SO when is it not wet and windy in Cape Town? I was about to abandon myself to the elements and head for the nearest Battery 9 gig when a pair of headlights split the night. I straighten out. My thumb, by now used to its role as travel agent, upright. The car slows down and a well disguised Afrikaans accent drawls, “Get in … “
The badly battered radio is almost tuned to an acid jazz station and the cool sounds mix with the heady aroma of nasty Cape Town weed and old schnapps. The driver, a weird affair with a zebra dye hairjob and a nasally voice, whined along to the tortured guitars. “Hi, I’m Grant … this is Fanus … anywhere in particular?” “No … just out,” I almost whispered as he casually bummed my last Stuyvesant.
As we drive through the slick night, my two newly acquired companions belt out ditties of long-lost lovers, depression and future lovers right over the cool jazz and white noise emanating from the radio. We pulled up in front of a club called The Loft and Grant mutters “Won’t be long .”
Inside the club is lit by intermittent bursts of purple light, home movies and out of focus slides. Then my travelling companions take to the stage and, as they start to play, the additional distortion only adds another dimension to their sound, making their stories even more enthralling.
The guitars, manned by Chris and Jean, chirp like the dying twitches of the last replicant in Blade Runner and Grant grabs the microphone with all the arrogance of someone who knows he could be the next big thing. Brian keeps up an unsteady beat while Fanus lays down some of the wickedest bass since Bootsy Collins had his brain de-wormed.
The guitars weave intricate melodies and I watch Boom Slang launch their new CD, Fantasy Friend, to a frontline of swirling young things and a back row of ultra-cool Capetonians out to be seen. This is where the weekend begins and sobriety ends … The guitars buzz like runaway chainsaws underneath a huge silver snake and I start bouncing up and down as they launch into Joeline. Starting off slowly in the back of a car and ending up with a climax that even got some of the back row moving.
The guitars hammer like the blues banishing machines they are and I down another Boom Slang: a vicious concoction of tequila, vodka and red wine. “Wees versigtig, dit sal jou pik (Be careful it will bite you),” laughs Grant. I weave about unsteadily as the band serve up another cocktail of jazz, reggae, grunge and rap. Finally, yeah, Boom Slang are as laid back and as tense as you might expect from a band that names such a claustrophobic drink after itself. “Wees versigtig dit sal jou pik”. And the CD isn’t bad either. But hey, don’t believe me. Check them out at the River Club on November 1.