"A PINT OF THE BLACK STUFF PLEASE LANDLORD..."

Well... St Paddy's Day.... Done and dusted. Aaaaah, how we love the black stuff!

Got to our reserved table last night and was pleasantly surprised to find a real Irishmen sitting among us regaling everyone with all manner of fantastical stories. The Irish. Love a good story. Ask Bono.

Let's not beat around the bush. We go where there are promos on for St Paddy's - the cheap bastards that we are. Scratch cards hold within them a mystical and magical power of hope - an almost reverent sense of anticipation. St Paddy may as well be old Saint Nic on this particular day. Will I finally, after all these years of disappointment, be rewarded with THE HAT (the ultimate prize - and a perfectly legitimate excuse to look goofy for the rest of the evening's revelry) or at the very least one of those awesome black tshirts with a clever quip about our beloved Guinness?

This year I walked away with 2 applique tattoos, a fucking keyring and a pocket full of "bad luck try again" tickets. Fuck the luck of the Irish!

Spread the love. And the Panados.

THE NAKED CHEF

The picture above is the logo for MetalSucks' cooking show. Check out the site here www.metalsucks.net.

So, as I have previously informed everyone, I am now in the lamentable state of no longer having a better half. Whilst this current state of affairs (oh dear, DID I just use THAT word?) offers it's obvious benefits, one of the immediately evident drawbacks is that I have to cook for myself. Now, I am not a foodie, but I do enjoy a good meal and have been thoroughly spoiled all these years.

A bit of background. This is the first time I am not sharing an abode with anyone. Yes, I have the whole house to myself. Up until this point in my existence the very thought of cooking and all that dull preparation and chopping and burning and bollocks has filled me with utter dread, so much so that I have always had a deal of "you cook, I clean." Which works out brilliantly for both parties concerned as most people hate cleaning. I quite enjoy it. I find it cathartic. Also, people tend to leave me the fuck alone, which is a rarity.

A side note. Whilst most of you look at the heading of this post and think it's all about me wearing ONLY a little apron and prancing around in the kitchen by myself, it isn't. There's no point. Although I have been known to make breakfast in the very same attire...

Anyway, back to me having to bone up on my exceptionally limited culinary skills. I have always been able to make one or two dishes. They're dead easy and not even I could fuck them up. Although I have contrived to do so on many an occasion. But jeesh I got gatvol of chicken burgers after a few weeks!

So I took to the challenge of becoming Jaime Oliver Number Two. Much like a duck takes to water. Infested with piranhas...

I am however, thrilled to announce that I have finally "mastered" the tricky art of cooking. Vodacom must loooooove me - I have made countless flustered phone calls to The Demonic Sibling, who happens to be a gourmet chef renowned the world over, in a panic wanting to know which spice goes with whatever, whilst putting a fire out in the sink. Not to mention the few cubic tons of food I've had to discard due to horribly failed attempts.

But now dear readers I have come of culinary age! I made a stew last night. All by myself. Ok, I consulted The Demonic Sibling once or twice, but there was no physical supervision. And maybe the preparation took an hour longer than it would take a seasoned kitchen veteran, but it's the end result that counts. Even The Band Mates commented on how wonderfully aromatic it smelled. Their magnanimity was short lived as I kept on ducking to the kitchen to "check on supper" between songs...

Anyway, I REALLy enjoyed my din dins last night. I had a nice celebratory glass or 6 of cheap ass plonk to mark the occasion as well and promptly passed out while watching the footie, in "magie vol oogies toe" bliss.

It had better be good - I'll be eating it for the next week.

Spread the love. Naked Chef style!

"WHAT HAVE YOU DONE FOR ME LATELY?"

To coin a phrase from the great Eddie Murphy's stand up act, Delirious...

"What have you done for me lately?"

As you can well imagine - after having posted a list of attributes/requirements concerning the fairer sex (see below) - I have had a few responses. Whilst some were on the right page, one stood out as just not getting it.

It has unfortunately been my experience to have dealt with such individuals before. The "I'll only do it if you guarantee I'll get something out of the deal" types. The "What's in it for me" types.

Immediately I hear that shit and I no longer want to do whatever it is that's currently on the table for discussion. In fact I feel compelled to NOT do whatever it is out of principle. I was always under the impression that when one is sufficiently enamoured with someone else, that it went without saying that you WANTED to do nice things for the other party. Not wait until they had sufficiently pleased you before you reluctantly gave in and fulfilled your end of the bargain.

Having said that, I have also been fortunate enough to experience the flip side of that tarnished coin. Hallelujah!

You.missed.the.point.

Spread the love. But don't wait for the other person to make nice. It may be too late and you may miss out...

Good Moaning from the Rat Race

You get good moaning (like when you accidentally hit the right erogenous zone on your girlfriend's undersmile) and you get bad moaning. Like the kind done by just about everyone on the planet. As soon as something doesn't go exactly as anticipated, people start wailing and depositing handfuls of ash on their hessian outfits...

