(yissis! This was written December 2006! - Nine months ago...enough time to birth a baby, né? Forgive, kittens, twas hiding somewhere in my harddrive archive – can you say that five times fast?! Harddrivearchivehardivearcdrivedarkhivearkdive eeuyaargh!)
Kiss on the cheek
Last night was a typical Cape Town Summer’s night out. You don’t always find the (right) party by default; it’s usually somebody else’s fault. In this case, many people contributed to my fun. I left the stiff-collared middle-of-the-road (but jamming) yuppy jol at armchair (hey, it takes all types to float a business in this industry, gil’s just doing his job for live music) and found a flood of summery seventeen year olds making the (former) Cool Runnings very happy about their deal with Cobra. There were hoards of homies buzzing about while the fire dancers tickled our short attentions spans with flashes of flame and local fame.
So that got old, and I ebbed off to Mercury, which is possibly older than all of us, and seedier. I enjoyed Eat This, Horse (despite their bad hair) and then I really enjoyed Desmond and the Tutus(despite their bad name). Sparing me the crackers and overfull tummy, the tutus brought Christmas to me. They did a dandy job of impersonating kissmiss trees. They came on stage dressed in skinny jeans and stripy tops (~sigh~) and long Hanson hair. (were the Hansons boys or girls? I was never totally convinced either way). The white, twinkling Christmas lights wrapped around their necks sold me completely - I’m sucker for sparkly things and party animals. With the stage lights off, they bopped around beautifully like illuminated robots, their knees knocking together in all the right places, and their heads nodding about in concurrence.
No idle promises from these boys –their noise is easy to enjoy, and they know how to dance, I guess, because they do it their way. It’s happy, it’s hairy, it’s happening.