Archive for July, 2010



09
Jul
10

Tell The Tiger (Episode 9)

Picking each week’s Tell The Tiger mail is like shoving your hand into a tank of Piranhas to rescue a kitten. You gotta be quick or that poor sucker’s going to be a little kitty skeleton in about 5 seconds.

 

 

Of course, there are always some cats that just deserve to be left in the tank, which brings me neatly to this week’s mail.

 

S’up ST,

So I’m lank into this chick, but she’s got a kid. Is it wrong to buy it toys and stuff and get it to like me so that she digs me? I don’t see a problem, but my friends think it’s wrong.

Shot bud!

Fuzz

Ok, Fuzz, all I can say here ‘bud’ is hell yeah! Buy that little fucker toys dude! Load bakkies FULL of shit from Toys R Us, back it up into her driveway, get a shovel and start off loading!

 

 

In fact, why don’t you take it a step further? Take the kid to the movies a couple of times, go ride bikes together, buy him ice creams on hot summer days, read him bedtime stories and tuck him in at night, then go bang his mom stukkend and when she starts getting clingy, dump the bitch.

Wow, is it lunch already? That’s all the time we have this week folks. If anyone else has any advice for this fine, upstanding young man, by all means let rip, you could be saving some poor child the psychological scarring of having this douche as a stepdad.

Have a killer weekend 😉

-ST

08
Jul
10

Our New Neighbours

Don’t you think it’s fucking weird how baby animals from other species are cute to us? I mean, I can understand why we would find our own young cute (it’s so we don’t eat them) but what evolutionary purpose does it serve to find other species cute?

So we got some new neighbours on the wine farm where me and J-Rab live, they moved in about two weeks ago and live in the house adjacent to ours.

Check these little guys out.

 

 

 

 

I haven’t actually met my new neighbours face to face, they’re still too little to be around strange, disease-ridden Tigers like me, but soon as they are, you bet your ass I’ll post some more pics.

And yes, you’re more than welcome to visit, the full tour costs R350, but I’ll settle for a fine bottle of single malt.

Mail tellthetiger@gmail.com to book, but hurry! Spots are filling up fast 😉

-ST

07
Jul
10

Album Review: Morcheeba – Blood Like Lemonade

There’s a man out there, name of Brett Schewitz, one of the many I’ve met through Twitter who’s proven himself to be a stand-up guy, the kind of dude who says what me means and does what he says, which makes him pretty rare in a world of people who are full of talk and not much else.

Anyway, he hooked me up with the new Morcheeba album, Blood Like Lemonade, about a week before it launched but instead of jumping in there and reviewing it right away, I dicked around for about two months and missed the scoop on this album completely.

So Brett, this review’s for you and the good folks at Sheer Sound, sorry it’s taken so long to bash out, I blame the whisky.

 

 

So, Morcheeba. There’s a name you probably haven’t thought of since the late 90s. They KILLED it with their album Big Calm back in 1998, which quickly became the soundtrack to many a late-night  toking-session with pseudo-intellectual varsity students the world over smoking ridiculous-looking glass bongs and zoning-out to trip hop masterpieces like “The Sea” and “Part Of The Process”.

Since then it’s been a little patchy for the formidable threesome of DJ Paul Godfrey, multi-instrumentalist Ross Godfrey and singer Skye Edwards, who comprised the band’s original line-up. Remember the nursery-rhyme vacuity of “Rome Wasn’t Built In A Day”? Yeah, it was pop-inspired tracks like that gem that lost Morcheeba almost all it’s street cred.

I mean seriously, “One fine day / We’ll fly away / Don’t you know that Rome wasn’t built in a day / Hey hey hey”. Yeah, and then we’ll make hay, down by the bay, we just may, make hay all day. Dr Seuss could have done a better job.

 

 

Around 2003 the band axed Skye Edwards and pumped out another few albums which I’m sure some die hard fan is going to come out of the woodwork and attack me for saying that nobody really gave a crap about.

Queue 2010 and I’m sitting with my headphones on on a sunny Friday at work spinning Blood Like Lemonade and I’m thinking “Holy fuck, this shit’s good.”

The band’s come full circle, both musically and in terms of their line-up, which (thank God) now includes Edwards again and believe me, that fact in itself is reason enough to go out and buy this album right now.

 

 

The woman can sing. It’s like listening to Billy Holiday’s older sister. Every note Edwards sings is clear as a bell and warm as a logfire on a winter’s night.

And don’t even get me started on the lyrics, because I honestly won’t stop. The opening track “Crimson”, which is also my favourite on the album starts with some of the most powerful and evocative lines I’ve heard in a long time.

