Thursday, April 17, 2014


Bugs never got the hang of "Pass Over"

It's the last day before the long weekend, so in the spirit of Easter, here is the most significant story with a bunny in it since 33 A.D...
What that has to do with celebrating the resurrection of Christ and your subsequent free pass into a heavenly afterlife, fuck only knows. Unless Hugh Heffner is your chosen deity, it doesn't make any sense. Along with the egg, another eternal participant in life's seemingly endless list of conundrums.
Personally, I'm looking forward to some well deserved rest, wicked as I am. Plans include toasted Hot Cross buns in bed with coffee and some lyric writing. Well, more like making sense of the tons of garbled, half sung ideas and thoughts on my phone's voice recorder. And all the little scraps of paper floating around the dark recesses of my bag and pockets. One day such memorabilia will be worth something. I hope my Mom has a tidy retirement lump sum to spend.

Also, check out Art's Not Dead for the inaugural installment, an interview with the exceptional Andy Lund. I think it's a great idea - look out for more to follow.

Has anyone ever wondered what Frank Zappa would be coming up with if he was still with us? I'd have liked to see him collaborate with Michael Gira in his current "Asymmetrical Music" phase... Fuck Skinny Puppy, if I were running Gitmo, that would be the soundtrack to dementia.

If you haven't picked up on it yet, I have precious little with which to fill your stockings this Easter. Odd, isn't it? But I feel like I've been neglecting you, my faithful and handsome readers, a little lately. So I have resolved to feed your ravenous minds with whatever sordid secretion comes from mine. Because you're worth it.

And because so often my best work stems from finding a uniquely wonderful or funny picture of boobs and then just running with it. No such luck today, I'm afraid. So before you close this window and run to the bathroom, let me make good my escape. Have a fantastic Easter. Be good to one another. And for fuck's sake, DRIVE SAFE!

NGDG: I just got a Whatsupp from Mandela. Sorry man, I already have plans.

Spread The Love. Playboy. Centre Spread.

Wednesday, April 16, 2014


Grease nipples. Hard to find...

So, here I sit on the short week leading to Easter. According to the internets, no one wants to be at work. I know I don't. But then how is this state of affairs any different to any other time of year? Have we become so accustomed to our annual "long weekend bonanza break"? I look forward to it, not for the break from the airconditioned office or the fact that I work in "civvies", but for the break in relentless internet fed news awareness.

Yes folks, I am that cheap that I don't have the internet at home. I have it on my phone, but so far have avoided using it too much. Cobble together the fact that I have no restrictions on my 9-5 work internet, I have no need to download anything - ever - it's piracy (besides I contribute to rampant crime every now and then by getting the odd series or movie from friends), and the fact that I would rather stick an HB pencil in my jugular or eat my own offspring before I indulged in "gaming", and you'll understand why not being online outside of work doesn't frighten me in the least. So I get a long, deserved break from all the pointless hot air of the English Premiere Soap Opera and the farcical so-called "trial of the century". I also get to avoid all the seemingly intelligent people who can't help but follow this shit. Trial by media is nothing more than a glorious opportunity for the average Joe to betray his bloodlust and mob mentality. Why can't we just allow the law, such as it is - the protagonist with the most expensive and innovative legal team ALWAYS prevails - to run its course.

Which brings me to what I got up to over the weekend. Other than gloriously and graceful getting stuck in the netting and spraining my big toe at football on Friday night, it was great. Well, the toe and the bus ride from Hell on Saturday. I have never enjoyed public transport and were it not for the drinking and driving laws (and obviously the dire consequences of doing such a stupid thing), I would never set foot or bum in a bus or a train. Enter MyCitiBus... Clean. Efficient. Convenient.
If only it was an exclusive service and not open to the smelly masses.
It took me 2 hours to get to Tableau Voi, where I was headed to The Hot Girlfriend's place for a braai with her folks. 2 Hours? Of which I was forced to stand more than half the way! And as soon as I got to sit, I was enveloped by a person whose barely believable ability to get through the bus doors was eclipsed only by her opinion that regular sized chairs were designed to accommodate her sweaty enormity. And the occasion small planet...
I realise that even talking about the obese among us is taboo, but I'm willing to take any and all abuse in this truly exceptional case.
But it was all made better by the time I opened that first beer. And then the mood barometer swung heavily into positive territory when I was served a perfectly braaied hunk of rump the size of an inordinately thick duvet.
In other news, I was asked (dared...) to write a guest post for the inimitable Mr Anton Marshall's blog. Quite an honour in my book, so I jumped at the chance, completely misunderstood the brief, got completely carried away with my own self-absorbed agenda, and got published anyway!

Also, last night I wrote some songs with my newly official guitar co-conspirator. Teapot, this is not the end.