Why? Are our expectations too high? Do we all live in the delusional belief that life is indeed like that lived inside our television sets? Most of us would argue that we're lucid and intelligent enough to know the difference between fact and fiction, but I think deep down everyone is secretly hoping against hope that they are the lucky ones that get the terrific worry-free life with all the trappings. And when it doesn't happen, it comes as a shock.

Oh, and heaven forbid you accept your lot. Then you're branded a loser with no ambition. So the key to success in this life is therefore to work hard, be miserable and always have something missing that you can still strive for.

I want to be a dog. Food, tummy rubs, the occasional walkies and the ability to lick one's own balls. Utter contentment. Wow. You guys read all that crap just to get to the one sentence I was trying to get to...

Spread the love... On a sammitch.

"YOU'LL HAVE OUR LOVE..."

It is a sad day in the history of the South African music land(or sound)scape. Tonight we join The Sleepers in bidding farewell to their frontman, Simon Tamblyn.

It has long been public knowledge that this weary soul considers The Sleepers to be among the best, if not the best band currently plying it's taudry trade in this fair land of ours. From humble beginnings they have forged a formidable following and have won over the critics with aplomb, grace and the sheer strength of their intelligent songwriting skills and powerful and incendiary performances. All things being subjective, I will most likely continue to maintain this opinion.

Tonight they perform at Mercury Live alongside that lovably mischevious bunch, Van Coke Kartel, and media darlings Foto Na Dans. It promises to be an incredibly intense and enjoyable affair that marks the official 3rd birthday party of everyone's favourite magazine, Your LMG (Live Music Guide). You know. That mag. The one you can't do without. The one everyone loves. The one that offers news, views, interviews and reviews, all top notch and totaly free!

Getting back to the point. Tonight is going to be a bittersweet adeiu to one of our favourite frontmen (in his current role) as he takes off toward his own horizons and embraces his life and solo project 'Tape, Hiss & Sparkle', a more eclectic brew of off-beat, folk-influenced introspection.

Simon, you have made an indelible mark in the hearts of those who have been privileged enough to have witnessed and experienced your musical ascendence within the framework of The Sleepers. You will be sorely missed and will always "have our love..."

Spread the love. Be there.

THE LIST - PLEASE NOTE 'NOT SUITABLE FOR STUCK UP ARSEHOLES'

So I read the Anti-B-logger's latest blog post, which led me to remember the empty promises Tequila Tart has been spewing about Man Lists and the like, which led me to remember the jolt I felt when entering the bar tent at RAMfest on Sunday morning...

I'll explain. Anti-B-logger (otherwise known as The Delectable Bastard) doesn't get chicks. I mean he gets chicks. He just doesn't get chicks... Understandable.

Tarty Farty Tequila Party has been promising to come up with the definitive list of attributes women look for in a man. She has up to now failed to deliver on this promise.

All this, coupled (haha) with my recent ambivalence on the subject of relationships and permanently being told I'm far too full of shit for my own good, has led me to want to divulge MY list. It is a reasonably long list. The older I get and the more run ins I have with the opposite sex, the longer the list gets. Every altercation reveals a universally true attribute or condition that I will or won't put up with.

I have had my fair share of action in the 112 years I have been sharing your oxygen. Some of the girls I have dated have been super cool, some really intelligent, some awesomely compassionate, some super hot and some have even been good at sex and all its wondrously varied applications. Bless them. Very rarely, if ever, has all this been rolled into one conveniently solvent and sane package.

So. The list. In no particular order, and I will admit to making this up as I go along (it's never progressed past discussing singular items at a time), here goes.

1. Ridiculously good looking. Simple. Not classic beauty either. Cute in a smoking hot way with more than a hint of naughty in the eyes plopped on top of a body that would leave Kerry McGregor jealous.


2. Music tastes have got to at least overlap to some degree. If I elaborate we're going to be here all day.


3. The ability to function at a normal social level when required, a basic understanding of Ps and Qs and common sense and a little decorum.


4. Kindness and generosity of spirit go a long way in this world, but all too often I find intolerance and bigotry to be hurdles. Also, I am the only one allowed to be self centred in this union, thank you very much.


5. I don't give a crap if you can cook like (insert your favourite celebrity chef's name here), but you have to be able to concoct something more complicated than a PnB sammitch.


6. The ability to hold one's liquor. A must.


7. If you're with me it is a given that you have exquisite taste in partners, now go and apply the same level of sophistication to the other spheres in your life.


8. Cats vs dogs. Cats lose. Also, there is a minimum size of animal that qualifies as dog. Yapping slippers are other people's pets, not mine.


