HOT ASS!

I went to Clifton yesterday after work. With The Hot Girlfriend. We played beach bat and lazed in the sun. What did you do? My life, eh?

Then it was off to the home of the Brother-In-Awe and the Better Half Of The DSW for a fish-flavoured dinner club. Never has something from the ocean tasted so good! Coupled with copious amounts of booze and frivolity, a grand ol' time was had by all. If only I didn't feel all Kraken-inversed right now... You know, instead of me having eaten the calamari starter, I feel like I got swallowed whole by some tentacled beast from the deep. Like that Japanese Tentacle Porn I wrote about some time ago...

Interesting times.

We live in a Chinese proverb. And I'm not talking about the crumby fortunes we endure.

So everyone's talking about it. The big march! Never before has it been so evident that the masses are being manipulated for political gain than now. The so-called leaders of the Informal Settlements Housing Something Or Other yesterday announced to a hall full of would be looters that there would be no march. Must have come as quite a shock to those born between February and April. Anyway, it transpires that our likely lads are still out on bail for flinging pooh and that participation in an illegal march would contravene the conditions of such. So much for defending the poor and standing up against the indignities they suffer. I truly feel for the disenfranchised. It is no secret that we have a disproportionate amount of downtrodden in a land that is struggling to heal itself post the inhumanities of the past. It is however, mystifying how those in power haven't been publicly lynched for their crimes. I don't buy the "keep 'em dumb" schlock anymore. It's presumptuous and condescending. Desperate people will resort to desperate measures when their cries fall on deaf, unsympathetic ears. Put yourself in their position. Just don't chuck shit all over the place. That's counterproductive, as our mates Andili Lili and Loyiso Nkohla have just found out. Yeah, boomerang pooh, what a terrifying concept!

Today, I once more bestride the football pitch! Them old bones have some vigour in them yet. After which I think a nice quiet night in with the Hot Girlfriend and a date with a tube of Deep Heat are called for. Later on this weekend I get sucked back into the soulless vortex that is Tableau Voi so I need to keep up my strength...

But the most fun is reserved for the Bachelor's Party I'm going to attend tomorrow. I can't go into details, but don't worry, it's not one of those "what happens in Vegas, stays in Vegas scenarios" - I just don't want to spoil the surprise... 

And speaking of all things "so hot right now..." (thank you, Mugatu) Lamb Of God's much anticipated Cape Town debut has been moved to the indoor venue of Cape Town City Hall from the sprawling outdoor Hillcrest Quarry. This means, in the height of Cape Town's summer, that it's going to be kinda smelly. Unless you take advantage of the lovely executive boxes available at a very decent price (and the fact that you're a lazy no-good deadbeat who hasn't paid for a ticket yet). Get some mates together, and for far less per head than I have already paid, you can swan away the evening in sophisticated decadence - they'll even provide you and your guests with your own exclusive waiter! Go on! Make a memory!

NGDG: The old crone who bequeathed Chairmanship to me is still nestled in her poky flat like the busybody Mubarak supporter she is. I phone a plumber. She tells him to come back tomorrow. Then tells the gardener not to let him in when he does, just to spite the managing agent. Then says she 'have call ay nuthah playmer." I swear I'd start my own Tahrir revolution but I'm too pretty for jail.

Spread The Love. Like Sunscreen. On A Hot Ass.

LOST PROFITS

Excuse my super cynical generalisation, but the Vatican must be confused as hell. On one hand, they can now claim Ian Watkins as a convert to kiddy-fiddling and on the other, there goes the cash cow. Ethical conundrum...

