Gig Guide

Reviews

THE ROAD TO MALONGANE
[Katvrou was amongst the group that accompanied Piet Botha on his short tour to Mozambique at the end of May]

There's this remote little place just across the Mozambican border.

You can get there if your vehicle has a diff-lock, or if you're driving with the owner of a vehicle with a diff-lock. You beat the tarmac and get machine-cappuccinos from Engen stations for more than eight hours, then do the leg-stretch thing at the border, get your passport stamped and quietly sulk about your coolerbox heating up. You gulp your last cold beer and check out the white sandy road snaking right up to the horizon. The scenic but precariously erratic 15 km drive to Malongane stays locked in your memory - complete with bumps, deep front-wheel dips and the odd beer spill over your shorts.

Guaranteed - you will feel the sun kiss your face and you might even detach yourself from that office in the city. To the tune of "Buffalo Soldier, stolen from Africa…" you will stare at the ghostly wind-beaten trees with their tousled green toupees and you will want to buy the begging children running next to the car some clothes and food. Wipe their noses. Give them smiles. And maybe your neck or left ribcage will catch some whiplash. You will cling to the roof rack like a demented gerbil monkey while praying feverishly that you've packed enough skivvies.

You do this because you want to see how Jack Hammer rocks a rustic resort until the beach crabs walk sideways no more. You might also do this because you'd like to catch a few scuba dives and peruse the coral reef just behind the first glistening emerald swells of the Indian Ocean. This can be done with a tent, sunscreen, some Peaceful Sleep or green coils to burn, the odd Disprin and the usual camping/Oppikoppi gear. Or, if you feel like splurging, stay in the log cabins or the bush tents on the wooden decks. And you can lock your tent, I kid you not.

The first night slips quietly into the dark sky. We sit around the fire and Piet Botha tugs pensively on the strings of his mellow guitar. Nobody speaks. There's just the occasional clink of a Jack Daniel's bottle against an enamel cup. The burning wood spits and hisses, and Piet Botha sings the blues. Soundman Conrad sits at Piet's feet, rocks his head to the rhythm of the guitar and murmurs the words of an unknown song. I crawl into my tent with the image of old blues, slow Amarula, a thousand fire tongues against the night and a whispery voice fixing some rest in my soul.

Friday breezes into the upper deck bar with several bushy-tailed divers offering exuberant recalls of an early morning dive ending in a swim with a school of about fifty dolphins. The same electricity is felt later that night - just after the spitbraai.

The entertainment area is packed with eager bods when Jack Hammer steps up to guitars and drumset. Johnathan Martin on lead guitar is overdressed in shoes while Piet Botha and Tertius du Plessis take the floor with sandy toes. They have ample room to move and with Conrad's sound teetering on a pinhead, everything just explodes into over three hours of heated, rugged kick-ass music - the voice of ROCK. Unrestrained. Honest, rough and bare to the bone, Baby.

We get a blistering "Russian and Chips", a standing ovation for Jono with his lusciously evil solo in "Mamba", entire rows of heads moshing to "G8", Piet's screaming Fender and Jono's "Don't try to calm me down, don't try to calm me down, NO!", there's the slow sad "Kind Hearted Woman", and yes.

Several insanely fast but mind-blowing exchanges between Duke on drums and Tertius with that grey shark of a bass guitar, Jono and Piet with bullets, guns and flying mud in the trenches of "Goeienag Generaal" - and our fists in the air with "En toe ek weer so kyk, het 'n AK jou f*cked-up geskiet!!!!"

And then. Five little boys who dance with wide eyes and bare feet in front of Piet. His grin when he comes out of the guitar and sees them. How he keeps watching them with pure amazement in his eyes. And our shrieks for the four dudes in Jack Hammer, beer bottles in the air, songs screamed word for word out of Piet's throat, and the eventual late-night stumble over the silent white sand to your tent. Where that voice asks again: "What did you do for your brother today …"

At the breakfast table we uncover the impromptu Malongane Bash lingo. Ghoofel - snorkeling when you're ghoofed. Groapies - rock band roadies with an inclination to grope. Allamapstieks! - a Conradesque exclamation that befits any bloody thing, from mild surprise up to sheer unadulterated dismay. I'm the Sandman - when snorkeling offers no aquatic wildlife, only billows of ocean bed sand in your goggles. Twelve o' Clock Dive - skinny-dipping. Snorfing - surfing a caffeine high by snorting Ricoffy.

The Jack Hammer gig on Saturday night at Ponto Da Oura leads to unruly and borderline lascivious behaviour, especially among several warm-blooded females (local and foreign), possibly due to the four dudes looking and working sharp like a mean marlin's nozzle.

The venue is Café Del Mar, it's just after nine, and outside the wind is a total bitch. Succulent prawns with that feisty Mozambican flavour are scoffed by the dozen and washed down with cool foamy drafts. Jack Hammer scowls, strums and growls. "The Fisherman", another livid green "Mamba", "Sarajevo" and the exquisitely beautiful "Pilgrim" are given to music junkies, divers, strangers, restaurant staff, the camera team, people who feel music on their skin. Duke promptly turns into an octopus and ravages drums and cymbals with a grimace equal to an ecstasy where words have no place.

