If New Zealand music was a can that had lost its label, The Bats and The Clean would lie like the very best kind of sardine, gleaming in close proximity as you peeled back the lid as a reward for your intrepidity.  Scott, as a member of both bands and Flying Nun veterano, has been purveying devil music to nigh-on two generations of impressionable young people, earning himself a handy degree of infamy as the two bands' cultish followings spanned the known world.  What Mr Scott doesn't know about being in a bloody band probably isn't worth knowing and we were well pleased to be able to seize him before he popped off to the States on tour, ply him with cake and question him at some length.

So why music?  
My mum played piano in church and dad played saxophone in a dance band in the sixties in Scotland, so they were often playing and singing Scottish folk songs right from when I was young.  It was very much just... music was all around, the piano was in the house so we all learned that and my sister had a guitar, so we played along on that to the Beatles, Neil Young, Bob Dylan records, working out how the songs were constructed, playing the root notes, learning the chords, and that just sort of grounded me in the sort of folky stuff mum and dad were doing.  Then there was the radio, Slade and Abba, a lot of disco stuff, which I really liked.  So that was my musical upbringing, then I went to a gig that happened to be the Enemy and the Clean in the Beneficiaries Hall, and that was an introduction to punk, and the fact that anyone could get up and make a noise and not have to be proficient.  After that I met David at art school and just… joined the Clean.
When you think about music, if it was a colour of a texture or a shape, what would it be?
That sounds like something I watched about synesthesia…
You don't have synesthetic experiences around music?
No, no… if you possibly thought about a song, you could say that was spiky, or that was mellow or whatever, but I couldn't put a label on it and say it was one thing.
You do visual art as well… how much crossover is there?
Quite a bit in some ways… I know when I'm painting, I hear music in a different way… when you're in painting mode, you're not consciously listening to it so your brain's very open and you analyze it in another way.  Other people have said they can see similarities, listening to what I do and then seeing what I paint.
So if you hadn't been exposed to music at a young age would you have gone off toward art, or do you think music was that specific thing for you?
I think theoretically yes, I would have found it in some way, only because its such a strong thing within me that I can't imagine not doing it… so yes, I would have found it. 
What do you prefer… writing or performing?
Probably writing.  When you're writing a song, it's a completely blank canvas and whatever direction you're taking it in, you're heading off a wee journey and at any stage you're able to change it…
It's still in your hands.
Yeah.  Often the first idea will determine it, a very basic riff, a couple of notes, and if they're strong enough to hold my interest, then you start thinking about vocals.  Usually it's a series of chords and a melody.
Do you wake up with those three great notes in your head?
Sometimes… usually it's picking up the guitar and doodling.  If there's something good there, you put the guitar down, go and wash the dishes, and if it's still good the pen and paper comes out... I don't always know what every chord is called so I just... (write out the tab).  Then I'll write out the melody, make a recording and come back to it in a few days.
Ever written something that was just... the total acme of that expression, then gotten on stage and thought… tumbleweeds... shit, this isn't working?
Pretty much by the time you've gotten it onto stage, especially with it being vetted by the band and them saying yeah, that's um, not your best work… if it doesn't get past them, it doesn't end up on stage.  But having said that, solo wise, you can choose a song, think it's good and think you've played it really well and just… you get this… smattering of applause… 
So do you actually enjoy performance?
Yeah… but there's a lot of angst to it, a lot of trepidation… nervousness, fear of gear failure… doing justice to the song.  Sometimes you'll get into the middle of something and think hey, I'm just doing G and C (chords) here really and I'm not a very good guitarist but they seem to be okay with it… (lol).  But what I do is very song-based, so it's more about the song than about the virtuosity.  With the Bats, we're very danceable, so you're delivering a song but it's a physical process for the people in the crowd… there's quite a few things going on at the one time.

What's that white crap on the hills this morning?

Snow down to sea level?  

Only last night we were rubbishing the chances of it turning up so early in the season.  We don't usually get it like this until really late winter/spring.  

