Imagine Dragons Smoke + Mirrors Album Launch

I used to say that I never win anything, but since the Dave Grohl Incident, I’ve had to eat my words slightly. Still, I don’t win things often. Not at all. Remember the Two Door Cinema curse? Yeah? When no matter how hard I tried, I just couldn’t acquire tickets to see TDCC at their win-tickets-only gig in Cape Town three years ago? (Yes, it’s been three years and I’m still extremely bitter…)

Anyway. When I entered to win tickets to see Imagine Dragons play an exclusive gig at the House of Vans in London, I did so without even considering that I might actually win them. But hey, I moved to London to go to concerts, so I may as well try.

Imagine (ha ha ha) my surprise when I got the email saying I’d won tickets! My first choice for a plus one was, of course, Amii who absolutely adores Dragons, but seeing she couldn’t make it down from Birmingham. In the end, I was accompanied by a Victim named Sam, along with Sinead and her friend Abbey.

It must be part of the fun of exclusive gigs, that they’re never in normal venues. From TDCC in a silo somewhere near Cape Town airport, to The Kooks under a highway in Joburg and in a warehouse in the wilds of Salt River, it’s all the more exciting to be dumped into a hipster-cool venue. Dragons held their show at House of Vans, a mix between a skate park and an abandoned train tunnel, next to Waterloo Station. With the walls covered in lumo graffiti, and the inside exuding  the kind of industrial-cool that wouldn’t be out of place in Cape Town’s Woodstock area, it was the perfect place for an album launch gig.

Pretty sure this is an abandoned Tube tunnel

 After failing spectacularly at the photobooth, we managed a second row spot behind another groups of Victims (seriously, I felt like I was seeing The Killers, which is never a bad thing), and prepared ourselves for the hour and a bit wait until the band came on stage. Thankfully, the gig was live streaming around the world, so they had to be on time.

At precisely 9am, the band trouped onto the stage, and began a slow chorus of ‘It’s Time’, with frontman Dan Reynolds holding out his microphone for the audience to sing along. Somewhere between this opening chorus and the actual beginning of the song, I burst into maniacal laughter, somehow unable to believe that I was really standing here, in the middle of London, at an exclusive gig by one of the best new bands in the world, with said band less than 2 meters away from my face. And then I lost myself in the music.

The last time I saw Imagine Dragons was from the very back of a very hot, very crowded and very dusty King Tut’s Tent at T in the Park 2013. I was stuck behind the VIP platform and couldn’t see anything besides the fact that one member had Mark Stoermer-length hair. They were good back then, but this time, they were phenomenal. Intimate gigs are just that much more special. In addition to old favourites like ‘Demons’ and ‘On Top of the World’, we were treated to new material, and it went down a treat with the audience, many of whom knew all the words to ‘Gold’ already, much to Dan’s surprise. “YOUTUBE” we shouted back, when he asked how we knew it. ‘I Bet My Life’ is a million times better live than recorded, even ‘Shots’ sounds great, as does another new song called ‘Summer’. But one truly stood out for me, and that’s ‘I’m So Sorry’. It’s not often that I take to new songs when I hear them live before hearing a recorded version, but I already know that this is going to be my favourite Imagine Dragons song ever.

Hi there, Dan.

Closing with ‘Radioactive’, during which Dan beat the hell out of a massive drum on the stage, unfortunately no amount of screaming could bring them back. And so ended my first gig in London for 2015, and believe me, it’ll take The Killers to better it. Or maybe Taylor Swift.

Because yes, that’s why I moved to London. I moved here so that I can do ridiculous things like see Imagine Dragons at an exclusive gig on a Wednesday night. So that I can eat a 99p MacDonalds burger for dinner because I’ve spent all my money on tube fare to get there. So that I can leg it across Waterloo to the tube so that I make it back home before midnight. So that I can forego a leisurely stroll to work the next morning in favour of a mad dash because I’m so exhausted and chose to sleep an extra five minutes. So that I can spend the next day recovering before I see another band. That’s why I’m doing this.

Fangirl In Looooooondon

Everyone in London smokes. I’m not kidding, literally EVERYONE exhales little puffs of white smoke when they breathe, eat, speak, or just generally open their mouths. It may have something to do with the fact that the average temperature since I’ve been here has been minus three. Maybe that’s also why I haven’t blogged. I mean, this morning I was literally too scared to get out of bed for fear of the cold. I’m thinking that a onesie might be an EXCELLENT idea right about now, but I can’t afford one of those at the moment…

Right, so, a week and a bit ago, I picked up my entire life and traipsed across the globe, all by my lonesome self, to live my dream in London. And I’m not going to lie, it’s been difficult. I mean, I don’t have the arm muscles to drag 40kg of luggage up three flights of stairs, nor do I have the patience to explain to the lady on the other end of the Virgin Mobile helpline just why the billing address for my debit card is different to the home address I just gave her. The struggle is real, man. So real.

I’m being facetious here, of course. So far, things have been going pretty swimmingly, with the exception of a few little snags here and there. The cellphone situation was the worst (imagine being stuck in a new country with absolutely no way to contact home because Virgin won’t sell you airtime if you don’t have a UK bankcard). The cold has also been something to get used to. I’ve forgotten what it feels like to be warm when I’m outside. I’m pretty sure my extremities (read: every bit of my exposed at all to the air outside) are in danger of developing frostbite any day now, and I can say with certainty, that 11 degrees in London does NOT feel like 11 degrees in Cape Town. It feels like someone left off the ‘minus’. 

