Thursday, October 31, 2013


Genius. Bit of a doos, but genius...

I'm positive I've used that phrase before, but given the subject matter and how it relates to modern culture and how the youth of today communicate and entertain themselves, I will sleep easy tonight knowing that short attention spans have won the day.

So, how are you enjoying your Hallmark Holiday? Did you get dressed up for work? Or are you waiting for an occasion this weekend? There are many options in the Mother City, too numerous to mention, but I'm sure that wherever you choose to go, it will be suitably scary and devilishly delightful. But I digress...

The appropriation of what is in essence a pagan celebration by the mainstream, is seen by many as nothing more than a hollow excuse to prance around looking silly and begging for chocolate. Personally, I like the tradition of dressing up to illicit fright. Mainly because to a large extent, this has of late included a particularly slutty element among the young ladies. Incorporating "lady of the night" into what was always "children of the night" costumes is brilliant! And then to add to the spectacle, the results are instantly available for the world to feast their collective eyes on. Cue rant about selfies, the degradation of morals, instagram and tweeting. Rant? Not a fuck! I say we should celebrate this! If I was a high school laaitie today, I'd be one internet connection and a few judicious minutes search from an informed decision of where to go in order to maximise my eye candy for the evening.

Reminds me of a similar dress up party we had once. There was a Hannibal Lector, the guy from 'I Know What You Did Last Summer, Freddie Kruger, Satan, the dude with the mask from 'Scream', the clown form 'It', 2 Frank n Furters, a very imaginative Rosemary's Baby, a variety of slasher victims and a priest who performed an exorcism on me. I went as Linda Blair's character and took great pleasure writhing around on the floor upon guests' arrival exclaiming "Fuck me! Fuck me!" in a sinister hoarse whisper...

The next morning, I shit you not, there was blood dripping from the lounge walls. On closer inspection it turned out to be a multitude of red wine spills. We figure it was a result of some indoor moshing and some "hopie le"...
Oh yes, there was also a Skeletor, who won the fancy dress parade, but also shed his bloody body paint all over everything in the house.

Anyway, have a happy Hallows Eve one and all. I'm off to enjoy a night of culinary creativity courtesy of Commander Conker and Rose Thorn. I hope it's themed. Otherwise I will be forced to whinge...

NGDG: Of course the only reason Paxman couldn't argue against Brand was because, like anyone having to listen to a cokehead, he couldn't get a word in, realised it was 3am already, and the only way out is to fake an injury.

Spread The Love. Stalking Is Just Creepy Love...


"Yes, we can!"

"Give us house!" The sentiment echoed across Central Cape Town yesterday, as a group of disgruntled protesters threatened Zille and the very peace that brings thousands of tourists and their exchange-rate-skewed spending power to our shores every year. As it turns out, the only thing floating across Central Cape Town in the end was a few handfuls of pooh. Again. What is it with these people and flinging pooh? And the post-Marikana chastised police stood helpless, reduced to mere witnesses to the outbreak of violence. Evidently, if your cry for free housing is met with stone faced indifference, it's quite acceptable to settle for a box full of wine gums or a knock off handbag, as long as you waddle off with a defiantly smug look plastered on your face.

I'm going to attempt a social experiment. Clearly I have had the privilege of a good education and have been mollycoddled throughout my life, never really knowing what real discomfort feels like. I wouldn't change it for the world. And anyone with even the slightest human compassion in them feels empathy with the struggling, downtrodden masses. But here's a thing. Stop fucking breeding. It's irresponsible. Stop voting in the same bastards who purposely keep you under the whip of socio-economic slavery. It's counterproductive. Stop blaming everyone else. I know... I know... It's far more complicated and truly I empathise, but when I see the behaviour of a desperate proletariat, the indifference of a self righteous ruling party and the rest of the country's political vultures hopping from one foot to the other in bloodthirsty glee over the fast-rotting carcass of our once potentially great nation, I weep.

Politicians? Fuck 'em! The only way to get ahead in that game is to be a bigger shitstick that the other guy. And as in parliament, the same is true in every day life, unfortunately. Come on! Don't even act surprised. You have to admit that everything we do is governed (ahem...) by some level of politicking, be it family life, or work, or even the things we choose as hobbies, sport or interests. There is always some colossal fuckbag trying to better you. The meek shall inherit the earth... The not-so-meek are fucking it up so much so that I don't want it anymore, thanks all the same. Advocating mild mannered contentedness in the face of being taken for a p**s does not sit well with me. "Be happy with the right to vote, the right to believe the utter wank we sell you every year come elections, and the right to your free tshirt!" "We will mobilise the cadres against the evil that is (in our opinion so very ironically named) the Democratic Alliance! Death to the bitch and more disease and squalor to the few of our supporters left as we bus in more to share an already overburdened patch of sand!" Oh, well, at the risk of coming across insensitive, at least that one lady got her some wine gums.

And now I've completely forgotten what experiment I was going to conduct. Bugger. Probably something along the lines of going down to the Department Of Housing and demanding a free house of my own. Seeing as I'm one of the privileged colonial devils I'm supposed to be, perhaps government will see fit to cave in to my urgent plea. Or maybe not...