Nothing substantial but lovely to look at, because we don't ever have to shovel it, hurrah.

  


And a 


little bit of


white stuff 


on the 


deck.....

HOUSE  Sonoma Scent Studio  (I've decided to abandon the star-rating system; it's too blunt a tool and personal preference isn't a measurable quantity anyway.)

STYLE/FLAVOUR incense/oriental

DATE OF ISSUE  March 2010

LISTED NOTES  frankincense CO2, myrrh EO, labdanum absolute, cistus oil, natural oakmoss absolute, aged Indian patchouli heartnote fraction, sandalwood, cedar, ambergris, orris, angelica root absolute, elemi EO, vanilla absolute. 

ENVIRONMENTAL & ETHICAL CONSIDERATIONS Recycled packaging elements, synthetic instead of animal musks/civet/castoreum, no sunscreens, preservatives, colourants, parabens.  Sources sustainably grown ingredients where possible.  Close attention to batch freshness.

The New Zealand Bellbird, Anthornis Melanura, Korimako.

Its scientific epithet alludes accidentally and almost onomatopoeically to the fluid, molten beauty of its voice, the silky bell-like tones interspersed with sharp glossal stops and Bushman clicks.  The fine young male above collided with our window and sat groggily on our hands and in a nearby shrub while we ensured it would not be bagged by local cats.

They're common and frequently encountered here in Coastal Otago though there are many places around New Zealand where they are still absent, having still not recovered from the waves of disease and predation that accompanied humanity onto these islands.  As honeyeaters and insectivores they are, like their relatives the Tui, oddly simian in the way they negotiate the canopies of trees, hopping and climbing like small monkeys in their endless quest for moths and blossom.  And like waxeyes we've seen them patiently lift the frilled silver discs of lichen adhering to the bark with their beaks in order to winkle out the invertebrates sheltering underneath.  In early summer they desert our burb and return in droves to the surrounding forest and to the local ecosanctuary, Orokonui, where they pair up and breed in a more peaceful, pest-free environment.  The odd couple stay to breed around here, possibly because of the preponderance of flowering eucalyptus in the vicinity, but their success is uncertain.

Bellbirds particularly enjoy the nectar of our native tree fuchsia, Fuchsia Excorticata or Kotukutuku, a wizened, twisted, heavy-boled species, the largest in the world, smothered in papery toffee-brown bark and hung with purple-stained flowers that are like a host of tiny jewelled lanterns.  Local bellbirds are often glimpsed with their slaty faces completely dusted with the cobalt-blue pollen of this amazing species, as if their beauty needed further embellishment.  If you look closely you can see a few grains on the face of this bird collected from the fuchsia in our yard.

As I sit at my desk and stare at the screen I'll sometimes see a furious little shower of water descending past the window, fanned out of the roof guttering by a bathing bellbird.

A beautiful companion.

Horticulturally inclined?  Flora fancier?  Organically directionated?
Like looking at other peoples' gardens without having to actually do any of the work yourself?  Smart choice.


We have half an acre of organic chaos if you fancy an electronic ramble some time.  Under construction, but check out the baby garden pages HERE.  Perdy.

I acquired this rattan box a while ago from a local collector, and while it's not a major piece in the grand scheme of things, it is a strange and charismatic object.  

Of Kenyah or Kayan manufacture, the tiny bead panel is probably from the first quarter of the 20th C or even earlier, and finely tasseled with a seven-legged spider like element.  The corner bosses are possibly contemporary with the box itself, which may be a little later than the panel, and are of larger beads, set into tree sap or some sort of organic resin.  Although it's difficult to tell because of the lack of scale, (it's 20cm long) the rattan work is extremely fine and my fingers feel skinned and sore just looking at the intricacies of its construction.

I particularly enjoy the three overlapping diamond motifs in the base of the box; they appear and disappear with the movement of your eye, optically melting into one another, extending outward into the weave in infinite association.  Such beautiful idiosyncrasies are going to their deaths with the demise of the artisanal traditions practiced in the Indonesian and Malaysian archipelagoes, a region of almost mythical artistic fecundity.  Many of the animist tribes of the region have converted to monotheistic faiths and thus the complex, personalized webs of belief that inspired these sophisticated expressions are being lost to us all. 

