Thursday, February 27, 2014

I'M A DIRTY, DIRTY GIRL... my ongoing experiment to see just what sort of headline gets my virtual soapbox the most attention.

Well, nothing else could possibly explain the outlandish amount of make up I was forced to wear yesterday. More make up than Courtney Love trying to hide a black eye on a night out on the red carpet. Oh that saucy slapper!

Actually there was a very good reason. I was cast as a band member (who'da thunk it) in a French fromage commercial. The make up was simply a distraction so you wouldn't recognise me. I lie. Again. The apparently brilliant, world class image consultant, wardrobe specialist in charge of making us look as authentic and scary as possible, in keeping with the script, fell a little short of the mark. Merely typing "heavy metal okes image" into Google isn't going to result in any sort of credible set of cohesive pictures from which to work. For starters, the brief we were given was a single paper on which they combined full on Abbath/Gaahl blood soaked corpse paint, bullet belt-era Sepultura, and an old Polaroid of Ozzy in a leotard and various other mismatched and completely disparate versions of what makes a metal guy look like a metal guy.

Thankfully, after hours of sitting around in the idyllic surroundings of the wedding venue/farm, I had it pretty easy compared to the rest. They made me look like a scowling panda with a few extra, but entirely superfluous dots and let me be in my leathers and a tshirt. The guy cast as the guitarist was made up to be a direct copy of Brandon Lee's character from The Crow, which is about as scary as marshmallows wrapped in candy floss. The drummer was made to look like some evil version of Flash at an underground ComicCon and our fearless leader and vocalist was fucked with for hours. I couldn't help letting a chuckle escape every now and then. For starters, we'd already been through a day of "wardrobe" in which we were fucked around for many unnecessary hours, but at least he looked super fucking cool as a result. Not so much this time. Never mind that they had to reinvent his make up 3 times, but they genuinely thought it was a good idea to forego the ankle length tailored black coat they had originally okayed in favour of a leopard print spandex pant and a tshirt from Markhams. And a Harry Potter tattoo on his arm. Perhaps it was their way of getting him angry so that his character would do well in the filming...

Besides that, these so called industry experts, in all their glorious wisdom, decided last minute to inform us that we were expected to make something up on the spot and perform it through the PA at this "wedding". Fair enough, after the initial incredulity, we realise we're supposed to be professionals, and we learn the guitarist's band's one song and sommer bang out a spare riff in case. Thank the Gods I manage to convince the director that everyone else is an idiotic pillock and it would be better for all concerned if we just mime along to a tune so we can all at least be filmed in synch. So there we were, a motley crew of the most unlikely looking metal okes banging it out to 'Hit The Lights', much to the collective horror of all the extras tannies sitting in the audience. There were a few disdainful noses out of joint, I don't mind bragging a little. And there were some moments of great enjoyment sprinkled throughout the entire day as well, not least of which was when I looked around between shaking my Timotei locks around to see the singer had fallen on his butt!

All in all, though, I can summarise the experience as follows. We walk off set and drummer guy says in a tone of voice that suggests his own views rather strongly "Will you ever do this again?" to which I reply heartily "Hell, no!"

I'll spare you the details of the make up removal and the last bits of "hurry up and wait", but we all got home safely in the wee hours of this morning. I finally managed to get a brush through my hair and go and buy some make up remover. There's a first time for everything. Now we wait for the proverbial "fat cash"... I think I'll buy myself something nice.

NGDG: Some days you cry 'jaysus an begorrah, ders blut in me stool oim sure as deadt!' Other days you're less panicked, more together, and you remember you've been eating cranberries.

Spread The Love. Share Abbath With A Loved One.

Monday, February 24, 2014


I've been impressed with Sindulgence since I first encountered them at a Rock The River Festival a few years back. Since then they have consistently delivered their brand of schizophrenic melodic metal on stages throughout the Cape, building up a considerable fan base. So much so, that they were very deservedly awarded a headline slot at Metal4Africa's Summerfest earlier this month. At which they promptly impressed the pants off me! Live they are a dynamic and maniacal beast, the dual-guitar attack never letting up, entwining around each other, your eardrums and your spinal chord, forcing the obligatory cranium shaking associated with having a great fucking time.
I've just been handed their new single, 'King Beyond The Wall', which is earmarked for release tomorrow...
It's a grower. Thank God! All too often we're faced with the proposition of "instantly likable". It's a Facebook phenomenon and the quickest route to the bargain bin of forgotten schmaltz.
Sindulgence's offering permanently meanders from one surprise to the next - interesting intertwined melodies giving way to intriguing time changes - keeping you on your tonal toes throughout.
An unusually crisp production highlights the interesting dynamic between the instruments. At first glance I get too much Arch Enemy - my go to comparison for all things too clinical - but with repeated listening it crawls in under your skin and I found myself hitting play time and time again. The dark overtones to the lyric and the vocal delivery reveal, as with the music, a depth beyond first impressions.

