It is 2.35 am Monday the 11th of April 2011. I know this because my computer tells me so. I am heading on tour with The Brother Moves On in 5 and a half hours. Today was spent with the band in Pretoria, and I hope to high hell that today wasn't a pilot for the forseeable future. The reasons being:
1) We arrived at the venue two hours late
2) The venue, she was not, let us say, all that jive ass
3) Our drummer and rhythm guitaist were at this point still trying to find each other in a taxi rank in Germiston
4) For a brief moment we were undert the impression our drummer had bailed on us
5) Legae's bass guitar's electronics stopped working
6) After many phone calls we procured another bass, which also stopped working
7) The gig went well, albeit bassless (we can't complain about this, but I thought I'd mention it anyway)
8) Packing up was interesting, we came in three cars with six people and a ton of equipment. We left in 2 cars with 7 people with even more equipment then we started with
9) Our car (Siya, Kush and I) had just hit Midrand when we got a call to say that Ray had been arrested, did we have his wallet, his driver's licence is in it.
10) We did have his wallet (whether I should say this is a bad thing or not I shall leave to subjectivity)
11) We had to drive all the way back to Pretoria, by now it was close to 1am.
12) The Metro station is almost impossible to find, it took us another 20 minutes of driving around (thank you to the kind lady who lead the way to Vermeulen Street, if not for you we would probably still be lost)
13) Ray then had to make two trips to Kempton Park to drop off various band members..
After all this... well here's to hoping the tour shall be nothing like it. I shall try keep you posted on what's going on. So here I guess is the first offficial insert of my first tour with The Brother Moves On.
Peace
Sunday, April 10, 2011
Cirque du Psycho
Part One- Pulling It All Together
Where to start? The beginning obviously. There are two beginnings to this tale. The first occured at Gandolf's in Cape Town, mid December 2010. The second at Zula's a few weeks later, thogh by this time it was laready 2011. There was liqour involved in both incidents. Neither of them were particularly exciting. But they just go to show that the smallest of meetings can be the beginning of an avalanch. One that has left me with an awe inspiring hang-over.
So Gandolfs. I headed there with Brent and Andrew. I can't actually remember how we got there. The day started with a mission from Constantia to the city via train. We ended up drinking on Long Street for most of the day, with Pat, Rozy, Gav and Flash. And somehow we ended up at Gandalfs. Where I was introduced to a gorgeous blond. Her name was Dom, and I was terrified of her. She was cool and tattoed and self-assured and she made me feel like I was infringing upon some code. Which one I'm not quite sure. But I started to feel very out of place, and being rather drunk and stoned and afflicted with LSE (low self esteem - a side affect of constant blazedness), I kinda just kept very quite and watched her awesomeness, wandering if she was going to beat me up. Why I thought this I do not know. A little later in the evening we got to talking. It turned out she played in a Rockabilly band called Peachy Keen. I had heard the name working the network, and made a mission to see them as soon as humanly possible. I was blown away.
The second story starts at Zula's in Long Streets. A few of my mates were meeting up to discuss bringing the infamous Typical Cats down from the States, I was there to drink mainly (Cape Town has the propensity to turn me into a fiendish alcoholic, mostly because I don't have band practice to keep me occupied otherly). They ended up bringing Qwazaar in the end, it was still a mad party. Anyway, sitting three drafts down at Zula's the most amazing sounds start wafting off the stage. Low down sax driven blues. Dark as fuck. I had to know who they were. But I also had to leave. So I ran up to the stage as the band finished their sound check, introduced myself to the lead singer and told him that I wanted to bring them up to Johannesburg. I didn't even know who they were. They turned out to be The Bone Collectors. So Rol and I exchanged numbers, found each other on facebook. And a few weeks later Rol got in contact with me and said "Can we make this happen?" To which o replied yes, not knowing what I was getting myself into. "Who else should we pull in?" The Peaches were the obvious choice. And after a few phone calls and scattered messages the Peaches were roped in and Cirque du Psycho was born via the birth canals of my drunken determination.
The next step was venues. The Bohemian being the obvious choice. A brief call to Ryan Neebe (high master of band bookings at The Bo) and the date was set. The second venue was trickier. Cool Runnings Benoni was the first choice, having met one of the managers, Vaughn, at Thornfest we started arranging things. But nothing of worth materialised. Other than me having to drive an hour to Benoni for a non-existant meeting.
