I said “yes!” to the girls when they asked me to join them at the Sons of Trout reunion gig last night at the Mercury Lounge. I haven’t been to see a live gig in ages, and I remember having jauled to Sons of Trout on many a drunken. Also, Big Friendly is STILL away and I know all the dstv repeats off by heart. Sitting at The Shack before the gig gave us a clue as to who and what would be there. I saw tie dye! Quite a bit of it! I saw goth. I saw a few political/struggle/union t-shirts. I saw old faces. And they saw me. And I realised, with a warmth in my heart that is difficult to explain, that I love Cape Town. There are chunks of it that just STAY THE SAME. I’m sure a trip to the latest club in town or bar in Camps Bay would fill me with terror and intimidation; but there on the dance floor, between tall white guy hopping from foot to uncoordinated foot and aging girl groupie with one arm raised (holding an imaginary lighter aloft?) and mouthing all the words, I felt right at home.
The Sons of Trout have gained in slickness and maturity what they have lost in hair. It was ‘kif’ to see them on stage and they are actually really good. The turn-out was a lot less than I expected – did they have much publicity? I wouldn’t know. I’m completely out of the loop.
The biggest clue to how things have changed was in the ubiquitous ‘rock band photographer’. I caught him sneaking a look through the pics he had taken, there in the room, next to the pool table, on his digital camera. No waiting the whole weekend to see what he had got by printing at Orms on Monday.
Other than that, and except for a few twenty somethings who had stumbled upon the gig by accident, it was all beautifuly, nostalgically, boringly, delightfully the same as before.