“I can smell the Goodyears burning / And it won’t fade away / Windscreen broken, you’re bleeding / Rolling action replay / Hellbound hopeless for you / Nothing left to hold on to…”

There’s a subtle darkness to “Crimson” that is so goddamn seductive it’s impossible to ignore. It almost sounds like a Massive Attack track, something off Mezzanine, except infinitely more chilled. It’s trip-hop without the pretence, beautiful in its simplicity.

Then cut straight to a track like “I Am The Spring” and you’ll start to understand what makes this album really stand out. “I Am The Spring” is as sparse as it gets, the entire track is just Edwards being accompanied by an acoustic guitar which, in my humble (read: overinflated) opinion is the ultimate litmus test for any musician. Strip all the production and fancy studio effects out of a song and what have you got left?

In this case, you’ve got a powerful and haunting song about love that tells it like it is, ending with the line “I am the spring / Love is blossoming / But I’ll take the fall for you” which, much like love itself, is perfect in its tragedy.

 

 

Throw in a track that tells the story of a person who gets addicted to the thrill of murder (“Recipe For Disaster”), one where Edwards takes an honest and introspective look at the band itself (“Even Though”), and the excellently written and produced title track (“Blood Like Lemonade”) which smacks of Big Calm and you’ve got an album that is really hard not to like.

Just watch out for the instrumentals “Mandala” and “Cut To The Bass”, they’re fun the first few times, but the novelty wears off fast after which point they become repetitive and downright boring to listen to, but hey, no album is perfect right?

All in all, I found Blood Like Lemonade to be a great album and it’s sure to go down like a whore on payday the next time you whip that old, ridiculous glass bong out the closet and invite your mates around for an old-school smoke up.

Final Verdict: 7.5/10

06
Jul
10

Truth is

If you had to ask most people what really makes them happy, they wouldn’t be able to give you a straight answer. “Different things, being with family, hanging out with friends, going to new places, trying new things, meeting new people…” that’s probably what they’d say.

Me, I’m wired differently from that. Sure, I like those things too and of course the feeling of being madly and passionately in love, the company of good friends when life is shit and you just want to be around someone you don’t have to put on some kind of act for, those things mean a lot to me.

But if you asked me what makes me happy, what feeds my soul and makes me fucking come alive I’d tell you straight, it’s writing.

Words are everything, whether they’re spoken, sung, whispered or written. They’re so deeply entrenched in everything we do that we hardly stop to think just how fucking powerful they are. Take language away from us, the ability to communicate our thoughts and feelings and we’re back scratching in the dirt, hunting animals with sticks, dumb as mud.

What I feel on most days, if I had to be totally honest with myself, is a deep dissatisfaction with what I’ve landed up doing for a living. I shuffle into an office looking like my mom dressed me and sit down in a cubicle farm so quiet, all you can hear is the sound of people typing.

Here I spend hour after hour trying my hardest to please every fucking person I come into contact with while secretly all I’m hoping for is someone to get up on a boardroom table one day, in the middle of some big important meeting and at the top of his or her lungs scream, “THIS IS ALL BULLSHIT!”

Truth is I dug myself into this hole. Me. I did it. And now, instead of making a living doing the one thing I truly love and am good at, I’m fading away, turning milky-white under the fluorescent light, the best fucking years of my life wasted, an hour at a time, working my ass off for other people.

So what do I do? I blog. And somehow it makes me feel better because every post feels like I’m clawing my way, an inch at a time, out of this hole and towards something better.

I haven’t been posting lately. I’ve let life kick me squarely in the guts and rolled over like a fucking pansy and felt sorry for myself.

Well, fuck that. When life gives you lemons, you take those lemons and you fucking throw them back as hard and as fast as you can and you tell life ‘FUCK YOU’.

The Tiger’s back and he’s fucking angry and ready to fuck some shit up.

And yes, THEM’S fightin’ words 😉

 

 

-ST

05
Jul
10

Afrikaans Porn

Dit was n koue Maandag aand en Karel Bester was in sy gunstelling bar met Charnelle, genieting n bitjie brannewyn en coke terwyl Kurt Darren het op die jukebox n lekker leidjie gespeel het.

 

 

“Weet jy wat die fokken probleem met Marikie is?” het Karel gese as hy n lank suip van sy brannewyn gevat het, “sy is glad nie adventurous nie.”

“Nie adventurous nie?” het Charnelle gevra, haar oe darting tussen Karel se gesig en sy krotch, “wat beteken jy Karel?”

“Wel, die ding is, ek en Marikie is nou amper vyf jaar getrou en moenie my verkeerd vat nie ek fokken lief haar stukkend.”

“Jaaa…” het Charnelle gese as haar lank, pienk vingernaels oor Karel se duk, hairy arm gestrook het.

“Maar, dit maak nie saak nie hoe hard ek vra, sy wou nie gatsteek probeer nie!”

“Sjoe!” het Charnelle uit geroep, “maar jy’s n stoute seuntjie om vir arme Marikie daaie te vra!”

