Kitchener’s Ghost Plays Hostby Montle Moorosi / 07.09.2009
Mtkidu is made up of two white guys, one is a borderline midget, the other looks a little like a serial killer, then there’s an Asian girl and of course the new addition of a Zimbabwean girl with a burnt pineapple on her head for a hairstyle. Mandela would be stoked!
Following up on their pre-album release party, their actual release party was like incest; a weird experience but a fun one if your cousin is really hot. Held at Kitcheners Carvery in the Johannesburg city centre, Kitcheners Carvery is a traditional English style pub named after Lord Alfred Kitchener, the coloniser who took his belt off and whipped the Boers’ asses in the Anglo Boer war, the architect of concentration camps, the scorched earth policy and for going down on Emily Hobhouse.
That’s just my way of saying it’s a nice venue, apart from the occasional sighting of 5 year old Nigerian children wandering into the bar from the apartments above, or the sight of two skinny white guys making out in a dark corner. This scenery did kind of exaggerate my fears and tensions which were predominantly driven by the fact that a double dipped red heart acid tab had accidentally landed in my mouth, I could have been raped but I try not to think of such matters when I’m in the club.
Chris Casio Heart played a pretty good set of sexy electric disco; if you don’t know who he is I’m sure you’ve probably seen this lanky and slightly scary motherfucker around somewhere. He’s absurdly tall, and he’s always ashing his cigarette on people’s heads and will probably become the poster boy for Yves Saint Laurent if they ever invent a paisley patterned suppository.
My eyes no longer felt like my eyes, they were arbitrary ocular appendages guided by shame and a slight hint of vindictive reporting. The sweat gathering in between my ass cheeks started to feel like I was on my period, and speaking of sweat I saw my bumbling Irish photographer at the bar, Justin McGee. Christ! Mcgee is a special character, I like to call him, “sweat face McGee” because there’s something seriously wrong with his irrigation system, but then again he was wearing a sweat shirt in the satanic heat of a tiny crowded pub and an imminent summer. McGee also likes to talk with his hands like a fag does, but he guarantees me he’s not gay, but his thick brown Irish moustache is often confused with Nathaniel’s anal hair. McGee then told me a delightful little story about Nathan Zeno and his little weight problem of about 85kg, which had me giggling the whole night like a little girl, and what’s even funnier is that McGee made him sleep in the garden for fear that Zeno might diminish the value of his sealy posture pedic, but what’s even funnier is the story of how McGee’s father pretended to be a gynaecologist and got away with it for so many years, when in fact he was just a medical photographer.
While chatting to McGee and trying to find shrapnel in my pocket for another drink, in comes Daniel Friedman and he’s standing right next to McGee. Now if you remember the review I did of Mtkidu’s art exhibition you will remember that Daniel Friedman is the type of guy who should shank me in the bathrooms while I’m taking a shit, but to my surprise Mr. Friedman greeted me at the bar, I didn’t say much back because the LSD told my eyes to look at the ground and for my mouth to eat itself, no apologies nothing. So I definitely see myself being bludgeoned with a menorah real soon if I don’t clean up this mess.
Mtkidu’s set was pretty amazing, it started off a bit slow with some ballad kind of songs and Nick (the short guy) was doing his Frank Sinatra thing by announcing songs and what not, which was slightly silly but understandable since it’s their new album out. Things started to get really exciting on about the third song, with is a dub step tune I predict will be doing the rounds, it’s called, “I walk through Joburg” and it’s basically about being lonely in the city and the beat is nothing short of brilliant. Every song they performed was different from the next, and the only two black women in the crowd had their panties drenched and stuck in their mouths when Mtkidu played my other favourite song of theirs, “I love Zulu girls”.
McGee was sweating all over the place and he kept rinsing out the excess sweat from his moustache with his fingers and flicking it on the ground, some British guy saw that he was a photographer and started making conversations about Leica and reflex lenses and various kinds of shit my small black brain couldn’t comprehend, he then offered to take a picture of me and sweat face but it really sucked, at this point I think McGee called him a sorry cunt.
Then there were these three huge black guys who looked like they might have been in the Wu-Tang Clan or at least they used to work security for Mike Tyson who seemed to be really enjoying themselves and the attention McGee was giving them. Turns out those guys were pimps for the two white skinny rent boys because they all left in one car. I don’t know if that’s even relevant to this story, but I really can’t remember much except for that stinky sweaty brown moustache buzzing in and out of my ear the whole night.
All images courtesy and © Justin McGee