The motifs delineated in yellow in the bead panel are variously described as Naga (serpent or dragon, obviously influenced by the Hindu pantheon) or vegetal/Tree of Life representations; the organic references are obvious.  Within Dayak and Orang iconography the involvement of the spiritual in the physical is effortlessly interfluent, energy and form creating and destroying one another in a cycle partitioned by the drama of the tropical seasons and the subtler interplay of friend and enemy within the surrounding forests.  This shield-like aspect resembles the Hudoq masks appearing in the bead panels of a Kenyah baby carrier we bought last year, confrontational designs meant to repel the evil in covetous or spiteful glances and the influence of malign entities.

But I don't need to know any explicit designation; like all special things, it is articulate enough to transcend ignorance and satisfy both hand and eye, to speak for itself in the absence of an interpreter.  While it was described to me as a betel container and may very well have been used as one, David Said of Tribal Art Brokers suggested it might also have been used to store next year's seed rice; the Kayan practice dry rice cultivation in the forests of Kalimantan, so this is a definite possibility. 
Céili O'Keefe.

Declan Walsh's piece on Pakistan for the NY Times.
Keith Ng's rant about our lovely 'government's' antidem shennanigans.  Again.
Enjoy!

As promised, I've been out working my little fingers to the bone, cornering interesting members of the community, coring the truth from them in a complex medical procedure and stuffing the remains into an industrial incinerator, all in the name of science.  How germane then that my first real victim should have been an actual scientist.  They can be slippery little numbers with their modesty and general regard for others, and I get the feeling that if Dr Jo could have distracted me with chocolate and dashed from the room, none of us would have been party to the terrible knowledge she's been concealing for so long, to the detriment of all concerned.  Jo's been in the geneticky game for a long time and actually gets to play with a sexy sequencer, lucky sausage that she is, and would never dream of swabbing you at gunpoint, unlike so many of the evil practitioners depicted in oh, say... dark fiction.  I consulted her assiduously in the process of writing The Blackthorn Orphans, and yes, I may have twisted her words and perverted her professional advice to an extent.  Cough.  But you'll agree the science is, of course, sound.

NAME-
Jo Stanton
DISTRIBUTION-
Global
FIELD/QUALS/YEARS DOING/WHATEVER-
Life Sciences - for more years than I would like to admit.

READING RIGHT NOW-
“Jane Goodall: The woman who redefined man”
“Science Lessons: What being the CEO of Amgen taught me about management”
(or something like that)

WERE YOU BORN DOING THIS OR IS IT SOMETHING YOU PICKED UP ON THE ROAD?
Born to be a scientist. I was carrying out experiments while still in primary school.

IF YOUR WORK WAS A COMPREHENSIVE VISUAL, WHAT SORT OF COLOURS, SHAPES AND TEXTURES WOULD WE SEE?
Blues & greens with flashes of yellow and red. Or grey.  Depends on the day.  Shapes – it is a labyrinth with smooth rolling-walls, cul-de-sacs and hidden corners but there is a way through.

IF IT WAS A SOUND, WHAT WOULD WE HEAR?
It is silent, very calm.

WHAT DOES IT SMELL LIKE?
It doesn’t.

HOT OR COLD?  ASSIGN A MEAN TEMPERATURE
25°C

THREE WORDS TO DESCRIBE HOW YOU FEEL ABOUT WHAT YOU DO
Excitement, Adventure, Discovery

WHAT DO YOU ENJOY MOST ABOUT IT?
Discovering new knowledge, putting the facts together and seeing how things work.  I also really enjoy the teamwork.  Having a group of people, each bringing their expertise to bear on a question. The back and forth flow of ideas can be joyful.

WHAT DISMAYS YOU?
Pointless competition and pettiness.