After packing my suitcase so full that not even plonking my mother’s very fat cat on top of it would allow the thing to close, I prepared for the worst and stepped onto the scale holding my bag (with serious difficulty). According to my calculations, the combined weight of my two bags was only 27.5kg! I had 2.5kg to go! But yeah, that’s what I get for trusting a scale older than myself, and at the airport, my checked luggage actually weighed in at 31kg. Somehow, I managed to pass it off as the weight of the cling wrap I’d paid R60 to have wrapped around my bag in case the zip broke. Phewwww.

My mother had jokingly asked me not to cry at the airport, and I’d regarded her with a look of disgust, but I could tell that she and my gran (with grandpa safely across the airport in a book store) were bracing for the worst (i.e.: me high-tailing it back to the car [side note, it hurts just to type the word ‘car’ right now, but we’ll get to that later] and swearing never to leave the safety of the Lower South Coast EVER again). They were pleasantly surprised (and so was I) when I waved goodbye cheerily and lined up for security. 

Halfway through security, the zip of my handbag decided to give up on life. Seriously? It was a while 24-hours-old, and I’d searched high and low for something big enough to fit my laptop! Argh. I grumpily hit passport control and then spend the next hour (successfully) attempting to fix my zip and listening to voice notes from a certain friend who is ADDICTED TO VOICE NOTES (I say this in the best possible way). 

The flight is long, by the time we’re somewhere over East Africa, I’ve watched so many episodes of the Big Bang Theory that it’s just not funny anymore, my neck is is pain, I’m tired but I can’t sleep, and nor can I stop sneezing. I fear the worst, and as soon as I’m in Dubai airport I find a pharmacy and nearly overdose on flu pills. I’m taking NO chances. Benefit of these is that they put me to sleep verrrrry nice - approximately 5 minutes before boarding. Great. 

The flight to London is filled with more of the freaking Big Bang Theory because Emirates doesn’t have the latest season of Downton Abbey. Seriously. I also try to sleep somewhere along the line here. Passport control at Gatwick is as awful and un-airconditioned as I remember, and even though I do have nothing to declare, I still sneak through customs as though I’m doing something very wrong. And then, as I take my first step outside, I’m exposed to British winter for the first time. And damn, it’s cold. It’s not that the temperature is very low in terms of degrees (its 7 or 8), but it feels like I’ve just walked head first into the freezer section of Pick n Pay (or Tesco’s, if you will…) I stare out the cab windows, straining my eyes for  a glimpse of snow, but there’s none anywhere. In fact, it’s nine full days before I get a taste of actual snow. 

Anyway, it’s nine days in, and I’m still alive. The issues? No one will give me a bank account; it’s completely impossible to get internet installed quickly; and no matter how I stick to my recipes, food here is just plain tasteless; and I can’t afford all the clothes in H&M. Also, it gets dark at 5pm, and that’s not okay. 

The good stuff? Primark exists (and it’s cheap, even with the exchange rate. R180 for a pink, faux-leather jacket that would have cost me R700 in Woolworths? Yes, please); Starbucks exists; the tube is still kind of fun - and by fun, I mean fun for people who enjoy slow torture - AND LAST NIGHT IT SNOWED. 

There is, however, something I miss terribly about home. I mean, yeah, I miss my friends and family and cat, but there's something else, something that aches deep within my soul. I find myself glaring at the families as they tuck the small children into the backseats of their cars, laughing and joking on their way out to enjoy dinner. So what is it that I crave so? Is it human companionship that I’m missing by living alone, completely isolated? Is it the joy of family? The longing to be joined by a partner? Haha. Lol. No. It’s my car. Yes, friends, an inanimate object is what I miss most about my country of birth. The ease and simplicity of getting behind the wheel and taking myself somewhere. The way I could get absolutely anywhere I needed to get, safely ensconced within the drivers seat, from where I controlled the heater and the music. Oh man, I’m a spoiled brat unaccustomed to public transport, and it sucks. I mean, an hour and a half across London on the tube? PLUS having to walk? No, no thanks. I don’t care how many people tell me it’s not worth the hassle and the expense, I’d feel far better if I could hop in my automobile and drive to Birmingham this weekend rather than hop on a train, thanks very much. 

PS: I am guilty of muting people on Facebook when they do too many cool things/seem too happy/get married/have a baby/go travelling, because it can get exhausting, so in order to not become one of those people, I'm trying to shut up about London on there (well, trying is the operative word here) so if you really want to keep up with my adventure follow me on Instagram, Fairycat101.

Foo Fighters Live in Cape Town - Meeting My Hero

Excuse me whilst I faint, that's me and the Foos

Late Wednesday afternoon, I watched a convoy of men on motorbikes head up the driveway of the One&Only Hotel. One had a beard. Maybe it's Dave Grohl, I thought, rolling my eyes, completely certain that it really was not - seriously, one of the biggest legends in rock music history, casually riding around Cape Town hours before his first ever South African show? Unlikely. A quick browse of social media, however, told me that I had been wrong - it was, in fact, Grohl, and suddenly excitement hit me like a ten tonne truck: I was seeing the Foo Fighters.

