sounds like

something struck me

it's a common compulsion to identify 'influences' in music - even if they aren't there. 'sounds like artcic monkeys, ya. though she says she's never heard them even.'

it's even more common to dismiss music that seems to mimic other music. 'ohmygod. do they KNOW they're (insert trendy band) derivatives?'

my question is, isn't it more important whether someone is enjoying a sound than whether it's been done before, done better, or overdone?

you can't expect everyone to be a sound snob, you know.

(it's true that i might have written this in hopes of hiding the fact that i listened to Celine Dion on repeat when i was 17, or at least to absolve my deep sense of guilt about it, but actually, i just want us to stop a minute and think about the real beauty of music - it's not how' good' it is, it's how good it is for the listener. it's true of course that music is fighting to be heard and that the masses have managed to have pretty lame taste (and we're not too sure who's to blame, but we'll blame the media in the meantime), but next time you hear someone listening to what you think is a kak band or solo artist, maybe introduce them softly to your sonic heroes, instead of looking down your musically literate nose at them. (and use it for sniffing out new sound, too)

it brings to mind something that PASS says

that music is a meeting place...

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.

 

star quality

Showbiz is hard work, for sure. Business obligations carry on way after the singing, stringing, strumming, banging and drumming have silenced. People want a piece of you if you've been on stage. All those hands grabbing your groin, cameras in your face, body parts to sign, not to mention the drinking, dancing, flirting - or should i say networking... Poor rock musicians. What a performance!

On average, I mean "performance" literally. Most performance is average. Most performance is an act. A good deal of what we see on stage is an act of sorts - an offering to the gods of the celebrity pedestal, a testament to the adoration of minion masses pulling at their panties and tugging at their already unruly hairdos. Most performance is average. Most performance is put on. This observation doesn't double as a compliment, unfortunately. For me, real star quality is about catharsis, not the catwalk, and the superficial strutting is starting to bore me.

Some souls have the solitary gift of being able to stand up on stage and exude excellence and/or eccentricity without (looking like they're) trying. Helplessly Brilliant? Yes. These are the ones who pierce your peace and leave an indelible mark on your subconscious. Think Inge. Chameleon. (and please ask them to do a duet sometime) You might never remember their names but you'll never forget their presence, musicality and demeanour. These are the ones worth watching. Actually, these are the ones you can't help watching. These are the ones that might survive themselves. With a certain naked frankness, without seeming to mind that their person is displayed for the scrutiny of all, they climb into the light and shine with an honest expression of self, soul and talent. However bizarre or unusual that might be, it comes across as indubitably authentic and essential. Picasso, not Pavlov.

By contrast, good entertainers have crafted an act that puts them on the spot in the spotlight, something they perfect and explore, nip and tuck and tailor for the benefit of their benevolent audiences. The effort is admirable, and the craft brings laughter, awe, and enjoyment to many. The more hard working and professional the approach, the more evolved the entertainment factor, but it remains an experience based on premeditated charm and simulated (sex) appeal. If you're in the audience on the receiving end, the conjuring act on stage can never be yours the way it can in the presence of greatness. It won't penetrate your psyche, it won't surface in your dreams, it wont take you home with it. Why? Because when you watch an act, you're not consuming something innate, you're swallowing a carbon copy of an approximation of authenticity. With the right lipstick and lip sync, they become something more than they are. (and, it must be said, choosing the right audience is part of the formula. Performers are not the only ones in the habit of approximating authenticity.)

The very effort that separates entertainers from the ordinary (wo)man in the street divorces them from real stars. It’s the effortless ease that separates rising stars from hard working performers. Stars are just being themselves. Most of them probably can’t help it. It makes them unbelievably irresistible.

Sure, tastes vary, and we need all kinds of entertainment to forget the unanswered questions and unmapped roads. You might have a taste for a bit of thigh, banter on the fly, you might want half a stand-up routine before the first chord is played. You’ll get that, and you’ll probably enjoy it if it’s well done. The city is filled with frustrated divas just dying to be looked at. The stars wont’ do that. Or, if they do, they won't do it for that reason. They’ll climb up on stage and sing, scream, swing their arms around, stand silently or pull faces and insult your mother because they can’t help themselves, and they don’t want to, anyway. The stage is one part of a process of becoming and embodying. They’re here because they must. And whatever it is they’re giving to you on stage is NOT a performance, it's a gift. and believe me, they need you to receive it. That doesn’t mean they can’t improve their rapport with their public, or that you shouldn't be mad when they are out of line. In fact, that's where these definitive boundaries of star and performer merge. That’s perhaps where skilled performers could give stars some quick and handy tips. Both approaches do good work, and both bugger it up, at times. A respectful exchange could make the world of difference to enthusiastic, discerning audiences everywhere.

Problem is, a true star is not going to take anyone’s word for it until s/he sees it personally. That's what makes them impossible and important. And that is why we believe in them. Because it’s real.

Some local stars : (front men and women to watch)

Sannie fox.
Mamma Know Nothing - the former Black Betty

Joshua Grierson .
Mercurial.an impassioned singer/songwriter proving that there IS a potential for audience-crossover between the Watery Front and seedy bars.

Le-Roi Nel.
Foto Na Dans forever. even if he's keeping mum at the mo.

Jaxon Rice.
Diesel Whores. first prize for being the only person I’ve heard and met who is more interesting OFF stage than on it. (and no, he's not boring on stage. he's brilliant, self-effacing and sarcastic.)

Inge Beckman.
(The former) Lark's lass, and currently planning the next big thing. Everyone has a million synonyms for Inge's on stage presence, but the truth is that there aren't any.