Posts Tagged ‘parlotones


SA Needs Edgier Bands

Every time I get into a debate about South African music I always feel like a total jerk because I don’t really follow the local scene that closely so I’m pretty goddamn ignorant, truth be told.



Still though, local bands don’t really blow my hair back and I say that with the utmost respect to the bands playing in SA because I know it’s fucking hard work and they constantly have to deal with all kinds of rejection, frustration and apathy from audiences who would rather be listening to Lady Gaga blasted over the speakers in some douche-ridden piss hole with a buncha assholes in collared shirts and slut-bags in tiny skirts with and too much self-tan.

But still, I feel it’s time we upped our game. We need edgier bands. Say what you will about Die Antwoord, but they have one thing in their favour that cannot be faulted – a lot of guts.



They went out there guns blazin’ and shook things up a little. They shocked people, they took people out of their comfort zones, they were rough, siff and ready and the world snatched them up in a heartbeat.

As a country, I think it’s fucking heartbreaking how much talent we have that goes to waste because we’re good enough to get so far, but no further.

It’s like there’s this invisible barrier of FAIL that our artists and musicians and writers hit and then they do one of two things, either go totally mainstream and sell out in every conceivable way in an effort to try and stay on top, or they just die outright.



Like I said, we need to push the boundaries more, we need to not be so goddamn afraid to do some crazy shit, although I’m a great one to speak.

There was a time when I played my guitar more than I didn’t, when music flowed through me like water through a rusty faucet and came out the other side dirty and beautiful and flecked with pieces of myself infused with something pure as glacial ice.

But that guy, he gave up before he got anywhere. He gigs in his bedroom sometimes. Back in ‘08 he played the Lounge Arena for an audience of one cat. What a fucking chump.



If anything I guess I’m writing this to tell all those crazy kids out there to stop fucking around and to get more crazy. Don’t do what Tiger-Don’t did and just fucking wimp out. Steel yourselves and get out there and fuck some shit up!

So here’s the dealy-o, I’ll play you crazy basterds a song that is rocking my fucking world right now and if anyone out there knows a band currently playing is SA that sounds in any way similar to this, fucking let it be known brothers and sisters!

Turn me onto that crazy shit and I’ll get behind those fuckers and do what I can in my own Tiger way to support a scene that really needs it.

Here’s The Kills with “Future Starts Slow” off their new album, which drops this week called Blood Pressures.



Can I get a fuck yeah?!

Fuck yeah.



Quick, Everyone! In The Crate!

My favourite moment as a blogger is when people ask me what other blogs I read.

“What?!” I invariably reply, “there are other blogs on the internet?! Holy shit, no! I don’t read that garbage, it’s bad enough that I write one, why the hell would I want to read someone elses?”

But the sad truth is that I too get miserably bored at work sometimes and find myself gravitating toward other blog sites, mostly just to affirm the fact that I am pretty much the Anti-Christ of South African bloggers and probably always will be.



Shaun Oakes has his moments too though – that whole Marine Taxis debacle that went down a few weeks back? Hilarious! And brilliantly handled too, made me wish some crazy old bat would bless this site with her incoherent, hate-fuelled ramblings. A guy can only hope…

And so I stumbled on his post about some Smirnoff hamper he was giving away on his site for this new thing Smirnoff is doing where they are going to put South Africa’s nightlife in a crate and ship it to some random country overseas.

Then they open it in the middle of a huge party with hundreds of people gathered there and BAM! Out jump The Parlotones!



Hahaha! Sorry, couldn’t resist 😉

No, they open the crate and BAM! Out jumps something, or at least a whole bunch of somethings that people have voted into the crate on Facebook.

The final say as to what exactly goes into the crate is decided by DJ Euphonic and DJ Fresh which totally defeats the object if you ask me because with stand-up guys like that calling the shots, there’s no way any crazy shit’s gonna get in there.

And, as anyone who’s truly experienced it can attest, SA nightlife is ALL about the crazy shit.

Me, I’d put David Kramer in there, no question about it.



Imagine everyone’s surprise when ol’ Dawie jumps out on the other side, banging out “The Royal Hotel” or “Biscuits And Biltong” on his guitar to a totally bewildered crowd of snooty, too-cool-for-school partygoers who have probably never once in their lives sat around a blazing fire with their buddies talking shit and listening to Mr Kramer’s classic ballads intermingled with the distant sounds of lions banging somewhere.

I think it’s a cute idea and all but I just don’t think what comes out of our crate on the other side is really going to blow anyone’s mind – does that make me a cynical basterd?

