rkd8910

Thursday 14 December 2000
We take it easy - our first (indeed, our only) alcohol free day. We drop the gear off at the Jam in the afternoon and drive up Signal Hill for a 45-minute power nap during the sunset. Then it's back down the hill into town for soundcheck. Sons of Trout are great - a friendly, genuine bunch of guys who make us feel right at home. The Jam is excellent - the PA is powerful, the stage big, the engineer sussed. I am playing through Schalk of Trout's SGR bass amp. Brilliant sound, warm and punchy. We take the stage at 9.35pm. The crowd of around 200 quickly warms to our sound and we play a tight, hard, textbook set. The response is excellent. Afterwards, the feedback offstage confirms the response - we have kicked ass. We watch Sons of Trout - awesome. Six guys very busy making kick-ass music, jumping from violin to sax to bongos, drum and bass and two acoustic guitars for good measure. The vibe is hot and heavy, despite the icy Atlantic wind that gusts through the open windows. Afterwards, we pack down, then head downstairs to 206 for more partying. Home at around 5.30. The sun is rising as we hurtle around the quiet bends into Fishoek, Iain screaming at the startled joggers to wake up. Back to JP's place and we crash hard.

Friday 15 December 2000
We arrive in Hangklip mid-afternoon and set up on the little stage. After a relaxed soundcheck, jamming our new song, as yet untitled, we relax in the room. The front glass door opens onto a porch, looking out to sea. Behind, the 'Klip towers over us. New Flying Machine open for us. They play a passionate set - a very nice, sort of thrashy pop, all original songs (bonus points!). The crowd numbers no more than 40, but the vibe is excellent and we turn in one of most enjoyable sets. Afterwards, we are gratified by compliments not only from the younger contingent, but from silver-haired holiday makers. Most interesting. We repair to the Bush Bar with New Flying Machine. Stepping into the Bush Bar is like entering another world, even though it is a mere 50m walk across the car park. An oval boma constructed from mortar and rough stones, with a floor consisting entirely of soft white sea sand. A rock fireplace and chimney to counter the chill ocean breeze. We drink and philosophize with hosts Kaz and Ed, as the fire burns down, to the liquid West African blues of Ali Farkur Taure. It's easy to see why the motto of the Bush Bar is "where time is an illusion." Eventually, however, fatigue is no illusion and we collapse in the hotel room around 3am.

Saturday 16 December
Leaving Hangklip at 11.30am we head back towards Gordons Bay, stopping for a swim in the Steenbras river mouth, then drive straight to Table View, to the Whammy Bar in Ocean Drive.

The venue is small - a narrow room running away from the street, flanked its entire length by a well-worn bar counter. At the back, there's a pool table. As you mount the single flight of stairs, the tiny stage is on your right. The front of the stage, no more than 3m deep, almost touches the short end of the bar. This will come in useful later. We meet the club owners, Matthew and Rob, and the Roswell Kings, Andy, Andre and Pete. The mood is relaxed and friendly, but Andy warns us that this place rocks hard. The owners are known to throw things at bands they consider lame and are not above inciting the crowd to mayhem with free shooters. It is Rob's 38th birthday and he's ready to party. We set up, soundcheck and head off for supper. Returning around 9.30pm, we find the place good and full. Besides all the unfamiliar faces, a fine contingent of friends.

We are inexpertly announced by one of the regulars, who gets our name wrong - Zen Garden. We kick him off and start. Lulled by the restrained opening rendition of Ode, the crowd responds tentatively. Then we launch into Step Back and heads start bobbing. Our third song is Jammez, noisy, nasty and raw. Whooping from the back confirms we're on. Relax, let out the clutch and let the music drive itself. I'm standing so close to the bar I can reach my cigarette and beer without stepping down. Handy. Andrew is tucked away behind me - but the resourceful owners have mounted a video camera on the bar counter, which feeds the picture of Commander Drumslut in full flight to a TV mounted above the stage, where it can be seen by all the punters squeezed into the narrow alley. Lopsided Affair and people are dancing, crowding the limited space available. We unleash Sister - Bill and Matthew both vigorously nodding appreciation as the crowd gets down with us. The sweat is pouring off me - next, Crazy gives everyone time to recover, then we drop a gear and accelerate with Summer Sun before kicking into overdrive with the full weight of Up. This is followed by Not About You - solid and powerful - and suddenly we're on our last song. I tune back from low D to E as the band creates atmospheric swirls of sound. People look hot, blissed out as the semi-Arabic introduction of Take Out The Trash knits with Andy's drumbeat. Then we dump Trash on their heads and the place melts down.

Afterwards, compliments fly and alcohol flows. Bill, in full birthday mode, plies everyone with grapefruit schnapps and won't let me pay for a single beer or tequila even though I have several. The Roswell Kings follow with their brand of hard, original rock, which the crowd laps up, calling for numerous encores. In the middle of the set, the band leads the entire bar in singing Happy Birthday to our rowdy, but congenial host. Eventually, many shooters and beers later, it's time to go. We bid several rounds of fond farewells to our new friends and stumble down the stairs to the sounds of our demo CD, cranked up to distortion levels. A real blast - a fantastic finale to the tour. We crawl back to Kommetjie, exhausted but still stoked.