check, mate

Nostalgia is for numbskulls, and I’m not numb. But on the eve of an end, I have a brain, and a heart, and both believe good when it comes around. or passes us by.

What are you talking about, jezebel? about digging through winamp (or is that tweeting in Word or?! ) and there sits aKING's debut, unplayed since that unsexy second album came out and my bottom lip with it. what the hell, I think, it’s been a while. PLAY.

In seconds, singing along. (the mittens think i'm mad)

I hate to be a royal pain in the ass, now, and dredge up the silky, silty past (no, it’s just the lagoon sand between my toes), but I regret the loss. Of dutch courage. Of awkwardly awesome harmonies (hunter?). of rambunctious, restless basslines and bloody buildups clotted with chugging chords all overseen by the oversights of pithy pop rock… there’s hope for a third time lucky, but in the meantime I’m waiting in vain.

Tide comes in. tide goes out.

Begin again.

[but you know, i'm not against change. maybe the second album was part of a morph - an eventual evolution (she hopes, she prays). i believe there's a long locked hillbilly in sneakers just dying to get out from under laudo's straw sun hat...nu country doesn't sound all that bad when you're reading books like My Traitor's Heart(malan) and Ways Of Staying (bloom)]

are we gonna be saved?

Brand Your Band - hors d'oeuvres

A taster on some of the content covered at Brand Your Band expo

@ The Assembly 61 Harrington Street Cape Town

26th September 2009

11am-3pm

Directed and Edited by Angela Ramirez & Jess Henson

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=23B0pMrniFA

more at http://capemic.co.za/

website: www.capemic.co.za

Twitter : http://twitter.com/BrandYourBandSA

Facebook : http://www.facebook.com/event.php?eid=128672711713&ref=ts

Wresterlerish – sjoe!

Crap. I did it. I bought a band T-shirt in a sudden flurry of fanaticism. I was totally sober. In my defense, I was also drowning in my lungs, but that’s no excuse for breaking a vow to never get the T-shirt (seeing as I get everything else, including the rude names). i sat, deliriously, impatiently, through a tedious Jeff Buckley tribute (voice has promise, the songs need narrative), and a mellow man-and-guitar with more charm than charge last night at the Waiting Room. (ha. yes. Touché.) I should have been in bed. I’d come anticipating that the hype about Wresterlish isn’t hollow because people I trust said it was worth it. (tip. If you want to know what’s what musically, ask serious musicians, Miles, Chris, someone who represents decent bands or decent design and marketing). The funny thing is, there’s all this buzz about the band, but most people need a lesson to say their name, let alone to read it, which just gets messy. Pronounced, I suppose, “Ress-ler-ish”, it’s a mouthful from a happy handful of hopefuls, and by my merry little ears, I declare the hype has heart. (at least, for me)

Months ago someone wanted one of them to come and crash in my lounge on an impromptu tour that never came about. we only shook sweaty (his), feverish (mine) hands after the gig, but our online introductions (via a certain red-bekked debenite) were quite candid. And cute (for two peole who've never spoken). It went something like this :

(To the viking)
hi werner

yes. as i am in the business of music, and a gypsy at heart, i know what it's like to be homeless and hopeful, so do come and stay at mine if your feet don't smell. i know your bum smells, but i'm not a dog, so we're ok there. are you down for ramfest, or what?

i heard your music today. tis beautiful. and i'm not that easy to please. (ok. so i have a weakness for voice and guitar. it's my mother's fault, she brought me up on simon and garfunkel and cat stevens and that other hairy guy)(o wait. that was a girl. ja, but anyway, you get the idea)

jezebel

(from the Viking)
hello from the dry heat that is pretoria!

so after a week of trying to scrape together a couple of shows around ramfest. i am bummed to say that we failed. BUT luckily we have hooked up and started organizing an amazing tour for the end of april! so if everything goes according to plan we'll be in both your towns around then!

jess! big digital high 5 for the simon and garfunkel! i recently bought the graduate sountrack on vinyl and fell in love with them all over again! thank you very much for the kind offer of possibly housing this cowboy!

roger! you are a legend! thank you times a billion for all the contacts and effort you've put in for us! may you be blessed with a thousand (legal aged) aKING groupies! ;)

ENJOY RAMFEST!!!

werner

I did. Almost as much as I enjoy “Cocoon”, a wonderful, wailing track from Werner’s previous aural incarnation as a shu. Its long been on my hit list of favourite tracks to drive irritably through traffic to. (I have lists for all sorts of things, not all of them as inane as this one, but then this was for girls who need a map to find their own clitoris). [note to self –ask Neil about the subliminal sonic structure in the timeless power of certain songs.] And before you start rolling your eyes at my odd taste in music, the way Zeno does about my loving Dear Reader, remember what the one thing the Blk Jks would like to ask detractors. “what makes you think somebody else won't like it just because YOU don’t?” (that's Mpumi)

Well, now. How about me thinking that somebody else might like it because I do? Problem...