I'd always said that there were four celebrities I would love to meet: Brandon Flowers, Chris Martin, Bruce Springsteen and Dave Grohl. And I'd almost achieved the first three, having stood metres from Martin, and grasped hands with Springsteen and Flowers during concerts. Closest I'd ever been to Mr Grohl? About 50 metres from the stage, separated from My Hero by a few thousand rowdy British youths at 2012's Reading Festival, an hour outside London. He was unattainable. Some kind of supreme being, who - despite being lauded as the nicest guy in rock and roll - just didn't seem to really exist. Imagine my surprise when Big Concerts said I could meet him after winning a competition. Oh, that will be nice.

But let me back track to what I was doing outside the hotel in the first place, and what competition this is that I'm referring to.

Every now and then something completely freaking ridiculous happens. You sit at the Edinburgh airport, too tired to even cry about your post-concert depression, then you look up and see your favourite band's private jet taking off. You meet a touring band member in a Starbucks and they recognise you from the internet. Stuff like that, ya know? And when Big Concerts announced that I was the winner of their meet and greet competition, I felt like something inside my head broke. I spent the next two days constantly on the verge of a breakdown, rocking back and forth whispering 'Dave Grohl'. It registered somewhere in my barely-functioning brain that the last time I'd felt this kind of weird, anxious, almost-in-tears excitement was in the lead-up to 2011's Coldplay concert. 

But onto the hotel....of course, everything goes back to The Killers. Years after I'd been to see them in Paarl, I had found out (read: done some creeping and found out) that they had stayed at the One & Only in Cape Town. Several more years of creeping revealed that this was one of the only hotels in town where the Big Bands are accommodated. Now, I can put two and two together, and figure out that the Foos would be staying at this exact hotel. But, alas, no, I did not stand outside their hotel for hours on end, decked out in a Foo Fighters t-shirt and "I Heart Dave" poster. In fact, I was at the hotel for a legitimate reason - it happens to serve the best high tea in Cape Town, and it's my birthday next week, I love tea, you can see where I'm going with this. The deposit for my tea was due, and by a miracle sent from the gods of the internet, my EFT payment refused to work, and I was forced to go into the hotel to pay and secure my tea booking. Total co-incidence that it's right at the Waterfront, where I was headed to park for the concert. So, in I stroll, still perhaps wishing to bump into the Foos, but of course not expecting too - things like that just don't happen. I should have learned my lesson from a certain Rob Likes Lattes in a Starbucks in Leeds, circa 2012: things like that do happen. 

We're halfway to the restaurant reservations desk, when my mother begins to elbow me furiously. "Drummer, drummer, Taylor, drummer."  Sure enough, Taylor Hawkins stands in the lobby, grinning and chatting to a few burly bodyguards. I try to act cool and avoid his eye, pretend I don't know who he is, but he grins in our direction: "Hi, ladies." And I just died. I'm not sure if I said hello back or not, but I calmly proceeded to pay my bill and then high-tailed it out of there before any other Foo Fighter could surprise me like that. We're down the driveway and across the road when the aforementioned convoy of bikes pulls in, and we're sitting down to lunch when I take a squizz at Facebook and find out that it really was Dave. Now I'm sitting in the Spur, hand over my mouth, giggling like a lunatic, because I just saw Dave Freaking Grohl. 

Then it's the trek to the stadium, and so somehow I find myself first in a line of about 40 people, separated from the Foos by only a thin black curtain. Cue mild hyperventilation - what if I see Dave Grohl and just die? Right there on the floor - die! But I don't. 

One of the most surreal sensations I have ever experience was at the moment when said black curtain parted, to reveal the Foo Fighters in all their glory, Dave Grohl grinning broadly at me, sticking out his hand and saying "Hi, I'm Dave, and these are the Foo Fighters." Thanks for telling me your name, Dave. AS IF I DIDN'T KNOW! Taylor grins shiftily and says "Hey, I saw you guys earlier", and we're basically already best friends. The meet and greet itself was short but absolutely fantastic. We shook hands with all of the band members, and posed for a photo, before thanking them for coming to SA and being led from the room.

Only down side of having met Dave Grohl an hour before the show? It meant missing the first half of support act, Kaiser Chiefs' show, a pity because frontman Ricky Wilson is known for his incredibly energetic performances, and is guaranteed to entertain. After making it into the crowd as the band began 'Never Miss A Beat', I could see Wilson immediately barrelling down the T-shaped stage like a cannonball, and couldn't restrain himself from climbing some scaffolding during 'The Angry Mob'. They ended off with their standard, 'Oh My God', which must have rung true for them - "Oh my god, I can't believe it, I've never been this far away from home..." and though they had played in SA before, Cape Town Stadium must have been a whole new experience.

At exactly 9pm - right on time - the main act appeared like visions. Shiflett, Smear and Mendel smartly dressed and semi-formal, Hawkins looking like he'd just rolled off Camps Bay beach, and Grohl himself grinning that same toothy grin that characterised the 20-year-younger version of himself in his Nirvana days. Let it be said though, the smile is the only thing still reminiscent of the weedy Nirvana drummer - Grohl has aged like a fine wine.

