Who’s Going to Bang my Drum? The Rolling Stone Monopoly

It is a Tuesday night in The Mother city. The Sedov’s great masts rise up out of the harbour. I am about to board the world’s largest sailing ship still in operation on the sea’s. It was seized when Germany was defeated by Russia, and it is now home to 300 hundred pubescent Russian naval cadets, their commanders and one Russian Rock n Roll band from Vladivostok - Mumiy Troll: “It is like an Egyptian mummy, or your Mummy. The troll comes from Scandinavian Trolls, they’re not all bad – they’re known to do good things” says Ilya Lagutenko – lead singer, guitarist and synth player. Rolling Stone is interviewing Lagutenko. The ship is crowded with Russians – special guests of the embassy, Rolling Stone operatives, press and music industry folk. Musicians and writers.

 Mumiy Troll had a dream to travel the world in a submarine. So they approached the navy, the navy said “No, but you can have a boat.” Now they tour from port to port – recording on the ship as they go along. A cadet shows me a picture of a barracuda one of their superiors had caught. It is massive, head scowling, blood running from its slit throat. Their English is not very good and I can only speak smatterings of polish. The conversation is brief.

The interview is over, Mumiy Troll take to the stage. Lagutenko dons a child-like tiger suit jacket with a hood, it is fetching on him. The drum beat kicks in, at first I cannot believe it is the drummer who is playing it, it is so soft and delicate, the sound levels so crisp, the kick so punchy. It sounded like a recording played through Sennheisers. Ilya Lagutenko’s voice is immediately appealing, he sings in English, changing their sometimes Russian repertoire to connect with the audience. Ilya had described his Russian lyrics to be based in the forms of Russian abstract poetry, where as his English songs have a formula, the rigid a,b structures. I was slightly disappointed to not hear Russian, although their English songs were beautifully poetic and sometimes existential in thought, and held some reminiscence of abstract and adhoc construction in phrasing. His voice and persona strikes me in the same way as Venus in Furs, the Ziggy’s and the Bowies. His body is rarely still, his eyes crossing and darting, hands shaking, trunk weaving into solid poses.

 The set the band produced was of the Britt Pop Indy Rock variety, Killers, Franz Ferdinand – stomping bass a kick lines, electric howling guitars. But there was something else about them that you couldn’t quite pin down in their sound, somewhere in the open atmosphere they produce are feelings of long sea voyages and lands across the ocean, of the Soviet Union and cold, cold Russia. I would have like to see them on a bigger stage, in a venue where people are dancing.

The bar hadn’t opened until the band started playing, so people watched in stone like solidity. Mostly unable to see anything but the persons head in front of them. The canapés are being served the bar is open, people rush towards the free stuff in a frenzy. Others stay to watch the end of the set. Some fancy polish vodka is being mixed at the bar, into icy pine-apple cocktails, by two frantic bar men.

 Long Time Citizen sets up to play. I really like this band, they are fun, you can dance to them, they have a good repertoire of covers - The Clash, The Pogues, and some pretty catchy songs of their own. They’re tighter than they were when I first saw them, and have added a rad guitarist who jumps around a lot. They’re lead singer Greg Donnelly has a fantastic stage presence. They sound a bit like the Violent Femmes gone way down South to Georgia.

 They are booked to play two more shows with Mumiy Troll while they are here. And here is where my dilemma lies. Mumiy Troll have been voted Russia’s “Best Band of the Millennium” by Russian music lovers, they have played shows all over the world. Have accumulated over 17, 000 fans on Facebook, are recording their 11th album, and have had over 10 million downloads. They are in South Africa being welcomed by Rolling Stone – one of the biggest music magazines in the country.

 And yet they are booked for two small shows, one at On a Roll - Thursday, 25th April, the other at Ragazzi – Friday 26th April - with a band that does not represent their audience in the country, or one that would pull an audience to a venue. Long Time Citizen are a great band, but they have not been established long enough to have a following. They only have 192 likes on Facebook. Also they do not represent South African, their songs lack lyrical content “Whose going to bang my drum? Whose going to bang my drum?”

They are sung in an American fashion – which only serves to highlight the monopoly that American music holds on the South Africa industry and its subsequent influence on South African taste. Long Time are definitely a strange choice to couple with Mumiy Troll.