All we can hope, hope and pray, hope, pray and dream is that we get Columbia’s crate.

Now THAT’S a party I’d give a toe to be at, hooooooooooooooooo-weeeeeeeeeeeeee!

But seriously, am I the only one who thinks a crate packed full of Vuvuzelas, boerie rolls and Freshly Ground is a sure-fire recipe for a distinctly average night out?



Tiger Out

Hey guys, wattup? I didn’t post this weekend because basically all I did was pack, pack, pack, pack, pack, pack, pack, pack, pack, pack, pack, pack, pack, pack and after all that packing, I packed, packed, packed, packed and fucking packed some more.

Fuck! Can you handle all that packing? I sure as hell couldn’t! I think I’ve lost my mind a little, jayziz! Probably shouldn’t have dicked around so much during the week…



This post is to apologise in advance for what a scrappy week this is going to be. Today at 2pm I head to Bloem, then tomorrow I nail the rest of the drive to CT, then Wednesday morning I leave for a 3 day conference with my new company where I probably won’t be able to blog.

If I could, I would blog my ass off while road trippin’, but I’m handing back my work laptop and don’t have one besides that.

BUT, I’m not a total douchebag. To keep you guys entertained while I’m away, here are this site’s top posts to date. Read ‘em slowly, maybe like one a day until I get back on the horse, that way you won’t miss me too badly / forget about me completely.

Wish me luck, and if anything bad happens, always remember that in this life, it’s better to be a slick willy than a smooth arsehole.

Here are the posts:


NO.1 “The SlickTiger Guide To Klapping Gym Boet!” (Click it BOET! EAT SOME WEIGHTS!)


NO. 2 “A Sad Day For Dogs” (who knew this post would be so popular?! Weird I tell you, flippin weird) 


NO. 3 “Death By Ayoba!” (the first post that got people all antsy about this site, a classic!) 


NO. 4 “The Parlotones Irritate The Living Shit Out Of Me” (self explanatory really…) 


NO. 5 “My Top 5 Calvin & Hobbes Christmas Cartoons” (I love Calvin & Hobbes, this is why)


NO. 6 “Halloween Dos And Donts – A Course For Social Retards” (includes a dildo!)


NO. 7 “Top Billing Is Desensitising My Gag Reflex” (man did I have fun writing this one!)


NO. 8 “The Most Hungover I’ve Ever Been At Work” (DON’T read this while eating. In fact, probably DON’T read this AT ALL)


NO. 9 “Who Cares About The Killers?” (cause seriously, who the fuck does?)


NO. 10 “The One Thing I Feel Is Missing From The Interweb” (*5! Yeah! Good for you? Awesome, me too)


So yeah, enjoy! And I’ll see you guys on the other side.

Keep on keepin’ on 😉



The Three Evilest Shots You’ll Ever Drink

If you’re the type of person who enjoys this blog, then I’m just gonna jump right in there, take a shot in the dark and guess that you probably don’t mind a drink from time to time.

You don’t mind a drink from time to time, you don’t mind going out with your friends and maybe doing a sneaky tequila or two, you have nothing against that. You don’t mind opening a fine bottle of wine and drinking the whole thing by yourself, that’s fine by you, and you don’t mind taking a hip flask of whisky to work everyday and taking large gulps under your desk when no one’s looking, you know, just to steady your hands a little.



We don’t judge here at Them’s Fightin’ Words, well unless you’re MTN, The Parlotones, 30 Seconds To Mars, a fascist pig, or any number of other things that irritate the shit out of me. I like drunks though, so you guys are safe.

In fact, a lot of my good friends are well accomplished drunks, and I’ve followed their drinking careers in some cases right from the first drink I forced them to down. You know where you stand with a drunk because the second they’ve had a few, THE TRUTH starts flowing like a fountain of milk and honey from their wet, booze soaked lips, usually with hilarious consequences.

Also, I love watching the body language of truly wasted people, especially when they’re trying to get some ass. Take this one friend of mine for example, we’ll just call him X, to avoid an awkward conversation later today. When he’s nice and lubed up he’ll approach his target, leaning backward at an angle of 45 degrees from the floor. Then once he’s made his approach, he’ll straighten up to a respectable 90 degree angle, occasionally wavering forward to 100 and backward to 80.

God help his target if she shows any kind of interest because then it’s balls to the wall, 135 degree forward leaning, right up there in her personal space. Now it’s her turn to lean backward at 45 degrees. It’s like some bizarre mating ritual perpetuated by two similarly charged magnets.



