Now THAT was a weekend!
Having taken Friday off in preparation for the Lamb Of God show that night, I managed a bit of a sleep in and was lovely and refreshed and ready for the big day. Actually, I took the day off so as to get away from Damian's "Spam Of God Day". Hooking up for a few predrinks at Roxy's set the mood perfectly and then we sauntered on down to the venue, the magnificent City Hall and dutifully stood in line after all the obligatory hand-shakes, hugs and "how're you"s. Well, cut in line more like. And a damn good thing we did as well. Our compatriots standing in their original queue position missed most of The Drift's set. Let's just say that getting through the door proved a little trying, but I'm not going to get into the negative aspects of the evening. I'm sure most of the little niggles can be attributed to the last minute venue change and for that, dear reader, YOU have yourselves to blame. I will however make one small observation. Bar staff. They're there to serve me beer. Preferably within 5 minutes of me realising I'm stood there like a pillock with an empty glass. Not the glass-eyed vacant stares of those who clearly couldn't give less of a fuck. There were refreshing exceptions, but let's just give you one example. After patiently waiting for roughly 20 minutes I finally got the young lady to officially recognise my existence and ordered 3 beers. Beers are R25 a pint. She had been slinging these all evening. Not only did I have to wait another millennium for the beers AFTER I paid for them but the paying itself was quite the eye opener. She informed me that my three beers came to R135. That's not even divisible by 25. When I calmly countered with the correct answer, R75, she looked perplexed for a minute and then, I SHIT YOU NOT, worked out 25 times 3 on a piece of paper. She even carried the one. I swear I almost fainted, and not from dehydration!
Anyway, armed with my libation and manfully ignoring the aroma of feet, it was time for the show. The Drift impressed many in the crowd, and given their status as Cape Town virgins, that's no mean feat. Next up, local heroes, Mind Assault set about tearing us all a new one. Even injured, they blew us away! Their characteristic intensity is even more evident when they are given the chance to shine on a larger stage and the crown loved it! Horns up, pit swirling, and the guys doing us proud!
It was however, the main course everyone had shelled out their hard earned money to come and see. And Lamb Of God did not disappoint. From the moment Chris Adler assumed the position behind his kit (I thought I saw Damian actually pee himself...) the crown went tits-out ape shit! I'm not the hugest fan, but I recognised the classics such as 'Desolation', 'Walk With Me In Hell' and was by the time they encored with my favourite 'Redneck', I was completely and utterly having the time of my life, in awe at the ferocity and totally won over. They were pretty much flawless. I have to say that I think their brand of metal translates better live as I've found some of the guitar production on some of their recorded material a bit thin. But live it's MONSTROUS! And Mr Waggoner filling in for Mr Morton did a sterling job! Anyway, they lifted up a clearly enraptured crowd and shared an evening of perfect metal mayhem. Another thing is the overwhelming sense of humility radiating from the stage. Randy Blythe couldn't stop telling us how much of an honour it was for them to play for us. Some would call that showmanship, but to me it seemed honest and heartfelt.
To RAM Touring, Dawid and Liny, bravo! And a huge thank you!
Saturday brought with it its own challenges...
All of which culminated in The Fonz's Bachelors. After having taken the wrong effing bus on the insistence of the friendly but wholly misinformed MyCiti lady, I legged it to The Harbour's Edge Hotel from the Waterfront and finally hooked up with the lads for a bit of a piss up. I was greeted by a clearly intoxicated and amorous bachelor boy (in fluffy hand cuffs) and several shots of Jagermeister. Lots of catching up with old friends. Lots of chatting, drinking and the like. Then, more than mildly hammered we hopped in a couple of taxis and were whisked away to The Dubliner. Clearly by this time common sense had long ago left the room, so I somehow managed to get myself coerced into joining the idiots at Mavericks. I hate strip clubs. Unreservedly and with all my heart. Let's just say I paid R130 for a Black Label beer and made my way home swiftly. Other than that, I had a great time. Thanks to all involved, even the nice hippies with whom I split a cab.
Today's usual 'Neal Goldwyer's Daily Gem' has been replaced with this gem from TSAR:
Homophobia should be renamed gaycist - it's not fear, it's a prejudice.
Spread The Love. I'm Still Waiting For My Sex Orgy.