Posts Tagged ‘barbarian


The Tiger Rocks The Daisies Chapter 3: The Saturday, The End

IMG_2257Phew! What an epic festival review hey Party People? Christ, feels like all I’ve been posting for the last two weeks is Daisiesdaisiesdaisiesdaisies.

Time to wrap it all up with my Saturday post and then I promise you’ll not hear anything more about this festival until next year rolls around.

Like the day before it, Saturday morning was a hoot. Myself, Peggles, Barbarian and Spu spent it all chilling together while the girls hit the Daisy Den which took at least about two hours, just enough time for us to smash a couple beers and ease ourselves into the day.

From there everyone got all Tiger-striped up and we went to actually explore the festival and try to catch some bands.



We started by checking out the Hemporium stage where Little Kings were playing the most chilled out set you could ever imagine. I liked this band a lot, they just had this great vibe about them, very loose and easy breezy but great songwriters and performers, all of them.

This is what that looked like:



After that we met PURPLE MAN! Well, if by met PURPLE MAN I actually mean watch a man in a purple morph suit walk casually into the dam, then ya.




Once we’d finished laughing and taking pics of PURPLE MAN, I finally hit the media lounge for the first time at the festival where I had an ice cold Red Bull, ate some kind of cranberry / cereal snack thing and contemplated using one of the laptops there.

Next time. I swear I’m blogging from Daisies next time…

Next stop was the beach bar, which was PUMPING! On the way I ran into some proper BOYCHAYS and this happened:



I don’t remember how long we stayed there, but eventually we decided to hit the road when the people there started tweaking out and tried to fingerbang each other’s nostrils.



At the main stage we half-heartedly watched a band before deciding to wander over to the lemon tree theatre where we caught our good buddy Dylan Skew’s set which, again, had all of us literally in tears.

That guy is my favourite South African comedian, hands down. I swear, it’s like he’s read my mind, found the funniest, most random thoughts and made stand up out of it.

Hats off to that man. His material is seriously amazing.

Then we met these guys in lumo vests with camel packs who, judging from this picture, loved the shit out of me.



After that, we went back to the main stage to listen to some more bands I don’t remember and J-Rab met Bob, who she instantly fell in love with.



The temperature started plummeting pretty soon after that so we went back to The Mushroom and suited up for the evening. I had some jelly tots that a buddy had spare and wandered out into the night like some high-powered mutant.

God’s own prototype Winking smile



Among other things we checked out the New World Beat Barn and I instantly regretted the fact that I hadn’t discovered it sooner in the festival. It was like some kind of crazy carnival in there, good times as far as the eye could see.

We also posed for a pic with this skeleton who was in a bath tub:



Above us there was this long string of balloons and lights that must have been at least 300 meters long. It floated like this long, luminescent string of glowing blue dental floss against the night sky. Like a lot of things I saw that night, it inspired awe and child-like wander in me and I knew things were going to be ok.

Believe it or not we actually stayed for the end of Arno Carstens’ set so we’d have a good spot for Shadowclub when they came on and Jacques and the boys did NOT disappoint.

I made a mental note to watch them live more and actually support this band. Their set was super-slick without losing its badass bluesy-rock edginess.



Which left only one main stage act left. The reason a lot of people were there in the first place. The band that inspired a million million bands to pick up guitars and write dancey indie rock.

Bloc Party. And man-o-man did their first three songs suck.

The sound was shocking which was sad because it had nothing to do with the band, but all their levels sounded way out with the vocals drowning everything out completely and the bass being almost non-existent.

Things quickly improved though and the crowd started losing their minds to this awesome band.



At some stage in Bloc Party’s set they let the balloons go. Actually, it could have been before, I’m not too sure, but watching them drift away, I felt a profound sense of loss, like the very stitching that held the festival together was coming undone.

And the truth is, it was.

I loved Bloc Party’s set but festival fatigue was kicking in and when they launched a barrage of fractal-patterned fireworks after it was all done, I felt totally satisfied in every conceivable way and ready to call it a day.

It was a great Daisies, no doubt. One that will live on in our minds as long as this post lives on, rattling in this junkyard site that I call home.



Here’s to Daisies ‘13!