So anyway, I decided for today’s post I’d share a few priceless nuggets of information I gathered whilst living in Grahamstown and studying at Rhodes University, Where Leaders Learn… To Drink.

And no, I don’t know your friend’s sister Kirsty who went there to study a BSC, or your mate Rhino who was part of the surf club so let’s not even go there ok? I went to Rhodes I remember NO ONE! I leave all that remembering bullshit up to other people cause yesterday’s got nothin’ for me, pictures that I’ll always see, time just fades the pages in my book of memories.

Here are the three EVILEST shots ever invented. I sincerely hope you never have to drink any of these. Rhodes students invented these. Yeah, that bad.





Not a very original name for a shot, I’ll be the first to admit that, but when you’re caught in the hazy deluge of a three-day drinking binge, these things seldom matter.

For this particularly potent assault on sobriety, you’ll need the following:

  • 1 x double shot glass
  • 1 x shot of absinthe
  • 1 x shot of stroh rum
  • 1 x draught glass
  • 1 x lighter
  • 1 x bent straw

Ok? Are you picking up what I’m laying down here? It goes like this: You pour the absinthe and stroh into the shot glass and light it. You hold the draught glass upside down over the flaming mess, catching as many fumes as possible before putting the draught glass down over the shot glass, thus neatly extinguishing said flaming mess. Carefully sneak the shot glass out from the draught glass, being careful not to let the fumes escape and SMASH the shot in your face.

Then, quick as possible, put the short end of the bent straw under the draught glass and suck the fumes in like a bong hit. I watched someone pass out instantly when doing this once, so maybe tie yourself to something first.





Specially designed for the shoe-string budget drinker, this is by far the MOST FUCKED you’ll ever get on one shot. I’ve been there. I have the scars to prove it.

For this suicidally retarded foray into drunken oblivion, you’ll need the following:

  • 1 x shot of stroh rum
  • 1 x shot glass FULL of sugar
  • 1 x round slice of lemon, with rind

Can you see where this is going? I think you can see where this is going. This is going straight to shit, do not pass go, do not collect 200.

First empty the entire shot glass of sugar into your mouth. You’ll be surprised how much sugar a shot glass can hold. Swill it around a little to get it moist and then pop the entire lemon slice, rind and all into your mouth and chew it up but good.

By this stage your mouth will be so full your cheeks will be in real danger of rupturing. Now somehow get that shot of stroh in there and swallow the lot. Sit down for 15 minutes and for god’s sake, no matter how ‘fine’ you feel, DON’T drink anything else. Now stand up, walk around a little and marvel at how completely wasted you’ve just become.

Make an educated decision at this point, ask yourself ‘Can I handle any more booze?’ O’course y’can! Ffffaahk!

This will be the last thing you remember.





This shot should not be drunk by ANYONE. It was invented by barmen at Champs Action Bar shortly before the place was closed down. Champs was frequented mainly by truck drivers, correctional services officers, criminals and students who were into metal and didn’t mind spending their evenings watching people fight one another with broken bottles and screwdrivers (true story).

So anyway, there is nothing cute or clever about this shot. To make it you need:

  • 1 x double shot glass
  • Bit of tequila
  • Throw in some stroh rum
  • Fuck it, why not some whisky
  • Vodka’s definitely a winner
  • Some amarula cream so it can curdle instantly
  • And why not finish that bad boy off with a healthy dollop of Tobasco sauce?

Does that sound like fun to you? I had no idea what it was when I bought it because I was already pretty hammered. The sign behind the bar said ‘Don’t be a pussy! Try The Sacred Shit Of Satan.’

‘I’m no goddam pussy!’ I slurred, ‘gimme Satan’s shit!’

Yeah. Boy did I regret that decision.

So there you have it guys, three fun ways to spend a night slurring incoherently, hitting on ugly strangers and starting fights that trust me, you’ll lose.

Hahaha! Good times I tell ya, good times 🙂



The Parlotones Irritate The Living Shit Out Of Me

There are very few SA bands that I actually like, in fact I could probably count them all on one hand and most of them don’t play anymore.

Anyone remember Squeal? Early Nude Girls (before Carstens became a jerk)? Boo? Sugardrive? I used to dig those bands, they had a great sound and put out a good couple of albums that were pretty decent.



I find the bands playing these days largely uninspiring with a few exceptions, one of which is Lark – Inge Beckman is the kind of girl you wouldn’t look twice at walking down a street (well, depending on what she was wearing) but on stage she’s all kinds of sexy.

Then there are SA’s favourite bands, the Prime Circles and the aKings and the Goldfishes of this world and whatever you do, DO NOT fuck with their fans. They are fiercely loyal and won’t hesitate to swear at you loudly for ‘not supporting South African music’ if you tell them that those bands are shit.