The band wasted no time, launching straight into 'All My Life', then 'Rope', with barely a breath in between. Still with that manic grin, Grohl roared up and down the stage, like some kind of inhuman being, that is, perhaps, too talented to be real. Too much of an idea. Too far removed. But I've met him, and I know he's real. 

The hits came thick and fast, with arguably their most well-known song, 'The Pretender' going down a storm amongst the crowd, as did 'My Hero'. And of course my very favourite, 'Arlandria'.... you and what armyyyyyyyy? Just when we began to wonder when we might get a taste of the band's new material, 'Congregation' started. Inspired by the Nashville's country roots, and with subtly religious undertones, it has to be one of the greatest Foo Fighters songs ever. Other new songs were 'Something From Nothing', which has recently soared up the local charts, 'Outside' and 'In The Clear'. At one point, the young man next to me tapped me on the shoulder and asked "Do you know the lyrics to all the songs?" "Pretty much" I replied, although I wanted to say "What, don't you?!"

And if you were wondering if Grohl lived up to his reputation as the 'nicest guy in rock and roll' - he sure did. Having met Springbok Nude Girls' Theo Crous the day before, Dave invited the local musician onto the stage to perform Cheap Trick's 'Stiff Competition', with Grohl taking to the drums, and drummer Taylor Hawkins taking over vocals. 

Dave Grohl's stage presence is absolutely astounding. He thrives on being on stage and the passion of all five bands members is evident throughout the set. "We're simple guys, we don't do all this firework and confetti sh*t, we just play rock and roll!" And somehow, this simple rock and roll has an almost universal appeal - from the older couple we met outside the gates ("Bucket list stuff!" the lady had said, high-fiving me) to the group of teens behind us ("We've been queueing for two hours!"), everyone loves Foo Fighters. 

25 songs later, Grohl and company were finally ready to leave the stage. They ended with the absolutely spectacular 'Everlong', evoking emotion in every single crowd member. "We've got a long night ahead of us - we're not nearly done!" they had repeated throughout the set, much to the delight of the golden circle ticket holders who most definitely got their R960's worth. 

But the three-hour-long set took its toll on an audience clearly not accustomed to such long performances. The young lady next to me - who began the show headbanging so violently that I became concerned she might give herself a concussion - was found to be using her sister next to her's shoulder as a pillow before 11pm, and the bro next to her had sat himself firmly on the ground, back against the barrier, where he stayed until 'This Is A Call' gave him something of a second wind. 

Yes, it was a long set, and the feet of the best of us were left protesting feebly by midnight. But was it too long? Would I have traded it for the world? No, of course not. If it were up to me - and the band, if their enthusiasm was anything to go by - the Foo Fighters would still be on that stage, playing their hearts out. In fact, I'm trying very hard to restrain myself from sneaking up to Joburg for Saturday's show - Gauteng sure is in for a treat. 

Adapted review also on What's On In Cape Town.

30 Seconds to Mars Cape Town Review

30 Seconds To Mars graced Cape Town with their presence for the third time, this weekend. Or perhaps it was ’20 Seconds To Mars’, as third member Shannon Leto was noticeably absent – ill, explained his brother, frontman Jared Leto.

By 6pm on Sunday evening, the Echelon (read: The Serious Fans) were already queuing in droves, and those who had purchased meet and greet tickets, could be seen sprinting from GrandWest’s Good Hope Suites clutching signed posters and hyperventilating. Can’t say I blame them. What would any sane human do when faced with Jared Leto? Cry, surely.

Cape Town’s own Beatenberg were given the opportunity to open for the American rockstars, but unfortunately they did little to excite the crowd. Whilst their music is catchy and popular, their fan base and that of 30 Seconds To Mars clearly did not overlap. Although a few younger people sang along happily to ‘Chelsea Blakemore’, crowd interaction was minimal, and the band seemed slightly lost on such a major stage.

Cue dimming of the lights and loud, dramatic music – ‘O Fortuna’ from Carl Orff’s Carmina Burana – and a long-haired figure wearing a long white coat and crown emerges into a patch of light on the stage. Is that you, Jesus? No, it’s Jared Leto. But to those present they’re pretty much the same thing.

Opening with ‘Up In The Air’, from their latest offering, Love Lust Faith Dreams, Leto immediately electrified the crowd. Jared Leto is acutely aware of his reputation as a sex symbol. “Who wants to sleep with me tonight?” he asked the predominantly female crowd, cheekily. The answer? EVERYONE. He later took the opportunity to lift his shirt revealingly, teasing the group of girls to the right that if they kept shouting for him to take it off, they might just get more than they bargained for. But, we were here for the music, of course…

And it was music we got. 30 Seconds to Mars have an incredible way of producing extremely powerful music, and it becomes, perhaps, even more powerful when performed live. From ‘This Is War’ to ‘Kings and Queens’ (the latter written right here in Cape Town), Jared Leto’s stage presence is faultless, and it’s clear that his passion is performing live. Setlist highlights included ‘City of Angels’, the stand out track from their latest album, and a stripped-down-to-the-bones version of ‘The Kill’. All too soon it was over, in a snowstorm of white confetti and flashing lights.

