Wednesday, August 26, 2015
When you first decided to try and learn to play an instrument, what drove that desire?
Are you still beholden to those original feelings, or has it all become a little jaded?
Do you remember the first time you heard something so overwhelming, so emotive, so engaging that it awakened in you an urgency to create a sound of your own...?
Did you for one second think to yourself that it would end up as a continuous stream of begging for clicks, begging for attention, begging just to be heard...?
Do you make music purely for the love of collaborating and creating that which is pleasing to your ear? And heart?
Does that mean you have given up?
Does the refusal to participate in "the game" indicate resolve or laziness?
Never has there been a more apt name for a game than "musical chairs", a game built on the premise that there is an ever diminishing platform for all the arsehole participants every time the music stops.
We live in that very real game of musical chairs, my friends.
More and more arseholes, less and less chairs.
The music has stopped.
But is it for the last time?
Sure, we now have an almost infinite market, but no one gives a fuck. And as for giving dollars, well we all know the answer to that! Music no longer holds any value because what is deemed to be music by the general public today has no value. At least not musically. I'm not saying the Sex Pistols were misunderstood geniuses - far from it - but at least they stirred the souls of a generation.
What brought on this early morning mood? Well, for one thing I have been rediscovering the joy of making music at its most basic level (I don't have much above the very basic to start with...) and last night was one of those "shit-eating grin" sessions. As for all the negativity, well, that's the kind of stuff permanently on my mind.
Come watch my shit-eating grin threaten the material integrity of the top of my head on Saturday.
Spread The Love. Putting The "EAR" Back Into "HEART"
Tuesday, August 25, 2015
Yesterday was murder. Except for the dinner-and-a-show part right at the end.
Yesterday was corporate hell. I stood naked before the world, no piercings with which myself to defend.
Contrived, I know, but I have been concentrating on things other than my prosaic droppings for some time now. As I'm sure you've noticed. Most people say the rather more uninspiring "work's been hectic hey!" but I feel I owe you a little more than that, my dear genteel reader.
Let's see, what happened to me over the last while... I maked a cake again. Part III! The Hot Girlfriend was over the moon! No dogs were allowed to lick anything in the commission of this master piece and the only dish / spoon shenanigans were restricted to the inside of the dishwasher. The rest of the birthday celebrations involved me slaving over a hot stove or a hot braai - a lot. There may or may not have been some wine involved...
Ooooh! Ja! SUBVERS also played their first house party! As reported in my last post, we decided to get back to basics and break out the party tunes. Having set up our PA system and after undergoing the time consuming face painting make up ritual (it was a horror themed party), we mightily bestrode the corner of the lounge and rocked out like so many garage bands before us. If you don't know what I'm talking about, see just about any American college movie ever made. And now imagine us doing that!
It was wonderful! We pumped that place so full of smoke, you'd have sworn blind you were at a Sisters gig in the mid 80s! And of course we topped this particular cake with the cherry that is "Scotty Doesn't Know!", the ultimate house party classic. We may even have duped a few individuals into enjoying themselves...
But wait. That's not all! If you go down to the woods today, that means you'll have Saturday free. What! Did I say "Saturday"? And "free"? In the same sentence?
Yes, my fellatio-owed followers! Saturday SUBVERS once more soil the stage at Mercury with their particularly lewd and lurid style! And with the return of THE DAMNED CROWS, who join us on the night to celebrate a milestone with our good friend Captain Awesome, shit is gonna get torn up good and proper. So put on your party hat, pop on a discreet adult diaper, smear on some lipschtick and drag your gloriously gaggin' arse down to the one and only Mercury for a night of heavy breathing, heaving bosoms, and heavenly noise terrorism!
Read that again.
In keeping up with the Kardashians, and the rest of the world as it devalues music and everything else, including even the most modestly veiled morals, fuck it! Captain Awesome brings you this extravaganza of excess at no cost to your good self. And the bands are performing for him, for you, and for free!
And speaking of crazy, I have a damn panti-gram to complete... hullo! Make with the little black g-strings!
On decks all night is the one, the only, the inimitable DJ Reanimator, spinning your choons of choice and keeping your booty bopping until the wee hours. And by wee I don't mean "incontinently drunk". Although I'm sure that is most certainly not ruled out...
Spread The Love. Buy The Birthday Boy A Drink.