Bruise me, baby!

Naughty boys making wicked noise. There’s a blueprint for a blerry good experience.

The Dirty Skirts CD Launch

The skirts lifted the hem of their debut album at the Biscuit Mill on 01 March. If you were there, word up for testy taste! If you weren’t, what a waste. They delivered a bit more than the usual subtle smashing of sweet sound …

Fans weren’t quite prepared for the overlords of underthings, I think. Myspace muppets might have been a bit surprised by the point of departure that is “On A Stellar Bender”. But they were a nice crowd, mild mannered and mildly wild. The Skirts, of course, are not.

It wasn’t only their quintessential rocking, bubblegum fun they treated us to. The launch was the perfect platform for them to point out that they’ve got more up their musical sleeves than their Indy-Pop notoriety might suggest. You don’t realise how serious they are about having fun and making music. Whether Jeremy made that point better by belting out his bad, beatific ballads or by leapfrogging face first onto the stage is not quite clear. But the crowd loved it. The boys upped the edge a notch or two. They egged on the ante. And that’s the thing with the Skirts. They’re dirty, but you don’t see the blood.

For expectant fashionistas, it was a lowkey lashing of suspenders and skinny jeans. No black tape and eyeliner this night. For jaded music fans, it was a pleasant spit in the face. Sure, they make you bop. They make you hop. They have their very own jolly, oversized bunny. That’s what we like about them. But this night they also made us moan and hum. Underneath it all, where it counts, they might be here for the party (hell, they are the party) but the music has The Dirty Skirts by the balls.

Beyond their crowd rocking renditions of Feeling The Pressure and Homewrecker, there were moments fuelled with restful emo, acoustic riffs to make music whores spread wide, and occasions that called for a very different kind of last.fm labelling. Mm. I like being surprised.

They’ll go places, and they’ll do it in (their) style.

Glad to be able to add divine to my list of D words for the skirts. Dirty, divine… drat, I don’t have any others. Dirty and divine. Let’s leave it at that. Till the next time they show us their panties.

Missed the show? Watch the slide show

Pics : Simon De Haast

(Btw, the ol’ market looks lovely dressed up in a bar and stage and lots of beautiful people. But if you want it to sound right, make sure you get the best soundman in the city, coz it aint an easy space to mix into.)

Southpaw. SweetSexy.

Sexy. Simple. Southpaw.

Watch that lefty
while you're shmoozing to their irrisistably funky flow
they're not all soft-focus sex appeal...

Sweating in a concrete cube underground at the noYetSoUnderground MOPPP opening (Month of Peoples' Photography, poeopols! get widdit and support the emergence of lowbrow Artttt even if it is a little middleoftheroad to start with) a dreadless Fletcher smiles, “the thing with a boy band is not which one you want to sleep with, but how to choose between them!” his eyes twinkle, and we laugh, because we know that we know no better than anybody else the power of the punani and the peter...

but i digress. we're talking about Southpaw : a clutch of pretty boys who make some meanEasy noise.

There’s a reason the girls know the words to all their songs. I’ve only seen them once before, and I remembered words too. They’re catchy. Infectious, even. They’re a danceable-singable-jiggable fourboyband. lots of booty there. And they have great hair.

It’s a filial affair – brothers, cousins with a bunch of good genes (visual and musical!) The sound is funkysoulpop. And it rocks. They’ll get radio time if they play their cards right, but you’ll be proud that they’re also conquering commercial ears rather than bummed that they sold out. They haven’t. They won’t. Their sound is too squeaky, squelchy sexy, too mmmmmmelodic to be anything but dirtyclean. Their damn fine funk and thump and riddim are so smoothly stitched into ultra emo harmonies (but only for a quick mo) that their trademark crescendos spin sweetness into the air and sink into the tingly bits down there. The bass takes care of the rest. it's like being chatted up by music. professionally.

Try not to smile.

Southpaw. TKO.