Basically, for other bands, Wresterlish is Bad News. I’m borrowing a bit from their wit here. i mean it metaphorically, but Bad News is also the name of their newest single, an apt (if exceptionally cheerful, yet strangely self critical) sonic summary for a band who’d better put out an album pronto, or their journey is going to be slower and harder than it needs to be(grab the bull by the balls, if you will). They’re solid, diverse within their desired genres, and damn do they know how to put on a show, even WITH a kak rig . They’ll steal aKING’s mellower fans (while New Holland will steal the testier, younger ones), and become the next band to have tattooed on your butt. Why?

Because they’re the kind of musicians who are genuinely pleased and surprised every time the crowd roars or squails in response. Because they have a generous on-stage energy, an intensely engaging presence that proves that closed eyes are not a sign of insecurity. Because there are qualities in those vocal chords you only hear when it’s loud and live. Because the lyrics are intelligent. (“if nothing ever dies then why do I feel buried alive?... I let you take me alive”). Because the compositions are nipped and tucked and clipped and plucked in all the right places. Because their songs can be silly or serious without being static, because they’’ll arm the drums with four sticks like it’s a joke (when actually, it works), or leave a song to strings and breath alone that has you holding yours till it suddenly ends on a high note. Because they know how to prep a set list so that you get the best of their country/rock/pop arrangements and succinct compositions, and slide through it like a pro, not a wide-eyed amateur. Because they left the Waiting Room wailing for more like cats on heat.

Anyway, that’s it. got the T-shirt. I’m a wrestler. Ish.

Catch them where you can…

3 Sept – Klein Libertas Theatre with The Plastics and 3rd World Spectator - Cpt
4 Sept – Deer Park Café with The Lottery Tickets - Cpt
5 Sept – Puma- Rudolf Dassler Schufabrik Side –Projects at &Union in Heritage Square - Cpt
12 Sept - Firkin with Zebra and Giraffe - Centurion
3 Oct - Aardklop - Potch
10 Oct - Rocking the Daisies - CPT

P.S. Just before you get all clever on me, my Guns wifebeater doesn't count as a T-shirt; it's a collector's item (and besides, it doesn't have sleeves).

who are the real pawns?

 

Against all odds, aKING have made a kak second album and lost a former fan. I’m sure they don't care, though, because riding on the respect and attention they deservedly received for their Dutch courage debut and clinching catchy,  tried-and-tested formulas in round two, they're going to be making lots of money with this abortion. I mean album.  Album! 

Luca Vincenzo broke it down brilliantly here    but forgot only to remind us of the one thing we always knew:  this was coming all along. While we somehow opted not to believe it when we were busy being seduced by ‘I Believe’ and tucking in to ‘Safe As Houses’, it was clear from the start that aKING targeted a commercial audience, and would continue to do so in their professional and personal commitment to their blossoming careers. When their music had merit, I had no issues with that - success stories are sexy. But things have changed. By their own admission, the members of the band are getting on.  Babies might be made and bonds will one day want to be paid. So why on earth would they keep sleeping on people's couches as paupers? The transition from talent to tuppence is not new in our flailing (creative) economy -  some of the most inspired music makers have managed to make music make money for them. After a decade of delinquent Monkipunk creativity, our own Kris Akkedis sat down with his guitar, a sweet smile and a casual suit, and bought himself a farm from singing someone else's poetry. The mantra is obvious - why starve when you can sell? My question is, can we imagine a world where we can sell (and buy) music that hasn't sold out to the aggregation of mass taste ? And do we know how we perpetuate the catch-22 that keeps commercial kak?

 

Beyond the bruises of a bad album (all it takes is a good one to be friends again), it's the hiatus between the media, the music and the public that I suspect encourages creeping mediocrity, extracting craft rather than creativity from the arts.

