Lloyd Coutts Uncategorized

Mysteries

I’ve always been fascinated by some of the world’s great mysteries, like how exactly the aliens built the pyramids and how the Illuminati managed to get George Bush into office not once but twice.

Then there are the Nazsca lines in Peru. That one really has me stumped. How the aliens were supposed to navigate their spaceships by the 35 km square monkey drawn on the ground just boggles the mind.

I think there may be a clue in the close resemblance between Bush and the monkey, giving some credence to the theory that the aliens originally crash-landed in Sumeria and spliced their genes with an ape to make slaves to work in the mines.

bush   nazscar

Caption: George Bush (left) and the giant monkey in Peru.

Then there’s the Mona Lisa’s smile. What could it possibly mean? I just don’t buy the theory that it’s actually Leonardo Da Vinci thinking about his apprentices in the shower. C’mon. Look at the differences.

mona     mona

Caption: Leonardo (left) and Mona.

Then there are the heads on Easter Island, Atlantis (and also the island that disappeared under the sea), the maps of Antarctica before the Ice Age, the crop circles, Stonehenge and that real brain-teaser Paris Hilton (see illustration below).

parking

Caption: Paris Hilton before the personality bypass.

I will not even begin to get into the existential and metaphysical realm of why men get married more than once and what women want.

It is a strange and mystical world indeed, but there is no greater mystery to me than the Incident with Gary and the Curry Powder.

As with all great tales of intrigue, this story began with the band going out to see if we could get pissed.

Because we are such a hard-working band, the experiment was a roaring success, and we blearily staggered off to find the car in the middle of the night.

When Gary attempted to drive off in a small bus using a small sachet of sugar as a key, it occurred to me that I’d better be the one to drive us all home.

And so we set off, Gary’s head lolling about on his shoulders rather alarmingly. I had no idea someone with absolutely no ability or inclination to dance could pull off those moves.

Anyway we eventually made it home. I got Gary up the lift.

At the door to our abode I made a critical decision.

I thought. That’s OK, we’re home now. So I peeled right to get to my bed on the balcony. (Bed is a very strong word for the thing I slept on.)

But I digress. I saw Gary reeling off to the right and I thought: It’s five steps, how much trouble could he get into?

I slept.

In the morning I shuffled off to the kitchen to get a cup of coffee and nearly broke my neck when one of my slippers shot out from under me, having slipped on something.

Steadying myself on the used pots and pans stacked in the corner, I beheld a truly awesome sight.

The floor was covered in curry powder. I mean not just a light sprinkling, like they do on your plates in the fancy restaurants to justify the prices, but a good solid, inch-thick layer of Robertson’s hot curry powder (the reddish packet).

Just then H stumbled in for his morning sugar with a dash of coffee.

What the f… broe, said H, which is usually how he greets me in the morning anyway.

I don’t know what’s going on broe, I said. I had nothing to do with this.

We looked around, and spotted a trail of curry powder leading to Gary’s room.

Like Hansel and Gretel we followed the trail into Gary’s room.

Said drummer was passed out on his bed, the wrong way round, head hanging over the back, fast asleep.

Next to him was an empty tequila bottle with a layer of thick fluid that looked suspiciously like some kind of liquid mixed with curry powder, which is exactly what it turned out to be.

The mystery deepened. Next to the bottle was a small teaspoon.

What the f… broe? H is a man of few words.

We stood staring at this truly wondrous phenomenon. What could Gary possibly have been doing with an empty tequila bottle, a spoon and a film of curry sludge?

Was he cooking the stuff and spiking it? We could find no sign of a needle.

What do drummers do with curry powder and small spoons in the middle of the night? What wonderful world do these strange creatures inhabit that leads them to take to bed with them an empty tequila bottle, some curry powder and a small spoon?

Why did we know nothing of what clearly must be another way to get your kicks before the whole shithouse goes up in flames?

Alas we were never to find out.

Gary, awoken from his slumber, had no answers. He was as mystified as we were.

What the f… broe, were his exact words, as I recall.

We’ve never solved that little mystery, and I suspect we never will.

Lloyd Coutts MUSIC VIDEOS, Uncategorized

The Hell to Come

Saturday November 10, 2018. Soundcheck at Rumours Rock City on the night of the album launch.

It’s hot as Hades and we’re sweating like politicians trying to explain themselves before a Parliamentary committee.

The venue itself is exactly what I was expecting, very rock ‘n roll. Black walls, sparse furnishings, the stale smell of cigarette smoke.

I’m waiting for the nerves to kick in, but there’s no sign of them.

Setting up my home-made lyrics prompter and vocal monitor turns out to be trickIer than I thought, but eventually we get it going with the help of the sound engineer.

There are no drum mics, so we wait.

Check the guitars. go through the tedium of checking every drum. Tom tom tom. Tom tom tom. Tom tom tom.

The vocals sound OK, although the bass in my monitor is very low. The overall mix is fine because we’re all so close together.

Next to soundcheck are One Man Down, and they sound great as usual. Much more demanding of the sound engineer than we were.

Home to shower and collect boxes of CDs.

Still no sign of nerves.

Get back to the venue, there are people there early. Not sure to what to do myself. Where’s the green room? No green room but the bathrooms are nice enough.

There’s another band launching their album in the downstairs venue, so I go down to put up a sign saying Ponies launch upstairs.

I’m told there have been plenty of people looking for us, which is heartening.

I notice our name on the board outside, so I get a picture of it.

Back upstairs and there’s a sizeable crowd, with many familiar faces.