 

 

Karel het bloed-rooi geblush. “Hoe dronk is ek?” het hy gedink. “Ek is seker Charnelle wou nie hierdie kak oor ek en haar suster hoer nie.”

“Jammer Charnelle, ek, ek, fok ek is dof…”

Charnelle het haar lippe stadig gelek terwyl haar lank fingernaels verder op Karel se duk, hairy arm gestrook het.

“Karel, moenie so blerrie shy wees nie,” het Charnelle gewhisper, “ons is ou vrinne lank voor jy my suster getrou het…”

“Charnelle…” het Karel gese, “is dit kool as ek… umm… jou lekker in die gat steek…?”

“Ag Karel! Jy is so fokken romantic, vir seker is dit kool! Kom, laat ons na my plek gaan, ons kan n bitjie KY loob en biltong koop op pad.”

 

                                                 *          *          *         *          *

 

“Fok, maar Charnelle se plek lyk lekker met al hierdie kerse,” het Karel gedink as hy kaalgat op haar couch gesit het, “net soos daaie laat aand televisie programme op E-TV.”

Karel het sy sagte shlerm in sy hand frantically gemaseer. “Kom nou jou fokken lazy ding,” het Karel vir homself gemumbel, “Charnelle sou nou nou uit die badkamer kom en dan moet jy stuif soos n paal wees sodat ek jou in haar poepgat kan jam.”

As Karel dat gese het, het Charnelle die badkamer deur vinnig oop gegooi sodat dit n hard klap tussen the muur gemaak het.

“Charnelle…” het Karel gese, “ek is fokken speechless…”

Charnelle het daar in leathers gestaan met a rooi rubber gag-ball in haar hand.

 

 

“Jy lyk pragtig,” het Karel gese.

“En jy lyk n bitjie saggies ne?” het sy geantwoord.

“Ja, jammer man,” het Karel embarrassed gese, “ek dink ek het n bitjie teveel brannewyn gedrink. Maar as jy my kok kom slurp sal dit lekker hard kry.”

“Jou wish is my kommand,” hey Charnelle al sexy gese as sy op sy knee gekry en Karel se piel in haar mond gesit het.

“Fok ja,” het Karel gese, “dis reg teef, slurp my piesang, aaaahhh.”

Voordat hy geweet wat gebeer het was Karel yster-hard en gereed om Charnelle se Hershey highway te ry.

“Kom nou,” het Karel gese, “laat ek my hard kok vas in jou pragtige gat steek, ek moet huis toe gaan voordat ek die laat aand repeat van Noot Vir Noot mis.”

“Fok, is dit vanaand?” het Charnelle gese, “ek het gedink dit was op Dinsdag aand.”

“Nee, dis vanaand. Nou sit daaie gag in jou mond vas, en gee die KJ vir my. Ek wou jou gat lekker loob sodat dit tear nie.”

“Ja, moenie soos jou boet wees nie, hy het my gat so vreeslik getear ek n poepsak vir n maand gedra het.”

“Wat?!” het Karel gese, “jy en my boet het gatsteek gehe…?”

“Ja, maar moenie worry nie, jou kok is heeltemaal groter.”

“Oo, dis ok then,” het Karel gese as Charnelle die gag in haar mond gesit en oor die koffie tafel gebend het.

Karel het die KJ al oor sy privates gesquirt. “Dis now or never,” het hy gedink, “ek hoop Charnelle haar stinkgat lekker gewas het, ek wou nie any dinglberries in my pubes kry nie.”

Charnelle se gat was die tightest ding Karel in sy hele lewe gevoel het. Dit het n paar stroke gevat voordat hy heeltemaal in was en dan n paar meer voordat hy lekker hard gekom het.

“Aaarrararargrahggrhrggrghahrgagragrgahghhhhhh,” het Karel gese.

“Mmmommommmommmommoo,” het Charnelle terug gemumble.

“Hoe voel dit!” het Karel geskree, “voel dit lekker as ek my kom in jou gat pomp? Ooo ja, vat dit! Wie’s jou pappa? Wies jou pappa teef!”

 

 

“Mmmmmomommmmommo,” het Charnelle gese.

“Ahh…” het Karel gese. “Ok, baie dankie Charnelle, ek is klaar.” Charnelle het die gag af gevat en terug na Karel gedraai.

“Het jy my gat geniet?”

“Ja!” het Karel gelukkig geantwoord, “fok, dit het baie lekker gevoel, kan ek you in die gat volgende week ook steek?”

“Vir seker!” het Charnelle geantwoord.

“Dankie tog Charnelle. Lekker aand.”

“En jou Karel,” het Charnelle gese as Karel sy kleure aangetrek en uit die deur gestap het.

“Sjoe, ek hou baie van daaie Karel,” het Charnelle gedink.

“Ek hoop ek nie my krotch krieke vir hom gegee het nie…”

DIE EINDE