baby steps

it's almost time.



for a dirge to Dirt




The Pretty Blue Guns are busy with their first album,




and it's not the last time i'm going to say




that these gentle men understand






the measure and madness in music.

www.theguns.co.za

the republic of BRC

comic life magazine [available gratis for around R1500 on a tootight kulula seat between major local cities near you].
'eye-toons'.
page 023.
this time, i'm reviewing a review. The Bellville Rock City DVD review. What crap. the Bellville Rock City DVD is not 'fascinating', its musicians are not by and large 'incredibly talented' and most of the bands listed in the review are not 'incredibly important' either*.It's a good looking buddy flick that idolises an insecure fraternity practising much the same in-house nepotism as the forefathers and fathers they claim to rebel against. And it doesn't have the presence of mind to answer questions its very premise** poses. Like, what cultural cataclysms led to this expressive exodus out of the tyranny of the church, and how do these alcoholic, drug-overdoing narcissists relate to the rest of the poofter patriarchy otherwise known as the so-called South African music scene? I'm hoping that the Fokkof doccie will go the extra 12 miles to answer these and other questions. If it ever gets released.

* SOME of the bands on the DVD are incredibly important, and SOME of the artists in them are incredibly talented, but it is misleading to exaggerate about this to people who might be looking for something else besides what it is, AND not give a decent critique on what posits itself as a glimpse behind a certain curtain.

certain curtain being my acerbic re-appropriation of that hackneyed and prejudiced phrase, 'boerewors curtain' which i find tedious and untrue in its inferences, even though i'm taking a fat bite out of some boerewoes myself right now. come, come, my ladies. no limp biskits about this one, please. try and slate me. or at least answer my questions.

** its premise is that there is something of creative and cultural and commercial depth and worth going on in and coming out of Cape Town's northern suburbs. something of a zeitgeist. replete with handlebars and under 18 bars.

wanna know something? (an unlikely love letter)

Dear Mama

Last night you sang and played for us. Your music is something like a prayer, a dirge, a war cry & a victory song meeting, mingling &merging. Your ballads &bluebird ditties are dirty and beautiful, &so are all your inmates. In all the right ways.

But.

I can’t hear what sister Sannie is saying. And I’m not the only one. Her voice is heavens(c)ent and bloody, but she needs to ennunciate more, because i know her lyrics are as good if not better than her melodies and vocal abilities. &Galina’s gorgeous eyes roll around her sockets like she really would rather be somewhere else. It’s weird, because she is the most capable of bringing joy to the set, and instead people are leaning over to me &saying, ‘mydoghowsheplaysthat fiddle’ and/or ‘why is she up there if she's so unhappy?’ &finally - nobody is communicating with Hagar. Quiet and humble as she is, she is the hidden flower, and flowers need attention to blossom bigger. You are not forgetting she’s your lead guitarist, are you? Or are you?

I'm sure the uber cool Fez and Kurt would agree with me if they were the other side of the sticks and bass. Do me a favour, ladies - do them proud.

That’s all. I’ve had a night of nasty discoveries and even harder realisations. So forgive me my directness.

Or don’t.

In the spirit of your world (in)fame(y)
Jezebel