There is however, good news. Last night's DOOM practice went very well. It's a sign o' the times, folks. In a last ditch attempt to make something of our musical aspirations, we are scoring the evidently imminent downfall of the world as we know it...

And if this miserable little missive has left you feeling disillusioned and let down by humanity, just remember: we still have it mighty good compared to other parts of the world. There is still civil war, unjust law and American interference in for'n parts. Be grateful for the small mercies. Help a brother out where you can and little by little, we will eventually be alright. Unless we descend into further anarchy, in which case I'm going to form a band called the Beitbridge Bollocks Brigade and re-record the Sex Pistols classic in Shona and Ndebele.

NGDG: Joey Jordison should've kept the mask on.

Spread The Love. Let's See You Fuckers Out In The Rain Today.

Tuesday, October 29, 2013


Yes, I'm back. With any luck, much like riding a bicycle and masturbation (not always at the same time), I won't have lost too much of my touch due to an extended absence. Wow! All kinds of innuendo there!

Apologies to my devoted and devout following. I'm sure all 8 of you missed me tremendously, although you probably saw more than enough of my ugly mug outside of the interwebnets. I decided to shelve the irreverence and the snarky remarks and the insidious insights for a while, feeling that I owed someone very special the respect. It just didn't feel right to jump right back into it. Sue me.

Anyway, I have so much to catch up on, I have no clue where to start. I could tell you about the hot water cylinder in my house causing late night (early morning) trips up and down a ladder accompanied by vast amounts of swearing that would make Amber Rayne's parents commit suicide. It was like Dame Edna on tik - with Tourettes. I could tell you about the delightful gentleman who, failing to correctly interpret very basic road signs or to even see my 1073kg car already occupying the space at which he was pointing his lorry, is still professing his innocence. I could go on and on about wine tasting and doing some Fred Astaire in dog pooh. But instead, as usual, I will resort to 2 of my favourite things:

...and me.

Specifically the music I make.

It was a balmy Friday in the Mother City as AXXON bestrode the stage of Mercury Live once again. Thanks to our cohorts - the terrific Terminatryx - the place was packed, buzzing, and had just been given a right royal going over. Barely allowed enough breathing space in which to recover, we assaulted them with our very own barrage of belligerent beats and rode roughshod over them with our trademark riffing and combination of clean/scream vocals. It seemed to go down a treat. The whole place went berserk, spurring us on to greater heights, gratefully feeding off a clearly energised crowd. Thanks to one and all - I thoroughly enjoyed the brief stay of execution from my fast-fading aspirations of rock stardom. I'm going to need a beer holster and an onstage neck masseuse soon...

Then there is the considerably awesome constellation of stars on display in December... Oh December is going to be a special month in local music. Not only will you get to experience the long awaited follow up to the gloomy glory that was the first Symphonaire Infernus show, but you will (finally) get to hear and see what all the fuss has been about and why I answer the question "Plans for tonight?" with the ever regular "Band practice..."
Since being ousted from my last serious involvement in a band, the almighty Revellus, I have been doing what I do best. Collaborating with ridiculously talented people, my trusty glass of wine as constant companion, and my jaundiced view of the world as inspiration. And graciously laughing at all the exceptionally witty permutations of anything and everything the new band could choose as a name. Not to mention no short measure of personal anguish. (If I whinge any harder, I'm going to have to concede that we should have called ourselves Megadeth, if it wasn't taken already...) It's been a long, long, LONG journey, but I am very excited to announce that I can almost announce our great big fat launch show. Keep your eyes peeled and the 11th - 13th December open, folks. You do not want to miss this most auspicious of occasions.

Another show you dare not miss is the very sad last show of the wonderful Sabretooth. I am sure that it will be with a heavy heart that we will say a fond farewell to a firm favourite and a hugely respected band. May your future exploits bring us as much joy and enjoyment as your years as the Sabretooth family did, guys.

Now that I have managed to pique your interest, I shall once again resort to the banal bollocks you no doubt expect of me (it occurred to me I have some more things I may want to tell you about). Let's see... I decided to become a wine farmer. Inquiries into the cultivar, characteristics, yield and price of single vines is about to commence. My ol' mum will be so proud - finally something those worthless pieces of paper can be used for. Also, I ended up at Caprice in an unprecedented venture into pop-up-collar-land one Sunday and got swindled by the bar-oke. I'm surprised they don't just have a weekly organised arm-wrestling competition. And a form the ladies have to fill in (before being granted access) that states they are willing to be subjected to arbitrary grading and that they are willing to go home with whoever wins the bicep contest. No wonder that guy making those spoofs is so popular.

For the life of me, I cannot think of any of the other things that happened. I think my mind is just in a state of shock at this sudden fervent bout of writing. So, to all the people that have so kindly been part of my life over the last few weeks (for the good times and the bad), my sincerest gratitude.

NGDG: Dilly dallying with dad, mocking the ridiculous R900 price tag on a pair of Lacoste moccasins in a shop window when mum destroys them like Russell Brand with this gem: "ah! Crocs."

