TFC

This one is for the Womb.

I spent the past Saturday getting acquainted with the bands of Cape Town. Two of my roommates and a couple of new friends took a trip to Stellenbosch, in the heart of the Cape winelands. It was the perfect day to be outside: sunny, with a nippy wind blowing the clouds into shapes from my childhood. We were at a fair on a school’s cricket grounds, surrounded by the mountains, with the occasional horse grazing in the distance. The fair boasted of food, beer, wine and loads of scampering children. We spent close to an hour in line to buy something called “twisters”, which were twirls of fried potato on a kebab stick, sprinkled with flavours of your choice (peri-peri being mine). With food and drinks, we plonked on the surprisingly soft grass to check out the entertainment of the evening.

The opening acts were teenaged girls from the school with unexpectedly good voices, belting out everything from American Pie to Avril Lavigne. They were followed by a Namibian group (boy-band?) who sang some of their own music, backed by the school’s choir. One of the three lead singers sounded shockingly similar to Shaggy, and the other two were quite good as well. The main performance of the evening, though, was Freshly Ground, the very famous South African Afro-fusion group who lived up to my rather high expectations of them. I had only heard one of their songs before hearing them live (fat thighs, flabby arms, a pot belly still gives good loving…), but now I am thoroughly hooked to the rest of their music as well. Their music is a mix of African and urban sounds and languages, and they use both Western and African instruments. My favourite thing about the band is voice of the lead singer—she takes the whole ensemble to a new level. And the whole group dances on stage, amidst the playing and singing—I want to dance like that!

Freshly Ground were followed by a band called GoldFish. It wasn’t a band as much as a couple of people mixing tracks, and adding some live music to the mix. Good, but nowhere as phenomenal as Freshly Ground. But the crowd, which consisted mainly of the school’s students, went wild for them. In addition to being an introduction to new music, the evening served as a reminder of how far behind my teenage years have been left. There were kids in braces running around everywhere, drenched in mock-coolness as they huddled in same-gender groups to pass comments on the groups of the opposite-sex. Please tell me I was never this awkward.

We moved venues to check out the last band of the evening, driving to a small bar in Gordon’s Bay to see the Parlotones, a South African indie, punk rock-ish band. The place was sold out by the time we got there, and the wind off the water was chilling my bones. But we stood near the tented-open-section of the bar listening to the band, dedicated fans as we are. Or at least we did, until we saw an opening between tent flaps and slipped into the pub one by one. There was a lady giving us the look of death, but we were already inside and next to the stage before she could say anything. The band was fantastic! They have an edgy, urban sound, with the usual punk-rocker-angst lyrics and better-than-usual vocals and drums. The packed, communal atmosphere of the pub and the nature of the music reminded me strongly of the days of my youth, rocking out at Terrace. And indeed the entire Saturday evening checking out new sounds with friends was all TFC. And somehow it helped that the lead singer of the Parlotones was wearing more kajal (kohl) than I usually do. I think I’m slightly in love with him.

As I write this, the street outside my office is going crazy. The SpringBoks are coming home to CT, after their World Cup victory. The whole street is cordoned off, and the vuvuzelas are out in full force. This is going to be great. I’m off.

I saw the Boks! My throat is hoarse! I got a free poster! I have confetti in my hair! Bokke Bokke Bokke!!!

FOOD = LOVE