever if you ask me. Do you really think they'll allow the EFF to go ahead with their plans to interrupt the middle finger charade with insistent questions about paying back the money? Will red overalls and red helmets hold sway on the red carpet? If anything, I'll be grateful for the distraction from the horrifying abuse the English language is about to receive. You know you're in trouble as a nation when your democratically elected leader makes someone like JuJu sound like a professor in literature.
But for most of us, the daily grind continues - our only concern the traffic this afternoon. Not me, I'm avoiding it all by pounding some picturesque pavements after work and then being whisked off to the inaugural Slappy-hosted dinner club. It'll give me a chance to go and see how the kids are doing (for those of you unaware, I planted some vines recently...).
Anyway, that's me, bar the shouting. And a cautious reminder not to fall into the trap of being a sensationalist dickhead who forgot the loadshedding of a few years back which, coupled with a worldwide recession, somehow still didn't manage to cripple our beautiful nation, its people or our economy. It's like every bastard in Cape Town who complains about the wind due to the severest case of annual amnesia. Fuck, social media really exists solely to highlight the lowest common denominators among us doesn't it.
Spread The Love. Charge Your Vibrator. Bend Over.