Die Antwoord blasted, cursed, cussed and moered their way onto the South African music scene's radar in such a way, the Yanks couldn't even resist dipping their toes into the group's own formula of bad, yet entertaining taste. When front man, Ninja, wasn't shaking his tackle in awkward Pink Floyd sleeping shorts, his side-kick, Yo-Landi was barking insults at naaiers, all the while skating on super-thin ice with a flagrant and thrillingly dangerous disregard for conservative sensibilities. Is it a long, drawn out dare to censors? Is it gratuitous? Is it meant to be ironic? I couldn't really care less. Intellectualizing the band's approach is futile. But many of can't resist even a superficial dissection of Die Antwoord's answer to all things boring and banal.
Their mass media exploitation was perhaps needed amid a stifling slew of grossly unoriginal acts, compliments of the likes of the Parlotones and Prime Circle. At first, critics were quick to dismiss Die Antwoord as blog-hopping, genre-contorting meme who wouldn't make it past YouTube. Eet julle woorde mense.
Die Antwoord is in many ways an experiment in boundaries, which in itself is an irony, as the band doesn't seem to know any limits or even give a flying toss about what anyone thinks of them.
Just when you thought it was okay to de-mute your satellite TV decoders and stop ordering the kids to leave the room at the very sight of Ninja's awfully retro hair cut and the sound of Yo-Landi's chipmunk, splenetic fury, they are back to torment censors in 2012. And boy oh boy, does the religious right and its self-righteous ilk have their work cut out for them. Almost two years to the day of the group's twisted birth, will Die Antwoord unleash the next chapter of their lunacy. Their latest offering, Ten$ion, will drop next month, much like an atom bomb. Judging from the video to the first single, 'I fink you freeky', commercial success and a macabre interest from international audiences has gone straight to the duo's head. The diminutive yet scary Yo-Landi, in full demonic glory, develops a taste for Ninja's heart. That's all that needs to be said about the video. Trying to describe it's shock and awe in words simply doesn't do the video any justice. What I can say is it will no doubt test the patience of censors in South Africa. Hell, myopic, still-living-with-mom, failed librarians, in stiff suits, armed with red tape, curse-blocking bleepers, Bibles and Q'rans beyond our borders could even spill their decaffeinated lattes after even a curt viewing of the video.
I wait in anxious, giddy joy to see how far or close the video gets to our TV screens here. It's controversy fodder at its best, which will become the target and subject of many. Quite frankly, it's needed early in a new year, which is already being dominated by hangovers from 2011's bullshit. For a brief moment, we can divert our attention away from navel-gazing about the world's economic woes, the failure of capitalism, the Arab Spring, Julius Malema's ever-growing ego, Helen Zille's constant criticism of everything and anything the ANC government does. For a fleeting moment we have some gratuitous, open-jaw-inducing respite (or nightmares, depending on the degree of your tolerance).
Wednesday, January 25, 2012
Tuesday, January 24, 2012
Royal Pains
Did you know South Africa has it's very own royal family? No! Wait! Make that families! That trusty online encyclopedia, Wikipedia, informs me we have no less than 14 royal groupings of relations, that's excluding Queen Elizabeth and her kin and extended inbreeds. There's the more publicised (usually for all the wrong reasons) Zulu monarchy. His Royal Highness, the Wearer of Dead Animals and the Regent Waster of Money, King Goodwill Zwelithini, is probably better known in Kwazulu-Natal than the Windsors. To the rest of the country his and his family's reputation is characterised by their opulent and flagrant squandering of money. I guffawed at a recent news story where a spokesperson of the Royal Zulu family, Prince Something or other, referred to his boss as 'His Majesty'. I suppose if we speaking royalese he's sticking to the rules. But should the rest of us follow suit and even give a crap that there's this pointless family, perpetually intoxicated by an anachronistic insistence by government to entertain and kow-tow to these so called regal buffoons and their planet-sized egos? Should we then start dishing out state funds to the Mahlangu dynasty or the Bafokeng monarchs and every tiny Khoisan clan with delusions of grandeur.
