cape town, workers day, 01 may 2007
So what was it like?
If you like kilometre-long queues for the loos and lots of dust up your nose when you stand around perfecting that manicured, bored look at everyone’s expense, then you know you’re doing it Coca Cola style. Sigh. With 5fm sucking crock somewhere backstage.
Mmmillions of middle class kids paying through their noses to get sozzled and scorched on
(in order of appearance…)(these are links, kitlings)(use them)
Sprinkbok Nude Girls (aka SNG aka ZZZ)
Unsurprisingly all got merrier as everyone ODed on their beer limit (lending a refreshing, new meaning to the phrase Top Up. Or is it bottoms up?) and lent their artists passes to passersby to get more beer. As pink and piss coloured draft bent brains and the sun set to sinking, more people fell on their faces and more smiles were plastered there between drool and mud stains and bruises. The demise into joy didn’t seem much connected to the music. Chatting to the hoards, the line ja, no,which song? I wasn’t even listening bru,but cheers,hey came up all too often. Which is sad. Because there were some momentous moments. (and some – SOME – great music)
My best of fest :
TAXI VIOLENCE. Proved. that size doesn’t count. They fill any stage with their sexy synergy and sweet, slicing sounds. Smash them together like pebbles in a penny or give them the scapes of big-budget boards, and they make love to music. Take it away, taxi.
Best of the rest
- Bed on Bricks : full force and wonderful as always
- Not to be outdone or hemmed in, the Dirty skirts : pop-rocking their indie butts off.i like that they like what they do.
Quite impressed but unconvinced :
Parlotones. Pretty. Clever. A bit pale this sunny day, though.
For your scrapbook :
The Have Your Say bigscreen clips. SA kids being loud and ‘avin it large. Loved it.
Ever wondered why…
We let the Nude Girls get away with rehashing the same old same-old year after year? (especially when there aren’t ever any nude girls). It’s been over a decade of overkill now. Is it because arnie works out? Is it because the bubblegummers under their boots can’t really discern between expensive noise and rock music?
Low blows :
kak sound. Again and again and again. But like Jess said, it was beautiful weather.
Trend signifiers ( ≠ stylish ) :
- The Only Miss Jone’s bleached,table top, pudding-bowl ‘do. (the future? i shudder; I’m a low maintenance kind of girl)
- Self-conscious, black fingernails. Bitten. But not bleeding. (the neo-alternatives? Come to scream for Evanescence? Exactly. How deep. How dark. And with fingernails that colour you’ll never see the puke stains).
- Parlotone’s eyeliner for boys in three easy streaks. Both sides. (hey! He’s pretty – he pulled it off masterfully) (and I like boys with eyeliner, we established that long ago with the sleepers)
- Limited edition coke buttons anyone? I heard people were fighting for them like dogs. O. no. people were just fighting like dogs.
Big (bad) joke :
free coke. The liquid form. Pfffff. Won’t touch the stuff.
Hoobaskank's half-hearted, half-minute rendition of the Pink Floyd theme tune. Not cool. Especially when all the bricks on the gravy train were gaily singing along, blissfully unaware that they’d been lulled into thinking they know something about music just because they know some of the words and wear chicks with sunglasses around their shoulders at festivals. And anyway, covers are cool only if you give them a facelift.
‘Just Call Me Stupid’
booboo from the ill-informed interlocutor with one red knee and one sleeveless arm who called the Skirts “
free squishes of factor 20 from the info booths. For the pale faces. (this is a very pale city!). respek to the organisers for acknowledging moneyed demographics and the need not to burn them.
Best line :
Wiseboy George (Taxi Violence) dubbed it the "cockfest" most appropriately.
The runner up:
[Can you take 1st and 2nd prize?
- the almost religious humility of Staind’s Aaron. Ooh. And it’s a biblical name, you know. I wonder if he’s Amish.
- Louis (Taxi Violence) wearing a Bed on BricksT-shirt (he has taste)(the bricks are tasty)(yum).
A touch of bad taste :
Love Jones’s wearing their own T–shirt. Helyieu. That’s not branding, it’s narcissism. As if their band name doesn’t say it all. But then at least they weren’t all dressed like kitsch patchwork quilts with a life of their own….
The bottom line :
Taxi’s rock out. Cocks out as always. Metaphorically speaking. They were winners, come wine or whiskey. Or beer or .. uh.. beer. (or coke)(pffff)
Next time, dump the queues; have a line of- instead of a free shlook of- coke. And support good local music week to week, rather than once a year rancorously out of pocket. It’s a looôoot cheaper (count the zeros). (And the sound is better, if you’re at mercury or armchair). Besides and more importantly, the money stays in the hands of local musicians. Who make all the difference to our days.
Time for a little Economics lesson. Big acts need big profit margins and only come here if they can afford to. (they’re supposed to do community service too to give something back in exchange for all the ronts they’re leeching out of our economy! And most of them don’t. What kind of government enforcement don’t we have, ekse,. Go vote. ) They can’t afford to come here if the local music scene is supported by its moms and mistresses. So the bigger local music gets, the bigger the far away acts you can get on your doorstep. Remember that next time you pay cover, or buy a local band’s cd. It’s a global investment in sound.
Big up to the boys and girls who played for nothing, for you. for the love.
But next time, put your money in the mouths of those who make music sing. Not into the pockets of organisers and headliners who leak it away into European holiday villas and offshore expense accounts…