 

Considering the high quality and unique character of their first album (arch, accessible pop rock), and assuming they've consciously invested their musical intelligence in their second round compositions to make them even more accessible than the first's (though, yes, deeply diluted and almost without identity – perfect for high rotation), would they be focusing on the pop side of life if they could make money from the music they hear in their heads? One wonders. And while their undisclosed answer is their truth (because maybe they want to make music this way, and maybe that's great, or maybe they'll never admit how much of a motivation money is in the way they make music - though we do try ) in the absence of any answers, we turn our eyes to the System...

 

With its monopoly on local minds, mainstream media successfully breeds mediocrity in print, pixel and widescreen by discouraging critical content and punting PR-esque coverage to the local music it does feature (when advertisers allow). Those who try to place content about music with character or tell the hidden stories about a creative sector responsible for cultural commentary and potential cohesion are quickly and frequently shot down and shut up (and then, when they then do it independently, they are shot down again. But never shut up.).

 

For its part in the pie of compromise, it seems the public is not quite ready to relinquish the critical blindfold bequeathed it by a dead dictatorial regime, either (one that threatens to rise again in a new, politically correct skin. showerhead included). It refuses to think for itself, taking its cue from what it sees and reads, which is ripped from the band biog which was written by someone’s adoring girlfriend.

 

Continuing the conundrum, mainstream media knows almost nothing about local music, and rarely bothers to learn anything, taking its cue of cool from the SAMAs and MTVs of the world, saying ‘but our readers don’t care about music’ or ‘no, no, that band isn’t trendy enough, I don’t care if they’re changing the way Stellenbosch dresses’. Speakerbox is entirely exempt, of course. And not just because they let me use rude words.

 

And music, for its part, struggles and hobbles along, sometimes brilliant, sometimes bad, generally ill educated in business strategy, replete with addictions and identity crises, defiantly independent or leashed by a label, trying to make a living off itself and get its message out there.  The result? No meeting of minds. No synergy. No, local is not lekker, people will say. Because they don't know. Or won't.

 

So.

 

if media realised that local music is a cultural commodity worth generating content about,

 

if the public explored the love of local and discovered something new to do at the weekends,

 

if music had a bit more self respect, set some boundaries when it comes to gig fees and good PR and demanded decent sound rigs and sound engineers,

 

we might, against all odds, be able to invest in and enjoy and profit from a form of entertainment so powerful it reaches right into the South African subconscious.(or you could just blow your vuvuzela  and feel part of the love)

 

In any case, whatever aKING does next, or music, the media or the public don’t do, we deserve a new mantra.  Beware of the wolves, my baby.

 

oppi koppi oh oh eight

Dust, dassies and dirty musicians

Dear darling dassies and elephants and rockers and sycophants and... Well, you know who you are…

Yissis! But we’re brilliant when we’re in the Highveld. We drove up in droves, set up camp under thorn trees, and hardly slept. That’s the royal we, mind you – Mordor, music and media citizens alike. We washed under taps (well, almost) or didn’t wash at all, got trashed, littered like good, middle-class majority whites, soaked ourselves in sound and sun, and sang together. The best one- liner I heard has got to be the most ubiquitous, too –

Oppi

Koppi!

(And that includes ‘we like your ass’ from a band I like. Is it because I’m black?)

En route to Oppi

The magic started in the car on the way. My mate Bastion doesn’t like his beauty sleep, and spent the night before the trek mixing mix tapes for the drive from Jozi to dassieville. We were listening to a Dylan classic that Georgia governor, Jimmy Carter, ostensibly based his knowledge of agricultural labour theory and reform on(It sounded like Johnny Cash on a happy day). Exactly as we were harmonizing the chorus lines about brothers and sisters and hardworking misters, we drove past the song’s namesake. I kid you not. Maggie’s Farm. That was us, whistling out the window at the high speed of forty kilometers per hour in the Oppi koppi Q, criss-crossing freeways out of Joburg in an attempt to get there faster. It failed, of course, but we did overtake the same people seven times!. How did we know they were dassies too? There’s something about pillows and overlywrapped packet packages and joints squashed up against windows pressed with too many people and their interesting hairstyles that’s such a giveaway on the not-so-open, still-pretty-urban road. Thing is, we were wondering about that not-to-scale map, and the fact that Jozi never seems to end! (well, it IS six thousand square kilometers, after all. And if that daunts you, console yourself with the fact that it’s also a veritable garden, what with its green belt being one of the biggest in an urban setting in the world. Not that it’s so green this time of year.) Anyway, that was when Oppi bit. Big time.