Enter from stage left Jadd Steinhard. Whose brother in law owns Woody's in Edenvale. He called, booked the date, organised the sound. I am much greatful to him seeing as the morning I made the call to him I had woken up from dreams of tours going wrong, venues cancelling, I'm sure there were flamey pits and hellish demons involved too, but to put it short I was a tense and nervous wreck about not being able to find a second venue. The tour was still two months away, but I couldn't help myself.
So with venues organised flyers and sponsorship were brought to the forefront. Thank you Sailor Jerry for the rum which led to one of the maddest weekends a Rockabilly tour in Jozi or South Africa has probably seen. And Jan Munky Giebelmann for the amazing flyer.
Part Two - The Tour
Friday
I was exhausted, perhaps beyond exhausted. The last few weeks of my life have consisted of band practice/gigs every night of the week. With body broken and mind bent from an afternoon of tutoring a crowd of very anxious first year philosophers, and the previous night jamming with The Brother Moves On, Uju and Bongeziwe at The Bohemian, I stumbled into Brad "The Kid" Down's place to pick up the last of the equipment needed for the show that night. A guitar amp. After a brief mooch on the couch and a gathering of wits I headed back to my folks to shower and do my hair.. Oh yeah I said it, DO MY HAIR.. For those of you who don't know me, this isn't a common occurance.. But I recently got a new shark fin, and I'm quite in love with it. (Thanks Henry)
So shower and hair done, four mic stands, a giant box of cables, one H & K Basskick, one marshall, one double bass, one shiny blue Ibanez bass, and a collection of micropones packed into my car, I started off my journey to The Bohemian. As I pulled into the garage to pick up a 9V for the double bass pick up my phone rang.. With bad news. Very bad news. Certainly not the type of news you'd want to get when you're already under the pressure of organising a show with two touring bands down from Cape Town that you really don't want to muck up. It's The Kid. "A's in a coma". I'm hoping this is some sick and twisted April fools joke. But it isn't. I walk numbly into the shop. Thinking "Happy thoughts" over and over again. Trying not to think about the fact that my close friend, mentor and fellow band mate is... "Happy Thoughts" "Happy Thoughts" "Happy Thoughts". I get a box of Lucky Strikes, and the battery. "Happy Thoughts" as I get into my car. "Music, put on music". I put my phone onto shuffle and sing along. But the thoughts are still trying to overwhelm me. I almost drive into the back of the car front of me, tears seeping out the corners of my eyes. "Happy Thoughts". I make it to the Bohemian. Spread the bad news. Distract myself with setting up the stage. Distract myself some more with whisky. Distract myself some more with free rum from the door. Distract myself with greeting the touring bands, making sure they have everything they need. The Kid rocks up, tells me he got a call, A's not in a coma, but he is in hopsital. I let out a sigh of relief. It was a white lie on The Kids's behalf. But it calmed me down enough to feel like the world was okay. I found out the next morning that A had in fact been in a coma, but he is fine now. No brain damage.
The rest of the evening turned into pure rock and roll debauchery. The Jozi crowd (most of the so-called psycho scene not in attendence) made up of punks and lesbians (Emilia Bug's birthday party) went mad. Turned into swinging psycho animals. And then more drama as Hannah had to be abulanced out of The Bo. But by this point I had given up on taking responsibility for things out of my control, I was piss drunk and partying it up with The Peaches. The night all in all was a success. We got out of there at around 3.30am to wake up early and head to Midrand for JawFest ate my Dingo.
Saturday
Saturday started bright an early, and probably stil a little drunk. What with it being bright and early the logical assumption to make is that minimal amounts of sleep were had, thus minimal amounts of time were given to the process of sobering up. And so the morning quickly escaped me and it was off to meet the boys of The Bone Collectors and head off to Jawfest. We never got there. We did however get lost, and rather stoned, and generally discombobulated for a good hour and a half, before back-tracking to Greg's folks place to relax before the Woody's show.