And lastly, there’s the Parlotones. If you don’t know who the Parlotones are, then I’m not quite sure what you’re doing reading this post. Crawl back under the rock you’ve been hiding under and stay there, because fuck man, the Parlotones are EVERYWHERE!



That song that plays in Outsurance adds? Parlotones. The free album that came with your Sony Ericsson W995? Parlotones. The band that played at the last big corporate function you attended? Parlotones. The band associated with Gigabyte laptops? Parlotones. The only SA band to launch its own wine? Parlotones. The band you hear playing in your worst nightmares? Miley Cyrus. But when she’s too busy working the pole, you bet your ass, it’s the Parlotones.

To be honest, I didn’t really give a flying fuck about any of that. You think it’s easy for SA bands to actually make a living out of gigging and selling albums? Think again buddy, it’s fucking difficult. At least 95% of SA bands have day jobs because the music industry in this country is miniscule in comparison to the rest of the world and the sad reality of being a musician in this country is that is doesn’t pay the bills.

So by all means, get in bed with a couple of sponsors, why the hell not? Cash in on your hard work, atta boy!

BUT there is a line. And the Parlotones crossed it when they got in bed with that giant behemoth of the fast food industry: KFC.

‘We driiiiiiiiiinnnnkkk, we driiiiiiiiiiiiinnnnkkkkkk, we driinnkk from the cupa LIE-YEE-IF!’

If I have to see that advert once more on TV I’m going to tear my fucking face off.

If you haven’t seen it, it’s part of this new series of adverts KFC has shot that all feature this nerdy, glasses-wearing girl who’s wetting herself because she’s on set for the filming of the Parlotones new video.

Amidst the hustle and bustle and action of everything going on around her gets all flustered and in one ad has a Parlotones SnackBox thrust at her and in another one, an ice cream. I don’t understand the logic behind either of these adverts, but I think the underlying message is ‘Eat some KFC and shut the fuck up.’



I found both adverts cringe-worthy, but the newest one, in which our nerdy heroine is pretending to jam Parlotones frontman Kahn Morbee’s guitar in a dressing room when he walks in on her, is definitely a new low for a band that I didn’t think could top their previous efforts at whoring themselves off to the highest bidder.

Are they on crack?! What band in its right mind would agree to have one of their songs (I presume it’s their song) butchered by a girl with the acting talent of limp celery?

What’s even worse is after Kahn walks in on her and asks for his guitar back, she bashfully stands up, edges towards him and then lunges at his face for a snog.

Aaaaarrrrrggghhhh! WWWWHHHHHHYYYYYYY?!

The saddest part of the whole thing though is that in researching this piece (yes, I actually do that sometimes, don’t look so shocked) I got a hold of both Radio Controlled Robot and A World Next Door To Yours (the Parlotones 2005 and 2007 albums) and I have to admit, grudgingly, that they’re OK. Not mind-blowing, not life-changing, but also not utterly crap.



I even took things a step further and found out how much it costs to hire the Parlotones for a corporate function and get this, the booking fee starts at R70k which, after you’ve divided it up between their agent, their manager, their technicians, logistical costs of moving their equipment etc, etc, etc probably only works out to be a couple of thousand, if that, for the band.

A couple of thousand to stand in front of a room of fat, balding men and bored, middle-aged women while you belt out songs about how colourful you are. That’s gotta start destroying your soul sooner or later.

Maybe what this piece should have been is an indictment against the South African music industry and how it forces bands who want to actually make it big in this country to turn themselves into big fat whores in order to do so, but the music industry in this country has always been like that. It’s not going to change, no matter how much we bitch and moan about it.

Local bands would do well to take a page out of Saron Gas / Seether’s book. They had the talent to make it internationally and so that’s exactly what they did. Sure, they’ve been called traitors for leaving SA and turning their backs on the country that made them, but seriously what the fuck else were they going to do?

Have their faces plastered all over KFC SnackBoxes? Fuck. That.



Making it big in Europe or the States should be the end goal for any local band because the sad fact of the matter is that the music industry here doesn’t have the money and resources to properly support and promote local talent unless you sell out in the most degrading way possible.

Never do this though. No amount of money in the world can replace your integrity as an artist and once that’s gone, it won’t be the cup of life you’ll be drinking from my friend, it will be the cup of crap you’ve irritated out of people.

1 Band 1 Cup, now featuring the Parlotones!

I rest my case.


A Word From The Kind Folks At Nokia

December 2019
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