And it was my first time. Also I’m impressionable. AND I’m a band whore according to cokeheads. Why, then, do I only give it seven out of ten? The line-up was wicked and the showers were warm (at 7 am, they were; ask Shower Boy!) I’ll tell you why. Because I’ve rocked the socks off the Daisies in the Kouebokkeveld (with a vaguely adequate line-up) and even fell in love there, and I’ve showered naked with boys and girls together at Bombomella (Israel, the unholy land) and even fell on my face there, and both fests involved preplanning so exact that the carbon footprint was covered before it was even made, and the pumpkin plants were flowering all over the stalls when the fans arrived. Respectively. A great festival takes care of all angles – production, music, its party animals, and the poephols. Luckily Oppi had few of the latter, but it lacked a lot when it came to wires and tummy wares.

It seemed a fest of howyousay, niche niceties. The media tent was utterly wicked, facilitating a relaxed, professional space for media and musicians to meet and greet, talk shop, talk shit, and get the shot and then have some shots (free bar; essential). Only a few halfwit beginner ‘critics’ abused the good intentions of the Levi’s Original Music Magazine slash 24 dot com slash Speakerbox team, and were duly told where to put their pouting, potty mouths and misplaced, malignant intentions. Amen to gentle men. Silver bullets belong in barrels.

The media area was also the spot from which UJFM became the early morning wake-up call to those who weren’t already woken by the freezing cold, neighbouring beats, or caterwauling cretins who refused to put the night before to bed. I wasn’t impressed by the DJs, their half-baked play lists (hello? This is SA, 2008, not somewhere first world, 1999) or their cheery promptitude (well, we’ll make it a word, just for today), but I was delighted that there was constant commentary around the whole fest that made for a family vibe. Guess they were right about what you can and can’t choose...

That choice thing again became an issue (sigh. We have such issues with it here, have you noticed? First not enough of us had it, now all of us have it and we don’t know what to do with it so we let bigshots tell us what to do with carrots and showers instead while they don't fix the power crisis, and we use condoms to carry water…) The line-up was wicked, I thought. Representative enough to please people whose tastes stretch beyond the borders of rock, but selective enough to choose more or less decent acts within the most popular genre bracket. i wished bands like The Sleepers and our soon to be overseas Josh Grierson were included for kudos. The band wish list voted by you (which, btw, it turns out the original winner declined to be part of because what they offered him and his peeps to play wouldn’t have covered their travel costs there and back) was lame. It sounded like noise, from start to finish. Oh, I lie; Jurgemeister was almost decent, belting out hardhat heaviness that broke the Thursday ice. But Friday and Saturday made up for it with so much choice, a wise music lover was hard-pressed to decide. I focused on bands I hadn’t seen, bands I love and must always see, and getting enough sleep to write about the bands my editor thought I should see (he was, for the most part, right, but I will never forgive him for making me miss out on hotstix). Reviews on levis here:

Overall (levis version)

http://www.levi.co.za/musicmag/Category/Detail/Detail.aspx?ID=769

Dave Ferguson

http://www.levi.co.za/MusicMag/Category/Detail/Detail.aspx?ID=737

foto na dans

http://www.levi.co.za/MusicMag/Category/Detail/Detail.aspx?ID=734

kidofdoom

http://www.levi.co.za/MusicMag/Category/Detail/Detail.aspx?ID=733

kwani experience

http://www.levi.co.za/MusicMag/Category/Detail/Detail.aspx?ID=732

zebra & giraffe

http://www.levi.co.za/MusicMag/Category/Detail/Detail.aspx?ID=731

josie field

http://www.levi.co.za/MusicMag/Category/Detail/Detail.aspx?ID=724

fire through the window

http://www.levi.co.za/MusicMag/Category/Detail/Detail.aspx?ID=736

As you can see, I wasn’t bowled over by everyone, but that’s more or less the way it goes, isn’t it? If we all liked the same stuff, we wouldn’t go to music festivals, would we? Or would we?

