Friday, October 31, 2014


Now, now... we'll have nun of that!

So today it's Halloween. But yesterday it wasn't. And yesterday I resolved to pen a piece on the festivities of the night before. Which I didn't. Because I was hung over and not motivated in the least.

I'd gone out with Tarty Farty Tequila Party to go and enjoy an evening watching Gerald Clark perform his awe-inspiring blues-drenched sonic wizardry. At a little place called Bootleggers - humble coffee shop by day, nefarious hang-out for the well to do, but not so gifted in the brain department by night. Accompanied by stand in drummer Jonno Sweetman, it was a show to savour! It was one of those "miracles unfolding before your very eyes" kind of shows. Jonno is a revelation! The man is a a demon on the kit, with more tricks than the collective neighbourhood's kids at Halloween, after having been denied any treats. And Gerald, as always, delivered an evening of glorious genius, entirely lost in his own vibe, and clearly enjoying his music as much as I was.

That is, when I could actually see what was going on. Having found a conveniently nearby perch for my aging arse, I was obstructed by "the masticator" and "the doe". The one's ever-chewing, ever-babbling maw, and correspondingly oversized frame, only outdone by the other's wide-eyed lack of comprehension and ugly high heels - together they contrived to block virtually every angle from which I could watch - at least for the first bit. The place was packed! Eventually one of the deep-V-necks decided he'd recognised a fairly straightforward blues scale and whooped and hollered along as if he had a tie around his head and had been at the free bar of his best friend's wedding.

I also had to go to the lavatory, as you do when gulping down copious amounts of overpriced "craft" beer. Were I a midget or an amputee, perhaps the confined space into which I had to squeeze myself to relieve myself would have been sufficient. As it was I had to lean as far back as I dared, squint down my nose and pray to God I didn't get any on my jeans.

Anyway, we had a radical time. Gerald always delivers a masterclass in musicianship and this night was no different. We were treated to a great performance that included his full varied repertoire and even a whole bunch of songs played using a beer glass as a slide. Magical all round! Thank you Tarty! (Incidentally, from this day forward, she is going to be referred to as Tipsy Gypsy.)

And then last night we descended on the home of Commander Conker and Rose Thorn for a 5 course meal. And some devastatingly good wine. Fuck my life, right?

Tonight I play football and then go and watch a few bands at Mercury do their thing for the Halloween Slaughter. I'm looking forward tremendously to seeing Mr Villain get his "drag-on" and try to hit the highs like George Michael. And then there's the main course, Bulletscript. I struggle to even try and be objective about them. They tick just about every box in my long and unnecessarily full-of-shit list of things that make a fucking brilliant metal band. I can't WAIT! They have also released their debut EP. I highly recommend you get Knotted.

And on that note, on with the dog-and-pony show. Please remember to keep your outfits less than too realistic if you're going anywhere as a zombie. Motherfuckers are unduly panicked about the ebola epidemic in SA. And if you're going as a vampire, lay off the glitter - that shit WILL get you killed. By anyone with a modicum of decency, literary appreciation, or a moral compass.

I'm going as the Pope. In a Sheldon shirt.

NGDG: I don't find the pejorative synecdoche "Soutie" insulting. I'm flattered that you think it would dangle in the sea.

Spread The Love. Get Rid Of The Habit Altogether.

No comments:

Post a Comment