What about the MaKhwinde Dynasty or the AmaDlomo and amaHala Dynasties? I once worked with a woman who insisted she was a real life traditional Xhosa princess. Apart from her penchant for expensive cars, an irritatingly over-inflated ego and neck which she seemed to have been trained so as to guiding her eyes down on all whom she spoke to. I could never quite understand her verbose explanations at how she was of the blue blood type. For all I know she was exploiting my white tendencies and ignorance. Let's not forget how, like the royal families of Europe, regal bloodlines across the length and breadth of time, are s deeply entrenched in inbreeding, incest, blood lust, war, greed, corruption and arrogance, they've lost touch with reality. When some jump to protect the Royal Zulus of South Africa, they conveniently forget, these are the same people who don't find anything wrong with selling off teenage girls, under the guise of arranged marriages (a concept so far removed from modern thinking it belongs along side state-sanctioned public executions). It's these royals who don't seem to understand the concept of working for a living. They're quite happy to live off state-sponsored budgets set aside for them, while millions starve and rot amid unemployment and poverty.
What about the MaKhwinde Dynasty or the AmaDlomo and amaHala Dynasties? I once worked with a woman who insisted she was a real life traditional Xhosa princess. Apart from her penchant for expensive cars, an irritatingly over-inflated ego and neck which she seemed to have been trained so as to guiding her eyes down on all whom she spoke to. I could never quite understand her verbose explanations at how she was of the blue blood type. For all I know she was exploiting my white tendencies and ignorance. Let's not forget how, like the royal families of Europe, regal bloodlines across the length and breadth of time, are s deeply entrenched in inbreeding, incest, blood lust, war, greed, corruption and arrogance, they've lost touch with reality. When some jump to protect the Royal Zulus of South Africa, they conveniently forget, these are the same people who don't find anything wrong with selling off teenage girls, under the guise of arranged marriages (a concept so far removed from modern thinking it belongs along side state-sanctioned public executions). It's these royals who don't seem to understand the concept of working for a living. They're quite happy to live off state-sponsored budgets set aside for them, while millions starve and rot amid unemployment and poverty.
Thursday, January 19, 2012
Nevermind the Bollocks... where's the bravery?
With musical culture showing little sign of rejuvenation in 2012, the alternatively-starved cast their microscopes deeper into the crevices of an emaciated 'movement'. Yup, I said it, movement. It's time we got up off the daisies of hippie folk festivals, out of the drying ponds of desperately (un)cool music festivals, creep out of the rave/trance/house dance floors and find our alternative tentacles again.
A recent viewing of laudable documentary 'Punk in Africa' left me in two minds. How is it the sub-culture of safety pins, torn skinnies, skuffed Chuck Taylors, spray painted quasi-anarchism of the late '70s and '80s when South Africa thrive against a backdrop of bloody conservatism. Originality and freedom was being choked to death by humourless, God-terrified, myopic old Afrikaans. Yet life lines were emerging everywhere in those days. Secondly, where have all the punks gone? That generation of musos have long greyed, yes, but surely the inspiration they created must be lurking somewhere? The likes of National Wake, Dog Detachment, Wild Youth and James Phillips framed the madness of the time perfectly, punctuating it with much-needed aggression, cynicism and rebellion. What do we have in the 21st Century. The Parlotones, Zebra and Giraffe and Bobby Jordaan. Even Arno Carstens, who once started a unique, promising fire with the Springbok Nude Girls, has settled comfortably into 5FM and KFM's play lists. Sold out. Bellville for a while was our Seattle and London. Fokofpolisiekar gave voice to the newly disenchanted. They were no longer angry black youths, but middle-class, frustrated Afrikaners. In 2012 Fokof still thrive and the various members have done well in expanding their horizons. I say, screw the English scene. Don't turn away from the Crunchies. Fokof gave birth to Van Coke Kartel, Die Heuwels Fantasties and aKing. They paved a road, which made it possible for even us die-hard alternatives to partly accept hip-hop in the form of Jack Parow, who himself paints pictures of Afrikaans/White disillusionment. He's joined in this at-times dubious genre by Die Antwoord, who, well, present the other lob sided view of the continuum - a world where mal, peeved Boere/honkies have lost their minds amid kwaito, R 'n B, Julius Malema and Steve Hofmeyer.
