Mon 11-12-00
Andy informs us that Thursday's gig at Chili 'n Lime (Somerset Road, heading into Sea Point from Town) is off. The Jo Rowlands Band with whom we were to play, has already cancelled. It transpires that the venue wants to charge us R200 for playing! Their justification is that they have to cover their "expenses". In addition they want a cut of the door! Considering that they have not spent a cent on advertising, nor on PA (Zen Arcade has had to supply both), I am dumbfounded. Surely they can't expect us to cover their basic running costs - on a Thursday night at the onset of tourist season? A word of caution to any unwary musicians reading this - the Chili 'n Lime owners are specimens of the lowest form of steaming filth one finds sticking to the shoes of the local music biz. Scum sucking parasites and clip-artists who are in it to make a quick buck off the backs of people trying to earn an honest living in a tough industry. They deserve every misfortune that befalls them and more. On a positive note, Andrew rather mysteriously says he has another plan.
After lunch, Andy and Iain go sightseeing, after dropping me off at Jo Rowlands. One of my oldest and dearest friends, a beautiful, magical woman with a singing voice that can melt bone marrow at 100 paces. She is organizing the members of her band (the Jo Rowlands Band) as well as a series of Saturday afternoon blues gigs in Monkey Valley with Chris Lee on piano. I have to design a poster for the Big Tree - none of the posters we sent ahead (at great expense) have arrived. In between we find time to catch up, enjoying beers on the sunny front stoep, less than 100m from the fynbos windbreak that shields the quiet cul-de-sac from the winds that rush up the shingle beach off the icy Kommetjie water. A perfect day.
Around 7pm I'm driving again - down the M5 and Liesbeeck Parkway to Observatory, for a night out with Janet & Michael, who have recently moved to Cape Town from Johannesburg. We meet up at Cool Runnings with Brett from Saatchi's. Much drinking ensues. Beer, shooters, whiskey. We end up back at the Finch's house. I pour myself a massive Scotch, take one gulp and ... pass out. |
