Oppikoppi | Drunk Textingby Max Barashenkov / 06.08.2011
Text #1, 17:22 – I’ve been here for 25 minutes and am fast approaching being utterly wasted. These people are fiendish and they love the Red Hot Chilli Peppers too much. Don’t expect anything coherent.
Text #2, 17:43 – Advice from passing stranger – Next year, fly into Lanseria, it’s closer to Oppi. Davis, how much did you save by booking me into OR Tambo?
Text #3, 18:01 – Corne and Twakkie are whoring themselves in a Ros Rooibos giveaway. I guess comedians need to make money somehow.
Text #4, 18:08 – Should I follow Evan Milton’s recommendations or believe that he is an old man in his mid-30s and knows nothing about teenage passions? He bestows upon me a list of ‘worthy’ acts and gets offended when I put question marks next to them on my line-up. I like him for some reason.
Text #5, 18:14 – Alleen Na Desember hit me with every cliché in the post-emo/hardcore book. Their only use is driving people away to get more fucked.
Text #6, 18:32 – Davis, I miss Moorosi, why didn’t you send him with me? He could have done a lovely article on being the only black, non-drug dealer person here.
Text #7, 19:01 – A campfire of Afrikaans boys and the conversation rolls along the lines of: “Fuck, these shrooms haven’t come on yet, let’s drop some acid. Ah nee, this is bullshit acid, let’s take more mushrooms.” They tell me they are so Russian that bears crawl up them to keep warm. Scary, but lovable people.
Text #8, 19:18 – A man is parking his bakkie and puking out of the window at the same time. He looks at me and slurs: “All I have is problems, all I need is solutions.”
Text #9, 19:46 – The only reason people don’t riot over the Standard Bank MiMoney system is because they brought enough booze with them to last the first few hours. According to some sour but friendly barmen – the cards are the most retarded system ever, only there to milk cash out of the transactions. I wonder how much Oppi loaned from Standard Bank to warrant this robbery? Since when is cash not king?
Text #10, 20:16 – The man from Isochronous is wailing: “Have I died, haaave I dieeed?” Yes, you have, reborn into a world where no-one has balls and male pop acts sing as forgettable women. Fuck, I hate them, but Isochronous are the logical solution to our psychologically fractured scene (within very white confines), a seamless blend of appealing genres and flawless execution. I even clap.
Text #11 20:19 – A drunk clears his way through the dense main stage crowd by pretending he is about to puke. I want to be his friend and learn his ways.
Text #12 21:03 – A Fate Like Yours suck too much cheese-coated cock to be even properly considered. Mix everything that has sold well in the vague ‘rock’ category over the last twenty years into a homogenous mass and you get their sound.
Text #13 22:12 – Hello, deathcore, as hard as you strain to produce something original, you will always still-birth bands like The Dead Will Tell. I used to like them but now I’m just plain embarrassed. The crowd looks confused and unimpressed. The vocalist reeks of Fred Durst. Pathetic.
Text #14 00:23 – Davis, your buddy Jay Bones is my savior, can I have his number so we can elope? Fuzi are kicking the shit out this Friday night. Rejoice ye masses, the first good band of the festival.
Text #15 00:56 – ‘The Calm Before The Storm’ says the Friday line-up. Depressing doldrums more like it. Satan bless Saturday.
*All images courtesy the Twitter-verse.