Let's not forget Blk Jks and 90's funk-punkers Nine who remind us rock is actually black, complete with dreadlocks and a comfortable marriage of skinny jeans and black skins.
I see little sign in 2012 (okay, so it's only January, but I'm an impatient person) of this crunchified, pale-faced, easily-sunburnt, pissed off, brave wave reaching another crest this year. The ANC government, in a sense, with the Protection of State Information Bill reminds us conservatism, paranoia and distrust are alive and swelling at a rate of knots in South Africa. Hell, many in our country can't even stomach a few porno channels on TV, where the mere suggestion that sex is something else apart from holding hands and coy kisses between separating-sheets.
Screw carefully crafted hair cuts. Fuck One Small Seed-reading/Kloof Street- parading, Tweeting twats. Damn the Khanyi Mbau/Kyknet-obsessed set. Bury the Bible and Q'ran for a few days and open up Rolling Stone SA. Look, instead to MK, the dark corners of forgotten neighbourhoods in Micthell's Plain and garages hidden in Kimberley. Take a few tips from a small set of very courageous Muslims in the US who have grown mohawks, torn their jeans, picked up guitars to learnt 3 chords to make up a burgeoning sub-culture, labelled Taqwacore. Let's search for and try to create our own 'punk' in 2012.
A recent viewing of laudable documentary 'Punk in Africa' left me in two minds. How is it the sub-culture of safety pins, torn skinnies, skuffed Chuck Taylors, spray painted quasi-anarchism of the late '70s and '80s when South Africa thrive against a backdrop of bloody conservatism. Originality and freedom was being choked to death by humourless, God-terrified, myopic old Afrikaans. Yet life lines were emerging everywhere in those days. Secondly, where have all the punks gone? That generation of musos have long greyed, yes, but surely the inspiration they created must be lurking somewhere? The likes of National Wake, Dog Detachment, Wild Youth and James Phillips framed the madness of the time perfectly, punctuating it with much-needed aggression, cynicism and rebellion. What do we have in the 21st Century. The Parlotones, Zebra and Giraffe and Bobby Jordaan. Even Arno Carstens, who once started a unique, promising fire with the Springbok Nude Girls, has settled comfortably into 5FM and KFM's play lists. Sold out. Bellville for a while was our Seattle and London. Fokofpolisiekar gave voice to the newly disenchanted. They were no longer angry black youths, but middle-class, frustrated Afrikaners. In 2012 Fokof still thrive and the various members have done well in expanding their horizons. I say, screw the English scene. Don't turn away from the Crunchies. Fokof gave birth to Van Coke Kartel, Die Heuwels Fantasties and aKing. They paved a road, which made it possible for even us die-hard alternatives to partly accept hip-hop in the form of Jack Parow, who himself paints pictures of Afrikaans/White disillusionment. He's joined in this at-times dubious genre by Die Antwoord, who, well, present the other lob sided view of the continuum - a world where mal, peeved Boere/honkies have lost their minds amid kwaito, R 'n B, Julius Malema and Steve Hofmeyer.
Let's not forget Blk Jks and 90's funk-punkers Nine who remind us rock is actually black, complete with dreadlocks and a comfortable marriage of skinny jeans and black skins.
I see little sign in 2012 (okay, so it's only January, but I'm an impatient person) of this crunchified, pale-faced, easily-sunburnt, pissed off, brave wave reaching another crest this year. The ANC government, in a sense, with the Protection of State Information Bill reminds us conservatism, paranoia and distrust are alive and swelling at a rate of knots in South Africa. Hell, many in our country can't even stomach a few porno channels on TV, where the mere suggestion that sex is something else apart from holding hands and coy kisses between separating-sheets.