See you crazy fuckers there Winking smile



I Feel Bad For Girls

huge-storm-covering-ship-backgroundYesterday was like living inside a cloud – misty, rainy, cold and windy, the perfect day to not get out of bed.

I was working on a pitch presentation when my ol’ buddy Graum called to see if I was keen for a few beers at Percy’s at 4 with our buddy Pukey.

I told him it wasn’t likely. I was elbows-deep in this thing and the going was slow, but I’d see how I was doing at 4 and let him know. Come 4 I wasn’t much further in and the world outside looked like a cold, wet and inhospitable place, so I did what any man in my situation would do.

I put my coat on, trudged through the dogshit weather to Percy’s and sat down for a pint with my friends.

Barbarian joined us after an hour or so and it felt like old times.

By way of explanation, Graum, Pukey and Barbarian form part of the posse I used to get fucked up with during our first year at varsity. Puke-ass bailed out after that, but drifted in and out of all of our lives continuously over the course of the next nine years.

Barbarian was in it for another year after that when he hit the skids pretty hard and, for the sake of his waning sanity, had to get the fuck out of dodge.

Graum and I weathered out the storm for another two years as digsmates in varsity and then lived in Joburg for another couple of years as flatmates.

We shot the breeze yesterday while the Wimbledon final played out in the background and one pint became four. It’s two years since I saw Pukey and nearly two and a half since I’ve seen Graum, but like any good friends will tell you, it hardly feels like we missed a beat.

In a city that I’ve struggled since I arrived in to make any real, meaningful friendships, having three of the guys who fought in the trenches with me all those years ago and who have proven time and time again that they have my back went a long way in restoring my faith in this world.

And yes, I know what you’re thinking “fought in the trenches” is a little dramatic. It’s a reaction I’ve had more than once when I try to tell people what it was like back in those days and I don’t blame them because they weren’t there.

They weren’t there when the going got tough, when we saw each other fuck up, fuck out and get fucked up.

They weren’t there in the good times, when we rolled through the streets of that fucked up little town like we owned them because we did. When he laughed till it hurt. When life filled us to bursting with wonder and promise and hope.

They didn’t know the kids we were, the things we went through.

I’m not that kid anymore. The one who chased his next high so far down the rabbit hole, that make-believe world meant more to him than the “real” one ever will.

The kid who walked a tightrope between this world and the next, somehow surviving the falls he took only to climb back up and do it all again.

I’m not that kid anymore. He’s dead, gone and forgotten by all but a handful of equally fucked up souls who were there, in the trenches, fighting for God knows what, but fighting, always fighting.

I feel bad for girls because generally they don’t make friends like guys do. They have different groups of friends that move through their lives and seem to suit them at different times in different situations, but it’s rare that they connect in the effortless way men do.

There are exceptions to every rule, but sitting at that table yesterday talking about everything and nothing with my old friends I got this feeling like it will always be this way.

Empires will rise and fall, but as long as we’re still rooted to the firmament and maybe even if we aren’t, our paths will continue to cross and when they do it will be like it was today, like we never missed a beat.

There is only one thing you can ever ask of a friend; that they hold on to the pieces of you that you lose or forget over the course of your life and keep those pieces safe to remind you of them when you need it most and even sometimes when you don’t.

Don’t waste time or emotion on “friends” that can’t do that for you or you’ll spend your life surrounded by mere acquaintances who only make an effort when it suits them and who, when the chips are down, are nowhere to be seen.



Saturday At Sidewalk Cafe

If you don’t already know Sidewalk Cafe in Vredehoek you need to head on down there one Saturday and grab a bite because the food is incredible, the vibes are awesome and if you’re lucky enough, Dave will be your waiter and for however long you stay there, life will be about as perfect as it can be.



For us life was as perfect as it could be for about five hours. We rolled into Sidewalk at about 9.30 on Saturday morning, J-Rab, Jennyjenjen, Barbarian, Goff-girl and myself after waking up hungover as hell from our housewarming the night before and marvelling that we were all still alive.

We went to meet up with friends of Goff-Girl’s who were just finishing a scrumptious breakfast of fresh fruit juices, muesli, yoghurt, honey and tea, so naturally we all sat down and ordered a round of beers.