A glance at Big Concerts’ Facebook page reveals nothing but disappointment with the Johannesburg show (held two nights previously). Shannon Leto was absent, Jared Leto’s voice was not up to standard, the sound at the Coca Cola Dome was shocking, and – perhaps most disturbingly – the crowd was full of people who were more interested in “drinking wine and going on Facebook” than watching the show. But the Cape Town show could not have been more different. The Grand Arena is an impeccable venue, with excellent audio, and even though it was a true rock concert, I was not left with ringing ears the next day.

As Jared Leto so sincerely told us, South Africa is truly a special place for his band. Yes, all bands engage the crowd with shouts of how happy they are to be in the ‘best country in the world’, but somehow, I believe him more. Maybe it’s because he looks a bit like Jesus.

Review also published on www.whatsonincapetown.com

Taylor Swift: '1989' Album Review

OMG, I just DIED! #RIPme! Tay Tay has a new album out! If you're not sure what's going on - or if you think I've just regressed from quite a serious 23-year-old lady to a squealing 13-year-old girl -, check this out and then come back.

Yes, it's sure, country-pop's sugar-sweet little Taylor dropped her much-anticipated album '1989' this week. No, I did not converge at a friend's house that very night for a listening party, because I am an adult, and that would be weird...

I must admit, my hopes were not high. After my strong feelings of dislike for most of 2012's 'Red' - which I took as a personal insult, after being completely obsessed with 'Speak Now' - and my outright hatred for 'Shake It Off', I had begun to sink into that deep depression of human beings who disregard the girl as just another awful pop star. A bit of a joke. Did I mention awful? Well, I was about to be proven wrong.

THE ALBUM IS A MASTERPIECE. (Yes, caps are needed)

It is, indeed, a pure pop album, without a hint of the country style that had defined her early career, but somehow it's edgy, with barely discernible hints of indie-rock (largely, I'm sure, due to her work with fun.'s Jack Antonoff). While most of the album is filled with highly-listenable tracks, I do have a few favourites:

1) 'Wildest Dreams': This turns me into a complete fangirl. I can just imagine crying on the floor if I ever had to see this song live. I'm dead. DEAD. It's tinged with poignance and sadness, but still comes back down to Taylor's favourite themes of girls in pretty dresses, crying after boys and begging them to remember her. It's probably even set at Tay's favourite time of day: 2am.

2) 'Blank Space': Taylor Swift ripping off Taylor Swift - can it get any better? "Got a long list of ex-lovers, they'll tell you I'm insane..." It's also dead catchy.

3) 'Out of the Woods' - Nope, I am never going to be out of the woods. An obvious stab at Harry Styles, it shows off Taylor's slightly darker side - one can almost imagine her singing "Remember when you hit the brakes too soon, 20 stitches in the hospital room" with a sadistic little smile on her face. And with an electronic chorus that is bound to stick in anyone's head for weeks, it's a favourite among many.

All in all, I think Taylor has done great. She remains my guilty pleasure, so far removed from any of my other favourites, that some people think I'm joking when I say I love her. But really, who cares? Haters gonna hate.

Taylor Swift - Out of the Woods

It's my lunch break, and I've just gobbled down last night's Chinese takeaway leftovers in 3.4 minutes flat so that I would still have time to write this post.
So let's cut to the chase...

Taylor Swift has a new song out.
Why would anyone care?  You might ask. Good question. After feeling strong dislike towards most of Taylor's 'Red' album, and downright hatred for 'Shake It Off', why the hell am I still listening to the girl? Argh, old habits die hard, I guess. Back in 2009, I was completely obsessed with the 'Fearless' album, and even more so with 'Speak Now' the following year. I didn't care how people wrinkled their noses and frowned when I told them that she was my guilty pleasure - completely on the other side of the spectrum to the rest of my favourites: The Killers, Springsteen, Coldplay. I guess that my inherent sarcasm and cynicism makes some forget that deep down I am still a young female human being who wants to float down staircases in sparkly dresses, whilst singing 'Sparks Fly', dammit!

Anyway. Taylor's new song 'Out of the Woods' is absolutely nothing like her early country music ('Tim McGraw', 'Tied Together With A Smile', 'Our Song'), but it's also a slight departure from the pop atrocity that is 'Shake It Off'. Perhaps she's found herself. Perhaps her cat had a good, long sit-down with her and explained that twerking is just not okay. Whatever happened, she's come out with this song  that's got a bit more of an electro-pop-rock feel to it.

Here are a few things I learned from the new song:

- Taylor is obsessed with the month of December. At least the snow mobile crash wasn't at 2am.

- She's got a little bit of a dark side - just listen to the way she sings about the hospital trip. Mwahahaha.

- She's still experimenting with different styles of music...

- ... but she's stuck with her tried and tested my-relationship-failed lyrics.

- She's still got it. Hell yes, she does.

Rocking The Daisies 2014

Rocking the Daisies 2012 was cold. And rainy. So cold and rainy, in fact, that I skipped the 2013 festival because the extremities that I’d almost lost to frostbite had not quite recovered. So it was with a mix of trepidation and downright excitement that I headed off to RTD 2014.