Screw carefully crafted hair cuts. Fuck One Small Seed-reading/Kloof Street- parading, Tweeting twats. Damn the Khanyi Mbau/Kyknet-obsessed set. Bury the Bible and Q'ran for a few days and open up Rolling Stone SA. Look, instead to MK, the dark corners of forgotten neighbourhoods in Micthell's Plain and garages hidden in Kimberley. Take a few tips from a small set of very courageous Muslims in the US who have grown mohawks, torn their jeans, picked up guitars to learnt 3 chords to make up a burgeoning sub-culture, labelled Taqwacore. Let's search for and try to create our own 'punk' in 2012.
Friday, January 13, 2012
Tickin' suckin' fired of 2012?
Can you smell that? Malodorous and rotting, mundane and futile... and it's only been a few days. The head of 2012 had only started crowning and, to me at least, the new year has shape-shifted in record time, taking on the form of the beast of 2011. If one more person tries to convince me it's a new year packed with promise and rejuvenation, bilious rage will ensue. 'What's your new year's resolution?' enquired one person the other day. 'Not to commit murder,' I spewed before cracking my knuckles. I swear I'll perpetrated savagery of African proportions in the face of such banal questions and bumper-sticker like optimism. Let's take stock of the last few days of this year so far.
Yet another country descends into tumult. Nigeria, while not entirely a contender to the Arab Spring: The Sequel, has erupted in the face of a yet another government desperate to save money, for what real reason, we don't know. Government lackeys will say they need more cash to help improve Africa's most populous country for the greater good. Spluttering into my teeth with stifled laughter I'll nod in mock agreement. Corruption, self-enrichment and a complete disregard for the truth is how I interpret such mundane justifications. I do harbour an inkling of sympathy for Nigeria, though. yet another maddened, bloodthirsty Islamic radical group has emerged out of the wood work in that country. Boko Haram has started wreaking havoc on jihad proportions. And so religion once again rears it's troubled, schizophrenic head. With madness and religious zeal being exported so successfully across the world, who needs dictators.
The Arab Spring seems to have become a winter. Tunisia, the unofficial Godfather of North African dissent marked its one year anniversary since it shrugged off the yoke of authoritarian suffocation. I think a handful of us recognised this, in between new year's diet fads and apathy. Syria's national bloodshed shows absolutely no sign of abating. Same same, shame shame.
What would a new year be without a disaster of some kind. Thankfully Ma Nature has spared us of earthquakes, etc. Human stupidity, though, delivered us an early tragedy in the form of the Costa Concordia, coupled with that good old Italian bravery - the ill-fated cruise liner, captain Francesco Schettino, who jumped ship as passengers drowned and welcomed in 2012 with healthy doses of shock and horror.
The ANC turned a 100. Congratulations, back slaps, hand shakes and fake smiles. While it took a century for the ANC to morph from an admirable struggle movement to ruling party, it may take another 100 years for it's leaders and voters to come to their senses and realise all is certainly not well in South Africa.
Yet another country descends into tumult. Nigeria, while not entirely a contender to the Arab Spring: The Sequel, has erupted in the face of a yet another government desperate to save money, for what real reason, we don't know. Government lackeys will say they need more cash to help improve Africa's most populous country for the greater good. Spluttering into my teeth with stifled laughter I'll nod in mock agreement. Corruption, self-enrichment and a complete disregard for the truth is how I interpret such mundane justifications. I do harbour an inkling of sympathy for Nigeria, though. yet another maddened, bloodthirsty Islamic radical group has emerged out of the wood work in that country. Boko Haram has started wreaking havoc on jihad proportions. And so religion once again rears it's troubled, schizophrenic head. With madness and religious zeal being exported so successfully across the world, who needs dictators.
The Arab Spring seems to have become a winter. Tunisia, the unofficial Godfather of North African dissent marked its one year anniversary since it shrugged off the yoke of authoritarian suffocation. I think a handful of us recognised this, in between new year's diet fads and apathy. Syria's national bloodshed shows absolutely no sign of abating. Same same, shame shame.