The woody's show was another night of veritible chaos. But Rol's discription of it far out explains anything I could give you right now. So I shall leave the rest of this expose up to the blurps of the touringbands....Though I do at some point remember being on the streets singing "ohhhh darling, please believe me, I'll never do you no harm" very drunkenly at the top of my lungs with Dom..
Part 3 - What The Touring Bands Had To Say
Peachy Keen
The Bone Collectors
ROB WROTE: Our first inclination that Friday night’s show was going to go down well was the fact that we had with us a case of Sailor Jerry Rum. Feed people enough of it and you’re well on your way to ensuring a receptive crowd. In hindsight, the crowd at the ‘Boh’ probably didn’t need too much to lose their inhibitions and the offering of rum was merely providing fuel to the proverbial fire. More accustomed to a somewhat demure and unforgiving crowd that is the Cape Town audience it was quite a welcome surprise to be confronted with what appears to be a still thriving community of ‘punks’. From ‘Cracked Rib’ Willie to the ‘Mohawked Microphone Killer’, the more than generous response we got from the crowd was greatly appreciated.
ROL WROTE: Saturday mornings have been getting to be more of a challenge with each year, and this was the roughest Saturday morning in living memory. A sensory kaleidoscope: I awake to a taste in the back of my mouth reminding me of ‘warmed essence of sewer rat’, bright spinning catherine wheels of unwelcome morning light are projected through the window and projected onto my puffy eyelids, WonderDrummerGus can be heard snoring like a sawmill down the corridor – how did this happen? Friday at the Bohemian was a riot. Our gracious hosts, the Carniwhores, kicked proceedings off and warmed up the disparate crowd of dirty youths with a sleazy set of dirty billyness. Zam is a dangerous man on 6 string, and Cami&Storm are a fun rhythm combo to watch and hear. The Jerry flowed, legs got a little more rubbery, smiles got looser...Next up, our co-touring amigos Peachy Keen whacked that dirty little room like a bad stepchild – you wouldn’t know they’d just sat on a bus for 22 hours. My plan to keep my head straight until *after* the set was abandoned at this point - so hot in there, just needed something to cool a parched throat, right? *GOOOSH* (mistake, I now realise). Ha! By the time the Peaches’ set was over, the dance floor was a hazard, all a-glisten with shattered bottles and slick beer puddles. We all had an itchin’ and twitchin’ feeling in our Collective Bones at this point, and so we charged into maybe the messiest and most fun sets of our mediocre little lives. All kindsa shit went wrong, broken strings and knocked over mics etc.etc., but it didn’t matter a bit and we left dripping with sweat and grinning like village idiots. The dirty humans in attendance jammed like the apocalypse was nigh, for which we couldn’t have been more grateful. Getting all 5 Bones into the same car and back to the same address was a more testing process. Sleep came only when the birdies started cheep-cheeping, and Saturday was bound to be a rough one..... Fortunately, we were staying in highly hospitable turf – SaxophonistRob’s parents treated us reeeeaaaalll nice, and I don’t know how such nice wholesome folk could have turned out such a wicked little miscreant as he. I blame Marilyn Manson and videogames, personally. Some nutritious foodstuffs went a long way towards replenishing the boogie-ness, and by the time Cami came to fetch us we were feeling halfway normal. Our initial plan to whack Jawsfest, a daylong indie backyard fest of sorts (I think?), was aborted halfway along that Kyalami-ish road where all the larnies keep their horses, as were lost and demotivated and actually not feeling as robust as we had earlier claimed. Instead we went to lay low with our Peachy muchachos, where once again parental hospitality saved the day and we were treated far too well by Peachy Greg’s gene donors. Off to Woody’s we go we go, and I’m struck by how many miles the Gautengers rack up in the name of a night out. In Cape Town, we’ll drive 5km for a braai, 10km for a braai if it’s a special occasion like a birthday or bachelors etc, and for 15km or more you’d have to offer your guests fellatio, cocaine or stocks. Upon arrival at Woody’s I was impressed to find that a number of the heroes from last night’s carnage at the Boh have crept back out for another round. I get the impression this is a scene that looks after and supports its own. It’s like alternative ubuntu. The Carni’s knocked out another mean set of badness, and I hope we can introduce their madness to a Cape audience. Although I was feeling a bit heavy, I was psyched to play again after last night’s carnival