WHAT ARE THE BIGGEST MISCONCEPTIONS ABOUT YOUR WORK, IN YOUR OPINION?
That scientists are mad or absent minded.  They are neither, at least they are no worse than the general population.  The 20th century’s stereotyped portrayal of white-coat-wearing evil scientists did a lot of harm to the profession and negatively impacted the perception of learning science by the general public.  It was kind of a dumb thing to do really.  Our whole society is based on understanding the world and then using that knowledge to make life better for all. That’s science, folks!  There’s also a misconception that science is ‘too hard’.  It isn’t but you have to be interested in it.  You have to want to understand the concepts.  Science isn’t too hard, its just the people saying this don’t wish to devote themselves to it. There is a difference.

And another misconception – that science is only done by scientists.  Everyone is a scientist.  It is human nature to test things out, find solutions to problems and understand the things around us.

PROUDEST PROFESSIONAL MOMENT
Publishing my first paper.

ARE COMMERCIAL PRESSURES HURTING OR HELPING?
At the moment in New Zealand, there is strong pressure for research to have an immediate commercial outcome.  The rationale for this is hard to argue against.  With the science budget the size it is and a public wanting results that immediately translate into an economic return, it
makes sense to focus on outcome-based, targeted projects. So, in a country like New Zealand were industry has a poor record for funding R&D, the government has stepped into a role that in Europe or the US would be the domain of Industry.

Now here’s the tricky bit.  Industry knows where commercial opportunity lies.  These companies are very good at picking likely commercial successes.  However, if a certain idea doesn’t pay off, they are also good at refocusing their resources, both human and financial, to another prospect.

Academic institutions can’t do this so easily. Firstly, they are not involved closely enough with the commercial market to develop a good track record for picking commercial certainties.  They do not generally have good links to specialized commercialization expertise or the budgets to bring each potential product to market.  And lastly, at the end of a grant that does not meet commercial expectations, their only recourse is to let non-tenured staff go resulting in a loss of institutional continuity and diminishing loyalty to the organization as a whole.  You might think it is like this at the end of any grant, except that commercial achievements are
not held in any regard by Academic institutions producing a double-whammy to the CVs of individuals engaged in commercial activities (remember, if its commercial you cannot engage in timely publishing).  Taken to extremes, this could lead to degrading research quality within Academic institutes.

Where is this all going?  I think over all for NZ science the focused approach will generate quick returns on investment in the short term. It is a great time to be an Applied Scientist.  It will not last, however.  Like every other human endeavour, there are fashions in the science
industry and a swing away from a commercial focus is bound to happen in the future.

So is it helping or hurting?  Neither.  But it is imbalanced and it is redistributing the pressures within the system. That always comes with fallout.

HOW IS YOUR FIELD IMPACTED BY THE ETHICAL & CULTURAL CONCERNS OF
LAYPEOPLE?
Society’s ethical and moral concerns lead to better science.  It makes one look at each experiment or project from multiple viewpoints before commencing the work. This process contributes to the intense rigor applied to investigations, making sure findings are correct and complete to the best of one’s ability.  Scientists must tell the truth so high ethical standards are part of the job description.  There is no quicker way to halt a scientific career than to lie about the data!

It is critically important that laypeople engage with science and scientists.  Through that engagement discoveries are translated into culturally relevant outcomes.  This leads to new technologies (computers, cars, cures) that meet real needs and go on to grow and mature (e.g. from the spinning-jenny to iPods).  Science is the accumulation of facts – it works this way, it’s made of X.  Our cultural, ethical and moral framework shapes what is done with this
knowledge and even our interpretation of it.  The facts are neutral but the use of them is not. This is guided by society.

YOU'RE A GENETIC SCIENTIST.  GO NUTS AND SAY SOMETHING BRAVE/HONEST
ABOUT G.E.
What I will say is that G.E. is already happening around the world so as a society we must understand as much about the process, the pros-&-cons and the potential fallout as we can.  Head-and-sand scenarios are not an option.