What would a new year be without a disaster of some kind. Thankfully Ma Nature has spared us of earthquakes, etc. Human stupidity, though, delivered us an early tragedy in the form of the Costa Concordia, coupled with that good old Italian bravery - the ill-fated cruise liner, captain Francesco Schettino, who jumped ship as passengers drowned and welcomed in 2012 with healthy doses of shock and horror.
The ANC turned a 100. Congratulations, back slaps, hand shakes and fake smiles. While it took a century for the ANC to morph from an admirable struggle movement to ruling party, it may take another 100 years for it's leaders and voters to come to their senses and realise all is certainly not well in South Africa.
Sunday, January 1, 2012
Happy Nowhere Year!
Your year appears to hold much luck and happiness, read my horoscope, the first of 2012. I searched the ceiling, my little piece of 'heaven' for clarity to shine down upon this ambiguous and cock-eyed prediction, compliments of some whack job astrologer called the Doctor of the Stars (read: Poephol with a pony tail). I pondered a more African approach to predicting what a new year holds in store for me. The feeling passed, much like urine through my bladder or a mini-bus taxi through a stop street. The throwing of bones, shivering and speaking in tongues got me thinking... what would Jesus do? Realising the mind wanders even in the face of spooky sangomas and incomprehensible languages, I turned to the east. The Chinese say its the year of the dragon. Apparently much luck lies ahead. 365, no wait, it's a leap year, so one extra day to endure perilous reality and barrages of bulltwang.
Seeing into the future, boy if only I could! But here I lay, my head under the guillotine, awaiting the chop, should my lay person predictions for 2012 not come to fruition. Crystal ball, speak to me, buddy. Poof, a flash, some smoke, I see a vision... the words are becoming clearer - SHAZAM! Economic downturn. Yup, We know little to nothing of what lies ahead... except, the world won't have enough money... AGAIN! And so, while death and taxes are as certain as aging and grass growing, a firm and safe prediction for the new year lies in the state of the world's finances. Expect further hell-and-brimstone headlines; 'Economic crunch lingers' or 'Where'd our money go?' Shock and awe, except, it's not really all that shocking anymore. Same same, as Thai would lament.
Speaking of money going missing, another sure thing for 2012 is the ANC government's unending spending spree. Excuse me while I close my eyes and enter my trance state. Mumble, groan, shiver, salivate, scream and convulse. Another vision appears. I see mansions, blue light convoys, dodgy tenders, luxury vehicles and a complete disregard for the rest of the country. Smells much like 2011, doesn't it? Another certainty comes to me in a vision - Another bride for Jacob Zuma. I see his gut wobble as he prances, resplendent in dead animal hides and feathers, wooing a semi-naked female, herself scantily clad in a bra and beads, a self-satisfied smirk on her face. The dance of love. I've lost count how many Zuma's we as taxpayers are bank-rolling. What's a few more in 2012. But put your money on it, JZ will remain on the prowl this year, not just for prospective brides, but also for more cash and ignorance to keep his party running and his pals in plum jobs. Note, I said party and not country.
What's that in the crevice of my third eye, another apparition-like prediction - Julius Malema, Bloemfontein, succession battle... the vision coruscates into a prophecy or at least a mental e-mail of sorts. Much gnashing of teeth, shaking of hands (laden with cheques and other costly goodies) empty promises, skulduggery, betrayal and much resentment will appear at the ANC's national conference in December. Yes, the future of the party (and the country) will again be pondered and steamrolled into an uncertain reality. My minds suddenly goes blank (I fully expect the same at the conference). Darkness, momentary despair. Depression sets in at the thought of what the ANC has in store for us.
Pure horror occurs to me as I think of Nelson Mandela, what will become of our icon this year? I shudder. Let's not even talk about it. Okay, let's just mention it then. Should we brace ourselves for further rumours of his death (Thanks Bob Mabena. Thanks very much!)