I cannot help but question whether Anton Marshall bassist of Long Time Citizen and event director for Rolling Stone South Africa is using his monopoly to promote his own band, and whether Rolling Stone events should be used as a platform to promote South African music?

Surely an outfit like Rolling Stone would be trying to put on the best shows for a touring band, to promote and expose them to them to the best South African market for their style and create a positive impression of touring South Africa? Playing alongside artists like Desmond and the Tutus, or The Brother Moves On. At larger, more established venues like Mercury and Assembly – or Utopia festival falling on the weekend of their arrival? Or should international touring artists start at the bottom like everybody else in South Africa, in hotdogs joints, and smoky pubs, the credit they have gained overseas meaning nothing on shores abroad?

Finding the Black in the Blackness

This poem is inspired by the lyrics of The Brother Moves On, and a 2007 statistic that read that South Africa only contributes 0.778% to global record sales. Where are our voices? Why do we still listen to kuk international commercial music when South African music, the music which speaks to our country is not heard?

The poem is a question of identity in a country set on the brink of violent revolution and economic collapse. I hope for a brighter alternative.



Finding the black in the blackness
deconstructing what it means to be black
I am African, but I am white but I am black
I live in a multiracial suburb, I am coloured
you are coloured, I am coloured, he is coloured
I am black, you are black, we are black
WE are not white
White means oppressor
I am not white, you are not white
WE are Africa
WE are not white
Our government is white
but the ANC is not our government
but they are white, and corrupt
our government is civilized
our government is our economy
our economy is not African
our state is not African
there is nothing African about a state
WE are not independent
WE are not yet free
free from the white
I am Indian, I am coloured, I am black
I am a coloured
not the absence of it
not white
I am Africa
Africa has a rhythm
I am Africa
Africa has a rhythm
A solid pulsating rhythm
slow and steady
and it builds and it grows
intricate
as it becomes educated
the knowledge is leaking
I am leaking it
I am Africa
and Africa has beat
a beat that will be heard
I am Africa
and Africa has a beat
a beat that will be heard
because I am Africa
my voice
Africa's voice
is strong

International News

Walk In Africa - the National Wake Documentary Mixtape by Punk In Africa

…..post…post...city...late…./Post…post...city late...post

‘put a blanket…over Soweto

they put a blanket…nowhere to go no

they put a blanket…over the news

they put a blanket…nothing to choose

The question that has been plaguing my mind the last couple of months is this: What does music do? In 1981 an album was released in apartheid South Africa. The band who produced it was an anomaly; a multi-racial marabi-punk band known as National Wake, a bands whose roots are planted in reggae, funk 'n punk and inspired by The Clash, Malombo and Philip Tabane. A band that still resonates with South African feel and political potency. 

The band that featured on the recording was comprised of Ivan Kadey (rhythm guitar), Gary and Punka Khosa, brothers in rhythm on bass and drums respectively, Steve Moni  on Lead Guitar, and Kelly Petlange on saxophone.  The band and the scene they created were described by Craig Duncan – Czech State Radio’s alternitave music specialist - as “perhaps the most dissident music scene of the 20^th Century: a multi-racial punk-reggae band operating in a fascist state” . The album “National Wake” was banned from the airwaves, “gazetted” after over 700 copies had been sold. The digs which they inhabited became subject to police searches, and under political pressure the band disbanded, and the album lay dormant until 2009 when Keith Jones and Deon Maas set out to make a documentary about punk in Apartheid and the role it played in South Africa’s struggle for equal rights.

I feel the bomb yeh…it grows inside me

I feel the bomb yeh…blows up inside me,

I feel the bomb here

Is something wrong here?”

In the early months of 2012 I started researching the band for my master’s thesis. It led me to Rosebank Mall in Johannesburg to meet Ivan Kadey, rhythm guitarist of National Wake; one of the three remaining members.  My timing was right, Kadey was visiting his home town after relocating to California in the 80’s, and I was able to glean from him some of the magic that made National Wake the musical force that brought a portion of a fractured society together.  For Kadey it was never about being political. Out of the bowels of the commune in Parktown, where the band resided - illegally because of the pass laws at the time - a sound started to emerge.  It was lively, energetic, angsty and it spoke of hope that the nation would wake out of dark times  – “this is the wake of the nation/this is national wake…we’re bubbling up with the new time people”; a musical account of living in Apartheid South Africa under the release of punk, captured in a moment of censorship.