fun. Despite enthusiasm, however, it was to be a challenging set, one of those nights plagued with, erm, broadly ‘technical problems’ and it felt like I was on a candid camera show – kept waiting for the sound guy to rip off his mask and say ‘ha ha there’s the camera over there mate, we’re just having you on, ha ha you’re gonna be on tv’. I looked for stitches on the back of his neck later but concluded that he was too slim to be Leon Schuster in a sound-guy suit. Anyway, it took half an hour of farting around before we could get our set rolling, and then, first song - *shtepang* - string snaps. HarHar funny, right? Borrow a guitar from the Peaches. Next song - *krrrrklunk* - guitar strap snaps. Hi-Fucking-LARIous I’m thinking to myself, and now I really shouldn’t be drinking because I’m in the sort of vile mood to stomp a stray cat to death or feed laxative to an old homeless man or some other wicked act. Instead, we play on, stuff starts going alright again, soundguy is more or less on top of stuff, I have all 6 strings, band is feeling good, and the incredibly patient audience is warming up and starting to boogie. We decide to keep our set short and simple, for after all there is free rum to be drunk before the sun comes up, and by our last song I’ve forgotten my grumpiness, the band and I love each other like brothers, and wish that instead we could play for another hour. Peachy Keen closed the Saturday night with an act that I’m glad we didn’t have to follow, and I must confess I gave myself over to the boogie with abandon, spilling more beer on the floor than down my throat, dancing with rubbery legs, sweating like a gorilla’s nutsack. If you’ll pardon the expression. By the end of the Peaches set, the wise thing to would’ve been to get back to the crashpad, sleep like a dead thing, and wake up feeling human on Saturday. Rob, percussion Ken and bassy Gawie opted for this moderate route of wisdom, leaving only Gus and I, the oldest and surely the more responsible, with the remaining Jerry and no particular idea of how to get from Edenvale to Greenside. Clever, ne? A series of misadventures ensued, none of which are relevant to our narrative here, except to say that Gus and I did indeed get back to safe turf and, eventually, to kulula 549 seat 24 c&d. In the few hours post-peaches, pre-flight, when I should’ve been snoozing, I had the pleasure of sharing a bottle with and chatting to many of the volkmensch who’d been so generous during our troubled set, struck by how open and friendly and patently NOT jammed up their own scenester arses they are – even though I would not be pleased if any of them were dating my daughter. Honestly, if we could find a means of covering our transport costs, I’d bring the Bone Collectors back to Joburg in a week – it might be a little longer than that, in practice, but we most certainly will be back and I’ve a feeling we’ll see many of our new friends again. Big thanks to Cami and the Carniwhores for taking such good care of us, our SailorJerry sugarmamas and papas for greasing the wheels, the sweet Peaches for their honest-to-god groovy goodness, Rob&Greg’s families for treating us like your own, and every groovy brother and sister who stomped foot at the Boh and/or Woody’s. Really hope to see the lot of you before the year is through
Where to start? The beginning obviously. There are two beginnings to this tale. The first occured at Gandolf's in Cape Town, mid December 2010. The second at Zula's a few weeks later, thogh by this time it was laready 2011. There was liqour involved in both incidents. Neither of them were particularly exciting. But they just go to show that the smallest of meetings can be the beginning of an avalanch. One that has left me with an awe inspiring hang-over.
So Gandolfs. I headed there with Brent and Andrew. I can't actually remember how we got there. The day started with a mission from Constantia to the city via train. We ended up drinking on Long Street for most of the day, with Pat, Rozy, Gav and Flash. And somehow we ended up at Gandalfs. Where I was introduced to a gorgeous blond. Her name was Dom, and I was terrified of her. She was cool and tattoed and self-assured and she made me feel like I was infringing upon some code. Which one I'm not quite sure. But I started to feel very out of place, and being rather drunk and stoned and afflicted with LSE (low self esteem - a side affect of constant blazedness), I kinda just kept very quite and watched her awesomeness, wandering if she was going to beat me up. Why I thought this I do not know. A little later in the evening we got to talking. It turned out she played in a Rockabilly band called Peachy Keen. I had heard the name working the network, and made a mission to see them as soon as humanly possible. I was blown away.