It must be said that Rocking the Daisies is very loosely termed a ‘music festival’. It is, in fact, a three-day-long party, with some interspersed music and nightly pass-out sessions in tents. As one person put it “I’ve been to nine festivals and only seen about three bands.” Yes, music is optional, but far more important is the ‘vibe’ or ‘gees’ if you will.

Frustratingly, festival go-ers were met with a shocking queue to enter the festival. Yes, for security reasons it’s great that IDs were checked, but the organizers needed to the strong possibility that huge crowds were going to arrive on Friday afternoon. Standing in a two hour queue in the howling wind whilst carting around all your bedding and supplies for two days is far from ideal, and by 8pm on Friday night instead of listening to Jeremy Loops serenade me with ‘Down South’, I was listening to the guy behind me in the queue pull a “How you doin’?” whilst opening his 42^nd can of beer.

Inside the arena, however, the party was in full swing. With Taxi Violence having just finished up their set, an excitable George van der Spuy was to be found in the beer tent, smiling for photos with fans. “Did you enjoy the show?” Yes, of course we did.

Sticking with legends of local rock, Francois van Coke and Arno Carstens were joined by the likes of guitarist Albert Frost and Jason Ling of Taxi Violence for a set that went down a storm with the fans. Even the most English of English people were to be found singing along to every word of van Coke’s Afrikaans songs, whilst Carsten’s ‘Another Universe’ received what was perhaps the loudest crowd reaction of the entire night. Over on the other side of things, the Electro Dome proved popular - perhaps because it offered a brief reprieve from the wind – but was overcrowded and stuffy before long.

Friday night’s chilly weather gave way to burning heat on Saturday, meaning that a swim in the dam was a priority for many people. When a slight wind picked up, this was certainly the best place to be, and with the sounds of GoodLuck emanating from the Beach Bar stage, it offered the perfect balance between relaxed beach vibes, and the excitement of a festival.

Over in the Lemon Tree theatre, comedian Rob van Vuuren had the crowd in stitches with his brand of humour that somehow finds the balance between slightly crude and squeaky clean humour. “What’s the only thing more pretentious than a cat person? An effing cat!” He cried, to uproarious laughter. His comments about the demographics of the festival were also on point: “If there’s Ebola in the dam, Constantia will be littered with corpses on Monday morning.”

Out of every festival that I have ever been to, RTD 2014 wins hands down when it comes to food. From outlets of popular Cape Town chains including Knead and Hudsons, to an array of noodles, curries and vegetarian options, there really was something for every taste. And with a whole truck filled with different kinds of teas, the hipsters went wild. As water was not sold at all on site, there were apparently nine water points scattered throughout the festival, but the lines for these were long, resulting in one particularly un-PC comment of “Welcome to the holocaust, where you have to queue for your water rations!” (“He’s German, it’s okay.” His friend assured me.)

As Saturday progressed, the mercury continued to rise, along with the spirits of the rugby fans. Whilst sitting in a boiling hot tent with a thousand or so other boytjies might not be everyone’s cup of proverbial tea, there’s no denying the goosebumps that shot up the arms of every single human being in the beer tent when everyone rose simultaneously to sing our national anthem before the Bokke took to the field. And two hours later, they had cause to celebrate as our team pulled off a spectacular win.

One person who was not so impressed with the rugby situation was Ard Matthews. Relegated to a Main Stage slot in the middle of the rugby match, the Just Jinjer frontman commented that he wasn’t that popular in the Springbok camp (a reference to his botched rendition of the national anthem a while back). Whether it was a light-hearted comment or a cutting jibe, I wasn’t sure, but the man’s musical talent is indisputable. From the slowed down ‘Shallow Waters’ to a cover of Rodriguez’s hit ‘Sugar Man’ (with a lot of sweet Mary-Jane in the air…) no one in this crowd gave a damn about the rugby.

The sun had set and the chilly wind had returned by the time the international acts were ready for the Main Stage. Crystal Fighters pulled off a brilliant set, with their unique dance-rock style combining with their eccentric dress and stage presence for a show unlike anything Daisies has seen before. Even after the death of drummer Andrea Marongui just three weeks ago, the band elected not to pull out of the festival, and the thousands who gathered for their set were nothing but appreciative. My personal highlight was the insanely catchy ‘LA Calling’, and the band definitely have one new fan in Cape Town.

And then came MGMT. The band that rocked the commercial music scene back in 2009, when ‘Kids’ was topping the charts and making every human being feel 10 times cooler every time they listened to it. The band that created ‘Electric Feel’, a song that is best described by one word only: “sexy”. This was the band that everyone had been waiting to see – and they killed it.  And by ‘it’ I mean the vibe. Although their trippy, hallucination-style background graphics were cool for the first 10 minutes, they got boring, and with almost zero crowd interaction, combined with a complete lack of stage presence, the band quickly lost the audience’s attention. Even during ‘Kids’, a two-minute instrumental in the middle of the song made everyone who had jumped up in excitement sit straight back down again. But hey, ‘Electric Feel’ was great, so who am I to complain?

