Planned a sleepy start to Cape Town Fringe with Salty Pillows but that was cancelled so woke up to follow the sodium chloride theme and watch Fishwives instead.
These muso migrants from the dread Eastern Cape homeland can kick up a stonk in a dive. Now they’re diving deeper, shifting the undertow in the City Hall’s submersive concert hall.
Briny beats well from the depths of their dank imaginations. Drummer Strato, with hair of black seaweed, dredges a tragic tale, drives it forward, skips it like a stone over the snare, cymbals and high hat, the bass a boulder rolling with the swells in the depths.
Riding ahead of the backbeat beast, three sirens stroke their strings, caress their keyboards and snare us with sea songs, she songs of love, revenge and death. Lyrics twisted and dangerous as tentacles, the ‘wives drag us willingly into their musical lair and slay us, sitting there.
Back on dry land, the Fringe Club pumps and The Gruffalo tickets jump (1 200 gone, show sold out ’till Monday at least).
Looks like Capetonians’ beginning to check this jol’s no pap snoek.
Fishwives beckon on Sunday and Monday. Book here, tide waits for no woe, man.
–– Steve Kretzmann