ARE STEREOTYPES HURTING SCIENCE?
See above.  Thankfully, the 21st century has seen more scientists being the good guys and we now have mainstream accurate entertainments (thank you David A!).  That’s a big improvement.  However, a rash of ‘science-based’ crime shows are not the healthiest phenomena.

IF THE GENDER ISSUE IN SCIENCE WAS AN ANIMAL, WHAT SIZE BEAST ARE WE
TALKING ABOUT?  CLASSIFY IT.
It’s a small elephant, maybe the size of a cow.  There is something going on in the science profession but I haven’t pinned down a cause to my own satisfaction.  My observation is that many of the top jobs are held by men, though the imbalance is less than other professions.  But is this selection bias towards males, a legacy issue from a previous generation or is it something coming from the women themselves such as a reluctance to step up?  I don’t have the data. Given the disproportionately high number of women taking higher degrees, it will be interesting to watch these numbers over the next few years.  But if I was to place a bet on the
outcome, I have a sinking feeling that proportionality will not be maintained.

WHY ARE YOU STILL DOING THIS?
Because I still really enjoy what’s at the heart of the job.

Thanks Dr Jo.  All that and only one typo.  Bloody scientists!

Fairy ring champignons and tricholomas - headed for the pasta sauce.

Mmmm, muuuushrooooms.  Tis the season (southern hemisphere autumn) to be once more checking out your various secret fungi patches that you'll never tell anyone about, even if they put you in thumbscrews because mushrooms are that damn important to you.  No, we're not talking about gold tops or liberty caps, though the psilocybes are certainly awesome in their own special ways wink but that's a whole other kettle of bananas.  Mushrooms can be a chariot for the soul in more ways than one; their colours rival the most glorious textiles in their saturation and subtlety, their textures ranging from suede to silk to rubber and grindstone, their flavours spanning everything from peppermint to peppercorns to venison.  They are secretive subterranean informants, telling of their travels amongst the roots of pine and oak through the compressed darkness of the soil and the litter sticking to your shoes.  They will not appear on command, but in their own inscrutable fashion, studding the ground and peeping between thickets of grass, velveteen visitants from another realm.

We're reluctant to share the fungal bounty that we glean from here and there; for one, because we are greedy, for two because others are merely being polite as they choke down their plate of Slippery Jacks and Dirty Tricholomas, and thirdly because there is a serious side to this ungenerous sentiment; mushrooms can literally kill your arse, a nasty little fact glossed over far too often by gourmet-zine articles urging us to rush out and forage in case your neighbours don't think you're serious enough about food.  There is always the possibility, however remote, that you will serve death cap to your friends and family.  I mean unintentionally.

So what does one do?  Champignon ou mort?  There is a single golden rule that we've observed during the years we've been consuming wild mushrooms; ask yourself-

 Is a mouthful of mushroom worth ten years of dialysis?
              Do I prefer the liver I was born with?

Pretty much clears it up, doesn't it?  Disclaimer- we're not experts by any stretch of the imagination, but we've never poisoned ourselves, touch wood, and it is of course possible to gather safely without doing a freaking degree.  Sort of.  You just need to put in the hard, boring yards before you fry anything up.

I can't give you an exhaustive list of toxic and suspect species, but there are many excellent books that can, and you should find them and read them cover to cover before even thinking about going out and looking for some.  There are roughly one hundred different kinds of poisonous mushrooms, ranging from the ones that will put you on the toilet for a week to the ones that will put you in intensive care for the truncated remainder of your natural life.  Mushroom poisoning can affect the brain, blood, nervous system, digestive system, kidneys and liver.  It can take anything from six hours to six days to manifest.  Feeling lucky, punk?

Do your research.  There is no easy way, no shortcuts, no cheat sheets.  Everyone's mycelia are different, and several types are alright to eat in one place, iffy somewhere else and downright poisonous at another location.  Spend two years just bringing them home and comparing them to the pictures, smelling and touching them and NOT eating the damn things.  Yes, that sucks, but you probably need more structure in your life anyway.