Late Sunday morning saw hoards of hot, sweaty, hungover campers attempting to disassemble the mess that had become their campsite, leaving masses of trash in their wake. The 34 degree heat had resulted in much dehydration, and after trying to barter Marie biscuits for any drops of H2O, the campers gave up and retired to their cars for the long drive back. At the Engen One-Stop outside of Malmesbury, hoards of dusty campers were to be seen dashing for the fridges as though they had been competing in Survivor for the past month.

And so I arrived home to my temperate house; my soft, warm bed; my water-stocked refrigerator; my shower; my cat. Why, you may ask, would I ever want to go to Rocking the Daisies again? Well, after all I experienced this weekend, why wouldn’t I? I wouldn’t have traded the heat, the dust and the drunk campers for all the cold water in the world. Because festivals are, of course, about the vibe, and that’s something Rocking the Daisies sure didn’t lack.

Original review also published on www.whatsonincapetown.com.

Media clearance via What's On In Cape Town

Zebra & Giraffe - Knuckles Album Launch

It’s almost impossible to have avoided hearing a Zebra and Giraffe song at some time over the past five years. Be in on the radio, on television, or live at some or other festival – this band has been everywhere. They chose the Assembly as the Cape Town venue to launch their brand new album ‘Knuckles’ – which you can now order on iTunes.

Upon entering the venue, it was clear that this was not your average Friday night at the popular local club. Sponsors Ray Ban and Honda Music had gone all out on the experience front, and created a station for hair cuts (which Zebra & Giraffe frontman Greg Carlin later confessed to having visited) and other where a man was holding out his arm, appearing to be having a tattoo inked on, right there and then. Surely not? Surely the tattoo was only temporary? No, it was real, all right, and the man being inked was none other than Z&G’s own bass player, Stefan Henrico – aha, that’s why Carlin was standing in a corner, having a good giggle to himself.

The opening act for the night is Cape Town’s own Reburn, who treated the gathering crowd to some songs from their second album. Although not as well known as the main act, they managed to hype up the audience very well, with their interesting style, which could possibly be described as “funk-infused reggae indie-rock”.  Their vocals and style are noticeably influenced by British indie-rock bands, and indeed one song in particular reminded me a lot of Scottish band The Fratellis’ hit ‘Chelsea Dagger’ – interestingly this is one of the bands they cite as an influence. Although I did begin to worry at some point that the bass player’s Joy Division shirt would result in a spontaneous cover of ‘Love Will Tear Us Apart’.

Fresh from last Saturday’s slot at the I Heart Joburg festival alongside international acts like Panic at the Disco and Fall Out Boy, Zebra & Giraffe proved that a club environment is where they are most at home.

Thrashing on his guitar and moving about with as much mad enthusiasm as the tiny stage would allow, Greg Carlin led his band through a stream of both old and new songs. Of course, the greatest cheers were for the earlier, better known songs including ‘The Knife’ and ‘The Inside’, but this does not mean that the band have stopped making good music. In fact, personally I found their new single ‘Dancing’ to be one of the best I’ve heard. Their new style is slightly different – slower in parts, more forceful in others – but it works. They are most definitely not the same band who joked in a slightly bitter tone that “no one’s here to see us” when they opened for The Killers five years ago; nor are they the same band that played to a half-empty student club in Grahamstown in 2011. No, this band has grown in leaps and bounds, and on their latest offering, are sure to cement themselves once again as one of South Africa’s best.

By the time the last notes of final song ‘Pariahs’ echoed through the club, Stefan Henrico’s fingers were pouring blood onto his strings, and Greg Carlin dripped sweat from his face onto his slick-looking leather jacket, but they look absolutely thrilled. And they should be.

Original article also published on whatsonincapetown.com

I Heart Joburg Part 1: Journey

It's 10pm on Wednesday night, and I'm sitting cross-legged on my bedroom floor, starring thoughtfully at a pile of laundry higher than I am tall. I've also just had the terrifying realisation that I leave for Joburg in approximately 44 hours (which sounds like a lot, but I'll be at work for 24 and asleep for 16, which leaves about 4 hours free), and in addition to having absolutely no clean clothing - save for the new flamingo socks I just bought - I also have absolutely no free space on my phone or camera - and what's a concert without a wagon full of photos? Ah well. At least I've got the most important thing down - the brand new, bright pink travel bag that cost me as much as half a week's groceries, but was way more necessary.

Yes, the weekend has finally arrived - it's time for I Heart Joburg. After much fangirling, I'd purchased tickets way back in May, and a busy lifestyle had meant that I had had very little time to look forward to the festival. Flights booked, accommodation arranged ... it was like a full-on flashback to that crazy month in 2011 when I'd done Jozi twice in three weeks for Coldplay and the Kings. In fact, this will be my first time in Gauteng since then.

Fast-forward to Thursday, when I've given up on my laundry being dry in time because it's just too damn hot to tumble dry anything, and instead have packed the bare minimum amount of clothes, and have gotten halfway through the toiletries when I realise that my deodorant can't go with because, ya know, no aerosols on planes. And so I launch into a crusade to find a bottle of roll-on somewhere in the junk heap that functions as my bedroom. Although completely unsuccessful, I do manage to locate a rock from Mount Vesuvius, a deflated balloon from a friend's farewell party in May, a collection of small rocks, and a pair of sunglasses that I thought I'd lost somewhere between Scotland and Durban circa mid-July 2013. Not to mention that shrivelled chocolate from an Emirates flight two years ago. Gross. Anyway, I've packed what I can, and hopped into bed for a good 9 hour sleep to prepare myself for tomorrow's trip... but like all people like me, I can never guarantee rest.