And on that rather pointless note, I bid you all adieu. Until tomorrow. Maybe. I don't know if I have the strength or inclination to go back and proof this damn nonsense, so if you find any errors, please feel free to shame me publicly. After all, newts are notoriously clumsy spellers.

NGDG: Toothpaste is the best hangover cure.

Spread The Love. Get Your Tongue IN There!

Thursday, April 10, 2014


Flexible Helen Magazine

Oh well. So long, FHM, it's been real! Another nail in the coffin of print media. Wait? Is it the printed magazine? Are they carrying on with an online version of The World's Greatest Guide To What To Wear So You Look A Prat? I decided to go and double check my facts before I looked like a prat myself. Then I clicked on the link...

It's kinda hard typing the rest of this post - trying not to get vomit on my fingers as it occasionally splashes up from the hard-to-reach recesses on my keyboard. But for you, my most revered and adored readers - I will persevere. Unlike certain publications that should go under for glorifying that "chick" from that "band" Die fokken Antwoord. How is it that they get under my skin so effectively? Could be worse, I suppose...

But getting back to my point. Did I have one? Let's go with "everything is kak". (Not really.) FHM's demise is symptomatic of a shift in consumer, um, consumption. I always thought magazines were a bit expensive for what you got. My friend Pielkop had a "scratch-and-sniff" porn video once that came with a postcard that had little squares on it that you sniffed according the corresponding scene. It was a bit difficult to keep up if you were prone to fast forwarding to the "good parts" but it was at least value for money. Not so much with the multitude of rags available today. I fully understand that ad revenue is what drives income and therefore keeps a business afloat, but some have gone so far as to have virtually fuck-all content. Then you may as well have bought Heat. But ja, the internet has gotten rid of just about everything else worth having in real life, so why stop at print media? Perhaps everyone bouncing up and down in violent indignation at the genetically modified food they're forced to feed their toddlers should rethink downloading free torrents of movies and series and all the fucking music on the planet. The internet is, after all, only doing exactly that; providing a synthesized version of the real thing. Just because your guilt is assuaged at not paying for something doesn't make you any less culpable than that guy sticking a coat hanger down the window of your car.

Perhaps I'm too old fashioned. Perhaps I prefer things the way they have always been. If I dropped my book in the toilet, it could always be dried and hurriedly donated to the Rotary Club stall outside Checkers on Kloof. Not so much my millionty Rondt smart phone. I like the internet - don't get me wrong, but in far too many instances it is used not as a tool for enlightenment, but to dumb down the entire world's population. Well, those with fast enough connections.

The truth is I'm just sour grapes. A one-line opinion of mine was published in Playboy a while back and for love or money I couldn't find a physical copy. I was desperate to show my Mom that I'd finally hit the big time and that my 10 years of studying wasn't a complete waste.

It's silver lining time. Now, you don't have to stand in bank queues. And even if I dedicated every waking second of the rest of my life to finding the best porn available, I couldn't even get to 1% of it, never mind the really nasty stuff. Actually, now I'm depressed again...

To cheer myself up, I will once again channel Martha Stewart this evening as I host the usual suspects for Dinner Club. See, I am an adult! We drink good wine and eat well, all the while staring at each other in silence trying our best to think up topics other than the banned ones of politics and religion. Mostly it's suitable moans of "Ooooh, this is lovely! You've really improved since that time we had to order pizza!" or Rose Thorn complaining about work.

NGDG: If I learned from my mistakes I wouldn't say 'go on then' to cake.

Spread The Love. Pass The All Gold.

Wednesday, April 9, 2014


Sports Minister Fikile Mbalula is a dangerous man. Dangerously stupid. Dangerously ignorant. And dangerously close to making a mockery of all we as a sport (and sanity) loving public hold dear. But he is also a danger to this whole notion of free and fair elections our "democracy" dreamed up around '94...

Yes he is a gigantic turd with barely the mental faculty to tackle basic linear arithmetic, what with his diligently researched new quota system in national sport. But let's let that one go for now. He's not the first and he won't be the last to use sport negatively in this country instead of the way one or two more prominent of his predecessors in politics were wise enough to do. No, it is exactly his politics that bear scrutiny. Or rather ridicule. If it were only that simple...
I'm no political analyst, but I just can't seem to let his accusations of witchcraft against the DA go. He actually said (probably in all sincerity) to a group of disenfranchised voting fodder that the DA was employing witchcraft in the Western Cape to stay in power. I don't know if it's the body blow of disbelief or the overflowing mirth that makes me want to collapse in a heap of helpless dribbling, but it's what I want to do right now. And then to go on and call on tokoloshe to help rid the community of this evil? Not to mention bringing up lack of service delivery as a reason to oust the most successful local government in the country. Pot. Kettle. Black in a non-racist-purely-observational-way.
Too fucking much to bear! Is he that stupid? Or does he simply assume his audience is? Either way, the oaf is in dire need of a hefty PK.