The second story starts at Zula's in Long Streets. A few of my mates were meeting up to discuss bringing the infamous Typical Cats down from the States, I was there to drink mainly (Cape Town has the propensity to turn me into a fiendish alcoholic, mostly because I don't have band practice to keep me occupied otherly). They ended up bringing Qwazaar in the end, it was still a mad party. Anyway, sitting three drafts down at Zula's the most amazing sounds start wafting off the stage. Low down sax driven blues. Dark as fuck. I had to know who they were. But I also had to leave. So I ran up to the stage as the band finished their sound check, introduced myself to the lead singer and told him that I wanted to bring them up to Johannesburg. I didn't even know who they were. They turned out to be The Bone Collectors. So Rol and I exchanged numbers, found each other on facebook. And a few weeks later Rol got in contact with me and said "Can we make this happen?" To which o replied yes, not knowing what I was getting myself into. "Who else should we pull in?" The Peaches were the obvious choice. And after a few phone calls and scattered messages the Peaches were roped in and Cirque du Psycho was born via the birth canals of my drunken determination.
The Bone Collectors - Suburban Stalker
The Bone Collectors - Barslag of your Dreams/21st Century Dan
The Bone Collectors
The next step was venues. The Bohemian being the obvious choice. A brief call to Ryan Neebe (high master of band bookings at The Bo) and the date was set. The second venue was trickier. Cool Runnings Benoni was the first choice, having met one of the managers, Vaughn, at Thornfest we started arranging things. But nothing of worth materialised. Other than me having to drive an hour to Benoni for a non-existant meeting.
Enter from stage left Jadd Steinhard. Whose brother in law owns Woody's in Edenvale. He called, booked the date, organised the sound. I am much greatful to him seeing as the morning I made the call to him I had woken up from dreams of tours going wrong, venues cancelling, I'm sure there were flamey pits and hellish demons involved too, but to put it short I was a tense and nervous wreck about not being able to find a second venue. The tour was still two months away, but I couldn't help myself.
So with venues organised flyers and sponsorship were brought to the forefront. Thank you Sailor Jerry for the rum which led to one of the maddest weekends a Rockabilly tour in Jozi or South Africa has probably seen. And Jan Munky Giebelmann for the amazing flyer.
Friday
I was exhausted, perhaps beyond exhausted. The last few weeks of my life have consisted of band practice/gigs every night of the week. With body broken and mind bent from an afternoon of tutoring a crowd of very anxious first year philosophers, and the previous night jamming with The Brother Moves On, Uju and Bongeziwe at The Bohemian, I stumbled into Brad "The Kid" Down's place to pick up the last of the equipment needed for the show that night. A guitar amp. After a brief mooch on the couch and a gathering of wits I headed back to my folks to shower and do my hair.. Oh yeah I said it, DO MY HAIR.. For those of you who don't know me, this isn't a common occurance.. But I recently got a new shark fin, and I'm quite in love with it. (Thanks Henry)
Dom and Alex of Peachy Keen
Dom of Peachy Keen
So shower and hair done, four mic stands, a giant box of cables, one H & K Basskick, one marshall, one double bass, one shiny blue Ibanez bass, and a collection of micropones packed into my car, I started off my journey to The Bohemian. As I pulled into the garage to pick up a 9V for the double bass pick up my phone rang.. With bad news. Very bad news. Certainly not the type of news you'd want to get when you're already under the pressure of organising a show with two touring bands down from Cape Town that you really don't want to muck up. It's The Kid. "A's in a coma". I'm hoping this is some sick and twisted April fools joke. But it isn't. I walk numbly into the shop. Thinking "Happy thoughts" over and over again. Trying not to think about the fact that my close friend, mentor and fellow band mate is... "Happy Thoughts" "Happy Thoughts" "Happy Thoughts". I get a box of Lucky Strikes, and the battery. "Happy Thoughts" as I get into my car. "Music, put on music". I put my phone onto shuffle and sing along. But the thoughts are still trying to overwhelm me. I almost drive into the back of the car front of me, tears seeping out the corners of my eyes. "Happy Thoughts". I make it to the Bohemian. Spread the bad news. Distract myself with setting up the stage. Distract myself some more with whisky. Distract myself some more with free rum from the door. Distract myself with greeting the touring bands, making sure they have everything they need. The Kid rocks up, tells me he got a call, A's not in a coma, but he is in hopsital. I let out a sigh of relief. It was a white lie on The Kids's behalf. But it calmed me down enough to feel like the world was okay. I found out the next morning that A had in fact been in a coma, but he is fine now. No brain damage.