This is not an official review.

This is me telling you about some really awesome local metal that you would do well to go and check out for yourself.
Well done, gentleman. This geezer is not easily impressed.

Nope. No Humpty Dumpty today...

Spread The Love. Put On Repeat.

Wednesday, February 19, 2014


Neigh... bours. Everybody needs good neigh... bours.

I was going to write "Spank dat ass" but then I realised how silly and grammatically current that sentence is.

Well, this is awkward. I started a post and have sweet fuck all to contribute to your daily recommended allowance of anything worthwhile. So, everything as it's always been then...

Forgive my absence from your screens, minds, and lust-nodes of late. I decided that, much like "if you don't have anything nice to say", I'd rather refrain from poisoning your collective conscience than filling it with pointless drivel that only barely scrapes past being annoying because of the hit and miss nature of what I like to think of as humour.

As for things on which to report from my ever so exciting life, let's see. I work. I drink. I attempt the creation of something lasting that will touch everyone. Deeply. Then I realise that German porn exists and I give up and go to sleep, only to rinse and repeat the next day.

I did have a fantastic weekend though. The Hot Girlfriend and I spent an awesome weekend free of social obligations. The stuff I can report on includes a game of putt-putt, a stroll along the Promenade, the least value-for-money ice cream ever served and the second best potjie ever created. Yes folks. Second only to the DSW Wunder-potjie from a few years back that won the inaugural Tarty Farty Tequila Party Birthday Potjie-Off, this "venison-marinated-in-buttermilk" masterpiece was a wild success. Ahem...

And speaking of Tarty. She has taken some much needed initiative and joined parliament. Well, close enough, except she's actually doing something. Seeing as her local ward still hasn't wheeled out the recycling bins in her area, she has taken it upon herself to become the Recycle Queen of Harfield. Picture a small bohemian Mugato in full 'Derelicte' regalia. She'll pick up your recyclable material for a nominal fee. Peanuts for the overwhelming feeling of contributing to the welfare of the planet that will wash over you! So here's your chance to do something to help the environment in a real way. Sharing pictures of tortured animals will only get you half way to heaven. Unlike sharing pictures of exotic holiday locations and pricey consumer must-haves. That'll obviously guarantee unforgettable getaways and cupboards full of shoes and appliances you'll never wear or use.

Ok, so can anyone pleasefortheloveoftheholyvirginMary explain to me what in the everloving fuck the point of TWO castings is. Casting 1: Go in. Make a tit of yourself so that casting agent can film it and they can choose you to make a tit of yourself when the director yells "Action". But wait! There's more! Casting 2: Go in. Make a tit of yourself so that the director (who hired the casting agent to film Casting 1) can choose you to make a tit of yourself when the director yells "Action". Seems a little redundant, don't you think? They must think no one has a job. Wankers. I'll take your money. But not if it's too much trouble.

Anyway, tonight is recording night again. TDB and I have some work to do. Another monolithic slice of all things nice will soon be on its way to completion. And I don't mean the screaming and biting pillows variety, either...

And a super-duper extra special shout out to Mein Sohn on his Cake Day. Hope you have the best birthday ever! It's my prerogative to buy you a beer!

NGDG: The neighbours are singing along to RnB, commiserating and talking boyfriends and abortions. They should put a warning label on that stuff.

Spread The Love. Unbridled!

Friday, February 14, 2014


Kittens and hearts. Thanks Antonio.

Valentine's Day - or any other form of amorous advance from one party to the other - is usually either a thinly veiled attempt at initiating intercourse, or a gesture designed to ensure the continued privilege. In a heartfelt ceremony of farcical fashion and much mid-speech middle-fingering, our dear Prez 4 Lifebouy delivered no less of a Hallmark Greeting in his State of the Nation Address. Seems he will continue fucking our beloved country remorselessly. Constituents? More like personal piggy banks who occasionally do some fluffer work on the side for extra taxable income.