And was it my imagination or were audiences quiet? No, wait, for the purposes of watookal, let’s use a diplomatic word like… meditative… or contemplative… or idunno, introspective. (diplomacy is my new hobby, and I’m bad at hobbies) Oppi is not the time for introspection, I promise you! Even the former drummer of a famous up-and-coming act and the former lover of the same act were wise enough not to dwell on things too much during the dusty daze. Days. Daze. And no, I’m not going to tell you who they are. I’m not in it for the story, you realize? (that one’s for you, Mr 13 :31) Perhaps we’re still getting used to the idea of freedom of expression, and it takes more than a day or two of liquor and sun and ice to crack our lekker, lacquered shells? There’s hope yet, to be sure, but it feels like the music (re)public is a little intimidated? Come on guys, they’re doing this for you!

Toplist

Most spectacular Kidofdoom

Most anticipated foto na dans

Most rewarding josie field (for musical growth)

Most surprising new academics (finally a band to dance to, and break your shoes instead of your neck)

Most rock & roll taxi violence

Most refreshing voodoo child

Most underrated HoneyB (our favourite black, mid-tempo House DJ!)

Most kak idontknow, I don’t wager over the contenders, I just block my ears.

Speaking of wagers, I won my first game of poker ever with a lot of help from my friends (well, back then before Saigon's 'calamari' and duck curry poisoning I still thought I had some), and while everyone covered sharp teeth with sweetly smiling lips and said nice things like beginners luck (you know, like it's charity or something), I realized that gambling and intuition have a lot in common. As do acting and winning! I went shopping with the cash. Of course. I mean, what else do those of my ilk do – work? As if. A baby blue dress for an open blind. Not bad for an Oppi virgin!

Besides the juicy stories fed me by the rotten social grapevine that is skinder and kakpraat, there were a lot of GOOD one-liners and stories, and some were captured here : http://www.24.com/entertainment/default.aspx?p=feature&i=992161

(you’ll recognize yours truly even if you haven’t had the pleasure…)

oh! and honourable mention to the most fascinating stranger (who also packs a wicked punch in her interviews, and gets renowned egomaniacs to actually SAY the bullshit they believe about their band's music)

Michelle Marais, SA Tunes

Sound is important, and it’s not easy to get right at a fest because of tight schedules and high band turnovers. So you might’ve thought that after ten years, Oppi would’ve sorted that out, chosen the best sound guys they could afford, and had enough technicians on hand to fix faults. They didn’t, at the smaller stages. Repeatedly. I’m not informed enough to know whose fault it is, but as I’ve heard most of the acts I saw in various other venues before, I know that it was either the sound guys or the sound systems. And that is simply not good enough. Luckily the big stage was packed with enough power to blow up a small town, and put its energy to good use for acts like Taxing Violets, The two twos, Aching etc.

Food was kak. Crap. Horrible. Who eats fast food 24/7? Come on. Sort it out. And get more stalls, too.

The only reason I didn’t kill the loudmouths who played bad music at the break of dawn was that I was working, and so I was up before them. But know that you are the spawn of Satan’s spoof and next year I will hose you down with honey for the ants to come and eat to your bones.

While I’m ranting, here’s a brief list of What NOT to do at Oppi :

Ø Erect a tent on top of someone else’s unless of course you want them to move away, in which case it worked. If you arrive in the pitch dark and can’t see, have the human decency to feel about a bit with your hands; it’s probably the only time you’ll be allowed to, anyway.

Ø Take pictures of people butt naked if they happen to forget they’re in public while they’re changing on their doorstep. It’s illegal. For you, and them. Only they can sue you, and all you can get out of them is a little public embarrassment.

Ø Ask for drugs from your bosses, and your boss’s boss.

Ø Walk barefoot. Get on someone’s shoulders.

Ø Forget your sunscreen. It may not be as sexy as they make it out to be, but Oppi is HOT.

Absolute chaos is an oxymoron, and there were lots of those at the fest, though nobody was violent, and moon bags left in the middle of the road to seduce recovering thieves were ignored until their hung-over owners crawled back to them again. By day three (or is it four?) faces were grubby, eyes were bloodshot, and asthmatics were sick of wearing bibs around their noses and mouths just to be able to breathe. My heartfelt empathies; I’m glad that my snot is back to its normal disgusting colour. And speaking of mementos and memories, all I came back with were two t shirts and lots of lovely band buttons, all of which I’ll wear with pride. Of course, the Foto Na Dans EP “Pantomime Op Herwinbare Klanke” isn’t a memento, it’s a trophy. I got it at Oppi, ; you can get yours at Rhythm Records.

