Friends and readers, I would like to introduce our new writer, Roxy. Being a fan of her blog, as well as her being a good friend (read: sister), she was a logical choice as one of our first new writers for The Wild West blog. I hope you all enjoy her writing as much as I do, like the part in this post where she calls me a loser for not being present this particular night. It’s not like I was at home, brain dead, watching movies or anything. Promise. So without further adieu, the beautiful miss Roxy de Light:
-Lourens Loki Corleone
Ahhhhhh Sunday! A day of rest.
That was the initial plan for my Sunday. I had had a hectic week; dance rehearsals or lessons every night, my burlesque debut show on Friday (did you go to Taking It Off On Broadway? If not, you missed out! Fortunately my dear friend Lourens will kindly recount the night’s festivities in the next post) a belly dance shimmy workshop on Saturday morning (non-stop wobbling for extended periods of time) and a performance and mini-workshop at a kitchen tea on Saturday night. So you see, I was shattered, and looking forward to a few relaxing drinks followed by the Sunday night movie and very possibly, a pizza.
This was not to be.
After a long, sweaty day at the beach, some friends and I decided to head down to Ocean View Hotel for some cocktails. Despite the lousy service by someone who I suspected may have previously worked for Home Affairs, the view was beautiful, the cocktails were great and the company was fun. We probably should have quit after those drinks but I was on a little bit of a roll after polishing off a jug of Sangria with my accomplices before heading out for the evening, so I suggested we go watch my brother, Nick, play with the Akelian Circus at Springbok Pub in the Wild West.
For those of you out of the loop, The Akelian Circus is a random group of musicians from various bands who gather together, usually on Sundays, and jam (as a non-musical person, please imagine me saying “jam” in verbal parenthesis with the slight over-emphasis that one who is not familiar with musical terminology employs when making use of a word not an every day part of their vocabulary).
As two of the guys we were with were strapping young men in their prime with the obligatory raging libidos, I lured them down with the promise of morally-questionable groupies and cheap booze. This is not always strictly true, but I tend to use dirty tactics when determined on getting my own way.
We reached Springbok Pub and were welcomed by the usual gang; Nick, Richard, Nick Kuiper, Phil, Nikita, Rox (great name! nice girl too), Cara and several others. The only person missing was my dear friend Lourens who couldn’t offer any concrete reason for his failure to pitch.
After playing a few games of pool where I made sure I compensated for my abysmal lack of talent by switching pool partners often enough to improve the odds of the side I was on at least winning ONE game (you may condemn this utter lack of loyalty, but backing the underdog is definitely not my style) we headed into the main room to watch the guys play.
They were great as usual; but I guess this is too be expected when you put a bunch of skilled individuals on the same stage and hand them instruments.
Inspired by the music (and no doubt a couple of shooters) I decided to take advantage of the open-mic platform and offered to perform backing vocals for some of the guest musicians. Although my offer was not met with enthusiasm, I didn’t let this dampen my spirits, and like a true trooper I sat myself down on a chair and grabbed the mic.
Imagining I looked quite like an MTV star at an acoustic set, and with my confidence boosted with thoughts such as, “I sound great singing in the shower” and “Music is in my genes- I wouldn’t have a musical brother and father and be a dancer if I couldn’t hold a note” I launched into my song with gusto.
The fact that I didn’t know the words or notes didn’t stop me and I sung my little heart out.
Only to find that some wise guy had turned my mic off, and I had sung my way through two songs without noticing.
Nonetheless, I civilly requested that my mic be turned back on and prepared to do backing vocals for Neil, an extremely gifted singer and guitarist. Neil, bless his soul, was undeterred by me crashing his performance and asked if there were any songs I actually knew the words to. We reached a happy compromise of a heartfelt acoustic cover of Lady Gaga’s Poker Face- a song definitely much more within my field of knowledge.
Although people didn’t leave screaming and crying, lets just say that I am definitely a dancer, not a singer. I have been forced to give up my dreams of becoming a rock star. However, I do thank my loyal fans for their cheers of encouragement (although I have a sneaky suspicion that this may have been more for their entertainment value than because of any existing talent).
I was also extremely honoured to do an introduction for a song my boyfriend’s brother sang, on the socially acceptable topic of masturbation. Despite the dodgy subject matter, he nailed the song, and made a few new groupies himself I suspect!
After that I felt that it may be best to quit while I was ahead and politely asked my party if we could leave. On the way out I had a brief chat with bonafide girl rocker and talented songwriter, Heather Waters, with whom I confided that I feared my brother might be ashamed of me (I couldn’t help but notice his head hung in shame while I whooped my way through his set (“GO NICKKKKKKKKKKK, WOOOHOOOOOOOO!!!!!” doesn’t always go down that well when one is playing a soulful ballad) To her credit, Heather looked a bit sheepish and reluctantly admitted that I did seem rather “happy”- the universal polite euphemism for DRUNK. You know you’re in trouble when the ultimate party girl looks a little embarrassed for you!
Of course, no drunken night is ever complete without a stop to BP and we made sure we stocked up on the bare essentials: cheese grillers, samoosas and fizzy drinks. After terrorising the cashiers, we went on our merry way, no doubt leaving them with ample giggle material for the next day. Ah, if those BP cashiers ever wrote a book it would be a bestseller! I can see it now…. “Tales of the Late Night Pie Purchasers”
So if you haven’t yet made it to an Akelian Circus gig, I urge you to do so- they are great fun, with plenty great music and always full of friendly faces.
Come on down, I promise not to sing again.
Love, Roxy 😉