Kritiek Aster — Bruit (Broe-eeh) 3 August 2013

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Olivetti 45 — Things might have to change around here.

I recently received advice from a well-known columnist about my regular column (this here rambling). Around here we respectfully refer to him as Cliffy. My point is that he advised me to write more about my experiences while out and about as Record Astertjie. I was flattered even to get a response, so to follow such wisdom, I thought I’d share my recent alienation from that loving little lounge that has always provided me with a great musical experience.

Well, I do not want to upset any of my regular contacts, favourite bands or estranged friends – but two sticky and recent experiences there leave me wondering whether the scale will tip from mostly visiting for my personal listening pleasure to only visiting when my weekly quota depends on a good entertainment article. That not necessarily means that I’ll hang around there any less, just that my priorities would shift from partying to professional Aster.

This pending fear of agenda changes started with a recent Japan and I gig there, a girly little punk band that sings about Coke (-a Cola), sunshine and money-thieving monkeys. Three hot young Wits students dreamt it up a few years ago and I’ve seen about four of their gigs ever since. According to rumours traveling around the lounge that night, they were recording a new album. My one indie friend foreshadowed their brief set list to consist mainly of “all-new stuff, right” which would completely spoil her mood. Consider our moods spoiled – next we saw they were walking off the stage after only a couple of songs, much to my disappointment. I’ve been a fan since Grade 9 when a weird guy gave me a pirate copy of Japan and I Will Take Over the World. I try to turn these events into some form of journalism and a friend organised an interview with them, but honestly, I was no longer interested.

My posse had their last cigarettes before we left prematurely. The ticket sales lady gave me the evil eye as we exited. The parking lot was just too easy to get out of.

Then I decided, because we like them and I tend to see them play more than my friends have, to treat a friend to a Desmond and the Tutus gig. One particular girl friend fell in love with them in her skater days. Peter, especially, was the one song she could not resist and to our collective surprise, she started dancing in the crowd (she claims to have two left feet). I spoke to Shane Durrant, vocalist, about what might have inspired this strange track. It’s about a girl named Peter, he said, and in a way it is modelled after A Boy Named Sue by Johnny Cash. According to the lyrics, Peter was unlovable because of her name.

“Peter, I just can’t love you the way that you need me to.”

Shane, and yes, I called him Shay in the interview (how embarrassing) seemed rude, uninterested and was mumbling all his answers to me. We rushed off a few typical fan photos and said our thanks. They had a handmade merchandise stand, á-là-Tutus, at which band members themselves sold some t-shirts and tote bags, but was closed when I needed it. I think worst of all was my compromised photo-taking. The recently added second stage was in a humid little room, even more humid when it’s filled with drunk Sandton kids (not the usual crowd, obviously) and my lens kept fogging up.

In between everything we found ourselves crammed around a table in a heavily overcrowded venue, discussing our disgust in this new crowd and the scantily dressed shot girls (another new addition). I shot up when I saw the owner escorting a drunk drug dealer (we met earlier when he asked our table for a lighter, and explained why) out of the venue.

Can you believe that great Straatligkinders and Van Coke Kartel performances were compromised by these less-than-entertaining circumstances? Some might blame it on the new additions to the lounge – said second stage, new bar, new table and extended backyard space – but personally, I blame it on these musicians’ lack of motivation and pride.

Nobody was amped, lest we forget a dear optimist that believes that Shane is just a shy individual.