Before I know it, One Man Down are onstage.

They’re slick, as usual. Their songs are catchy and original. Their harmonies are beautiful. The electrical guitar is sparse but present and on point, the bass does its job, sitting in the pocket like a machine.

They use a cajon box drum, which why I think Indie whenever I see them perform, I suppose.

They have actual fans, as shown here.

I spend most of their set filming them, but suddenly realise that there is one hell of a racket coming from downstairs that must be incredibly off-putting for them.

They don’t bat an eyelid.

Then it’s the turn of Jeremy Franklin and the AllStars. They didn’t sound check earlier for logistical reasons, so there’s a bit of fiddling around.

But they kick off and after a few adjustments they have the crowd moving to their great Afro rock rhythms and beat.

In the meantime I find out from One Man Down that playing with the racket from downstairs was a little unnerving.

The trepidation kicks in, but still no nerves.

The band is spread across the venue, chatting to their various guests.

Eventually it’s our turn, and the noise from the downstairs venue has turned into a deafening roar.

This is going to be interesting, I think.

We’re onstage and set up. No nerves. What the hell is going on?

There’s nothing for it but to play through this noise, I think, and we kick into ‘Waiting for Ricus’.

Instinct takes over and the song is over before I know it.

I’m still not feeling connected.

I can barely hear my bass, but I’m assuming it’s sitting fine in the mix.

Never mind. No nerves.

Bonnie No 5 is next, which is one of my favourites.

It’s fairly easy to play and really rollicks along.

The noise from downstairs is intruding, and I realise it’s because there is no intervening wall, nothing at all to block the sound.

It seems our audience can hear us fine, but I’m struggling to hear the rest of the band, even though we are literally centimetres away from one another.

But the crowd seems to be enjoying what we’re doing.

We seem to have found the groove almost instantly. I’m in the zone anyway, and when that happens I can usually assume that everyone else is.

There’s a drunk heckling me. Oh God, it’s a friend of mine. But you can’t show any fear, or favour for that matter. So I chirp right back.

Ryan’s having a good time. He’s grinning from ear to ear.

There’s a woman in a red dress dancing in front of us.

It looks amazing from stage.

The video below does not have the best sound quality, but you can get the CD for that, and you can quite clearly hear the bands downstairs thrashing away.

Still onstage, I feel this truly is a baptism of fire us. It feels like we are trying to perform during an artillery bombardment.

At one point I know I am playing the wrong notes completely because I simply cannot hear the bass.

Our most tender love song, Ulysses is completely ruined by our competitors downstairs, who sounded as though they had opened the gates of Hell.

The set goes by in a blur.

With sweat stinging my eyes to the point where I cannot see, we finish on a cover, Cream’s Sunshine of your love.

There are calls for en encore, but we just can’t get above the noise, and besides, I’m knackered.

But I look around and I think the band is pretty pleased with itself, although no one says much.

I think we’re all a little shell-shocked as we stumble off the stage, exhausted, the roar of the hounds of the underworld still ringing in our ears.

I’m happy to say I’m still waiting for the nerves to kick in.

(Photographs by Elna Harmse.)

Lloyd Coutts Uncategorized

Fan reviews: Based on an Original Idea

“So after the launch on Saturday, I finally found a quiet time this evening to crack open my copy of the album and sit under my headphones. Remarkable. I pride myself as being a collector and follower of music for 47 years, and this is a gem.

As the last track ended, I found myself in a melancholy mist as one would feel after reading a moving book, or watching an inspiring movie..

In a world of plastic music and Trendies trying to pass off odd sounds as uniquely current, this is a breath of fresh sweet air. You guys rock!! get this out to the world, it has class written all over it.”😍  – Stephen Forssman

 

And here’s an actual picture of someone, front man of One Man Down, the magnificent indie band that opened for us, Dave Shortland, buying the album.

 

 

tim_cohen Uncategorized

ALBUM REVIEW: ANDRE ERASMUS

So, I listened the album ‘Based on an Original Idea’ by The Ponies and because I know Lloyd and used to do music reviews, I thought I’d post my thoughts:

The Ponies are well worth the ride, I reckon.

A former journalist colleague of mine (I hired him, in fact) is Lloyd Coutts. He now lives in Jo’burg, no longer PE, and I’m now in the UK. A lot of water has passed under our respective bridges since those heady days of the 80s and 90s when press restrictions made reporting the death throes of Apartheid interesting.

Among other things, Lloyd now plays bass, writes songs and sings for a band called The Ponies – an indie rock band who have released their debut album, Based on an Original Idea, and the band features three journalists, an asset manager and an advertising industry video editor in its line-up.

The other journos are guitarists Tim Cohen and Richard Jurgens while video editor Ryan Norwood-Young (guitar) and asset manager Ricus Reeders (drums) complete the band. Who said drummers weren’t an asset? The drumming and patterns by Reeders are particularly impressive.

Supporting the independent rock tradition of South Africa, The Ponies come galloping in with this album of original songs, mostly penned by Coutts. I understand the album could be up for a South African Music award as best alternative album…
Well, it certainly has the potential.

From the opening guitar-driven Bonnie No 5 and the instantly likeable Jimi Hendrix tribute Buster to the more soulful Ulysses and the more spiritual sounds of Galaxy Glow as well as personal songs like Air On A Shoestring and Anti-Co-Dependency Song, this album covers all the bases.

It’s a definite ‘hats off’ to Coutts for his song writing and to the band overall for a fine debut album and their tight sound. Based on an Original Idea would get my vote for the SAMA award.