Its a Celebration Bitchez!

The perfect war cry to the perfect debauchery. The somewhat callous line was allegedly said by Rick James as portrayed by Dave Chappelle in one of his comedy skits where he dramatizes Charlie Murphy's embellished recollections of living in the shadow of his brother Eddie "Mr-Fuck-you-man" Murphy. Rick James lived for a little bit longer and we enjoyed him all the more for it because of Dave Chappelle’s all the way across the line hilarious skits.

Now its Lolly Jackson's turn; although his success and triumphs may be considered a tad sleazy the man did drive a Lambo and had the speeding tickets to prove it. Unfortunately his high profile life came to a violent end, the reasons are as yet unclear… however a large cross section of society commemorated the passing of his life… ok, the more giggle worthy bits. The celebration, if you will, of Lolly Jackson was carried out in an increasingly common way, by lampooning the still steaming corpse online. With a name like Lolly, or a surname like Jackson and a profession like owning Teazers, it was a match made in comedy heaven.

Almost any murder is just too much, even though in this case with the reported facts it was probably a logical conclusion to Lolly’s larger than… err life... well, life. Apparently 15 bullets fired into the victim, and a rather humble choice of getaway car from the victim’s extensive collection, followed by a call to confess to the murder (or claim the resultant notoriety, Gianni Versace anyone?) Who could blame the Twitteratti, it was news, it was fresh, it was hashtag worthy and actually it had to be dealt with somehow.

Yes the man was a father, husband and successful business man, allegedly with philanthropic intentions as well which went beyond finding a warm place for women to dance half naked for money. Now that the masses have masticated the topic enough for one night’s entertainment and strange dreams; cooler heads now have a few hours to compose the rest of the hard cold facts for a sober start to the day tomorrow.

It probably doesn’t look good for South Africa in a minor way (which will please the lazy swine who waited for the absolute last minute to get tickets for the World Cup 2010 due to a few more tickets which will probably become available due to this latest brouhaha) however Lolly wasn’t the only person to go down in a violent way today, lets not forget that.

It is a reminder of what lies out there just beyond our computer screens and the information superhighway, and an unfortunate but very relevant high profile reminder to people elected to prevent these sorts of situations that they still have a lot of work to do. So maybe Lolly’s last lapdance for 15 pieces of lead wasn’t in vain.

Music Is

During one pointless summer back in 2003 music stopped being about the moment and started being about the history it made. With the sick ass peeps dragged in from all corners of the globe by Redbull I was experiencing something new musically every single waking hour for better than 6 weeks. Obviously I couldn't cope even though I was pissing Redbull at one point in the wakeful madness. The whole period is one warm glow in my musical memories, nothing too specific... but...

Snippets:-


While in Marvel Street Bar I saw a hot hot Italian woman, turned out to be a one time producer for that now old skool fashion & style show on MTV, Stylissimo (remember that?) It was surreal watching this glamed out gal get down on ALL FOURS at Marvel during a killer moment in an already killer set. Out of nowhere an old bali tried to mount her right there on the floor... then the music switched and everyone regained sanity. I almost tripped over my bottom jaw as I turned to see who was doing this to the peeps on the floor. P Nice... he didn't even crack a smile.


Quote "...It's... it's... it's like he raped his mother or something..." Brandon trying to describe the patently unique way that Markus Wormstorm creates his music.

Upstairs at The Lounge there was a sliver of dance floor, back then anyway, I have no idea what it looks like now... but that doesn't matter. So I overhear some one, who obviously was responsible for the sound there, tell the DJ not to turn up the bass too much. So the DJ nods in response, first track on and the damn floor is vibrating to some murderous drum n bass. The DJ, J Da Flex, obviously doesn't take too kindly to being told what to do when he gets on them decks. Nothing blew that night but it was a scary nice feeling dancing on that floor and feeling it sag rhythmically. Or on numerous occasions feeling my skin vibrating with the bass bin.

Quote "This one if for my grand mother!" Torsten getting me and about three other people to do gangster poses for pictures in the toilets.

I walk in from my bedroom at 6AM to find about seven people gathered around our battered coffee table. These two European journalists suddenly threw down a gang of drugs and proceeded to babble on about how they were shocked at their own greed "because it was sooo cheap!" Cape Town DJ's and artists don't let that shit slide. By the time the Table Mountain cable car opened for its first run up the mountain, the contraband had see flames and peeps were lined up to take in the sights... minus the journalists who allegedly gave up after buying everyone a ticket up the mountain. I went back to my bed, ba peka makgoa.