Before I know it, it's 1am, and my entire life is floating before my eyes in tiny, half-awake snippets, interspersed - for some unfathomable reason - with a line from Amy Winehouse's 'Back to Black': "And life is like a pipe, and I'm a tiny penny rolling up the walls inside...". And even though I don't know what on earth that line means, IT MAKES ME SO SAD. Chalk it up to stress for work the next morning. Chalk it up to not being completely mentally normal. Whatever, either way, I get to work at 6.30am running on two hours sleep, and the certainty that absolutely everything is about to go tits up with this weekend that I had planned out so carefully.

Hit 1.30pm and I'm finished all my work for the day, but unfortunately unable to leave until 3pm. Twitter says there's a press conference, but my bois doing that weird thing where I'm not sure if the butterflies in my stomach are from nerves, anxiety, dread or excitement. I decide to satiate my stomach with some breakfast, but make the extremely bad choice to get a pie from the garage next door because real food costs more money and after this weekend I will have none of that left. 

And so at home I meet my eternal concert buddy, Miss Lauren, and we're whisked away to the airport by Miss Amy - none of us anticipating that getting to the airport in an hour is made almost impossible by a traffic nightmare on De Waal Drive. Cue mild panic, a mantra of "it'll be fine, guys" and dodging through lanes of traffic like we're in some perverted game of bumper cars. This is the part where any sane human being begins to regret that late afternoon pie - it was almost certainly road kill rather than chicken, and it's swirling around in the consumer's stomach, mixing painfully with the nerves and the bumpy care ride. We nearly hit the roof flying over a speed bump at the airport at 100km/h, and Amy giggles before pulling into a parking and declaring "We made it! 18 minutes guys, I did good!". Check-in; print boarding passes; sigh with relief; hit the Wimpy for food but get absolutely no service; proceed through boarding gates; get frisked for making the metal detectors go off; find another Wimpy; board the plane; wonder why said plane is heading towards the ground at a rather alarming angle of 45 degrees; almost fall asleep hug Carryn to death at Lanseria; drive to her house in the dark; pass the 'Welcome to North West' sign - three provinces in one day! Find a bed; collapse. 

Wake up. It's 8am, we're leaving for breakfast by 9am and plan to be on the road to JHB by 10am, ETA at Ellis Park stands at 11am. LOL JK. We make it to Ellis around 1pm, handbags stashed under the seat and finger on the trigger of Carryn's pepper spray - expecting to get hijacked around every corner. 

And so we reach the parking area, only to be asked for our parking ticket. Warning - rant ahead: HOW THE HELL WERE WE SUPPOSED TO KNOW WE NEEDED A PARKING TICKET?? When Steyn Entertainment told me on Facebook that "limited parking is available at the stadium", did they ever mention parking tickets??? No, they sure as hell did not. So we're told to turn around and go find a Computicket to buy a parking ticket. That's fine. But no one knows where the Computicket is, and we're left driving in circles around what is probably the least safe area in the whole of Joburg. By the time we're driven for 5 minutes or so, our nerves are so shot that we happily pay some dodgy person R100 to park in a 'safe place'. It seems a little dodgy, but it's in the ground of a college, so it can't be that bad, right?

And so, hugging our handbags and making sure Carryn knows that she'll be offered up as Tribute if anyone attacks us, we make our way to the stadium, and only relax when we're through the golden circle gates.

Misheard Lyrics: Part 1

I can just about guarantee that everyone out there has misheard a song lyric sometime in their life. Perhaps it was because you were simply singing along without paying much attention to the words; perhaps it was because you were too young to understand what the song was about; perhaps you were just being an idiot. There are the standard "'Scuse me while I kiss this guy", "Hit me with your pet shark" and "Go, go, Jason Waterfalls", but for me, the more obscure, the more entertaining. Anyway, I personally have some classics - share yours with me in the comments!

The Gaslight Anthem - Ain't That A Shame

The most recent of my gaffes - one of my favourites on the band's new album, I had been confidently singing along to this song for the past two weeks or so ... "Oh my love, my love is a plane, ain't that a shame, ain't that a shame." Eventually I googled the lyrics so that I could read them and interpret the song as a whole, and discovered that it was 'plague'. 'My love is a plague'. Oh.

Bon Jovi - Bed of Roses

I grew up on Bon Jovi, and it took many, many years to realise that Jon was singing about being "just as close as the holy ghost is", rather than "holy ghost ears", which apparently are not a thing.

Brandon Flowers - Magdalena

On Brandon's debut solo album, he sings about a pilgrimage to Mexico, and how he is "fixing to carve this out of wood". In my tiny, science-infused brain, I interpreted the words as "I'm fixing the carapace out of wood." Please note, a carapace is the exoskeleton of a crab. Jury still out on what the crab was doing along a road in Mexico.

Take That - Back For Good
"Whenever I'm wrong, just tell me the song and I'll sing it - you'll be right up on the sun." Doesn't sound very comfortable, does it? It's "right and understood".