From there the wheels came off completely. By 10.30 we were onto the Bloody Marys and sometime around lunchtime a round of tequilas came out followed by a police van that parked in the street right next to us. We knew we had total immunity as long as we stayed put though so that’s exactly what we did and sooner or later they moved on, all of us smiling and waving at them like a bunch of asylum escapees.



It felt good not to give a shit. It felt good to spend the morning getting loaded at a ridiculously early hour with my friends while other people went jogging up the street or came to Sidewalk in their loafers to enjoy a quaint little meal and saw the chaos that was unfolding at  our table.

And all the while, Dave endured. Like some stalwart captain of a ship full of maniacs, he stood his ground because he’d seen this before many, many times and at least we added a random element into his day that he seemed to enjoy.

“I want a big flower for behind my ear,” J-Rab turned around and randomly blurted out as Dave was walking past and I swear to God, the man didn’t even flinch or look surprised or perplexed or off-guard in any conceivable way. He just said “Sure” like it was the most normal request he’d ever heard, walked over to a nearby tree and came back with the perfect flower.



It was good times I tell ya, Sidewalk Cafe gets the Tiger stamp of approval. Go there every day this week and the week after and the week after. Dig the view from the stoep outside and have a Bloody Mary or 10.

Life really doesn’t get much better than that Smile



House Warming Shenanigans

Here’s a quick, honest breakdown of what happens when you invite people to a party you’re throwing according to racial and geographic breakdown and of course, personal experience.

If you’re in Joburg and you invite 20 white friends to a party, 13 actually show up. Conversely, if you invite 7 black friends, about 15 – 20 show up of which, somehow, you only know 3.

In Cape Town, it doesn’t matter if they’re black, white, Indian, Chinese or Austro-Hungarian, you invite 20 people to a party, 2 show up and they’re three hours late.

By those standards, the housewarming we threw on Friday night was a roaring success. Here’s a couple pics of the insanity that went down.



















After that point, all kinds of shit went down, so let’s just leave it at that shall we? My mom reads this blog.

It was a killer, killer party and went on until some ungodly hour at which point people started dropping like flies, but not before we got this pic of the Slain Barbarian.



And now it’s Monday and life continues from where it left off, in my cubicle somewhere, meek and mild.

And people will ask me how my weekend was and what the hell will I tell them?

“Fine and yours?”

Stay tuned for part 2 at Sidewalk Cafe the day after, where we had beer for breakfast, tequila for dessert and dug our heels in for a good five hours of Bloody Marys.

Until then…



Gig Review: Basement Jaxx

Remember back in high school when school socials would roll around and you’d get all excited about rocking out at them and having the time of your life, and then the big night rolled around and you realised all it was was a bunch of bored-looking people crammed into your school hall wishing they could get their hands on some booze?

Yeah. In one, long convoluted sentence, that was Basement Jaxx last Friday.



I’d never been to the Waterfront Lookout before, but the name conjured all kinds of majestic imagery of an open-air concert venue with a perfect view of the harbour and grassy banks where concert-goers could drink in the sights around them while taking a break from the manic crowds dancing like their lives depended on it by the front of the colossal stage.

I pictured giant luxury cruise liners floating by the Lookout with people in tuxedos and evening dresses sipping cocktails on the poop deck while the moon’s reflection shimmered silver on the ocean’s wavy surface.

Instead I arrived to find a fenced-in patch of gravel next to a hall that would be awesome for bingo. At the one end of said hall was a queue seven people deep for a drink and the other a cramped-looking stage with a couple of big screens and lighting rigs.

The patio on the other side of the hall ‘looked out’ at the back-end of the waterfront where the ocean gently lapped random pieces of trash while the wafting scent of rotten fish rolled in misty waves over the people gathered there to smoke and stare in disdainful silence at one another.



I don’t want to sound like a whiny bitch here, so I’m going to gloss over the performances of all the supporting acts and just say that they were all really, really nice (if you eatlivebreatheshit 5fm) and that I definitely would have boogied on down to their phat and original beats had I spent the afternoon drinking rubbing alcohol / had a large portion of my brain removed.