Jezebel

p.s. going away for a bit had the uncanny effect of making me see Cape Town with new, more appreciative eyes. (is that possible? Ok, yes, its winters SUCK) back in Jozi waiting for Kulula to wake up or go to sleep or whatever it is it needs to do before I can come and polish my tush on its faux leather, lime seats, I’m thinking, god, I couldn’t live here. I need reference points – something to remind me of forever (mountains, and the high, crystal skies), something to remind me of finity (the oceans, effectively drowning our sorrows and we like to think our carbon footprints (or is it the other way round?)). As the crime capital of various statistical analyses, it doesn’t seem like the wisest place in the world to let irritating realities like energy limits plunge whole roads into darkness, but truth hurts. This might be the most developed metropolis in Africa, and the business capital of SA, but it lacks a lot. I’m back to the Mother city, secure in the insight that we really have a blessed lifestyle. And the majority of good music, too!

Now, if we could just play nicely together in this little fishing village, it would be unbeatable. Having said that, this is the very last time I am going to mention the lowQ muso who has decided to tell nasty lies about me in some kind of stupid attempt to bolster his ego. Worst was that he spread his seed to bigmouths with small brains whose main job, it seems, is to encourage gratuitous rudeness and unfounded aggression (and that’s coming from a girl? Sies) I would like to remind him that he was once in exactly the same position as he has put me in now (scuse the pun), and I treated him with respect and sincerity. And btw, bru, AWOL means Absent Without Leave, and as far as I know, you don’t miss a beat? Well, you’re gonna miss me.

So! Been there, got the t-shirt, see you at Daisies!

Thirsty For Love

(photo by Sean Metelerkamp compliments of Rhythm Records)

Master wordsmith (Sir Ahmed) Salman Rushdie penned these thoughts in what the Times calls “the first great Rock n Roll novel in the English language”. I was struck at how applicable they are to Dutch Courage.

“It’s easy enough to hear the bitter, disabused ironies in many of Ormus’s songs. But the music he’s come up with is jauntily, almost perversely uptempo. The overall effect is oddly affirmative, even anthemic, and for many young people these jaundiced, dystopic tracks become unlikely, adult anthems of relief, a new beginning, release.”

The Ground Beneath Her Feet

© Salman Rushdie

2000

Vintage, Random House, London

So little time to get the right words out.

In 1987, J.M Coetzee’s revealing acceptance speech for the Jerusalem Prize concluded with the observation (however dated, or ageless) that in South Africa there is “too much truth for art to hold, truth by the bucketful, truth that overwhelms and swamps every act of the imagination.”

It’s not 1987 anymore. Yet those whose eloquence allows them a soapbox of commentary on the arts are still quick to denigrate (and dismiss, or even miss entirely) the evolution of truth and expression in the arts. Especially in the realm of music.

Music’s impact on our subcultures and societies is subtle, vast and uncounted. It struggles along with the rest of us, for a place to live, and breathe, and have its being. It comments on our lives, our histories, and prays for our souls. And of course our bodies. And it is an increasingly insightful yardstick for the distance we’ve come from ignorance and anger. If you want to find out what’s on the hearts and minds of diverse individuals, there’s an abundance of outspoken bands expressing the undercurrents of subcultures and supercultures in their melodies, beats and lyrics.

A caution to the critics of music slating emerging sounds with popular sensibilities : have you noticed lately how very much we need music that makes us feel good and helps us forget our hang-ups and fears? A disgrace, if you haven’t. A failure of love. (To paraphrase the lauded literate)

And who are “we”? you’re asking.

We are South Africa. Fraught and fractured, hopeful and heavy hearted. We who rest our heads on broken promises.

Who are you?

aKING at large - “There’s a siren’s song breathing up my neck”

(photo stolen from http://www.myspace.com/akingband )

Goodie. The melting pot is melting. The fusions are fusing. The genres are a gemeng of intentions and great music keeps reinventing itself.

This time it’s some boys from Fokof, some totally new talent, and a lifelong intention to tell the truth, even if it’s dirty and dark and it smells like linoleum. aKING are aptly titled for their confident mix of sadness, majesty and expression. And while everyone is talking about ‘uniqueness’ and ‘commercial accessibility’, and achieving neither, aKING are achieving both.

So what’s the formula?

They might just turn around to us and say they followed the music, but it feels like they’ve taken the best elements of Rock’s last four decades and spun it into catchy melodies to create an irresistibly positive and powerful sound that doesn’t jilt you at the door of reality.