On the technology front, we'll still be Tweeting until our fingers bleed and our brains turn to mush. Twats and tweets and twits and twirps, there's plenty to go around this year. Now the nausea sets in.
Here I was thinking we could shape a new year to, well, look new and different compared to 2011. I may not be an astrologer or Nostradamus's long lost cousin, 18 times removed. But I think I know enough of our history and the recalcitrance of the winds of change, which rarely seem to blow over South Africa these days, to firmly say, with little fear of being grossly inaccurate - Don't hold your breath and expect the powers that be to try too hard to make a change for the better. We, the nobodies, the Joe Publics and Jane Somethings, it's up to us to make changes (be it small), free of government, the ANC, politics and economics. In other words, independent of money-grabbing, power-obesessed, horrifically incompetent morons, who believe they are the centers of real change.
Seeing into the future, boy if only I could! But here I lay, my head under the guillotine, awaiting the chop, should my lay person predictions for 2012 not come to fruition. Crystal ball, speak to me, buddy. Poof, a flash, some smoke, I see a vision... the words are becoming clearer - SHAZAM! Economic downturn. Yup, We know little to nothing of what lies ahead... except, the world won't have enough money... AGAIN! And so, while death and taxes are as certain as aging and grass growing, a firm and safe prediction for the new year lies in the state of the world's finances. Expect further hell-and-brimstone headlines; 'Economic crunch lingers' or 'Where'd our money go?' Shock and awe, except, it's not really all that shocking anymore. Same same, as Thai would lament.
Speaking of money going missing, another sure thing for 2012 is the ANC government's unending spending spree. Excuse me while I close my eyes and enter my trance state. Mumble, groan, shiver, salivate, scream and convulse. Another vision appears. I see mansions, blue light convoys, dodgy tenders, luxury vehicles and a complete disregard for the rest of the country. Smells much like 2011, doesn't it? Another certainty comes to me in a vision - Another bride for Jacob Zuma. I see his gut wobble as he prances, resplendent in dead animal hides and feathers, wooing a semi-naked female, herself scantily clad in a bra and beads, a self-satisfied smirk on her face. The dance of love. I've lost count how many Zuma's we as taxpayers are bank-rolling. What's a few more in 2012. But put your money on it, JZ will remain on the prowl this year, not just for prospective brides, but also for more cash and ignorance to keep his party running and his pals in plum jobs. Note, I said party and not country.
What's that in the crevice of my third eye, another apparition-like prediction - Julius Malema, Bloemfontein, succession battle... the vision coruscates into a prophecy or at least a mental e-mail of sorts. Much gnashing of teeth, shaking of hands (laden with cheques and other costly goodies) empty promises, skulduggery, betrayal and much resentment will appear at the ANC's national conference in December. Yes, the future of the party (and the country) will again be pondered and steamrolled into an uncertain reality. My minds suddenly goes blank (I fully expect the same at the conference). Darkness, momentary despair. Depression sets in at the thought of what the ANC has in store for us.
Pure horror occurs to me as I think of Nelson Mandela, what will become of our icon this year? I shudder. Let's not even talk about it. Okay, let's just mention it then. Should we brace ourselves for further rumours of his death (Thanks Bob Mabena. Thanks very much!)
On the technology front, we'll still be Tweeting until our fingers bleed and our brains turn to mush. Twats and tweets and twits and twirps, there's plenty to go around this year. Now the nausea sets in.
Here I was thinking we could shape a new year to, well, look new and different compared to 2011. I may not be an astrologer or Nostradamus's long lost cousin, 18 times removed. But I think I know enough of our history and the recalcitrance of the winds of change, which rarely seem to blow over South Africa these days, to firmly say, with little fear of being grossly inaccurate - Don't hold your breath and expect the powers that be to try too hard to make a change for the better. We, the nobodies, the Joe Publics and Jane Somethings, it's up to us to make changes (be it small), free of government, the ANC, politics and economics. In other words, independent of money-grabbing, power-obesessed, horrifically incompetent morons, who believe they are the centers of real change.
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