Consider the laws of physics. Everything tends towards a state of equilibrium. It's the fundamental premise on which everything in existence is based. Racism will remain as long as there is a reason for it to remain. In both directions. Continue feeding the fire and it'll eventually consume all of us whole, even those who choose to have a more measured approach to determining peoples' worth and a rose-tinted outlook on the future. It's malignant fucking shiteaters like Mr Mbalula that are the problem. Let's not even get into all the other shit so blatantly and shamelessly paraded on our news channels 24/7. He just makes a convenient symbol of a world dumbed down.

I can't take the grand standing and cheap politicking anymore. I can't take the hollow promises and the smug smirks anymore. I can't take the damning "Ja, but they're kakker than us" rhetoric anymore. And for the love God, can we please just get this "trial of the century" out of the way now! What's wrong with you people? I couldn't even get a weather report this morning - across ALL channels! Fuck everyone who has a hand in creating a demand for this insane coverage. You should all be ashamed of your Heat Magazine mob mentality. At least that publication had the decency to include the odd page 3 bimbo's boob slip.

Oh, and while I'm at it, fuck you ETV. Thanks for once again only securing Tuesday night Champions League football. Cheapskate motherfuckers.

NGDG: If your estate agent in the Ferndale area is called Denis, don't shake his hand - it's been up a prostitute all night.

Spread The Love. And Some Enlightenment Please.


Judge a book by its cover! In this instance you'd be spot on!

The cover art on Terminatryx's latest offering - full length album 'Shadow' - is your first clue as to what's inside...
Emblazoned on the front is a dark, dense manipulation of lead singer Sonja, as imagined in the almost scary recesses of the genius that is Dr-Benway's twisted mind. It is a fitting, and magnificent, introduction to the astounding aural pounding you are about to receive. Amen.

So, down the rabbit hole we go into the 'Shadow'...

I'll do my best to steer clear of generic platitudes. They don't help anyone and this album deserves more than the average "review" so often shat out by so many so-called critics.

Firstly, the album benefits from a decidedly beefed up production, courtesy of Paul Blom (bass, guitars, programming, drums, synth, backing vocals) and the much vaunted Theo Crous. I can only imagine the long hours and dedication it took to deliver a product of this undeniable quality - and the proof of the pudding is indeed in the eating! Gloriously guttural guitars are driven by drums that are hit so hard it feels as if your speakers are permanently on the verge of rupturing. The programmed synth remains impressive throughout and the juxtaposition of harsh and delicate vocals adds a "velvet-vs-violent" dynamic.

Starting off with the crushing mechanical instrumental Metropolis, 'Shadow' hurtles through the inevitable indictment articulated in Holy and the (literally) thunderous, if more thoughtful, Scars without relinquishing its grim choke hold on the listener's jugular.
Masjien, the only Afrikaans track on the album, offers something in the way of variety and pins you down with an impressively insistent hook.
Shadow is the first single and, for me, the jewel-like stand out track of the album with a haunting refrain that's so catchy it would be classified a virus [intended...] were it discovered in rural Africa.
Uncharacteristically, Terminatryx then take a turn to the tender with the mecha-melancholy Gone, before returning to more familiar fare with the angry stomp of Purifire.
Poring through the exquisite booklet, its evident that Sonja has had more of a hand in the writing of this album and her influence is refreshing, and obvious on tracks Nothing and Medusa (either end of "operatic instrumental?" Outcast - for me the other standout), which close the album on a distinct high.

As it stands, 'Shadow' is available on disc and download. Contact the band on their Facebook page or on Twitter, or check out their Bandcamp page. Also on iTunes, CDBaby and Amazon.

Final conclusion? I was given a copy of this CD. I get given a lot of CDs. I get given a lot of CDs even though I am in no way obliged to review them whatsoever. I do as I please on my little virtual soap box. Terminatryx have created an album of such character, depth and churning, chaotic lustre that I am going to buy it! Yes, I am going to go back to them and pay them the money I should have contributed to their indiegogo campaign. THAT'S how good this album is!

You should do the same. Not for any other reason than you owe it to yourself.

Spread The Love. "My Soul To Burn"

Friday, April 4, 2014


Fun with hot dogs.

...I would.

Oh, what I wouldn't give to be a dog. It's the life, let me tell you. The sheer simplicity is almost overwhelming. To be so happy at the thought of food, a walk, your owner coming home, and auto-fellatio. You get praised for lying around and being lazy. You get to shout at passers by you don't like. It's almost like being an English football fan! And the best part of it all is you don't have any of life's more refined experiences with which to compare your relatively mundane life and limited cuisine. You LIKE eating pooh, for fuck's sake.