I feel the bomb

there’s nothing wrong!

going to the movies

what do I see?

going to the movies

what are they throwing at…

what are they throwing at me?

Skip forwards a week and a ten minute drive from Rosebank to Yoeville, March 2012, once the hub of musical activity in Johannesburg in the 80’s, the home of the now infamous Rocky Street.  A place which I had been taught to fear, where the stereotypes of Nigerian drug lords run free and the imagined crime rate is so high you can’t even walk through the suburb. I park my car outside a block of flats and Ivan lets me in, we walk up the stairs of the somewhat dilapidated building, along the corridor and into a well-kept and homely flat, owned by Kadey’s sister-in-law. 

 My perception of Yoeville is immediately altered. Growing up in the Northern suburbs the entire stigma that surrounds Yoeville becomes nothing but the thought of those too scared to venture out of their comfort zones. There must be some truth in their fear, but on the streets during the day there is another culture – where people walk the suburbs, and greet each other as they walk by, Bob Marley blares from a car radio – It is only my imagination that is keeping me overly alert. The only thing to be feared is thought, even though it has become a culture in Jozi to watch your back - it isn’t the worst advice.

they sent the troops yeh…into Angola

they sent the choppers…over the border

they put a blanket…over the border

they put a blanket…into Angola

My mission for the visit was to receive a visual document taken of a National Wake gig held in an outdoor square on Rocky Street in Yoeville in 1979. The video is something special. Having been born in 1987, and starting primary school in 1994, the first year where multi-racial classes were taught together – a curriculum for the new South Africa had barely been thought of, apartheid became a list of dates, and a tribute to Mandela – although I do have a picture a drew of Brenda Fassie as a raging cocaine addict in a tribal mask (age 13). I was never confronted with the true and deeper realities of apartheid, we parroted the names of the laws and the years they were implemented but we never really learned what they meant - the theatre, music, and arts of the time left to academics and kids whose parents were inclined to the arts. The history of separatism that occurred during apartheid was never conveyed clearly in my younger years, even though the roots apartheid planted still thrive in a negative light in the news, thoughts and culture of the country today.

“I feel the bomb yeah…

‘put a blanket…over the blanket

and then a blanket…over that blanket

they put a blanket…to suffocate it

put a blanket…suffocate!”

The high walled houses and constant patrolling of private security vans in the suburbs hold testament to “the fear”. The fear that many suburban upper -middle class whites feed off of that keeps them locked behind closed doors and travelling safety in cars, public transport out of the question. They rarely interact with the black domestic workers walking on the streets, or the fruit sales men, or the bead artists – “hawkers” in their eyes. Negative connotations shooting like daggers. The new language in the country is to turn opposing heads in greeting, in shame, or fear of the other, or perhaps just not knowing how to communicate? As if it were a crime to nod and smile, say hello or perhaps, if the mood took you, stop and have a chat. 

But this video footage which I was privy to in a Yoeville flat, on a Sunday afternoon, gave me an insight into apartheid that is rarely seen – and probably as uncommon in real time as it was then – in South Africa. People dancing, not just white, or black, or coloured, but all of them together in a square in Yoeville, smiling, happy, standing watching the music as the camera passes over them – the atmosphere seems light, even a scene where Kadey is dealing with a police officer – the tension is minimal. Well, as minimal as dealings with police go. 

The text book South Africa, the one we learnt about out of the books was transformed, but more so than that the words “oppression” and, “racism” were not present for that moment. National Wake became a door to a new universe of thought. About stigma, about how we treat words with such great power. Trevor Noah –South African comedian - offers a similar sentiment about the nefarious “K” word. No not Kellog’s. Kafir. He then continues his act by desensitizing the word – taking away it’s power. He offers the audience the original Arabic definition of the root being “infidel”. He highlights the different between saying Nigger in Xhosa and Nigger in America, the former meaning “to give” and the latter being a derogatory term. He makes you feel the break down between words and our given meanings for them. National Wake, the music, and the scene they created conveys a feeling, a break down in meaning, that still exists in South Africa today – one of wanting a South Africa united in its diversity.

