Archive for June, 2010

Jack Parow + Radio Kalahari Orkes = WTF moment for the day…


2010
06.23

A still from the music video Blaas Jou Vuvuzela by Radio Kalahari Orkes vs Jack Parow

Jack Parow pulls out the smooth on a so-called zombie...

“Hallo baby, voor ek jou oopmond soen, se vir my: kan jy braaibroodjies maak?”

Okay, so I would’ve written this blog in Afrikaans, only i figured my poor English-speaking readers would probably miss out on all the brilliance and action and sheer gorgonzola bizarreness of what’s being termed as (translated) the first-ever boeremusiek zombie music video: Blaas Jou Vuvuzela by Radio Kalahari Orkes vs Jack Parow. You’re still gonna struggle to understand the language, but a picture speaks a thousand words…

Maybe it’s my fault: the universe heard my plea today for some B-grade zombie brilliance and sent this my way. Or maybe not. Maybe this is some kind of punishment… But then again, I haven’t actually decided yet if I love it, hate it, or want to give up my passport to Afrikanerdom.
Or maybe, it’s just THAT good that it defies any kind of immediate response other than sheer gobsmackedness.
Or maybe you should just watch it and let me know what you think… Sharing is caring, after all!

PS: My husband smaaks the girls in bikinis. Figures.

Take the pretty blue pill…


2010
06.20

Luca Vincenzo on shoot for Pills music video for Pretty Blue Guns.

Luca, aka "the boy in the bubbles". Pics: Thomas Pepler

Looking for some juice to get the creative wheels going? The guys from Bun In The Oven Creative (bitoCREATIVE) can sort you out… And if their recent work on the music video for The Pretty Blue GunsPills is anything to go by, you want them on your side!

bitoCREATIVE is a collective kickstarted a year ago by creative director Luca Vincenzo. It currently has a photography department headed up by Mark Reitz and a film department headed by Adriaan Louw. I had a chat with Luca and got him to fill in some blanks…

I’m lucalucaluca and I’m in the business of ‘make believe’.

My most recent project was directing and producing the music video alongside Adriaan Louw for the new Pretty Blue Guns single, ‘Pills’, off their album Cutting Heads. It entailed an empty attic, confetti and cake, lesbians and loners, little dreams and big egos and the basic idea was a cliché.

On set during Pills music shoot.

A scene from the Pills shoot.

The most frightening moment was when we went into the street to shoot the final scene at 5am after 15 hours of shooting and 3 cop vans screeched to a halt outside the house – turns out they were actually after a dude who broke into a vehicle. When you look at it make sure you turn up the volume and click the ‘View in Full Screen’ option on YouTube. You should look at it. Full stop.

When I was a kid I wanted to make sure I could be a kid forever, this is why I’m doing nothing my parents recommended now. My friends call me Luca and it suits me because that’s my name.

I’d like to work with people who don’t regard themselves as artists because when you give yourself that title I think you lose the essence of creating.

A scene from the Pretty Blue Guns Pills shoot

Would a "Make da circle bigga" joke work?

My proudest moment was when my best friend told me he was proud of me. If I can live a life in balance where I take no more than I need I can probably die happy.

I’m listening to new albums from Local Natives, The Black Keys, Yeasayer, LCD Soundsystem and Foals as well as some all-time favs like Elbow and Broken Social Scene and it all keeps the gears in my head greased.

I drink a lot of Rooibos tea and I probably drink it with more sugar than is necessary, but I have a taste for sweet tea.

My weakness is spiders and you can exploit it by putting a spider in the shower – nothing like naked vulnerability to make you realize you’re just another wild beast.

My next project involves New Holland and after it I’ll probably feel amped for another one. You should read the about section on bitoCREATIVE.com because I want you to visit the website.

My famous last words are 22 years in the making, and counting

If you’re lucky enough to be in Cape Town or surrounds on the 26th of June, make sure you get to the launch of the video for Pills at Zula Bar – check out the details here!

UPDATE: The launch has been and gone, so go check out the video here!

Viva the Vargas girls!


2010
06.18

I’ve recently rediscovered the Vargas girls… Alberto Vargas‘s iconic erotic and pin-up art’s pretty much an established part of pop culture, and instantly recognisable… The girls are all gorgeous and beautifully proportioned… And, to me, a celebration of feminine beauty… And no, I’m not going to go all feminist on how they’re all pretty much perfect! Some examples below… Also check this cool YouTube tribute!

Vargas Girl.

Vargas Girl

Vargas Girl

Vargas Girl

Do yourself a favour and google these girls… Some real beauties out there!

Stick your gees where the sun don’t shine…


2010
06.16

Coloured vuvuzelas

Blow me: it'll make you feel clever.

I’m not one for crowds much: being part of or following… It’s a personal space and anti-lemming thing. And I really, really hate being told what to do, or that I “have” to do something. So organized sport – and dating a first-team jock – has never particularly appealed to me.
(The exception being ballroom dancing and figure skating: the costumes, spray tan and creepy facial expressions keep me amused and vaguely horrified.)

