>The ashtray’s full and I’m spillin’ my guts – RHCP


I had such a lovely dinner with the parentals last night at Royale that for a second or two, I felt slightly civilized. Flash forward a few hours to drunken breakfast at the Engen after Van Coke Kartel and I’d gone straight back to Neanderthal status. Two bottles of red wine at dinner, a few Jacks at Shack during The Beams, a couple of Jagies upon Mercury arrival and god knows what else I consumed, and I now know how I ended up slumped over my laptop sucking 5 litres of water up through a straw.

Take a guess who this is

It was nice to catch up with Levin, who’s possibly even crazier than me at times, but I think I might need to spend some time introducing her to the wonderous world of Afrikaans lyrics, it’s like a fine wine. Okay no, it isn’t, I’m just hanging so badly I can’t come up with a better explanation.

So um, The Beams were good. They’re a very happy band. Some people like this, but I tend to take my bands with a healthy dose of angst. Oh and The Beams are still playing the same songs they were two years ago when I was dating (insert name here). I’ve tended to leave out my romantic escapades on here because really, no one gives a fuck and plus, it’s not that kind of blog, but this statement had to be made because I remember (so vividly because I was DEAD sober) a really weird night at the Kimberly Hotel where The Beams were playing and the party I was with sat downstairs and watched the gig on the TV at the seedy bar. I think we watched it on the TV because no one wanted to pay the entrance fee. Good times. Anyway, my point is that I really have no idea what to say about The Beams. Paul’s not puking onstage anymore, which is great, they’ve still got that HUGE student following and everyone (including myself) knows all the words to their songs.

Pause for a Jagie.

And then some Van Coke, fresh from winning that SAMA award and looking very nicely put together onstage. But after falling into the crowd while delivering a killer performance of “Buitenkant II”, Frannie had some beef with a guy in the crowd who apparently called him fat or said he was heavy or something. Seriously?? What a dooshbag. This person probably woke up in hospital this morning. I found myself translating lyrics to Levin, who looked mildly amused at an Italian who has very clearly been spending too much time in Stellenbosch. She left halfway through. Not before I found Inggs, because really, the night is never complete without her, and we fought our way through the masses to the front to soak up the last few tunes. But not before testing our set-list knowledge by deliberating whether or not they’d play “Pynstiller” (Inggs) or “Wat het van ons geword?” (Me) next. I lost. Oh well.

Weirdly, Van Coke’s performance was unusually tame. I didn’t see any bottles being thrown into the crowd, no snot or spit being dished out by anymore, no one puked, and there were very few swearwords being used, onstage and off. Even people in the moshpit were surprisingly nice. It was like being in lala-land. Van Coke basically went from an 18 age restriction to a PG rating. Okay I think I’m going too far with this…

Blah blah blah. Wadda wadda fishpaste. Random drunken dancing. Engen. Pie on the floor. Bed.

Highlight: Paul looking like a Samba king blowing his whistle and beating his drum like one of those mental Brazilians during the Rio Carnival.

Usually it takes me twenty minutes or so to write a post, today it took me just over an hour and fifteen minutes. I’ve got some Italian Catholic Confirmation thingymabob to go to tomorrow. With like a church service en al hierdie kak. I’ve got one day to clean up and properly hide my alcoholism, which I blame on the Italians anyway. But right now, I’m going back to bed. It’s 4 o’clock.

Frannie at Aandklas

Daar was ’n tyd

Toe musiek nog vir ons heilig was

Toe die dwelms nog besonders was

En toe jou vriende nog verstaanbaar was

Van Coke Kartel

Let’s hope it stays this way.