Remember-
-The term 'toadstool' is completely meaningless and bears no relation to toxicity.
-Smell is not a guide to palatability.
-The saucepan is not a magic wand.  Cooking destroys some toxic compounds but makes no difference at all to the worst of them.
-Just because insects or wild animals have nibbled it doesn't mean it's okay to eat.
-Just because your mates have eaten it doesn't mean it won't affect you adversely.  If you have existing medical conditions or sensitive digestion, leave the damn things alone.
-Alcohol can increase the effect of some toxins.
-Some mushrooms can be rendered poisonous by their pesticide/herbicide loads.
-Never take someone's word for the safety of wild mushrooms.  Get the book out and double check; better to offend them than to end up in intensive care together fighting over who gets first shot at that dead stranger's donated organs.

When you're confident about taking the next step, start with the boletes; the cepe family. None are deadly poisonous (to our knowledge) the odd one might give you the pukes and/or shits (but that's a lesson well learned) you can't really mix them up with anything else and most of them are vaguely edible.  You might even run into some especially delicious types.  Then maybe think about fairy champignons and tricholomas, two more easy-to-ID types from relatively innocent families.

Personally, I cannot recommend field or horse mushrooms to the novice unless you are walked directly to a safe patch of them by someone who knows.  I say this because the parasol-type shrooms are very similar to one another, unless you know what to look for, and contain a number of the most deadly and-near deadly species including the Death Cap, Destroying Angel and Brown Roll-Rim.  All of these highly-toxic little marvels look perfectly delicious, by the way, and don't smell or taste poisonous, so don't think they can't fool you.  Death Caps and Destroying Angels are things of singular, almost arresting beauty, actually, if you've ever come across them in their prime; plush and porcelain at once, almost supernatural amid their homely backdrops of pine needles and pea straw.

Just a quick note on foraging etiquette, BTW.  It's really not the done thing to wander onto someone else's land just because those ink-caps are calling your name or stretch over that fence and decimate the neighbour's goodies.  That's really rude and also illegal.  Even if you got there first/are really hungry/whatever, take no more than a third of anything you're harvesting or they may not regenerate; this about the future and the limitations of entitlement.  Secrets really are fine- don't shoot your mouth off indiscriminately about every resource you discover.  Keep the knowledge of those special things in the hands of people who will respect them.  And if it was free to you, think twice about charging other people money for it.  That shit is killing us.  Share and share alike.

In conclusion, it's probably not a good idea to send your kids looking for mushrooms, and maybe don't show your stash to impressionable passers-by and assure them they're delicious.  I know it's tempting, but a little discretion can go a long way and for some very good reasons.

AN EXCELLENT MUSHROOM BOOK- 'The Great Encyclopedia of Mushrooms', 1998, Lonsange, Könemann.

We've been watching a lot of documentaries lately, largely for want of anything fictional that goosed us in a good way.  

Here's two we found worthy-

The Tillman Story (iTunes): First-class examination of the US Military and Political complex's astonishingly depraved exploitation of the personnel it marched into death and their family's reaction.  Far more oblique and considered than we'd expected. * * * * *

Buck (iTunes): Disregard the cheesy cover image that does it such a disservice and any eyerolls you might have for the whole horsewhispering thing; this is an insightful, straight-shooting personal account of triumph over adversity, salvaging the broken and the essential nature of our accord with other animals.  Touched our tarry hearts.  * * * *

What's it like, blogging for the first time and trying to sell a book?
Pretty strange, actually.  Sit cross legged with me now while I pick the white chocolate drops off the ganache covering my one month on the internets cake.

The internet looms so large and loud in our estimation that I've always thought of it as noisy.  Once you're inside it falls strangely silent, sharing qualities with an abandoned picture theatre and some sort of particle accelerator that fires atoms through your person.  People and ideas move all around and often through you but they won't stay to be interrogated; some things whine and nag over your shoulder while objects you are staring and perhaps waving at remain aloof and silent.  All very confusing and rather disorientating.  If you're contemplating it for yourself, pack a thick skin.