Quote "..." (utter silence) when I suddenly switched to Swedish in the middle of an interview with Erlend Øye in a glorified spaza shop across the street from Sutra during a live broadcast on Spectrum 91.3 (the Redbull temporary radio station). Dude stepped out into the street and back into the club shaking his head in disbelief thus ending the interview. (Swedish & Norwegian have enough similarities for them to be understandable to both nations)




Quote "... ya know they just ain't gettin it bruv, ya naa meeen?" Tim Westwood whispering aside to me about the confused reacton he got when he played a clip of him in a huge SUV and some party scenes from some random club night in the UK somewhere.


All pics www.redbullmusciacademy.com

Its bigger than... a crush

Minding my own damn business like I do (well... as much as Twitter will allow me to) I came up on (and I love that niggerish phraseology) THIS, I got to say it was with much appreciation that I went through it. A reason to look into the culture of other countries again... OK, Western countries to be more specific. To me the Afripop mag blog update was "The World According to 30 Zimbabweans" Nice, tight, and it made some damn sense. For once it wasn't some peeps bitching about a personified political reality, nor was it some other country gleefully reasserting the "third worldness" of Zimbabwe. Nah man these were world class players doing their damn thing on stages of all kinds in all kinds a places. Aite so Afripop is more about the arts then, say, straight politics, so there wasnt a politician amongst the artists. All the better! At least with really great artists (and I suspect the 30 up on that list fit the bill) you can trust that they don't lie to themselves.

I was pleasantly surprised to find a high school crush up on there, Chipo Chung, daughter of the then Minister of Education of Zimbabwe (Fay Chung) when I was doing hard time at a private boys school over there. My father felt that I needed "toughening up"... I am still wondering what that meant.. err so yeah, anyway... obviously this girl with the Asian persuasion so to speak was different from all the other girls we would get a glimpse of for whatever reason, be it a debate meet at school dance or some rugby meet somewhere. All the boys schools had sister schools that would cheer for them and visa versa; more importantly to stock the school dances with more desirable flesh. Honestly I can't recall ever saying anything intelligent to Chipo, but I do recall a group (can't we call a band of prepubescent boys a "grope" cause that's all that is on their minds 24-7) of us always trying to get a glimpse of this one girl, there were others but hey, you can beat her whole thang.

If only we could have recognised so many things back then... Like the fact that Chipo's mother, Fay, was a no nonsense woman from what I recall, so obviously the daughter was the confident sort, never mind the fact that boys are quite literally pussies at that age. I never saw any negative evidence of it on Chipo, but I know from my boarding school experience being different could be a back handed curse if not an open handed blessing... something that varied from year to year. Girlfriend was just 'aite from where we were crouching. So ya you know if we had recognised a gang of things in the hormone haze of those days... I would be typing a different sort of reminiscence about a girl I didn't ultimately know, and had actually forgot about until today when I discover that she is making a difference much like her other did (and still does) in her day.

Big up Afripop from dredging up a rather pleasant memory in its innocence, big up Chipo not so much for being one of my many frivolous crushes, more for inadvertently making that list "personal" for me and big up life you twisty mofo. I love living this thing.

The Hof (pronounced oaf)

“All culture is dynamic and all human cultures are creative. If all cultures are creative then they are all equivalent - there is no objective, empirical way to measure creativity. How can one culture be superior or better if they are all invention; they're just different that's all.” - The Smiling Lion

This little excerpt from a rather deep (and much longer) lesson about race and colour and all things related is about all I can put out. Long story. Anyway this is all the response I need for some random letter that this false priest of Afrikaners anywhere, Steve Hofmeyr, penned a few weeks ago.

I failed to understand how this guy would sink lower past Malema’s level in direct response to Malema’s entertaining (and yes at times disturbing)points of view. Then Chris Baron from Sunday Times gave this Hofensive Afrikaner an opportunity to make an even greater mockery of himself and boy did The Hof (pronounced ‘oaf’; silent H dontchaknow) go for it.

There is a nice bit of Afrikaans poetry for The Hof; Voetsek jou moer!

Since that is officially off my chest I can move on... faster.

Procrastinistian

Procrastination is a true religion, one with minimal effort on the believer's part... probably why it is so popular.