Ok, here's where I set the record straight. I do not mean to belittle the situation and especially the victims of these alleged crimes. Look how I used "alleged" as if I work for the SABC. But since the NSA is more than likely going to report me for sharing pictures of Nkandla, the Not-Compound, I had better cover my tracks. What this man admitted to doing (even if only in its capacity as "attempted") is so depraved that it doesn't even bear contemplation. What that other hunter chick (see? last week's news already...) did was rotten and appalling. But legal. What this guy, and the so-called ("alleged") mothers of these children did is so far beyond the pale as to be almost inconceivable. MOTHERS! Anyway, I am at a loss for words. I don't care what happens to him. There is nothing on this earth, as incalculably cruel as humankind has shown itself to be, that could be tortuous enough to exact any level of vengeance. Having said that, I disagree with all the citizens of internetland calling (or hoping) for his rape in prison. As it is sickening to have attempted to subject his victims to such a foul and vicious act, so, ultimately, it is to wish such a fate upon him...

Which brings us to the Department of Basic Education. Who, in their infinite genius, after finally delivering schoolbooks to some learners, included in a matric exam a question requiring scholars to describe how they would portray a rape scene using only a loaf of bread and a broomstick as props. WHAT!?!?! The reference is from a play by Lara Foot called Tsephang, which I am sure, in context, is a work of artistic integrity and probably morally profound. But to cull a portion and use only that to conjure up a question so criminally insensitive is a new level of fucking stupid. Not to mention just another dagger to the heart of victims of this crime and those that campaign to curb its proliferation in our "alleged" society. We're already desensitised, don't make it worse, you utter dumbfucks! How can we, as concerned citizens, allow these fucking buffoons to inform and educate our youth?

Oh yes, and then there's the protest march organised by ANC dissidents planned for Friday in Cape Town. They applied for a permit to walk from The Grand Parade to Parliament so they could pass on a note. The last time, this peaceful activity included some gentle assault, some considerate theft and some delicate damage to property. So their request was denied. So, obviously, building on the principles of our wonderful democracy, they said "Fuck you! We're gonna do it anyway. Try not to be in pooh-flinging range come Friday." Most of my friends will simply fuck off and have a long weekend, outraged and incensed by televised reports, but I feel for the illegal Somali immigrants who can't afford to stall their trading for a day. Houdja Lakem Apples and Haile El Igal Cigarettes are going to have a rough day...

The good news? The good news is that I had an experience last night that, had you informed my 20 year old self of it, I would never have believed you. No, not finally getting laid... Let's just say I played a guitar and some other people played some other instruments. It was glorious. Or at least, it will be.

NGDG: I'm in the parking lot and see four big black dudes in shades and suits besides a black Bentley, Range Rover and Lexus with personalised plates. I crouch, draw my finger and go pew pew. No wonder they didn't have a sense of humour. They never had a chance against my superior marksmanship.

Spread The Love. Help Thwart Rape Culture.

NCUNTLA

Who says your money isn't earning compound interest?

Or however you choose to pronounce it...

Apparently everyone misunderstood the parliamentary ban on publishing pictures of our nation's most shameful leader's ostentatious abode. As long as you don't Zuma in on the specifics with your big Melissa Bachmann telescopic lens, inadvertently causing severe breaches in security, then all is well and you may show these pictures to anyone on the internet who wants to feel morally outraged.

This guy Shane Janse van Rensburg probably feels all sorts of injustice has been heaped upon him. He of the terribly trite blog (I apologise - I should know better than giving him any more online traction) who recently rose to interwebnet superstardom for being a bigoted dickhole and inflaming opinion against people who were here long before my forefathers settled in this Eden. Not only were his statements (claimed as fact) grossly inaccurate and purposely derogatory and heinously racist, but his tortured abuse of my beloved mother tongue almost coaxed me to leave a comment, something to which I am particularly averse. Anyway, this Steve Hofmeyr wannabe got schooled good and proper by a well articulated and thoroughly dignified (and researched) response from a guy called Brian E Ebden. Alas, I can bet you anything you like the vast majority of his supporters will see it as nothing more than an attack on their moral indignation, and dare I say it, their sovereign stipulation of "no flag, no country!"

Anyway, I don't live in South Africa. Obviously. I remain blissfully unaware of the mass genocide inflicted on every single white farmer in the country. I live in Cape Town, and on a Friday afternoon in Cape Town - especially in THIS weather - it's beer o'clock.