So what can I say about what music does? For now I will say this:  different styles of music convey different feelings, and people relate to those feelings, those feelings bring different groupings of people together, sometimes in extraordinary circumstances – National Wake was extraordinary, the feeling of their music crossed colour boundaries, and brought people into a new space for thought about a possible future of peaceful co-existence. I can only hope that this story and this feeling is part of the history that is taught to future generations – one that speaks to the new South Africa, not against it.

International news…international views…

International news…insanity!'

Excerpts from ‘International News’ by National Wake

Peachy Keen

Band members:

Dominique Otto – Vocals and Guitar

Alex Wise: Keys, Vocals, Tamborine

Brandon “Slim Anus” Shore – Drums

Greg Abrahams – Double Bass

Nicolas H – Lead Guitar

I like girls, even more than liking girls I like girls with tattoos. But the holy grail of those girl creatures that I like is the girls with tattoos that rock the fuck out. The girls of Peachy Keen are just that. And well worth waiting for, I soon discover on arrival at Kill City Blues Preproduction and Rehearsal Studios in Cape Town. I buzz in, 6 o’clock on the dot. I’m punctual like that on occasion. And head for the bar to find out from Marne which room they’re practicing in. With information acquired I head for the studio at the end of the windy corridor, where I run into Brandon, AKA Slim, drummer and manager of Peachy Keen. A Durban expat who caught the Cape Town city buzz and never left. After a brief introduction we hit the bar, my gracious host spotting me a Zamalek, as we wait for the rest of the band to arrive. Joe Jackson plays in the duke box of my mind “I got a girl who is always late, every time we have a date, but I love her....” Definitely my sort of band. There’s something creepy about a band that is punctual as a whole. It gives me the feeling of clockwork dolls with beady eyes, staring down at me from a shelf in a darkened room. It’s just unnatural. Some people would call it professional. But with creatives, it just isn’t the same. It’s a fashionably late statement of some genre.

The girls, those lovely lady beings in question, the rockers whose arrival we are currently waiting for, met through the band scene, back in the day, both playing for different ska bands. But what they really wanted was to start a band together. That idea was put on ice until January 2010 when they decided: stuff it. Enough screwing around. Let’s do this thing. In their own words: “It was time to make this dream a reality!” And from that point they spent three nights a week together getting into the nitty gritty’s of song writing. “Some songs were shit, others we loved, and finally we got a set together.” Phase one complete, captain. Next step! Members! The first of which turned out to be Slim. Who was stumbled upon by through drunken dance and a love of The Beatles. It was love at first sight. He was THE ONE. Next came Greg, “The Talent,” as Slim describes him; found through the University of Cape Town network. And he rocked up at practice with his big double bass and his chilled out and friendly demeanour and the girls had found another keeper (Geez lucky girls, if only romance was as easy for everyone). After a litany of guitarist - six or seven to be imprecise - Dom’s cousin, Nicolas H was recently imported from Canada and cleared through customs. To arrive with the rest of the band a solid 20 minutes late.

More beer is bought, introductions made, and the band starts setting up; amidst the smell of man sweat from the previous band. I sit in the corner and observe, sipping on beer and fiddling with my camera settings. Greg is double bassless today, playing a five string cherry red court. But he’s still giving my imaginary member hard on as he warms up with some jazzy blues scales.

The band adjourns briefly from set up for a smoke break and a discussion about their upcoming radio interview with Liesel Van De Westhuizen the following Wednesday, the equipment needed for the gig on Saturday, and the upcoming Cape Town Tattoo Convention. It’s 18:44 and I still haven’t bared witness to the band as a whole, but I’m enjoying the banter and the company none the less.