Rob- The Bone Collectors
Ken - The Bone Collectors
The rest of the evening turned into pure rock and roll debauchery. The Jozi crowd (most of the so-called psycho scene not in attendence) made up of punks and lesbians (Emilia Bug's birthday party) went mad. Turned into swinging psycho animals. And then more drama as Hannah had to be abulanced out of The Bo. But by this point I had given up on taking responsibility for things out of my control, I was piss drunk and partying it up with The Peaches. The night all in all was a success. We got out of there at around 3.30am to wake up early and head to Midrand for JawFest ate my Dingo.
Crowds go mad for Sailor Jerry, yes the do. It's all part of SJ's evil plan to enslave us all
Saturday started bright an early, and probably stil a little drunk. What with it being bright and early the logical assumption to make is that minimal amounts of sleep were had, thus minimal amounts of time were given to the process of sobering up. And so the morning quickly escaped me and it was off to meet the boys of The Bone Collectors and head off to Jawfest. We never got there. We did however get lost, and rather stoned, and generally discombobulated for a good hour and a half, before back-tracking to Greg's folks place to relax before the Woody's show.
The woody's show was another night of veritible chaos. But Rol's discription of it far out explains anything I could give you right now. So I shall leave the rest of this expose up to the blurps of the touringbands....Though I do at some point remember being on the streets singing "ohhhh darling, please believe me, I'll never do you no harm" very drunkenly at the top of my lungs with Dom..
Part 3 - What The Touring Bands Had To Say
Peachy Keen
Sailor Jerry Rum, Studded Punks and a 22 Hour bus ride...
I was always told by mates from other bands that had performed in Jozi, how much tougher the crowd is compared to Cape Town. Talkings of the Joburg punks ,way more venues and hijackings at midday, springs to mind. But after a 22 hour bus ride and a couple bottles of Sailor Jerry, all I wanted to do was get on stage, drink some more SJ and ROCK OUT!
Bus-lagged and a not looking so hot, we arrived at Greg’s parents spot and were met with a fully stocked bar, hot meal and a needed shower-Joburg love! We rocked up at The Bohemian, a place we’ve heard so much about. Cam ( Carniwhores) met us with the biggest smile on her face and we knew things were gana get messy!
The Carniwhores opened and definately set the bar. They got the crowd pumped so we knew we had to bring it Joburg style! Sailor jerry was flowing and after making some friends with the local studded punks, we got on stage and rocked out so hard. The Bone Collectors made the crowd weep - Cape Town would be proud!
Saturday night saw us at Woodies in Edinvale. Once again the carniwhores and Bone Collectors tore it up. The crowd was ready for us and we melted faces! After partying until 7am we headed home on our 22 hour bus ride, purely stoked! An unforgettable experience...Thanks Joburg!
I was always told by mates from other bands that had performed in Jozi, how much tougher the crowd is compared to Cape Town. Talkings of the Joburg punks ,way more venues and hijackings at midday, springs to mind. But after a 22 hour bus ride and a couple bottles of Sailor Jerry, all I wanted to do was get on stage, drink some more SJ and ROCK OUT!
Bus-lagged and a not looking so hot, we arrived at Greg’s parents spot and were met with a fully stocked bar, hot meal and a needed shower-Joburg love! We rocked up at The Bohemian, a place we’ve heard so much about. Cam ( Carniwhores) met us with the biggest smile on her face and we knew things were gana get messy!
The Carniwhores opened and definately set the bar. They got the crowd pumped so we knew we had to bring it Joburg style! Sailor jerry was flowing and after making some friends with the local studded punks, we got on stage and rocked out so hard. The Bone Collectors made the crowd weep - Cape Town would be proud!