[*Just to avoid any confusion, I am being a little facetious and sympathise with anyone who has suffered bereavement at the hands of violent criminals in this country. And by anyone, I mean white people AND black people. I'm sick to death of people proudly presenting skewed statistics like the first oke in the class who got pubes.]

Perhaps we should try concentrating on the common enemy. The fat cat bastards who pillage the coffers I so almost honestly inflate every month. They are the motherfuckers that deserve our unrelenting vitriol. Denying our children decent education, our sick proper medical care, our hungry nourishment, and our destitute any form of recourse are the real crimes in this land. Everything else is merely an indication that something is very wrong and that shit gathers momentum on its way down.

But having said all that, my personal (and perennial) favourite axe to grind is how the masses simply accept the kak, manufactured schlock otherwise referred to as popular music. It brings me to my knees and my body shakes uncontrollably with wretched weeping when I think of how far beyond the pale it has been allowed to get. We can only recommend and administer the antidote in small doses...
Tomorrow the real deal is brought to the V&A Waterfront Pavilion in the form of Long Time Citizen, a band you do not want to underestimate. So get on down, grab a pint and then a seat, and enjoy some true quality for a change.
Then if your thirst for authentic entertainment has still to be quenched (highly doubtful) Saturday night boasts the comeback of all comebacks. Underworld (the same people that brought you all those wonderful goth gatherings in and around Cape Town for so many years) is back! If you recall the amazing parties at the Crypt and the like, you dare not miss this ICONS PARTY! Hosted at the newly renovated Decodance Underworld, this is an event that is sure to have you dancing until well past the witching hour...

Anyway, like No Friends said "Sun, wash over me..."
It's weekend.

NGDG: I'm an optimist. I see a better world on the horizon free of war, poverty and crime. That's the perfect time to enter the arms trade and become rich as hell.

Spread The Love. "We Gather Thorns For Flowers"

THE WORST FUCKING TIME

Impending DOOM. And not the good kind either...

It's funny how the advent of the computer/information age is impeding human progress. Unless of course, you - like me - see the natural progress of humankind as cyclic. As we become more enlightened, so we become more narrow minded and catastrophically average. And numb. As we are equipped with the tools to improve our education, so we increasingly misuse search engines and social media. We as a species are becoming more egocentric, less tolerant of others and, well, just plain fucked up.

We deride tradition. Even (or should I say especially) the harmless, worthwhile ones. Slacktivists find reason in any poorly presented piece of shoddy journalism to vent their outrage without doing themselves and us the courtesy of even the slightest bit of looking beyond the sensational. Where there is a bandwagon, there is usually an angry mob of idiots tearing each other limb from limb for a spot on it. Opinion, as unconsidered as most can be, is the new currency. How easily we are swayed.

Don't even get me started on the grotesque mutilation of language. Are we not at a stage in our evolution where we are capable of literary greatness? Do we not have instant access to every example of the written word ever published? Instead we're overwhelmed by a deluge of self important teenagers and their obsession with instant gratification. Not to mention the popular culture of abbrv 4 da sk ov fit txt in sms wen it fre nyway...

When a manager of a football team loses a few matches he is replaced, at great expense, by another manager who has just been replaced at another club for losing a few matches.
When plans are not passed for the building of a mall, construction starts anyway.
When claims are made against your insurance company, a specialist is employed to tell you the reasons why you're fucked.
We while away our lives in a virtual world and use that very interface to bemoan the fate of the real one.

You may have noticed I'm a little peeved this morning...

Why can't life just be beer-flavoured uniporn? I can't imagine that I'm that special. The people in my life are fucking cool, but they can't be the only ones. It must be the minority that are fucking it up for everyone. But taking a look at the news and the feeds, I'm not convinced. Every single story carried online is one of horror, outrage and despair. Not a single government on earth, elected by their very own people no less, is doing anything other than scramble to maintain power at any cost.
Not a single person of influence is using that influence for the greater good unless their angle is the populist one.
The Mother Theresas of this world will remain unsung.