And then the moment arrives. Back in the band room, a blues jam kicks in. I let out a deep sigh in reminiscence of the Death Valley days. With warm up jam over the real music begins. And my skirt is well and truly blown up around my head. Dom has an amazing sultry country voice, which makes my none existent leg hairs tingle. Slim grooves a power shuffle. Alex multi tasks between keys, the tambourine and vocals, another truly impressive voice. Aside from her dexterous and melodic key playing abilities. And I’m hoping that Nic is the guitarist that they keep. He rocks on the slide. All in all they culminate into one of the sickest rockabilly sounds I’ve heard in a long while. These ladies know how to rock. This band knows how to rock. This is how Tiger Army would sound if they were crossed with rock n roll sensibility and smooth fem vocals.  But better. It’s “Here in the Orchard” but it makes you want to do the twist. The band busts into the next song. A straight up rockabilly number with a pop edge that will have you singing “I’ll be your baby, I’ll be your little dove” and tapping your foot for days after. I know this from experience.  

After a few more tunes that I wish I had to take home in my car with me, the time comes for me to leave, I have to catch Dave Ferguson playing up the up the road. But I leave the studio in with a sense of anticipation about the gig at Zula Bar on Saturday. Which in retrospect was epic. They totally blew Cassette out of the water. Performance wise, dress wise, and music wise.

I left that night feeling inspired, but this is an inspiring outfit. So, I’ll leave you with some fine words of wisdom from this band on the up. The first on being female muso’s in a male dominated industry: “We are firm believers that one should never rest one’s laurels and get by that way. As females in the scene we have to work hard to prove ourselves. You can’t just be a pretty face on stage and expect people to listen up. You gotto work it!”

 And the second to all bands wanting to get somewhere: “Find the music that you love playing and give it all you’ve got! Also work on your image, how you want the band to be portrayed. Get a good photographer and do a rad shoot. You’d be surprised at how much that helps! Network and approach people for sponsorships, even if you get shut down. You have to be thick skinned. Do what you love and love what you do!”

The band would like to thank LMG magazine, Sailor Jerry who saw potential and sponsored them before they’d even played a show. Tyler B. Murphy of Sin of Style Tattoos, who has taken them on board and does the band artwork. And MissHapp clothing.

Catch this awesome band on tour in Jozi April 1^st and 2^nd 2010, with the Bone Collectors and The Carniwhores. It’s going to be a rockabilly road show of note.

(This article was originally published in Vixxen March 2011  http://issuu.com/avamonroe/docs/vixxen_issue_14_march_2011)
Promo Photo by Sweet Nausea Photography
Live photography By Cami Scoundrel

Submachine - Road From Babylon - Album Launch (with some Qwazaar on the side)

After a rather dismal attempt at an acoustic set with The Carniwhores at Kitcheners (Storm obviously not in attendence due to album launch commitments) I headed to Town Hall for the much anticipated launch of Submachine's debut album. And came out severly dissapointed. There just seemed to be no life to the show. Normally a Submachine show will have you screaming your lungs out while your feet are possessed by the PyschoVoodooBlackNoise. This show just seemed to lack energy. While it was well attended, well decorated, well advertised, Sailor Jerry and tattoo vouchers from The Golden Tiki being given away the whole event just seemed to lack the party element. I got there in time to see Juggernaut, but wasn't captivated and ended up outside shmoking cigarettes and enjoying the hip hop coming from The Woods where Qwazaar was playing later. A quick car bar and it was back inside to watch the mighty Submachine who just came across as exhausted after three hours of sleep after their Durban show the night before. But they held it together, and had the crowd going. I didn't see much of Half Price's set. Instead I snuck into The Woods (the stamps for both venue's were almost identical and the bouncers didn't seem to notice). Now that was a rad ass show. Though I did hop back to Town Hall for a bit in time to hear Half Price's iconic song about Titties. "I like big fat titties in my face..." I think I may have grown out of them when I was 16. The night degenerated back to Kitcheners and jamming double bass on the pavement at 4.30am with Roger Young, JR and Jade.

Next Door

March of the Punks

The hardcore punk scene in Jozi is once again live and kicking. And has doubled in size since the London Calling days. Hmmm, nostalgia of late night soccer games in the street, begging for 1's and 2's to buy R10 quarts. General drunkeness and the best of the underground scene every weekend. It was even the spot where I first got to witness Death Valley in their awesomeness. Although, most of the show I was "back stage" - it can't really be called back stage, it was a corner of the court yard where a small fence was erected to keep equipment - warming up for our set. I was playing in The Kosmonauts at the time. I remember thinking "man I'd dig to jam this stuff." Funny that.

