Monday, March 19, 2007

lark in the dark

Cubs and clubbers were tucked into the armchair’s embrace like tik heads in a taxi to nowhere on Saturday night. Stuck in the dark in an ocean of arms and legs, I was wondering what makes Lark so powerful that fans will happily pack the floor to the wall so that they can’t move to music that was made for wild, intricate dancing.

Beyond their wicked beats and weird words, there’s something else that makes this formula work for the local underworld. I stepped up onto a tiny gap on the steps at the back, and as the boys and girl came into view, it came to me. It’s the sexy, the cool, and the old school.

Let me start with the last. Old school. Which doesn’t mean old. Or school. Old school means the hard road won by a rich musical journey. Any musician worth their weight in Jamisons will attest to the truism that if you’ve survived the biz for longer than it takes to grow a fair sized pine, your music is informed by many influences, elbow grease and creative growth, and probably worth listening to. Musically, trends come and go. Bands with them. Music has always been the expression of emotion and environment and these things are always changing. Music moves. But the makers (do they make? Or do they channel?) that have stood the test of time have something else to offer the score. Perspective. Those that survived the lean times, in between waves of musical magic, when the pickings were pretty lame and partners in prime so hard to find that you could count the number of good bands on one hand, are the ones that bring something new to the new. Lucky us, it’s the epoch of expansion for cape town sound, not a melodic low tide, and Lark’s Fuzzy is no fool. He’s been around the block, and he brings a brilliance that grounds their sound.

Old school : check.
Cool : heck,
that’s mr Ressel. At once the most unassuming soul and boomingly brilliant compositional musician, he straddles the sceptres of popularity and authenticity like it’s just another day on a two headed horse. Aka Humanizer, the beat bandit holds the fort without touching it, and when he nods his head, the cape town underground nods back. (I think that noggin bop has started a trend that is making kundalini teachers smile and opening club goers third eye...)

Sean Ou Tim is the other four letter word in the rig. if his notoriety on the scene doesn't precede him, you don't really know new wave jazz...Two four letter words you might want to remember when wondering about the particular powers that make this troop trippy.

And then sex. aint gonna be no clitglytchfusiongothicelectoronica fame without it. Inge is sex. O - inge is a lot of other things, but what she brings the stage and the band’s potence is a certain brand of erotic, aural arousal. It’s in her voice, it’s in her fingertips, it’s in those snake eyes that would slice you to pieces if she weren’t too busy seducing the scatterlings of Africa that are the minions of her dominion. In our little village replete with its Victorian hangover, she is the closest to fucking in public that most kids will ever come.

There you have it. Total titillation. Lark licks the ears, winds up the heart, and takes you out of your skin. Into the dark.

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