I never imagined it would be this difficult to maintain a consistent opinion of any single process.  And quite a few things have startled me.  The number of people who troupe through the site, for one; that has been gratifying, but then my expectations had hovered somewhere around zero, so er, yeah.  That they seemed actually curious about the book as much as anything was unexpected too, since I'd been warned that was a pretty hard row to hoe.  If only they would make the trip to checkoutland more often.  But you know, my inner disgraced scientist reminds me that no one can conduct a successful comparison from this scanty basis.  I am overanalyzing a sample that does not exist.  It's one month, for fuck's sake.

It does remind me of one of the few benefits of making it past twenty five; that golden, wing'd legate, Perspective, and her blessed angel-visits to our bedsides.  Perspective and I have chatted for a while, and having looked around I am at least at peace with my work having attained that bare, minimum standard whereby you can expect someone to sit through a paragraph without falling comatose or dry-retching.  It is my tendency, however, to find the B in any B&W, and I do fear that the bottomless dross lapping at the very armpits of the epubbing edifice really might have made the public absolutely gun-shy of anything unsupported by a slick campaign or industrial circle-jerking.  We shall probably see about that.

A sincere thanks to any constant readers I might have garnered thus far; your support is heartening and deeply appreciated.  We're thinking of adding some audio files of excerpts, or something similar.

So, Die Antwoord.  Flipping off Lady Ga Ga after she offered a support spot on her last tour (no I can't name it, no I don't care) certainly landed them a few glistening tonnes of global eyeballs but some of us were onto them before that and feel a bit above all the hissy hoo ha.

I love the Antwoord unreasonably because they are the lost twin to the paint-huffing retard taking up far too much square footage in my psyche.  They feed it and caress it.  I love Yo-landi's boobies and Ninja's chatty penis.  Zef Side is the way a large chunk of the Southern Hemisphere looks once you've stepped away from your resort; the twitching remains of colonial experimentation, like Frankenstein's monster smeared across the landscape.  I love them for celebrating that.  And I take my hat off to their ashtray-licking shtick because that shit takes balls of steel.  I personally could not do it and it's not like I've never been refused entry to a nightclub for the way my hair looked.  It takes an iron will to bend a pretty brain around a nasty, janky concept and keep it there long enough to make it pay, but I suppose it gets easier as time goes on and the wardrobe builds up.  What Tudor-Jones and Du Toit are doing now isn't that far removed from the art-school angularisms of their previous incarnations, despite appearances; it is as cagey and watchful as ever and make no mistake, committing 'Baby's On Fire' to the aching page is going to char your mental electrodes as much as anything will.  They are earning every darn cent.  Respect.

The divide between people who perceive and appreciate the performance aspect and those who swallow and expect authenticity from their rock stars is an interesting place.  Die Antwoord are great at what they do precisely because they aren't really ghetto.  The pisstake is intrinsic to the experience; it does not halt its development and the coupling of white-knuckle appropriation and loving embrace becomes a whole other thing- not ghetto, not satire, but Zef, their dirty baby, another Way.  Like it or not, socioeconomic distinction has become as much about academic opportunity and exposure as it is about crude income; these days, true ghetto loves Interscope, the label Antwoord scorned, and will bend over for Interscope's money every time.  It's hard to be a holdout for art when you may not be able to spell Interscope or exploitation or even art.  Still, I was gobsmacked when I saw the first you-tube accusations of fakery by a cohort who obviously bought the whole cow.  If I were raised in conditions that prevented me from ever gaining even a modest grasp on abstract thought, I would be the most cynical person on earth.  Lol.  I'd still probably be a bitch, though.  Not that there's anything wrong with being poor but fancy, mind you.  We're poor and fancy as hell.

I also love the Antwoord because they say shut instead of shit; they are my southern hemi homies.  Gaze now upon the cock-shaped birthday cake that is 'Fatty Boom Boom" and wonder where it has been your whole life.