Brace yourself

As Lord Eddard Stark warned us.

"Winter is coming."

After the bone-biting chill of today frostily and unnecessary-adverb-ly swept across Grahamstown, I fear that the sweet warmth of summer has seen its heyday, and is on its swift way out.

The last week has been very enjoyable, and not just primarily because of the weather. Sure, the sun has been shining beautifully, and some days have been unseasonably warm to the point that the air becomes a hot honey against your skin, cloying sweet and sticky, but the people at Rhodes itself have been... well, they look pretty good.

Now, blog posts about the weather aren't exactly what you'd call riveting, nail-biting prose, and so I come to the secondary point of this post: fashion. Now, I'm no Gucci or Gaultier, but I've grown up around two sisters and a my mom (they used to watch a HELL of a lot of Style Network channel, a testament to their lack of cupboard space), and so I pride myself on knowing at least a little bit about fashion and how to look good. This past week, I've thought exactly that about the Rhodents I've seen across campus and in the various local haunts at night. This I can attribute to one sole reason: home.

We were in that most wonderful of times: the first week of term. Freed from the stresses and strains of university, students went home to relax and unwind. Upon their return (I know this is an assumption, but I can only base it on what I've seen) most got new clothes, had their hair cut, coloured, Brazillian deep-conditioned, straightened and god-knows-what-else-ed. Also, being home, they probably decided to wear their nicer clothes (and here by "nicer" I mean "anything that WASN'T flip-flops, teesavs, beaters, hippy pants, hoodies, terribly-motto'ed printed tees, and the innumerable other things that encompass the "student too lazy to even put on shoes let alone drag a comb through their greasy, matted locks" look). And so, lulled into this sense of home (and in some cases, the fashion prerequisites of big-city life), most came back still lost in the heady mists of home-hood. As a friend eloquently noted, "Bro, these chicks are, like, at least one point hotter than I remember". Sexist shallowness aside, I couldn't help but agree.

Alas, let me reiterate: winter is coming. That first blast of freezing cold not only make students shiver and bitch and moan at supper, but it dealt a potentially fatal wound to fashion prospects. I've been here for two years now. Do you want to know what a cold, like, really cold, winter does to dress sense? It alters it utterly.

So, what have we to look forward to on campus? Well, for one, we can applaud winter's kiss in rendering the barefoot look a thing of the summery past. No one is so lazy that they'd freeze their pink little phalanges off. However, that is not enough of a saving grace. Hoodies are coming. Lots of them. Some with terrible res/matric slogans embossing/adorning/ruining them. And not those cute hoodies, either. The puffy, pouffy, "fuck you, winter" marshmellow ones so thick they'd make the girl who invented pouty ducklips look like Einstein. Hoodies of this caliber are utterly devoid of any shade or suggestion of sexiness; if anything, they remind of that last boss battle in Ghostbusters.

You see my point?

It's not just the hoodies, either. similarly puffy and pouffy hippy quasi-pyjama pants will make their usual appearance, accompanied by those ever-godawful Ugg boots. Or, (fucking)Ugg(ly) boots, as I prefer to call them. The only thing worse would be slippers: oh yes, you'll see plenty of those, too.

Kate put on her new hoody and went to lectures.

Or maybe I'm being defeatist: there are some who met the cold with valiant fashionable resilience: black coats, jeans, boots, scarves. I can just hope the wintry wind fills the sails of this revolution.

Or, maybe even worse, I'm being shallow. "There's more than meets the eye," I hear you cry. "Beauty is but skin deep!" Well, maybe. And maybe not. No one loved the Mona Lisa because the canvas and wood underneath its paint was. Let's be serious: you can't judge a personality from across the quad, and so you might have the most wonderful, striking, charmingly charismatic personality in the world, but it won't count for much if you dress like (for want of a better word) a lazy moron. And don't say "oh, but just talk to them".  What, every person I ever see? Yeah. Not likely.

All in all, I love winter. Yup, it's definitely tie-collared-shirt-and-jeans weather, a look which is just painful  under the the burning eye of the summer sun.
Except when I have to row. Then winter is a bitch. A hand-biting, bone-chilling bitch.

RyG goes Cuban

Ever since that fateful day that my now-defunct iPod played their speed-of-insanity “Diablo Rojo”, I have been deeply in love with the musical style of the brilliant, unique guitar duo that is Rodrigo y Gabriella. Comprising of Rodrigo Sánchez on lead guitar and  Gabriella  Quintero on lightspeed, percussive rhythmic guitar, the duo kicked off their notoriety by playing their heavymetal-esque acoustic flamenco style in bars across Dublin.

So you can imagine my excitement when my mom pointed out an album in a music store we happened to be passing. “Oh look, don’t you like them?”, she asked, pointing to the red and blue cover of El Rodi y La Gabi’s new album Area 52. I could barely contain myself: I didn’t just like them, I practically worshiped them – their previous albums have accompanied almost every shower I have taken since discovering them (the acoustics of tiled rooms are magnificent, aren’t they?), and their flamenco, triplet- and riff-driven guitar is half the reason I keep playing and practising, whittling my thumb away to nothing.