But not all hounds are so lucky. Some are resigned to a life of hardship and squalor. No love from a caring family, not knowing where their next meager meal is going to come from, exposed to the elements and miserable. Thank God for the kind, generous humans among us who take the time to care for these neglected canine souls. They are the real guardian angels walking among us.

Never miss an opportunity to help. Words to live by.

And if that opportunity comes in the form of an awesome amount of fun, then you really have NO excuse! Tomorrow the Animal Welfare Society Stellenbosch is hosting a day in which you get to bring joy to the shelter dogs in their care as well as doing some good in the process. Did I mention how much fun is involved for you? You get to walk a dog through the beautiful Winelands of Stellies - there is a long and a short route to choose from - and afterwards you get to enjoy cake, cooldrink and boerewors rolls. Join Tarty Farty Tequila Party and myself at our soon-to-be-famous Mung Grill! We'll be spending the day making boerewors rolls for you! A more South African day of blissful fun in the sun you could not ask for!

So let's see a bunch of you all there tomorrow. It's at the Animal Welfare Society Stellenbosch located on Devon Valley Road (which is just off the left of Adam Tas - R310) once you've passed Distell coming in from the Neethlingshof side. The dog walking hours are from 9h30 - 14h00, so please feel free to pop in, bring a leash, and have the best day of your life! Nothing lifts the spirits like seeing all those tails wagging...
R20 per person for a walk and R10 per dog. I'll be serving you sausage, and hoping the hounds don't make off with it all cartoon style...

I can't wait to be like "carnival folk".

At least it's for a good cause.

NGDG: The smug old man who changed my headlamp actually giggled when I removed the little plastic bonnet. I allowed him his fun. Because he'll die at that Midas and I'll cherish the memory of when last I bought bulbs there: his arm got trapped in my Rover's wheel housing and he whimpered like a bitch.

Spread The Love. Doggy Style!

Monday, March 31, 2014


You'll never GUESS what the subject of today's post is going to be! Come on! Guess!

Give in yet? Ok, I'll give you a clue...

It's about how fucking awesome and incredible and amazing The Awakening is. Without even gushing, I can honestly say that I was humbled this weekend. Not only by Ashton Nyte's extraordinary talent, but by the man's humility, grace and generosity. His buddies in the band aren't too kak either! On Friday night's performance alone, tomes could be written - each more complimentary than the next - but it was best summed up by one of local music's fiercest critics, when he simply commented "Flawless" and went on to claim it the single best live performance he had ever witnessed. Strong words, Bryn Diesel...

Allow me to back them up. The Awakening is quite simply the most experienced and exceptional of any local underground act still active. I still think of them as local in the same way that I consider Fetish to be local. Whatever, bands shouldn't be judged on their geographical origin. Ashton Nyte is the brains behind the band and the songwriter and singer. Therein lies the success and longevity of this act. He is not only a supremely gifted song writer, but as enigmatic and engaging a front man as you are ever likely to encounter. Friday night's entrancing performance was due to many, many years of diligent work, a wealth of hard earned experience and much blood, sweat and tears. And no small helping of natural ability.

I feel honoured to have been included in the proceedings - obviously. SUBVERS started things off in a pretty packed Mercury and I hope we made some new friends and fans. I can tell you I played my little heart out and was absolutely knackered afterwards. It was good seeing all the faces in front of me enjoying themselves so much!
Next up were our great mates Terminatryx, who were also launching their new album "Shadow". It was a triumph of a show, the crowd went nuts - the band were on fire! The new single is that good it was stuck in my head the next day!
And then of course, the main course. Striding onto the stage alongside guitarist Jeremy, bassist Damian and drummer Sevven, Ashton proceeded to woo the crowd into near cardiac-arrested rapture. He crooned - they swooned! He swayed - they bayed! And when they unleashed their more upbeat stompers, EVERYONE went fucking berserk! It was a delight to behold such unadulterated enjoyment - a sight rarely seen in Cape Town's dour underground.

Saturday morning provided its own challenges...

But by Saturday evening it was show time again, albeit a little less intense. SUBVERS joined The Awakening for an evening of acoustic enchantment at Aandklas in picturesque Stellenbosch. Grandpa's guitars were dusted off and bar stools found their way onto the stage as we took a seat and launched into "SUBVERS SUBDUED" before The Awakening once again delivered a perfect set to the delirious appreciation of another enthralled capacity crowd. What an evening!

From me, I'd like to thank Gert and Sabbath Events, Ashton and the lads of The Awakening, our good friends Terminatryx, all the kind people at Mercury, the crew who did an outstanding job as usual, everyone at Aandklas, Bryn Diesel and Infinite Focus Photography, Herr Grun for the continued support and videography, Laura McCullagh for photographs, TDB for his help with the gear, everyone who came out to support the bands and get blown away. And - most importantly - to my band mates; Likkle Spoon Daemon, LordDoom and Double Deebs - fuck, that was epic!

Spread The Love. With Conviction.