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.