Charisma comes to mind. We’re no strangers to charisma, of course. aKING's brothers in arms boast the reticent Francois with his wry appeal, and the hyperhappy Wynand (Van Coke Kartel) has the guys and gals tearing at their undies when he leaps around on stage and smiles like he means it (he does). Let's not get onto dark prince Kruger hiding behind his dark fringe and enigmatic smile. And when Leroy Nel (from Foto Na Dans) lets loose, it’s all catharsis and cataclysms rivalled only by Alex's acrobatics with that trumpet. And, sigh, have you seen Sannie Fox from Mamma Know Nothing? You want to have her babies, too, don’t you? There are more, but I'm getting all hot under the collar. These music makers have bodies with charisma; they move, and the earth moves, they’re still and you can’t move. But this one is a little different. Before you even get a chance to take it all in, he sings, and you swoon because Laudo’s VOICE has charisma. It’s gravely and emotional. His vocals are gritty, resonant and full-bodied, shot through with an underlying slenderness that injects vulnerability and credibility into the assertive overtones. And I’ll be damned if his singing doesn’t deliver us into sensation. (And THEN you can look down, and say, 'ja, en hy's darem mooi, ne?')

But keeping our feet on the ground (where they are) and our eyes and ears on heaven, it has to be said that aKING's is anthem material. Sung in English by Afrikaans men, vowels are sharpened and vernacular is remarkably remixed. The lyrics are epic, upending tradition without upsetting it, redefining and reclaiming religious rhetoric, giving it back to the people as liberated mantras. I think that’s what god always wanted, somehow. It’s heavy with irony in an age light-headed from reality. The music is noble, energetic and capable. It lifts the senses, and leaves the lyrics to plum the depths of desire and hope, and transformation.

Did they hit number one on MK 89’s Top Ten days after they launched Dutch Courage just because they’ve got famous boys from Fokof in their band? I believe if you listen to the album you’ll agree that the answer to that is a resounding NO. There's a lot more to them, and there's a lot more to come.

They’re on tour now promoting the debut album. Catch them in a dark bar or a dorpie near you.

(tour details)

And read their biog here –for once it does a band justice.

aKING are
Laudo Liebenberg – lead guitar, vocals
Hennie Van Halen – Bass, Backing Vocals, Tambourine
Jaco “Snakehead” Venter -Drums, Backing vocals
Hunter Kennedy – Rhythm Guitar, Backing Vocals

The royal MySpace

Face it - they're there too!

ramfest!

wordup, melodic wanderers

As my top 4 South African bands are playing at RAMfest2008, i've decided to learn all their lyrics by the end of the month so i can sing along to every song. Then of course, i realised that one of them is an instrumental band, but i think i'll be so trashed and sun kissed and blissed out and full of good music and good vibes that i'll sing along anyway!

and so will you! look at this line up! >>>

Friday 29 Feb - MAIN STAGE-
......................................

..............................

19:30 Fuzigish (JHB)
20:30 A King (CT) ( CD Launch)
21:30 Van Coke Kartel (CT)
22:30 Taxi Violence (CT)
23:30 White Buzz (UK)

00:30 Foto Na Dans (CT)
01:30 Hog Hoggidy Hog (CT)

........................................
Tented Stage -Friday 29 Feb
........................................
19:00 Antipathy (CT)
20:00 Decimation Age (CT)
21:00 Contrast The Water(DBN)
22:00 dj
00:00 dj
02:00 Enough Weapons (CT)

.....................................................................
Saturday 01 March - MAINSTAGE
.....................................................................
10:00 Yossarian (CT)
11:00 Failing Forward (CT)
12:00 Ashtray Electric(CT)
13:00 Knave (JHB)
14:00 Torment (JHB)
15:00 Rhutz (JHB)
16:00 Day Turns Night (CT)
17:00 Pestroy (JHB)
18:00 Chromium (JHB)
19:00 Agro (JHB)
20:00 Lark (CT)
21:00 Battery9 (JHB)
22:00 K.O.B.U.S!(CT)
23:00 Mind Assault (CT)
00:00 Gadabout(JHB)
..........................................
Tented Stage - Saturday 01 March
..........................................
18:00 South African Air Guitar Championships Finals
22:00 7th Son (CT)
23:00 The Spindle Sect (CT)
00:00 kidofdoom (JHB)
01:00 Unit-R (CT)

DON'TEXPECTTOCOMEHOMERESTED

www.ramfest.co.za