However, after giving this CD a few (dozen) listens, I was quite surprised. Much like the vegetarian lasagne they serve on Thursdays in the Dining Hall, I had to take quite a couple of bites just to decide whether I liked the new offering or not.

The crazy flamenco style of RyG joins C.U.B.A to produce some wonderful and sometimes curious results

Area 52, the band’s fifth studio album, showcases a musical collaboration with C.U.B.A, a 13-piece Cuban Orchestra and various other guest musicians playing a variety of instruments, from sitars to rock drums. Some critics have said that the duo lack depth, and so perhaps a foray into a more encompassing style is a good one...

...or perhaps not.

Let me break down the CD into a track-by-track breakdown as they appear on the album.

“Santo Domingo” kicks off the album with a extraordinary intro that grabs you by the balls and gets you listening immediately. You can almost instantly feel the new edge to their sound: trumpets blast and interject to create a rich, exotic sound, and an added ‘wah’ effect to the guitar work makes the riff at once familiar and brand new. They stay true to much of their old style, with centrality being lent predominantly to the ever-inventive guitarists. However, the song quickly loses its flame to an unnecessarily long jazz piano solo piece, followed by… what the f-? Flutes? Really? Flutes. In a Rodrigo y Gabriella song? One simple question: why, God, why?

After the first song fades away, we are given a beautifully sculpted rendition of “Hanuman”. The song swells and resounds with a great Cuban interlude, and the electric guitar work and solos are nothing short of the fantastic Mexicano stylings that I fell in love with. My only critique would be that, apart from the solo, the guitar pieces are lost in the sounds of all the other instruments.

"Ixtapa" , the next track, is fantastically remastered. Their new rendition is absolutely tranquil, seeping a calmness that grows and swells with their amazing building progression. With the great guitar work that resonates so deeply within my heart, I just can’t help but scrunch up my eyes in utter incredulity. Their old style is mixed with new influences, fusing with definite Cuban styles to produce a wonderful achievement; and besides, just listen to the sitar work done by Anoushka Shankar – it’s damn near enough to make you cry, and it adds a poignant and wonderful dimension that I never thought the band could have.

Originally a tribute to Pink Floyd, “11:11” is probably the centrepiece of the CD. The guitar screams with reinvention, accompanied by a new, heavier beat. The piano and great drum work works in tandem with punchy horns to build up and accentuate the guitar work. The solo… God, the solo… I have never heard a guitar scream “FLOYD!” more loudly: the unmistakeable wailing, bending sound of the electric guitar in this song is nothing short of genius, and it captures the Floyd sound brilliantly. Syd Barrett would be very, very proud. However, the song goes a little “full retard” (to quote Robert Downey Junior) and suddenly ends with weird tribal-esque drums and singing. To finish so fantastic a song is almost blasphemy. My advice: skip the last 40 seconds or so.

“Master Maqui”, the next track, continues the guitar work nicely: again, it’s very good, even if it is at times lost to the other instruments. I constantly feel like the two primary guitarists are Jack Dawson, being forced to drown in the freezing Atlantic whilst that bitch Rose (in the form of trumpets, drums and those damned flutes) hogs the whole wooden float. At times, this song feels a little bit like a Broadway show-chorus tune, and at times it shows definite Arabian Nights influences. It’s… well, sometimes it’s nice, and sometimes I just have to ask “WTF?”.

Next is “Diablo Rogo”, the piece that captivated and awed me all those months ago. This track is one hell of a mean one: the old song is still definitely there, recapturing the heart-racing incessant awesomeness of their Spanish speed, driven even more crazy by ‘wah’-effect guitar, light piano and great drumming.

“Logos” was another one of my old favourites, simply because of it’s sheer foot-stomping addictiveness. Though this track is a slightly altered portrayal of the guitar in the original, it is by no means a bad song. In fact, it’s a whole different kind of addictive: it is unbelievably calm and yet at the same time driven, making your foot stomp all over again, and for much of it the accompanying orchestra is absent, which can be a good thing. All in all, this is a great reinvention that still stays true to the original.

“Juan Loco” is no different: though a very different feel to the original, the playful beat and melange of instruments and sounds make this song one that stays true to its roots whilst exploring other influences. The build in this song verges on sheer sonic mastery.

“Tamacun” is an all-time favourite of mine: after I practiced (for six long and arduous months) the insane, lightning-fast triplets Gabriella had shown in one of her tutorial videos, this is always a song I like to mess around with when I play live. This is a wonderful track to end this relatively short CD with: the song comes reinvented, bursting with a Cuban playfulness – saucy and spicy, with a lighter, jazzier sound that drives right to the heart of why I love this band so much. Like some of the other tracks the guitar is sometimes lost to other instruments: there is, for example, too much trumpet, I think, and you don’t get quite so much the palm slapping and percussive elements for which the virtuoso Gabriella is so well known. However, it’s still an awesome track.

