Monday, March 3, 2014

DRAW A FACE ON YOUR ASS!


So, Russia invades the Ukraine. We're so far removed, it's relatively easy to understand the utter lack of giving a shit. It's like the news has somehow managed to desensitize us over the last few decades. As long as we know about the Illuminati, eh... Information is power! Power to show all your friends and not-friends on Faeceboobs just how "in the know" you are, you clever clogs! Your dinner partners will be so impressed.
Then there's the drama of the day, in which a few bicyclist thugs are busted on video abusing and assaulting a van driver who hadn't received the memo that all bicyclists are descendant directly from the great God Zeus himself and despite what the rest of humanity knows to be true, actually look good in their Lycra long-Speedos. Don't get me wrong, what these tits did is disgraceful, but wouldn't it be nice to have a similar - or dare I hope, a more vociferous - outcry against the daily abuse and assault perpetrated against our young, our weak and our defenceless?
But the news at the Top Of The Page, the most important information our nation can not survive without, is that the first witness in the Oscar Fucking Pistorious Feeding Frenzy has testified. So . Fucking . What ?
What happened to that poor girl and her family is tragic. They will never fully overcome the untimely loss of their daughter/sister. But why is the public so invested in this horrifying soap opera? I know the answer.
Humanity has lost its humanity. And its been replaced with a cheap, made-in-China need to constantly be entertained by the lowest common denominator. How else do you explain Cheaters or Jerry Springer? Or Jersey Shore? Or the entire Billboard Top 100? Or even the fact that my blog is still going? Integrity is dead. And so is what passes for entertainment...

...or is it?

On Friday night I had the rare privilege to discover something new for myself. Something truly wonderful. Something so surprisingly incredible, it's like the first time you heard 'Master Of Puppets' or when you stumble upon masturbation.

I've heard a lot about Cortina Whiplash. Particularly from my little sister, who has always had an uncanny knack for sniffing out prodigious talent, even if she has allowed this to be diluted by anything with a flat-4 beat in more recent times. Cortina Whiplash is something way above and beyond what I was expecting, let me tell you! I thought I was in for a trio of angry young ladies screeching about failed relationships and trading on their feminist angst. What I saw, experienced and drank in deeply, was one of the most accomplished live performances I have had the pleasure of witnessing. No, scratch that, I was IMMERSED in their performance. The songs were intelligently put together with lashings of sophisticated sass. The hooks were enormous. The musicianship was stellar. I was thrilled! I was transported! They thundered through song after song of exquisite eloquence mixed with just the right amount of sleazy swagger. I was enraptured! I haven't seen a band so effortlessly impress in a long, long time. Their stage craft is sensational. They strut and stomp with consummate confidence, mesmerizing the audience at every elegantly tawdry turn.
I look forward to seeing them again as soon as possible.

The other acts on the night were the ever reliable The Tornadoes and the malevolent maniacs of Dead Lucky. The Tornadoes put on an enjoyable and engaging show, despite the early start and consequent poor attendance. By the end of their set, though, there were more than enough people having a great time in Mercury. I have to admit to being left decidedly cold by Dead Lucky's performance though. They are without doubt (still) my favourite band in South Africa right now. Their album is a knock-out rollercoaster of bruising, boozing, filthy, furious rock'n'roll that is beyond brilliant. But they were a little lacklustre. After belting out opener, 'Sons Of Lazarus', they seemed to go a little off the boil. Except Jean, the drummer. He's a fucking maniac no matter what. But I was left with the distinct impression that some of them would rather not have been there. I sincerely hope they recapture their "gees" before taking the stage at Ramfest and giving us the equivalent of a musical blood nose.

And then I spent the rest of the weekend watching Michael Clark bat. And last night we drank wine with the little sister brigade in honour of our dearly loved and departed friend. And this morning the hangover almost forced me to take a sick day. Could today drag any slower?

I will leave you to return to your slack-jawed viewing of the Oscar circus trial.

NGDG: I narrowly avoided hitting a vagrant with my car this morning. I'll get him after work.

Spread The Love. Not The Cheeks.

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