Saturday night saw us at Woodies in Edinvale. Once again the carniwhores and Bone Collectors tore it up. The crowd was ready for us and we melted faces! After partying until 7am we headed home on our 22 hour bus ride, purely stoked! An unforgettable experience...Thanks Joburg!
ROB WROTE: Our first inclination that Friday night’s show was going to go down well was the fact that we had with us a case of Sailor Jerry Rum. Feed people enough of it and you’re well on your way to ensuring a receptive crowd. In hindsight, the crowd at the ‘Boh’ probably didn’t need too much to lose their inhibitions and the offering of rum was merely providing fuel to the proverbial fire. More accustomed to a somewhat demure and unforgiving crowd that is the Cape Town audience it was quite a welcome surprise to be confronted with what appears to be a still thriving community of ‘punks’. From ‘Cracked Rib’ Willie to the ‘Mohawked Microphone Killer’, the more than generous response we got from the crowd was greatly appreciated.
ROL WROTE: Saturday mornings have been getting to be more of a challenge with each year, and this was the roughest Saturday morning in living memory. A sensory kaleidoscope: I awake to a taste in the back of my mouth reminding me of ‘warmed essence of sewer rat’, bright spinning catherine wheels of unwelcome morning light are projected through the window and projected onto my puffy eyelids, WonderDrummerGus can be heard snoring like a sawmill down the corridor – how did this happen? Friday at the Bohemian was a riot. Our gracious hosts, the Carniwhores, kicked proceedings off and warmed up the disparate crowd of dirty youths with a sleazy set of dirty billyness. Zam is a dangerous man on 6 string, and Cami&Storm are a fun rhythm combo to watch and hear. The Jerry flowed, legs got a little more rubbery, smiles got looser...Next up, our co-touring amigos Peachy Keen whacked that dirty little room like a bad stepchild – you wouldn’t know they’d just sat on a bus for 22 hours. My plan to keep my head straight until *after* the set was abandoned at this point - so hot in there, just needed something to cool a parched throat, right? *GOOOSH* (mistake, I now realise). Ha! By the time the Peaches’ set was over, the dance floor was a hazard, all a-glisten with shattered bottles and slick beer puddles. We all had an itchin’ and twitchin’ feeling in our Collective Bones at this point, and so we charged into maybe the messiest and most fun sets of our mediocre little lives. All kindsa shit went wrong, broken strings and knocked over mics etc.etc., but it didn’t matter a bit and we left dripping with sweat and grinning like village idiots. The dirty humans in attendance jammed like the apocalypse was nigh, for which we couldn’t have been more grateful. Getting all 5 Bones into the same car and back to the same address was a more testing process. Sleep came only when the birdies started cheep-cheeping, and Saturday was bound to be a rough one..... Fortunately, we were staying in highly hospitable turf – SaxophonistRob’s parents treated us reeeeaaaalll nice, and I don’t know how such nice wholesome folk could have turned out such a wicked little miscreant as he. I blame Marilyn Manson and videogames, personally. Some nutritious foodstuffs went a long way towards replenishing the boogie-ness, and by the time Cami came to fetch us we were feeling halfway normal. Our initial plan to whack Jawsfest, a daylong indie backyard fest of sorts (I think?), was aborted halfway along that Kyalami-ish road where all the larnies keep their horses, as were lost and demotivated and actually not feeling as robust as we had earlier claimed. Instead we went to lay low with our Peachy muchachos, where once again parental hospitality saved the day and we were treated far too well by Peachy Greg’s gene donors. Off to Woody’s we go we go, and I’m struck by how many miles the Gautengers rack up in the name of a night out. In Cape Town, we’ll drive 5km for a braai, 10km for a braai if it’s a special occasion like a birthday or bachelors etc, and for 15km or more you’d have to offer your guests fellatio, cocaine or stocks. Upon arrival at Woody’s I was impressed to find that a number of the heroes from last night’s carnage at the Boh have crept back out for another round. I get the impression this is a scene that looks after and supports its own. It’s like alternative ubuntu. The Carni’s knocked out another mean set of badness, and I hope we can introduce their madness to a Cape audience. Although I was feeling a bit heavy, I was psyched to play again after last night’s carnival fun. Despite enthusiasm, however, it was to be a challenging set, one of those nights plagued with, erm, broadly ‘technical problems’ and it