Believe that! We are still not learning our lessons and yet we are still underachieving to a spectacular level, it fascinates us. And no put away the self help note book, no lessons are gona be taught in this missive. We just wanna show off today...

So Lique is the sweet part of Mirangelique, and Mirangelique is taking shape... All legal, registered with the Tax Man, Company Registration, now working on registering with a market. Not to worry, Mirangelique will do a striptease sometime soon just so you know what its all about.

We got some preliminary logo designs the other day (yes drool, we did) and we have to say Miss Lepang Ferguson is MURDERIN it. It just wouldn't be fair not to show you what we're talking about... we'll let your eyes bleed a little over this.

OK, we're done with showing off, next destination Gettin' Mine. Whoop! Whoop!

To Tweet is Divine

Its been all about twitter recently, so I am having a twipipheny of sorts. Something has become revealed. It is the shared consciousness of faceless personalities. The freedom to really link with a mind irrespective of its flesh and bone sheath. Unfortunately we have a conduit that is quite lifeless, only the interaction makes it seems full of life... the crackberry, laptop, desk top or humble bottom of the range cell phone. The fancier the platform though and one could start to believe that the conduit can take on a life of its own.

Say you are on a much fancier platform then twitter... you know Google Buzz comes to mind... is it not just a striped down Google Wave...? Meanwhile Twitter is a stripped down form of email... and... there we go getting side tracked by the issues beside the issue. So, fancy platforms aside, how ever we may feel about them, the point is we communicate with fewer barriers. The fact that there are hand held devices that facilitate the flow of information means we never need disconnect from the collective consciousness until we are physically asleep... until someone comes up with a way of putting our dreams on the Internet while we sleep... or worse switches off our ability to sleep.

Recently on a little rural trip to see the inheritance the previous generation shall be leaving for the current generation, information about what I was doing was flying thick and fast. Unfortunately it was only a one sided flow of info. New info coming in all the time from out in the field. All text unfortunately but somehow still relevant. The overwhelming realisation of the responsibility about to be placed on our shoulders as the current generation, was made easier by being able to fire off bits of info to minds unseen, yet ready and willing to receive and share the experience. This unseen but very much tangible collective, reachable one text letter at a time offered the same reassurance that some may seek through divine inspiration. That reaching out to the universe for some form of comfort in the form of an answer has become the new religion. As we send that tweet trusting blindly that someone will hear our message... and if I had a blackberry someone would have answered me.

I had lunch

Twitter is a beast. Any kind of beast incredible, intelligent, insightful, informative, instructive, indispensable and any other "in" you can think of. So I met @brownbeads and @sungodess in person. Both were "strangers", @brownbeads less so becasue she had a familiar face, we had definitely been near nodding terms. You know when you can nod at a stranger because you see them so much. I picked up where I left off from the twitter conversations as is my nature, I mean why be a Tweeple and then be a @someoneelse when you meet tweeps in real life. I distinctly got the impression the ladies held back a little. But that's ok. It was only lunch. I am damn sure I was not what they had in mind. But that's OK, I went with no expectations... well other than that @brownbeads was a cutie... turned out she was a real cutie, one with brains, basically she was... is beautiful.

And so we had lunch together... we talked, like you know really talked. None of the innocuous, "Whats the weather like where you come from" jive. We undressed a local business man... OK I did, we trashed one or two people. We lamented this and that. Agreed on a thing or two. One thing is we are officially in a social circle of sorts. We will take steps to widen our other circles to include the three of us... which I dread but you know how it is, you feel you must dilute certain relationships to be able to digest them. And so Andreattah Chuma is about to officially launch herself into the tricky recorded material market. I just tweeted the ladies "@brownbeads & @sungodess what y'all wearing. Lets coordinate 4 this listening thang. I wanna make an entrance like some pimp daddy. Yes? No?" Lets see if they just keep it Tweal. Lunch was a celebration, two scoops! Celebrating Life (yes Gladwinner, you!) Taking it all in. Seeing what 140 characters can add to a person's life and frankly, it was a great celebration.

Twitter makes me realise how dumb I am every day - @sungodess

Yes... but it was a coincidence - @brownbeads (question was, Are your panties also pink? She had on pink shoes, nails, and top... but the toe nails were red... ho figure?)

Now I just have to cull some real life "friends..."

Got to keep it tight in 20turn.