9. Sensibility when it comes to the purchase of shoes and selecting shoes for a specific purpose.


10. Solvent.


11. Sane... You think I'm joking...


12. Sex. You don't have to be Sasha Grey but you have to be open minded, limber, filthy and reasonably keen. I wouldn't say I'm the kinkiest guy around, but there are certain expectations. Also, don't even bother if you have a gag reflex or don't swallow. And yes, random surprise blowjobs DO make for a happy and healthy and reciprocal sex life.


13. No follicular growth under eyebrows.


14. Eyebrows. You'd be surprised how many women are without.


15. A basic sense of cool.


16. A stupendously advanced, yet at the same time adolescent sense of humour.


17. A driver's licence and some form of transport.


18. A willingness to indulge me when I am being silly/drunk/belligerent/sick/depressed/watching sport or making music.


19. An understanding of the correct use of a telephone.


20. Infinite patience.


21. Have I mentioned tiny. I like tiny. With boobs. It goes with cute.


22. Also, I'm into affection. Giving and receiving. Surprisingly, not everyone is.


23. And lastly,the windows to the soul. I could fall in love with eyes if they capture me...


24. All of the above.


25. ALL OF THE ABOVE.

*Disclaimer. If any exes are reading this, I am talking about the other chicks, not you. You have always been my favourite.

And there you have the ramblings of someone, now that I am about to post this, who is destined to be single or disappointed for the rest of his days.

To those of you who don't find the above list at the very least informative, and have contrived to find some offence in it, I kindly invite you to stop reading my blog.

Tomorrow I re-institute Irreverent Fridays, and will be back to my short-post bolshy self.

Spread the love. Instructions above.

THE WEEKEND THAT WAS...

...Well, everything I expected... and more!

Once again RAMfest took the youth of the country by the scrotum and swung 'em overhead for shits 'n' giggles. Wow! What an epic festival full of adventure, dust, sunburn, awesome music and truly memorable performances, and not all just from the stage.

It was also quite hot in Rawsonville this weekend. This facilitated the rather welcome shedding of clothing, adding to the visual spectacle. And the disturbing froth in the communal swimming pool...

So let's get to the bands. The first really pleasant surprise were Down On The First, kicking off proceedings on the Metal4Africa stage. I might add that the M4A stage, the supposed "second" stage, had a better vibe than the main stage, and very often superior sound as well.

Later on the Friday night, we were treated to a jaw-dropping show by Mind Assault that was nothing short of faith re-affirming. As creaking and ancient as I am, they even somehow managed to get me so excited about it all that I rushed headlong into the swirling moshpit and for a few brief moments actually managed to hold my own bouncing around. This was short lived as I found myself face down in the dust, having lost both my drink and my dignity. I escaped to enjoy the rest of their set from a safer distance, horns in the air.

The next day we were treated to Juggernaught. These Bourbon drenched rock behemoths stomped and snarled their way through a set that did their moniker justice. And I got a cd, which has been on heavy rotation since getting home.

Sabretooth stormed the stage next with their retro classic rock-metal and, as always, left the audience agape at the sheer virtuosity on display and begging for more. Loudly.

Off to the main stage to catch long time favourites The Sleepers perform their second last show with current vocalist, Simon Tamblyn. A little light out to appreciate the full range of sonic supernova that is this band, but a bittersweet and brilliant set, chock full of the sorcery these lads dish up every time they bestride a stage.

Somewhere between all of this we also managed to eat something and spend a lot of time heckling the passers by. There was also a lot of catching up with old friends and there may have been a libation or 2 consumed.

Enter A Walk With The Wicked. I had earlier predicted that they were going to own everyone's souls. I was spot on. It gives me gooseflesh seeing a performance of such magnitude as to win over even the most sceptical of curious bystanders, and this was one of those. They simply brutalised their way into the collective hearts and minds of all those in attendance. The lucky ones. The fortunate ones. The ones with the good taste and sense not to be too near the main stage, where all manner of arse was being spoon fed to the unwashed masses.

If A Walk With The Wicked owned souls and some of the other bands were a pleasant surprise or won over a few new fans, then I have just run out of words to describe what happened with Axxon. A relatively young and inexperienced Industrial band that closed proceedings on Saturday night was in the exalted opinion of many, many people, the highlight of the entire event. They overcame the initial technical glitches to put on a show that could overthrow a small government!

No words. Simply awe...

Overheard at Ramfest: "Jeesh the international bands were kak! And Die Antwoord were rubbish..." This in the bathroom, and not from some black tshirt wearing metal heads...

The most entertainment came form The Heavy, who had had a bit too much and slept through ALL the bands on Saturday night, eventually waking up at 3am and partying all night in the Trance/Dubstep area, only to return to the campsite at 10am. I can't tell you for fear of a libel case. That good!

Well done to the organisers and bands. I am sure RAMfest will keep on growing and growing.

So. Spread the love. Just not anywhere NEAR the Nekkies swimming pool...