As much as I'd like to I can't just throw my hands in the air and say "Ah, fuck everyone!"
And I'm the worst of them all.
But I just can't get my head around how the almighty buck rules every decision on earth and how those decisions do nothing to enrich anyone but the most callous and objectionable.

NGDG: I'm a sex symbol. It's like a sex prince, but without the hits.

Spread The Love. Just One Meaningful Gesture. Today.

BITTERSWEET SYMPHONY

Say "Cheese!"

The outside was - as I am sure you have been made aware from the countless obligatory and entirely superfluous posts and pictures - wet. What the population of the interwebnetsland failed to inform you, dear reader, was that is was wet inside too! Just the way we like it! Steaming, heaving, sweaty and damp. I am of course, referring to the dark confines of ROAR and the assembled masses packed in tightly to bid a sad farewell to one of our most beloved group of bad boy retro-rockers, the inimitable SABRETOOTH. Sporting the traditional bandanas and backwards caps, they flew out of the blocks and soon had the frenzied crowd going, in the words of one Nick Holmes (and a surprising reference at that) "fucking nuts!"

Fucking nuts it was! Swirling mass of bodies, swept up in the momentous moment, the crowd lost their shit altogether in an evening of surprisingly poignant and raw emotion. Soaring melodies, mercurial solos, a battering-ram rhythm section, riffing that defied both the laws of physics and belief, and awesome vocals have typified SABRETOOTH'S live gigs (and recordings, come to think of it...) but this shit was on another level! I have had the privilege of witnessing these lads play many times, but on Saturday night they were simply out there. Known in equal portions for wearing their hearts on their sleeves and being stunning virtuoso musicians, they played their collective hearts and souls OUT! And STILL the crowd bayed for more! In a super-extended set, we were treated to what seemed like their entire impressive repertoire from over the years and some classic cover versions. An unforgettable, exhilarating, tearful, joyful send off!

To Charles, Damian, Nikolai, Mauri, Ryan and Dean: thank you for the mad memories, the good times, the outrageously rocking tunes, and the flamboyant follicular fare! You have etched a deep and lasting legacy and will be remembered with abiding affection by all rock and metal fans of South Africa.

NGDG: There's an old dude at the Wimpy wearing a tshirt that says "I'm retired. This is as dressed up as I get." I think he may be me from the future.

Spread The Love. Ain't Talkin' 'Bout It...

GRAN, WHY ARE YOUR TEETH SO BIG?

Appropriate...

It is with great sadness, but equal amounts of joy that I look forward to the final show of one of our most beloved bands tomorrow night. The SABRETOOTH EXTINCTION show at ROAR is a tremendously unhappy occasion, not only marking the demise of an incredibly talented and much loved group, but also because it so neatly highlights the shortcomings of the music industry in our fair land. I am however, grateful that I am able to make the show, as I wasn't going to previously and that would have been unforgivable.

See how I oh so very slyly inserted the word unforgivable. Like trophy hunting, a hot topic on the lips and fingertips of a fuming, incensed South African Faeceboobs public right now.

I like eating meat. I realise that the opinions of the militantly vegan and mine will never overlap in that regard. I accept this and acknowledge that some of the more unscrupulous operators in the meat industry dish out misery, terror and inhumane conditions second to none. This is one of the main reasons I refuse to eat fast food. It embodies the pinnacle of this beastly behaviour for profit. I'm fine with chucking a steak on a fire, though I am physically repulsed by the mere thought of killing an animal that is seen as a domestic pet, an apex predator or a symbol of a nation. There is nothing majestic about bovine indifference. Trophy hunting should be abolished. Everyone involved should seriously reconsider their intentions and picture their beloved Grandmother's head spiked on a wooden plaque hanging over the mantelpiece.
If you insist on using the argument that it is fulfilling a demand and creating employment, then you paint the participants as philanthropists. This is not the case. Otherwise they would donate their riches to worthy causes without resorting to the brutality of bloodsport. This kind of thinking has led to the demise of many, many (too many) species and mankind should feel ashamed. Flaunting your ability to kill using technology that tilts the scales so unfairly is nothing more than cowardice. Consider your outrage should your 6 year old little sister, daughter or niece be forced to scrum against the full Springbok pack - for her life!