JV and The Carburetors

JV

Anyway, London Calling died under new management. I think the building is still there, unused, waiting to be sold. And now we have The Bohemian. Well The Bohemian has always been there, and it is without a doubt the spawning ground for up coming bands in Jozi. And it is where I ended up on Thursday night after a drinking session with the WITS philosophy department. To witness what I believe is a fresh start for the Jozi hardcore punk scene. The Virulence were awesome. Tight. Got the crowd going. And JV and the Carburetors definitely have potential, although their sound check song sounded like babies crying into a microphone. No jokes. But they definitely exude some awesome energy on stage. But enough jibber, let the photos speak.

The Virulence

JV

Fuck, I miss this band (A Death Valley recording you wouldn't hear otherwise)

Seems like forever ago. Though it's only been a few months. it's like breaking up with 7 people at once when your band breaks up. I owe much of myself to Death Valley. I spent a month of weekends on the  couch in a state of depression and soul searching when we stopped gigging because I honestly didnt know who I was any more. Talk about identity crisis. But spend two years with weekends of solid gigging and it becomes quite easy to lose other aspects of your self. Like a social life. I think I've regained that slightly, and managed to maintain a rather good gigging regiem. it's all about balance.

But the point of this post is this : http://soundcloud.com/brad-downs/loitering-in-death-valley and probably the main reason why I miss The Death Valley Blues Band so much. We'd rock up at a practice or a gig and start jamming. And it would be this beautiful mulch of E. Yep, always E. Well almost always E..

This is the first jam we had after Kevin left for the UK. It wasn't constructive but the feeling was still there.

Kev, we miss you

Pic 2008: Just before 5fm interview

The Weekend Starts On Wednesday

For the last few weeks it seems like Puzza Thursday has annexed by Wasted Wednesdays. Though Puzza Thursday still occurs, no doubt, the weekend just seems to start on Wednesday nights of late. Jozi has turned into a hotspot of culture and party. Maybe I've been cloistered in the punk scene for too long, but it seems that the diversity of all the scenes that have been bubbling up and growing over the past few years are suddenly coming out of the wood work and melding into something epic. What it's turning into I'm not sure, but scenes are merging, evolving, opening their eyes to see some bigger picture. I'm enjoying watching it.

So Wednesday night was spent in Benoni with The Sunday Punchers. Probably the drunkest punk/folk/rock/irish band I've had the pleasure of watching in a while (since the old Gross Misconduct Days at least). Definitely a band that's full of feeling and passion for music. I respect that. Got there earlyish and in record time, after a relatively traffic free 40 minute mission from Jozi, with Clint and Siane. Shaun was already waiting with beer. Gene wheeling is amp in. A R500 tab for the bands, we raped it, as the rest of the band trickled in. Mostert last, already a six pack down. though he swore he was sober. And we all continued to imbibe (except clint, on a sober driver mission) until the set. After which we hung around for a bit, hunted some weasels, slugged some car bar Scottish Leader. Mostert ended up with a black eye, no-ones really sure how. But that's Benoni for you.

Quinn (Drums), Mike (Guitar) and Matt (Friend)

Mostert decided he needed a prison knife. That poor steak knife never knew what broke it.

Ankia (Violin and Vocals) pregig making sure the pick up is working. Gotto love a girl who knows her equipment.

Quinn, rocking pretty boy Stee's (yep I said Stee's, its infiltrated my vocabulary)

Mike (Guitar) and Gene (Bass)

And Siane (vegetarian holding crocodile sking guitar case)

The Faces of Beard

This post is dedicated to the many facinating faces that Beard of The Car Boot Vendors manages to pull

If I had the energy I would give these expressions witty captions, but after being stabbed 45 times with a needle I am not in the best of moods. But feel free to do so if you wish.

Mac Lethal

Mac Lethal came to South Africa a few months ago. I managed to catch his Jozi show at The Lister Building. Rad Venue, but the sound was kak. Airoplane hanger vibes. But good party none the less... Don't think I'm a fan of live music without the live musicians though.

These two tracks are floating my boat right now

Mac Lethal - Undertow

 Mac Lethal - Heart of a Pig