Megan's Head

A place where Megan gets off her head.

Category: muse ik (Page 3 of 3)

Fiddle East here in Woodstock

I am still recovering from the cricket world’s most exciting test draw! I managed four and a half days of it live, at Newlands, left on the fifth day at 15.10 when I could not contain the ants in my pants, and less than two hours later things went ballistic. I must share my opinion. The Proteas gave that game away. Too little too late.

Anyhoo, it’s back to the orifice for me, where I am writing an industrial theatre script and longing for Newlands. What it also means is that I have to be serious about going back to gym properly, which I did yesterday.

Only, last night I went to the Balkanology Fiddle East party, here in Woodstock, at the Albert Hall. I have been to one other Balkanology party, the one that was held at The German Club, off Hope Street; the one where they raffled a pig, and it was a crush of people, but seriously good fun (although I couldn’t get inside for most of the night).

Last night’s one, with the promise of Middle Eastern music, was directly up my alley, and also geographically in my back yard. I wasn’t going to miss it.

My friend and I did what all old people do; we got there 20 minutes after the door opened, and nobody (except for a few over-exciteds like me) was there. We got served at the bar (without waiting 40 minutes like my other friend did an hour later) and even had a place to sit and chat before we started dancing.

rachid_taha First up as dj was James Webb, and I was like a pig in pooh. He played my music. Music like Rachid Taha. I have fantasised about dancing to Rachid Taha at jauls but have never thought it would come true. There I was. (He looks like a mad, Algerian version of The Boss, no?) I went a bit insane, I have to say. By the end of the set the place was full and I was drenched and out of breath! (I can’t tell you how stiff I am this morning!)

Next up was a dj who played more Egyptian sounds which was also fantastic. By then I had become a bit of a policeman with people smoking inside. Then it was the more Eastern European true Balkan gypsy, circus sounds from the next dj.

It had suddenly become very, very full, and it was too windy to be outside. Not long after my friend came back with drinks we decided to call it a night. I had got what I went for; a big, fat skop to my soul music! As we left we noticed the hip and trendy, in a long queue, waiting to get in. Oh, my ancientness paid off.

Dave Ferguson was on the roof.

five What could be better than spending New Year’s day afternoon on the trailer park rooftop garden of The Grand Daddy in Long Street?

We were packed on top of the roof to watch and listen to the funky sounds of lone man Dave as he looped his beats, breathed living soul into his suitcase of harmonicas and rasped over the mic. Sexy, sultry and very hillbilly chic. I love Dave. He just gets better and better, and even though he said it had been a long night and day (he had performed two sets at the New Year’s trance party yesterday morning) he got up in front of us and blew us away. White Girl is my favourite.

dave-ferguson The rooftop gig seems to be a regular Friday arvie thing. Get there early and grab a spot. We were too late for a really good spot so we had to squat on somebody’s trailer’s stoep. They were very nice about it. The gig is free, but the costs are made up for it in the drinks! I did have a really delicious chili popper on a stick though. The weather was perfect up there and it was a big, fat jaul. See you there next Friday for an early afternoon sundowner?

Brill Brills

n129257256411_5077 So Big Friendly and I trekked to Muizenberg last night (I always find it so funny that Cape Slownians find the 20 minute drive a trek) to go and listen to Heather Mac and The Brills (Mark Harris, Tonia Selley and Ian Cohen). And what a lekker gig it was. Heather was so in voice and the others are fine musos. Heather’s new song is fantastic and one or two of the older ones still klap me and I ended up smearing my mascara.

We were properly in Cape Town, with aging hippy jollers, and more than half of those I recognised were grey, or fat or spectacled. We are all getting old. But in such a delightfully Cape Town way. We must get out more.

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