So, being a meat eater (I also wear leather shoes and trousers) makes me the ultimate hypocrite in this argument. Where does one draw the line? Does one laud the hunter and condemn the barbarity of poaching? Have you taken into consideration the disparate nature of the two perpetrators? One is contributing to the economy, whilst one is desperate to feed his family? Do we condone the meat industry, but absolutely lose our shit when someone comes over here and shoots one of our lions? Would you have felt differently had it been a Kudu? Would your choice of biltong for the rugby have altered? The lines are blurred. Blood on sand tends to go that way.

I'll be enjoying my tasty lamb chop in quiet self loathing.

And just in case you are left feeling like I've been a shade too ambiguous in my ramblings, here is a succinct summary:

1. Eating meat is fucking awesome, as long as my feelings of guilt are assuaged by the belief that the meat I buy wasn't treated atrociously in its lifetime.
2. I draw my own personal line at hunting.
3. Poachers and the people that fuel the demand for rhino horn, ivory and the like should all be butchered unceremoniously and without mercy.

I suggest we offer convicted poachers (and those with erectile dysfunction and a hankerin' for muti) as the quarry in professional hunting! Two birds... ahem.

See you all at the farewell show of one of our own apex predators tomorrow night. Their manes and their melodies will forever live on! RIP the magnificent Sabretooth!

NGDG: When the manager offers you an 18 year old for your birthday you say yes please. When it's a whiskey that good you don't say you expected something else.

Spread The Love. It's OK Eat Fish Coz They Don't Have Any Feelings...

NEAL FOR PRESIDENT! A PHONETIC CELEBRATION.

What do "puff" and "kneel" have in common?

Today is some sort of crusade-to-raise-awareness-of-lung-cancer-day. Whilst I am all for the prevention of this all pervasive killer, I am equally pro smoker's rights. I grew up in a society where we were allowed to smoke in malls and restaurants (I know... it seems like such a foreign concept now) and until a few short years ago, I was the poster child for smoking. I will say this, I commend the approach these lobbyists are taking. Instead of trying to scare the masses into abstinence (face it, that will NEVER work), they have taken to telling people it is uncool. Not only are you now shunned to the outer limits of our known universe if you smaak to have a fag, but now some lady on morning television is telling you that resembling James Dean or Dirty Harry is for losers. I don't know, hey. The terror tactics didn't work. The astronomical cost increases did nothing to put any of us off. Perhaps the tannie tuning you people will think you're cool despite not puffing away incessantly might just work. I'll tell you this, all my misguided attempts at "coolness" were for naught. Sucking on a Stuyvesant, while manfully holding back the tears and the overwhelming urge to cough a lung out, did nothing to convince any of the nice girls to touch me on my own cigarette. It was a very expensive exercise in futility. But oh how I did enjoy it! I even considered changing my name to Nick before I turned 20. So I am now a non-smoker. I do not condemn those that still enjoy it. That would make me a hypocrite. To each his own. Don't blow rings into an infant's face. As with everything, be cool. Don't be a dick.

Which brings me rather smoothly to today. As you may or may not have noticed, I have been rather quiet recently. This is because I'm cream-crackered. I have been slaving through back-to-back band practices and an assortment of other fun activities for the last few weeks. Fun is taking its toll. I wouldn't have it any other way, but it has rendered me zombified at work. And since I obviously write these dismissive missives during office hours, I have been less inclined to spill my cerebral diarrhea all over your news feed of late. But today is a special day! Yes folks! That cynical social satirist, the one and only Neal Goldwyer [Esq.] celebrates his birthday today. So from all of us here at the Monster Offices, hope you have a happy, hedonistic, blessed and bloody indulgent birthday! Here are some pearlers from the past, to remind you why you love him so much:

NGDG: Getting to, into and away in your car from a parking lot without being spotted by a guard after money is about the most Jason Bourne feeling a law-abiding man can have.