But enough of being cynical. Today is meant to be celebrated. Today millions of couples around the world proclaim their undying love for each other in gratuitous displays of affection. Today millions of people around the world secretly wish that all the nauseatingly happy, gushy couples all get swallowed up in a universal vortex of anguish and pain and having to hear the speech from last night over again. Today millions of people around the world are quite comfortable being on their own, thank you very much, and can't see what all the fuss is about, as they go about their lives without incident. To all, I say, enjoy it...
If you feel the need to lavish your love on your significant other, do so with no restraint. Unless they're into that sort of thing.
If you are a bitter old biddy, allowing your petty jealousy and solitude to consume you, put on a Smiths record, find some outlandish porn and imagine you're the misunderstood maladroit in a romantic comedy that is merely on his or her path to true and lasting happiness.
And if you're cool with just enjoying your life despite not having someone to constantly give you grief, well, just... as you were.

Yesterday I went to a casting. For a french cheese advert. Dressed like a maniacal metal head guitarist. Well, actually I pitched up in flip flops and baggies, but quickly popped into the leather trousers and ankle length leather trench-coat as per instruction, but was back in my civvies the moment it was over. I certainly hope my antics were convincing enough. I have perfected the perception that I am capable of holding my own musically by carefully cultivating "the look". For once I could honestly use my ruse to my advantage. But then another group of friends (including Mein Sohn) pitched up in full corpse painted glory and, I suspect, stole the show. Oh well, at least I got to watch "Mitch the Mustache" blast the Proteas a new one.

Oh, and then it was my turn to host Dinner Club, which was my most ambitious ever and a resounding success. My kitchen, however, looks like Dresden drenched in deliciousness.

And on that rather forced note, I'd like to introduce you to a little 600 Year Old Butt Song From Hell. Thanks to Dr-Benway for finding this.
And speaking of songs appropriate for today, here's Love Song by Terminatryx.

NGDG: If you're having trouble sleeping, may I suggest a read through of Joke-ub's State of the Nation speech. The bit about canned vegetables and the complete lack of anything vaguely quotable will assuage your insomnia. Showers for all. No mention of the rabbit. Amanda. Gobless. Ithankyou.

Spread The Love. Not Just Today. Every Day.

Monday, February 10, 2014


Hi. How was your weekend? I was in a car accident, but don't worry, I'm fine. Better than the Cape Cobras, at any rate... And my beloved Man Utd... Speaking of franchises that are bombing.

Create a sustainable demand. Or ensure that one exists before over investing in something on a romantic notion. And even then, if you choose to sink your money into something that isn't viable, do not lament your ill fortune by surreptitiously blaming that very lack of demand.
Musicians are the only people allowed to waste their money in pursuit of dreams that can never be...
Perhaps the regrettable business decision should have been made in the beginning.

And AS I say all that, another one bites the dust! The demise of Dead Lucky has just been announced. The small part of me that isn't dumbfounded and grief stricken secretly hopes it's a particularly poor prank or publicity stunt. So much so, that I will gladly eat some worms if it is indeed a hoax. But sadly the overwhelming feeling I get is that of profound loss. They were hands down the best thing to happen to local music in the last year. In fact I'll go so far as to declare their debut album 'Sons Of Lazarus' the best release of the year hands down. I have no idea why they have decided to call it a day. Perhaps internal ructions made working together unbearable, but their brand of low-down, mean and dirty pure fuckin' rock'n'roll thuggery will live on in my broken heart...

First Th'Damned Crows. Then Sabretooth. Now Dead Lucky. What's next? When will this madness end? What fucking travesty can befall us next? The Parlotones decide to move back? God help us.

Ok, this post started out with me trying to make a valid, reasoned point regarding business, in particular the entertainment business, and ended up with me making wailey-wailey, tears running muddy rivers down my soot stained cheeks. But it goes quite some distance to proving that no matter how hard we try, no matter how good our intentions, sometimes certain shit just cannot be avoided. My advice? Stay as far from the splatter zone in front of the fan as you can. And accept that true art comes at a loss.

And on that rather glum note, I have an entire afternoon of grimy rock to engross myself in, so if you'll excuse me...
Then I have the Banshee Brigade over later for dinner. Dead Lucky will be drowning out their shrill shrieks and red wine will be dulling my insurmountable grief.

NGDG: Remember when retarded people started liking the Matrix and you were forced to deny your initial enthusiasm to dissuade the misfits from befriending you? I feel that I need to shave my beard now.

Spread The Love. Hug A Local Muso...

