The new flag of the "Free the Western Cape" movement has caused quite the social media buzz. We look at the symbolism behind it.
The Cape Party is a depressing reminder that there are people out there who still believe they aren’t South Africans.
Every Wednesdayish, some friends and I hold a listening evening over Zoom. It sprung out of a real world book club and is, of course, a creative way of dealing with lockdown ennui. A different person every week plays five songs based around a loose theme. And the theme can be as loose as “Happy... Continue Reading →
In the long ago, early days of the internet, when dinosaurs roamed free on the plains of MySpace, it used to be a truism that pornography drove technological progress. Some pundits claim that the US military wouldn’t have got the sizeable user base they did when they invented the internet, without the avid consumers... Continue Reading →
There’ve been a few reviews of Caryn Dolley’s The Enforcers: Inside Cape Town’s deadly nightclub battles that say things like it “[reads] like a fast-paced crime thriller”. It really doesn’t, it’s much better than that. It reads like excellent and meticulous investigative journalism, and the matter-of-factness of the murders, drug deals and police culpability are what... Continue Reading →
There are many celebrated examples of people who see the world from a phallocentric perspective, or, to use the less staid feminist terminology, think like a dick. Twitter abounds with these, to the extent that we even have a name for them: trolls. Twitter’s chief executive recently admitted (and this is verbatim) that the company... Continue Reading →
Piet Botha (18 July 1955 - 02 June 2019) An interview I was privileged to do with Piet, in those far off days (2012) when we still had music publications in South Africa that did meaty stories. Previously published in Rolling Stone magazine (South Africa).
The friend who showed me the Chelsea Hotel killed himself three months later. A month after that, the Chelsea was taken over by developers, and its long, seventy-plus years of bohemian excess and wonder was finished. Inadvertently, I’d managed to see an iconic building, one that had always figured large on my list of artistic... Continue Reading →
Hallelujah’s very name is an affront to the haters, hinting as it does at the quasi-religious, cultish status the style-challenged attribute to the trappings of hipsterdom. And Hallelujah is situated alongside The Power and The Glory, that innocuous bar that appears to have been granted the mantle of hipster nexus by the sad, unthinkingly eager... Continue Reading →