NGDG: Titanic. A cautionary tale illustrating how a game of just-the-tip can end in disaster.

NGDG: I must be very liberal because the only thing I find disturbing about a girl with a lolling tongue mock-masturbating with a huge foam finger is that she looks eerily like Robin Thicke when he sits down with his crayon to write lyrics.

NGDG: Machine guns in a Polo? I could kill that gangster Krecjik instantly. I'd just slip a note in his bodyguard's pocket that says: "Do you even lift boet? Kisses, Radovan."

NGDG: I wore Gorbachev-style glasses and had a Justin Beiber haircut in 1988. You can't imagine the shit I went through. I wish I had a time machine. So I could introduce fin-de-seicle weapons banned by the Geneva Convention to the youth of today.

NGDG: If I ever get banned from square one, I'm in deep shit.

NGDG: So you backward Nigerian twats killed a drummer. St. Anger was 10 years ago.

NGDG: Did you know that Donkeypuncher is an actual job? It's a kind of a winch operator. (Reading a book about logging in British Colombia that I was given free by the bookstore owner because he knows I like random stuff.)

Spread The Love. Inner Thighs Of Virgins...

BEER, BOOBS AND BRATWURST!

Pic by Tarty Fart Tequila Party

There I was. Surrounded by media types and the general beer drinking public. Frauleins scurried up and down, laden with all manner of beery goodness as the strains of traditional Ooompah music entwined the raucous chatter of the soon to be inebriated masses. Snacks were served. Silly hats were donned and novelty facial hair applied. Heaven is a large beer hall filled with the sounds of happy revelry and clinking beer tankards!

Yes, ladies and germ(an)s, last night I had the enviable pleasure of attending the TOPS Bierfest in Newlands as the plus1 of Fraulein Tarty Farty Tequila Party. Everything was laid out for us, being "media" and pretty soon we were blathering away with our table mates, fueled by the never ending supply of top class beer and an assortment of traditional German snacks. Pretzel crumbs and laughter filled the air! The beer, a selection of Krystal Weiss, Munich Dunkel and something I can no longer remember the name of, was out of this world! Tatjana kept 'em coming and we kept knocking 'em back! Even the large fake mustache didn't stop Tarty from quaffing ale like a thirsty English coal miner.

The real Oooompah band replaced the recorded version and decided the assembled masses were just drunk enough to be exhorted into fun-time audience participation. In a horrifying deja vu moment from primary school, I was instructed to repeat the phrase "Oi! Oi! Oi!" every time they said something akin to "Tikka Takka Tokka!" It was all a little too "Ziggy! Ziggy! Ziggy!" for me and I decided to redouble my efforts to use up all the beer tokens I'd been given. I should have been grateful to the Oooooomph band...

...because before long they were replaced with a poor man's Noot-Vir-Noot ensemble, fronted by an over enthusiastic Nicholas Louw wannabe who thought he was Bryan Adams. The percussionist's enthusiasm bordered on psychotic, but came across like a short animated mop on hard drugs. Thankfully the main course arrived just in time to distract me. I could wax lyrical about the smorgasbord of Teutonic meaty ecstasy that mine eyes fell upon, but I'll leave you with the quote of the night, courtesy of Tarty, "Oooooh! I like the long sausage!" And then after some mastication and consideration, "But the short fat one is way more tasty!" Personally, I thought the Eisbein was the winner.

Then came the Jagermeister girls, tits akimbo and arses hanging out. Wearing barely enough to cover the rent, they turned all the men from their beer and into tweenage fangirls at a Bieber concert - hordes of grown men holding their cameras aloft in unison and shedding the occasional tear. I had a Jagermeister, but refrained from too much overt ogling. The poor dears, the only thing that apparently eclipsed the dearth of available cotton, appeared to be their combined IQ.