So, my feelings at the end of it all are a bit mixed. Sure, as a localised Afro-Cuban experiment, the album works very, very well. However, I can’t help but feel that the very definite, unmistakable Rodrigo-y-Gabriella-ness of the band has taken a back seat in this experimental drive. Sure, their songs appear in some tangible form of their old glorious selves, but much of the sheer jaw-dropping, awe-inspiring guitar insanity for which they became so well-known has lost its centrality to a backdrop of trumpets, piano and (God help us) flutes. I really do get what they were trying to do with this album: to experiment and get a more localised flavour, to see what kind of a spin they could season their old favourites with, and to a certain extent it does work – the sitar, piano, drums and trumpets add a whole new dimension of sound. However, I must say that if I had wanted to buy a Cuban instrumental orchestra CD, I would have done so. At R150, I wanted the ear-pounding, soul-smashing heavy-metal-on-nylon duel fury that these two magnificent artists so expertly and easily dish out. This album, though it is a fantastic one, just fails to deliver the sheer guitar dexterity and mastership for which this duo has become famous. Where is the double, palm-muted body tapping of the old “Diablo Rojo”? Where is the simple ingenuity of the original “Ixtapa”? Alas, if you’re looking for a sound more reminiscent of their older eponymous album Rodrigo y Gabriella, or the unstoppable heart-racers of their Live albums (Manchester and Tokyo respectively), then perhaps Area 52 is just a time-killer until the next time they make an unbelievable amount of awesomeness out of two simple guitars.

Books, covers and everything in between

I’ve been in Cape Town on holiday for almost a week now. It’s nice, being back home and seeing the family, taking a break from university work and the daily worries that come with it. However, outside of the “vegetarian – default” meal system at Rhodes, trying to get by outside of the great RU walls has been nutritionally challenging. Now, Cape Town has a certain image. I’m not one to judge a book by its cover (or a city by its hipsters) but I must admit that I’ve been quite… well, disappointed.

My family have been awesome in meeting this whole vegetarian lifestyle that I’ve got going on. Family meals have taken on a more vege-centred, meatless form, even though they still have yet to give up the red and white entirely. Apparently sushi is just too awesome to never eat again.

However, the first few problems arise as soon as I step foot out my door (which is a new door: we’ve moved house, and when I say “moved” I mean something more like “took our stuff about a hundred metres down the road to a new complex”). I went to Long street with my family to eat out. We sat down in a nice little café, and everything was just perfect. Perfect, that is, until I opened the menu.

No vegetarian option in sight. Well, there was salad (a range of salads), but salad is nowhere near a main course. Hell, salad is a side-option to a main course. So we decided to get up and try another place.

And another.

And another.

And another.

I found it hard to believe that so many places in Long street had nothing to offer green-crunchers other than salad; these placed offered about as much choice as a Zimbabwean presidential election. I eventually had to ask the chef of one establishment to make me a cheeseburger, minus burger, plus fried onion and egg. Now, I’m not saying that Cape Town doesn’t cater for vegetarians: there are lots of places that do do it, and well (Kauai comes to mind), but they are just too few and far in between. Even the high-end places like Harbour House, Sevruga’s and Willoughby’s have nothing really aside from a soya dish and vegetarian maki. It’s almost insulting. I’ve almost, almost, rescinded on my ideals and partaken of chicken just so that I don’t have to eat another salad or choke down another vegetarian pasta. I mean, there are literally thousands of different vegetarian meals that can be made. The other night I made a vegetarian ratatouille with pasta; is it too much to ask a master chef to make something similar, if not better? I cannot imagine what it would be like being a vegan: cutting egg, milk and other animal products entirely from my diet would in effect guarantee my starvation.

However, investigating what I could eat without betraying my new ideals has been interesting. A few pertinent questions have arisen: if I eat eggs, doesn’t that mean eating caviar is okay? (some sushi is quasi-vegetarian, but topped with caviar and mayo); and what about prawns? I mean, I gave up fish, but prawns aren’t exactly fish, are they? Sigh, categories and labels are such confusing things (does eating one prawn mean that I failed to stay the course? Oh well: that tempura was well worth it, if it does).

Anyway, I’m back in Rhodes as I add to this post, which has been sitting around partially edited for the last few days. It’s gonna be interesting to see what this next term brings. My first guess? Work: it isn’t even the first day of term yet and already I have several Word documents sitting on my desktop waiting to be finished by Friday… C’est la vie d’un étudiant, non?

My other guesses? Well, for the most part, two: firstly, I got a Kindle, so I'm probably gonna read a lot more than I used to; and secondly, I've been practising guitar a lot (played two gigs - open mic nights, really - in Cape Town) and so I think that George and I (George is another great guitarist at Rhodes, and he plays a style that really gels with mine) will make some serious music this term and in the others to follow. Working name? El Toro. The Bull.