felt like I was on a candid camera show – kept waiting for the sound guy to rip off his mask and say ‘ha ha there’s the camera over there mate, we’re just having you on, ha ha you’re gonna be on tv’. I looked for stitches on the back of his neck later but concluded that he was too slim to be Leon Schuster in a sound-guy suit. Anyway, it took half an hour of farting around before we could get our set rolling, and then, first song - *shtepang* - string snaps. HarHar funny, right? Borrow a guitar from the Peaches. Next song - *krrrrklunk* - guitar strap snaps. Hi-Fucking-LARIous I’m thinking to myself, and now I really shouldn’t be drinking because I’m in the sort of vile mood to stomp a stray cat to death or feed laxative to an old homeless man or some other wicked act. Instead, we play on, stuff starts going alright again, soundguy is more or less on top of stuff, I have all 6 strings, band is feeling good, and the incredibly patient audience is warming up and starting to boogie. We decide to keep our set short and simple, for after all there is free rum to be drunk before the sun comes up, and by our last song I’ve forgotten my grumpiness, the band and I love each other like brothers, and wish that instead we could play for another hour. Peachy Keen closed the Saturday night with an act that I’m glad we didn’t have to follow, and I must confess I gave myself over to the boogie with abandon, spilling more beer on the floor than down my throat, dancing with rubbery legs, sweating like a gorilla’s nutsack. If you’ll pardon the expression. By the end of the Peaches set, the wise thing to would’ve been to get back to the crashpad, sleep like a dead thing, and wake up feeling human on Saturday. Rob, percussion Ken and bassy Gawie opted for this moderate route of wisdom, leaving only Gus and I, the oldest and surely the more responsible, with the remaining Jerry and no particular idea of how to get from Edenvale to Greenside. Clever, ne? A series of misadventures ensued, none of which are relevant to our narrative here, except to say that Gus and I did indeed get back to safe turf and, eventually, to kulula 549 seat 24 c&d. In the few hours post-peaches, pre-flight, when I should’ve been snoozing, I had the pleasure of sharing a bottle with and chatting to many of the volkmensch who’d been so generous during our troubled set, struck by how open and friendly and patently NOT jammed up their own scenester arses they are – even though I would not be pleased if any of them were dating my daughter. Honestly, if we could find a means of covering our transport costs, I’d bring the Bone Collectors back to Joburg in a week – it might be a little longer than that, in practice, but we most certainly will be back and I’ve a feeling we’ll see many of our new friends again. Big thanks to Cami and the Carniwhores for taking such good care of us, our SailorJerry sugarmamas and papas for greasing the wheels, the sweet Peaches for their honest-to-god groovy goodness, Rob&Greg’s families for treating us like your own, and every groovy brother and sister who stomped foot at the Boh and/or Woody’s. Really hope to see the lot of you before the year is through
Wednesday, March 30, 2011
Carni Bass Jam
Don't get me wrong, I love my double bass. But I don't love not being able to hear myself, and sound in this country just doesn't seem to be able to figure out how to get my monster pumping. So I tried out my bass (my beautiful 1979 Peavey T-40) at practice last night, it was a lot of fun, and I got to let loose abit. Here are the results of a practice turned more jam then anything.
http://soundcloud.com/the-carniwhores/cocaine
http://soundcloud.com/the-carniwhores/the-boh-song
Stay Sick
Stay Slick
Stay Psycho
http://soundcloud.com/the-carniwhores/cocaine
http://soundcloud.com/the-carniwhores/the-boh-song
Stay Sick
Stay Slick
Stay Psycho
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 1st and 2nd 2010, with the Bone Collectors and The Carniwhores. It’s going to be a rockabilly road show of note.
Promo Photo by Sweet Nausea Photography
Live photography By Cami Scoundrel
Tuesday, March 22, 2011
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
Next Door
Brothers and Lights
The weekend once again started on Wednesday with an epic mission to pick up bands mates, lostness in Rivonia trying to find the place, a missing hi-hat stand, a Tranni, laughing in the back of the car in the parking lot while Siya showed Ray how it's done from that angle, or maybe it was Ray showing Siya.
Monday, March 14, 2011
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.
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.
JV and The Carburetors
JV
The Virulence
JV
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