Then the main act took the stage! We knew this not because they came out guns blazin’ and instantly blew everyone’s minds, but rather because like magic, the queues at the bar disappeared and we could make an earnest effort at getting plastered on overpriced Millers.

Basement Jaxx played with very little heart and the crowd could tell. Halfway through their set most people had already left to beat the traffic home. It was embarrassing.

Sure, there were moments when they rocked out and got the crowd pumping, but sadly they were rare. Most of their set comprised of remixes of other artist’s material (including “Sex On Fire” which, for me, was a definite low point) with one or two Basement Jaxx classics thrown in and a long-ass middle section of beats that went nowhere.



However, this is not to say the night wasn’t still awesome for me. Here, in bullet-point form are the parts I liked best:

  • The part when my buddy-down-from-joburg The Glaze lost his mind in the drinks queue, shoved his money into my hands, said he had to go outside for some air and then dropped like a sack of potatoes on the stairs in a dead faint. I missed the whole spectacle (CURSE YOU DRINKS QUEUE!) but reliable eye witnesses said he threw his arms back dramatically in the air and keeled over in a graceful backwards swan dive. Haha! Priceless.
  • The part where my buddy Barbarian took an entire MDMA cap in one go because he thought security was watching him crack it open to take a hit and then spent the next hour fighting to keep his shit together. He ended up going home with two girls he’d just met. Legendary.

So the evening wasn’t completely wasted, but you can pretty much bet your ass any parties that crop up in future with the words ‘5fm’ or ‘Waterfront Lookout’ in them will not be graced by this Tiger.

But hey, that’s just like my opinion, man. I’m sure this will no doubt be greeted by the usual slew of personal abuse my writing seems to attract.

I mean fuck. No one wants to hear it like it is. But that’s a story for another time kids 😉



The 200th Post Celebration

You know you’ve had a killer night out when you wake up the next morning sleeping on couch cushions on someone’s living room floor still in all your clothes from the night before, unable to to move, speak or even open your eyes because of how badly your head is throbbing.



I extended the invitation y’know? I sent it out there to anyone who was interested to come on down and have a few drinks and get a little fucked up together, I did. And man-o-man, did people RESPOND!

Knoxville was packed to the fucking rafters on Friday night with people there to celebrate the 200th post with us. It was so bad you could hardly breathe in that place! Wall-to-wall party people out in full force to show their support, christ, I wish you coulda been there.

Of course, thanks to the beauty of internet anonymity, none of those people knew who I actually was, but still, it was great to see so many of them out in full force, partying like their lives depended on it.



From Knoxville we descended into the chaos that is Long Street and met up with a great and wasted friend of mine, Luke-Ass, who’s in CT the next couple of days for some comic book workshops or other. He told me this and a great deal of other things which I promptly forgot and then we drank some tequila and then we drank some more tequila.

We ended up crashing at Barbarian’s place cause J-Rab eventually curled into a tight little ball in my lap and had a rad, rejuvenating 30-minute nap on the couches at Juleps, after which we hit the 7-11 (at 3am?) and demanded they let us buy a packet of Ghost Pops on my credit card, despite the ridiculous R12 minimum purchase-on-a-credit-card rule.

Next day we slunk outta ‘bed’ at about 10 to find that despite the fact that we felt like we might have woken up in hell, outside it was a beautiful day, even though the light hurt my eyes and I felt like something someone had mopped off a pavement.

J-Rab and I had a really decent breakfast at Caramellos and then decided to hit the beach at Clifton which was great for her (she’d been smart enough to pack her bikini and a towel) but not so great for me (I had neither and so ended up lying in the sand with all my clothes on, very classy).

I’d never been to Clifton outside of peak season and I was pleasantly surprised to find that it was super chilled out and we ended up staying there for a good two hours if you count all the time we spent climbing over boulders and finding a nice spot to chill.



Saturday evening was even better. I’ve recently gotten my hands on a bottle of fine 16 year old Bushmills Irish Whiskey which I sipped while enjoying some sushi from a place I’d highly recommend off Main Road in Somerset West called Blue Waters.

Throw in gratuitous amounts of mind blowing sexy-time into the mix and you’ve got a weekend worthy of a 200th post celebration.

Now to figure out what the hell to do with my next 200 posts…

Have a great week party people 😉