So – gasp! Horror! You cynical un-South African! – I’m really not that bothered by the hype and fuss surrounding the World Cup. Okay, so I’ve bought a pair of WC knickers for each team (Ackermans rocks!), and I watched the opening game and I might even have screamed a little when Tshabalala kicked that first goal… But pretty much all my feelings of patriotism and team spirit and clichéd Ayobaness takes a dive when someone tries to force me to blow a vuvuzela ‘cos “it’s really cool! Get into the spirit!” And things only get worse when some ass actually lifts a vuvuzela to his lips.

I’m specifically talking to you, ass-neighbour and your delinquent ass-teenagers who walk up and down the street blowing the damn thing all day long. I’m trying to have an afternoon nap here! You should know better than to get between a grump and her nap. And shouldn’t you be trying to cop a feel off some giggly chick somewhere? Although I suppose I should be grateful that you’ve given up on your amateur graffiti tagging skills… Suburban Bliss. I have it.

But, vuvuzelas. Someone mentioned that they have their deep and meaningful cultural origins somewhere in tools used when hunting monkeys. Apparently the noise would stun and disorientate monkeys, allowing hunters to pick them off easily.

This makes sense to me. It also explains what happens when people blow vuvuzelas. They stun themselves and their two braincells into a monkeylike stupor, so it’s really not their fault that they can’t remember to remove the plastic trumpet from their lips. Someone just needs to club them and drag them home for a fry-up. I’m happy to oblige. There’s a Louisville slugger at hand just panting for some brain matter. Wielded by the hand of a wild-eyed and sleep-deprived me, it shall wreak righteous vengeance on your vuvuzela. And your ass. Don’t say I didn’t warn you.

Last night a toothbrush ate my face


2010
06.13

Evil toothbrushes.

Note the evil toothbrush expressions. They're coming for you.

Last night, my electric toothbrush went all Stephen King on our butts.

And then, things took a turn for the laughably bizarre when I shouted at the top of my lungs, “Babe, the damn thing doesn’t want to stop vibrating!” What the neighbours must have thought…

After a while of repeatedly ramming the off switch my hubby’s fingers started going numb from the vibrations, so he put the thing down on the rug. Where it proceeded to emit intermittent buzzing noises while jerking around like an indie kid on E – if indie kids spit toothpaste at random intervals. It would have driven the cat insane, if she weren’t wedged halfway under the electric blanket, snoring her head off.

We ended up leaving the thing running in the second bathroom, the one furthest from where we’d be sleeping, to wear itself out. We locked the bathroom door. One can never be too safe, these days.

Seriously, though: oral hygiene of a demonic nature sounds like the perfect plot for a B-grade gorefest. Or a whole new genre of dentistry torture-porn. Just imagine the removable top popping off and the sharp bit drilling into your gums like a demented tattoo needle… And we put stuff like this into our mouths, willingly. Open wide!

Ooh heaven is a cheesy ’80s song…


2010
06.07

I love those moments… When a piece of music fills you with so much glee that it just fizzes through your blood and crackles out your fingertips… You’re singing along at the top of your voice, your smile’s cracking your head wide open and if you weren’t in your car you’d be bouncing around like a jack-in-the-box on E.

Sometimes, you just scream at the top of your lungs ‘cos the feeling gets too much to keep inside. It’s the purest moment of no-strings-attached joy I know of. Music does this to me, often, always unexpectedly. It’s my happy place.

So what’s the lofty melody and stanzas of lyrical genius that got me going this time?

Erm… Nope, it wasn’t a full-on Hendrix experience, the ripping guitar riff of some rock god… It wasn’t the angsty-yet-beautiful Damien Rice or the preppy Vampire Weekend… It was – wait for it, wait for it (and insert gratuitous drumroll here) – Belinda Carlisle! Yes! Specifically, (We want) the same thing. It’s true… A cheesy ‘80s lovesong so familiar that it’s practically cult got me dreaming about picking up a guitar and my legwarmers again. (They’re pink, and they’re in the same drawer as my Tinkerbell pyjamas.)

But somehow, I can’t feel ashamed about this lapse into cringe territory. In fact, I’m thinking it should be mandatory to rock out to Belinda at least once a week. So let me start your happy moment right now: simply click here… Come on, click it… You know you want to!

My kingdom for an afternoon nap!


2010
06.06

Disney's Dozy napping with a rabbit and a raccoon.

Naps: now with added raccoons.

Nothing sucks as much as a failed afternoon nap.

You’re tired, it’s a chilly Sunday afternoon, and the duvet is looking particularly fluffy and inviting. Even the cat has given up on any pretense of being awake and energetic – she barely twitches an ear when you stumble past her and dive into bed.

Ideally, what should happen next is as follows: you hit the cushion face-first. It takes you only seconds to drift into a delicious doze, and a minute or so to really dive into a deep sleep. An hour later, you wake up to a drool-soaked cushion, facial muscles totally relaxed, your head in a happy space and a cup of tea steaming next to you. Bliss.

It should not be peppered with loud sms tones, two phonecalls, an earworm swirling in your head (damn the Beatles and Eight Days A Week), a neighbour with obsessive-compulsive vuvuzela-blowing problems, and a command performance from the local Hadedas. And, of course, said cat suddenly deciding that nose tapping is the new national sport.

And when your tense jaw muscles finally, begrudgingly surface from their uneasy dreamstate, no tea. None! Sacrilege!

Makes a person pretty much want to grump through the remainder of the day. My evil eye just blistered the paint on the wall…