But oh, what a night! It was the night of nights! I drank so much delicious, heavenly, lip-smacking, awesome beer, I left sideways. Happiness, it seems, CAN be bought. The entire event was magical, foibles and all! The company was peerless, the food from the tables of the Gods themselves and the beer! Oh, the beer! Barley and hops - Heavenly Nectar be thy name!

We were even treated to a free ride home courtesy of the kind people at Goodfellas. Our driver was a lovely chap called Shiraaj Allie and he displayed remarkable patience and good grace dealing with two of the drunkest arseholes on the planet. Well, I was shitfaced, I can only assume Tarty wasn't too far behind. After being dropped at my house, we had a glass of wine. Obviously. As you do, when you have school in the morning.

Today has been hell...

Oh yes, and tonight we're off to see the fucking incendiary Sleepers and the mind blowing Ark Synesis, along with many others, at Summer Seance II. I'm gonna wee myself in public.

NGDG: They poisoned Arafat with polonium? Is this a joke? That stuff costs $10m for a lethal dose! That's pig money. Bacon the day, you'd just take a ham-mer to the guy's skull, boar a hole in his brakes, poison hi-swine.

Spread The Love. It Comes In Litre Tankards.

BACKSTAGE BLOWJOBS

By Stephen Green Design & Art

I know what you're thinking... You're thinking "Enough already! Why does he insist on harping on about the past all the time?" Weeeeeelll... A (variably sized) part of me would love to keep regaling you with tales of my former glory. Unfortunately, there comes a time in the life of every "over the hill" rock star when they have to admit to themselves and everyone else that these things are best left in the past. Thankfully I am not quite there yet. Fork in me, yes! But rest assured, dear reader, this old fart is not done by a long shot! Neither are my young cohorts. We do all however, have better halves, so the shenanigans have been shelved.

Self flagellation does not equal self promotion... That being said, we get to the meat of this post. I have been holed up for the last few years with 2 of them most amazing collaborators in Likkle Poon Daemon and LordDoom (real names withheld for their own personal protection - we don't want another "Beatles" fiasco...) creating some of the most groovalicious, rifftastic, foot-stompin', arse-kickin', howl-at-the-moon music you could possibly imagine. It all was sewn up like a duck's arse with the recent addition of our drummer, DanTheManMachine and now we are just about ready to expose ourselves to you.

That's right. Finally, after all the rehearsals, all the hard work, and all the wine, you will be able to savour the wonder, the splendour and the magnificence that is SUBVERS. We're here to feed your sinister urges...

Although (like every other band on the planet) we sound completely and utterly unique, we are often asked to describe our sound by way of reference so that people can decide by association if we're cool or not. So a list of influences would include, but not be limited to, bands such as Rammstein, The Sisters of Mercy, Paradise Lost, Danzig, Fields Of The Nephilim, Deathstars and Ministry. Nifty, eh!

If you don't believe me, You may listen to, and download (for free) our first demo, a little ditty called 'Flatline'. I insist. Play it loud. Play it repeatedly. Play it to your Gran.

But more importantly, take note of the big fuck-off shiny showcase we're putting on. FOR YOU! We are already in negotiation for some big shows, but decided to put on a private affair for all the people who matter. Our friends, people from the industry, media. You are hereby cordially invited to share this most auspicious occasion with us. Mercury has once again proven its commitment to local musicians by making its venue, gear and expert technical staff available to us so that we can bring you a night of absolute awesomeness. I know it's not a real word, but then, I'm not a real boy...

Event details:
Mercury Live
Wednesday 11th December
9pm
Free entry.
Just stroll on over to the event page and indicate that you are "going" and your name will automatically be added to the guest-list.

It'll all be worth it. You get to see THESE guys strut their stuff! And you'll be left sockless!

 Uh oh! Beatlemania. Or is that Beatlejuice?

Spread The Love. Backstage...