She's not local. Maar fokkit, sy's lekker.
But back to how incredible my weekend was. In all its local brilliantness. Because "brilliance" is so pre-textual. Friday night was the usual. Play footie at African Brothers. Have Tarty Farty Tequila Party pop over for a glass or two of wine and watch the Proteas wilt in the face of another Australian summer bush fire.
Saturday it was time to rehearse for our Big Gig Weekend in 2 weeks. Don't miss the return of South Africa's prodigious and prodigal son, Ashton Nyte, as he brings the night critters out for a last dance. Followed by that most South African tradition, the humble braai. Hooking up with old friends for a night of kakpraat en suip around a fire is a birth right. It's patriotic! Nice to see some of the old faces and had an epic kuier.
But here's where it gets gets super Proudly South African. Sunday was lazy-in-bed day with The Hot Girlfriend. Later on we watched Trevor Noah and the tears rolled down our cheeks as we laughed and laughed. But it's the first thing we watched I'd like to take a moment to reflect upon.
'Punk In Africa' is one of the most touching, moving and incredible documentaries ever made. I hadn't seen it before and always kind of assumed it wasn't really my cup of tea, but WOW! What a movie! I even got to see my good mate, ol' Az 33 minutes and 40 seconds in. It tells the riveting tale of how punk - in all its splendorous incarnations - actually had a social impact on South Africa during the apartheid era and also how it was the voice and conscience that, to a degree, assisted in shaping the vibrant new nation - a beacon of hope and democracy. It starts with the seminal Suck destroying shit in Johannesburg's Town Hall with an axe, moves through the various Clash and Kennedys influenced bands who pushed the boundaries and actively pushed for real change in a draconian state. It tells the story of young people seriously disillusioned with an unfair, oppressive system rebelling against the archaic rules imposed on them, expressing themselves through anarchic music and actions of acceptance. Later on, after the regime capitulates, it shows how the youth is still pissed off and has something to say, once again music being used as the vehicle to vocalise the feelings of a generation. Like one commentator so beautifully put it: "What comes after irony? Fuck you!"
I have to admit something ugly right now. I have an illegal digital copy. This is being remedied as we speak and I will soon have in my grateful little mits a hard copy to treasure and call my own. If you'd like to download yours, I believe you can do so on iTunes, Netflix and Amazon. And while you're at it and you have your credit card out, go and order 'Vick-Tory For The Underdog' as well. You'll thank me, this I promise.
See? Local, as the saying goes, is LEKKER!
Enjoy celebrating an Irish holiday today. Guinness is, after all, still a fuck sight better than Castle Milk Stout. Also, happy 2 and a half year anniversary to the gorgeous love of my life!
NGDG: I guess I must be a racist. All the people on my blocked list are white.
Spread The Love. Locally.