Monday, February 3, 2014


Shiny happy people! Courtesy of Bryn De Kocks - Infinity Focus Photography

Time to report on the weekend. Oh what a time was had. And I didn't even see the party bus!

Cast your mind back to Friday. Remember how you couldn't read how everyone was shitting Twinkies over the heat because your internet screen was dripping slowly onto your desk? Yes? Well, Clever Clogs over here went and played football in that. A few short hours spent lying on my back in my room, trying to rehydrate with a few barley sodas, and struggling to chew my pizza, it was as if I was in high school on a Sambuca binge all over again! Genuine discomfort is now the prime reason for not imbibing as much as humanly possible at every given opportunity. I lie. It's actually a superhuman tolerance and a hopeless addiction.

Anyway, Saturday morning greeted me like a spear tackle from Bakkies Botha. It's been so long since I've gone to sleep without any booze that I felt genuinely out of sorts. Waking up without a hangover is a shock to the system... And off to our early morning engagement (or rather, wedding) we raced. We raced because we were late and it was all the way out in Palookaville Simonstown. We were also late because it was the worst signposted beach (nil) in the history of all beaches. I've seen better directional boards on the Skeleton Coast. We eventually snuck in the back and got to see most of the ceremony, which was held on the beach right by the water. Beautiful couple, beautiful backdrop, but the groom is going to hear all about his loafers/moccasins/whateverthefuckthosethingswere when I see him at band practice.

Then off to Summerfest with the rest of SUBVERS. A quick gear check and a hasty trip back for some of the promo material and we eventually made it to Stellenbosch in good time. After an awesome lunch it was down to business. Luckily shameless self promotion comes easily to me. Our promotion strategy worked an absolute charm and we played to a packed Klein Libertas theatre. The heat and the response from the crowd were equally infernal. It felt like we were playing in the depths of Hell itself, but the rousing applause and appreciation elevated us like nothing on Earth. Thank you to every single person who shared that unbelievably exhilarating show with us. Also, I'd like to officially thank Sean and Myles from Mac Audio for the great sound and stage management. Also, the lighting was fantastic throughout the night - I didn't catch the guy's name - but thank you to you too! And the guitar amps! Oooooohhhh! The guitar amps! Those Laney 120 Ironheart heads gave me such a ToneBoner TM...

And Herr Grun, he of the Stephen Green - Art & Design, for the promo design. Thank you! That shirt is amazing!

All the other bands that played were incredible, making it one of the best M4A events ever. In particular, it was great to meet the lads and lady of Adorned In Ash (thanks for letting my borrow your stand, Robyn). This band was something else, a real intensity envelops them when they get on a stage and they take the audience by the scruff of the neck and shake your soul. Wildernessking were, as we've become accustomed, sensational. Their brand of atmospheric black metal is certainly growing on me and their obvious musical superiority is something to experience. Arc Reactor were brilliant, although I have to come clean and admit that I missed a bit of their set (mainly due to packing up amid a heady cocktail of complete dehydrated annihilation and just-kicked-the-shit-out-of-EVERYONE euphoria). The highlight of the evening for me, though, was Sindulgence. I haven't seen them play since Rock The River a couple of years back and I enjoyed them then. They fucking blazed on stage! It was a pleasure witnessing a band so into their craft connecting with a crowd so clearly into them! So to all at Metal4Africa, particularly Patrick, thank you once again. It was a kick ass party and a testament to the continuous hard work you so tireless plough into the metal community of South Africa. You deserve a huge chorus of thank yous. But there is one more person who deserves the biggest thank you of, like, ever! So to my fellow Axxonite and skin pounder extraordinaire, my man McSkootnik! A THOUSAND THANK YOUS for saving our arses and filling in so fucking superbly on drums. SUBVERS rocked with you on board! Thank you!

The only bad thing about the entire experience is that it had to end. Oh ja, and the useless fucking cock-wranglers who saw fit to dief a handful of cellphones. One day one of those large, hairy, bearded, tattooed monsters are going to catch you in the act and then you'll learn why people steer small children to the opposite pavement when they walk by. I hope you get the p**sklap you so richly deserve.

Clearly, yesterday was set aside for some much needed recovery. I can't WAIT for the next one!

NGDG: Just realised that lyrics "You really turn me on" in Michael Jackson's 'The Way You Make Me Feel' follow the falsetto squeal of what sounds like a 10-year old boy.

Spread The Love. Let's DO It Again!