Naked acoustics

Last night I joined a pride of South Africans in Putney to watch Arno Carstens and Theo Crous sing us happy at the Half Moon. I stole the set list for my friend Andi and made small talk with Arno as we got it signed (Thanks, Jon and Toast, you're my permanent link to all musos in South Africa so I use your names in vain!) The event was, of course, sponsored by The South African so I had my column read back to me by my kick in the side, Nik. How odd. Of course, if you'd like to read this week's column, click here.

What would the world look like...

...if there were no words?

What would our minds feel like, if there were no
.advertising on the station walls
..graffiti on the postbox
...instructions on our take away coffee cups
....newsprint on our Metros
.....rules on our plane tickets
......calorie counts on our chocolate bars
.......missing people on our tree trunks
........promotions on our matches.

Who's shoulder would we read over on the tube?
Where would we look?
Who would we see?
What would we like?
How would we be?

Stages of life

Sometimes I feel like my life is one long music video. I sit inside myself and watch the world float by in musical waves. Sometimes the images are fuzzy, but always the flow is ongoing. And when there is real live music involved, well, the whole effect just somersaults! Like tonight. Sometimes, you see, it is good to go out on a school night because there is opportunity for learning. And if not learning, then at least remembering. Tonight, scuttled under a green and slouched on a couch I watched a stream of romantics strum their hearts on a little wooden platform. And I remembered that despite the various pretexts we put out there, all we really are is emotional beings trying desperately to read the map and plot the right path. And yes, sometimes the lyrics were trite while at other times one sat enthralled, drawn in by the presence of a gentle soul speaking truths - even if they were his truths only. But whether trite or truth, I have to admire these people for doing what I feel would be a very vulnerable exercise; sharing musings on life. And for a few minutes these people found their way into my life and sometimes, the power of a stage and a red light seemed strong enough to wrap us up in a momentary love-affair. And the pictures! The shadow of a mic moved as a bow across the heart of a gentle hat-wearing guitarist, turning the huckleberry finn himself into an instrument. And by his side, a glass of water on a once-velvet chair, seemed to me more art than article.

Yes, it was good to hear lyrics again. To have pace slowed down and lights turned low. Good to hear, to see and to be reminded.

Now can I call myself a Print-cess!