Spread The Love. Get In Deep. Between The Folds...

Monday, October 21, 2013


I recently had the absolute pleasure of tagging along on The Constantia Wine Tour. Yes I know people... I know important and influential people. People who get asked to do exclusive wine tasting tours in world renowned wine country. Then people look at me with jaundiced exasperation when I swallow instead of spit. I have theories on that...
Anyway, as with most things, I am no expert or aficionado, although I do try and bluff my way through personal wine tours when I take foreign visitors for a nice day out. And although I have a modest collection of outrageously expensive wines at home - they are more to impress than to enjoy.
So, it started off with myself and my far more illustrious adventuring partner being picked by our delightfully engaging tour guide and host, Blake. The man is a veritable fountain of knowledge and you are regaled with interesting anecdotes and historical facts throughout a thoroughly enjoyable day. We started off having coffee on the Steenberg Golf Estate, being afforded a glimpse of how the other half live. Thereafter, we were taken (in some luxury, I might add) to Groot Constantia, where we were given the full tour of the old farm house museum, coach house, and even the old disused cellar featuring an escape tunnel! Those guys definitely lived some exciting lives!

Our first "tasting" stop was at a small farm I have never heard of. In fact we went to a few farms that I'd otherwise never have found, oblivion being the language most spoken on our planet. The small farms are amazing! Far less "corporate" or "tourist orientated", you get a quite personal experience. The first of these was High Constantia, a small property just off Groot Constantia that boasts the best Methode Cap Classique in the country (and therefore, I assume, the world). Anyway, with my loyalties already firmly super glued to Steenberg and Simonsig with regard MCC, them were fightin' words, especially since the High Constantia MCC doesn't contain sulphites. I was very soon to be ingesting large slices of humble pie along with a simply incredible MCC. Bit pricey, but so worth it.

Having almost learned to bow to clearly more knowledgeable types, I was still going on about my own tastes, when the tour bus pulled in at Klein Constantia. We were treated to another very interesting and educational history of the wines and the region, including a tour of the facilities and an explanation of the wine making process, from beginning to end. Then my favourite part, more tasting. My fellow scribe and party partner was jumping up and down and about to faint in anticipation of the legendary Vin De Something-or-other apparently favoured by Napoleon. I definitely preferred their red selection.

Having worked up a rather pressing appetite, we were treated to a wonderful lunch at Constantia Glen, taking in seamless, spectacular views of the valley adjacent to the Constantianek Road and all the way across to Gordons Bay. The cold meat and cheese platters perfectly complimented yet another range of stunning wines, and we left fully satisfied, if a little more hazy...

Ending the tour off at one of my all time favourite exclusive little boutique wine farms - the charming Eagle's Nest - was a master stroke. The wines are to die for and the setting could not be more secluded or perfectly pristine. On top of their world-beating Shiraz, we were treated to a Land Rover tour of their entire vineyard, most of which is precariously perched on steep inclines and hard to reach hills. The views are also nothing short of sensational - the perfect end to an awesome day.

Well, not the end end. But I can't tell you what I got up to afterwards, if this has any chance of getting published!

All in all, one of the best experiences and a flat-out fantastic idea, speaking as someone who has had the dubious honour of having to drive his mates around from wine farm to wine farm, quaffing the Gods' nectar with scant regard for the consequences.

Thank you The Constantia Wine Tour.
Thanks you Blake!

If you'd like to know any more, please feel free to find them here:

Or contact them directly:

Central bookings: +27 (0)21 794 4873
Email booking:

Blake Gower: +27 (0)82 377 5233 /
Sean Wilyman: +27 (0)83 268 1204 /

Spread The Love. Complete The Phrase.

Friday, October 4, 2013



For Frankie Riester.
In fond remembrance of a full and wonderful life.

Anyone who knew Frankie knows what a generous, driven and passionate man he was. Not only was he a tremendously talented musician, having written, recorded and performed with great success in Europe and right here in SA, but he was also a very successful businessman and entrepreneur.

His dedication and devotion to all things musical was the stuff of legend. Never have I ever met anyone with such unquenchable enthusiasm and unbridled passion. Even if that passion spilled over into heated screaming matches at 5 in the morning after spending all night in the Rock Hard Cafe at his beautiful home, drinking and arguing about anything (and everything) musical.

His indomitable spirit and refusal to court failure resulted in Voice Of Rock radio, and together we conducted many extremely enjoyable interviews with some rather esteemed figures in the industry - and for that Frankie will always have my gratitude.

His hospitality and warm, open nature were immediately felt by anyone fortunate enough to make his acquaintance.

And lastly, but by far and away the most important, Frankie Riester was a loving and adoring partner to Kathi. Kath, we love you and all hold you in our hearts and thoughts at this most difficult time.

Frankie, your absence from our lives will leave a hole that can never be filled. It was a pleasure and a privilege to call you friend. May you find a peace and happiness in the afterlife as fulfilling as that which you enjoyed while still here with us.

I'm sure Ronnie James was standing there waiting for you with a welcoming smile, open arms, and a cold beer.

Go well, my brother, you will remain loved and will always be missed.

With all my love and respect.