The sound is a maniac, its wicked quality right up there with the Southern Cross. We dance and mosh, shout the lyrics, sway some hips, some drown in the blues, drink shooters and sweat, while some roaming blokes from Ballito exclaim from the front row, totally bamboozled: "These guys should get a CD out!!"

While sleeping bags are rolled up and tents fluffed down, memories stand clear as dawn on the beach. The whale shark swimming in 13-m deep water at Paradise Point. The crisp lettuce in those decadent bowls of Greek salad. The mozzies hovering hopefully in front of your shower door. The bloated rubberboats bobbing over choppy blue water towards yet another diving high.

Piet Botha handing out his money to the astonished locals at the border post. The rhythmic lulling sound of the waves at night. The gargantuan and utterly scrumptious portions of golden crispy grilled chicken dished up at Malongane's restaurant - that eating haven with its shark-teeth ceiling. The skinny brown stick-bug glaring at you from the bottom of the wash basin while you brush your chompers. The comfort of two jerseys, Woolies longjohns and a warm body next to yours against the sudden night chill.

And Malongane.

A quiet place where you leave your shadows behind - but Jack Hammer. Ah yes. Jack Hammer you take with you.

Katvrou, 6 June 2004

Jack Hammer – a rock for the weary
by Katvrou, April 2004

In Gauteng you'll find quite a few venues where you can park your butt to get an earload of your band. In Jozi there's Back 2 Basix just across the university, Trance Sky (ex Bassline) in Melville, Newtown's still eyed with suspicion (yeah, a bummer indeed), and once in a blue moon, the Bluesroom. In Pretoria you have Café Barcelona with its kickass roomy stage, there's lethargy personified in Cool Runnings (dat one bein' Centurion), the ancient but manically frequented Steak & Ale, and the raucous Tings an' Times where students and pickled music junkies mix to match.

In most of these places and in April that's just slipped into yesterday, I have seen and heard Jack Hammer. Four men in a restless bond of truth, talent and reality. Devoted to their fans by true grit, the fever that is rock, an unexplicable addiction to rhythm and the lash of the drumstick, and a third eye to see the soul of the guitar. In the dark. Piet Botha, Tertius du Plessis, Paul van de Waal and Jonathan Martin. Jack Hammer is your mentor. It is electric, it knows about ghosts, it knows the face of restless tunes and hours on the freeway. It is talent in the blood. And it teaches you to surf a thirty-footer mother of a wave without a board.

The new tunes are mean, deep and exquisitely written, meant to kick you in the face and coat your heart in barbed wire. But they are more beautiful than the sun on your face in the bushveld. Without a hangover. "The Pilgrim" is serene, evil and a bloody masterpiece. It starts heated and mean like a horny old witch, then slips into a deceptive cool breeze in the voice of Piet Botha. He tells you about the deep blue sea. Moonshine Lee – and the long road to Mozambique. If you can't write songs, if you drool over Mozart's intricately designed "Rex Tremendae Majestatis' like old Salieri, you will not be pleased by what Jack Hammer is giving you here. Best you down a gallon of scotch. Then weep a bit, wipe your nose, ah heck, even call them names. But keep the music close. "Lady Amber" – ah yes Lady Amber. She comes with drums and strings and open palms and takes your soul for a walk down that road you thought you'd left behind.

They give you "Headlines" and death breathes in the back of your neck. They kick you into the trenches with "Goeienag Generaal", an insane space in your head filled with gunsmoke and screams, blood, gore, bullets and mud. Then the quietly unsettling dips and peaks of "Bury Me". And yes. There will be the delicious thrumming an' plucking of "Russian & Chips" on this here "The Pilgrim".

But be aware. You think you know them. The way Duke Paul makes them drums sound like trained poltergeists in thick black duhhm-duhhhrrrrrr-duhhhmmmms – without batting an eyelid. Tertius and that big grey shark in his hands, a living thing with strings, the dark dude strolling to the amp, then back to Piet, long hair shaken loose for "Liberty", evil glint in the eye. Jonathan turning words into breathless notes swirling in the smoke and coloured lights. You hear silver and pain. Passion and peace. The voice in Jonathan Martin as old as time.

But, mostly you'll drool. Check how this dude, in every gig, in every venue, cool as a spinster's cucumber, goes and mutates the climax in "Die Mamba" without surrendering an ounce of its strength.

Yes, still you think you know them.

Then Piet Botha steps in and shows you unity. Brotherhood and the spirit of rock. How the tunes sleep and awake with a Fender and two hands born from this earth. "What did you do for your brother today …" and there's the sly little smile, shoulders hunched over the song, strings whimpering under his fingers, his eyes closed to our screams.

Jack Hammer walks the dirt road with scuffed boots, new strings and a soul filled with songs. Prepare for "The Pilgrim". And maybe, when you have the gigs in your heart and the songs in your speakers, maybe only then will you know Jack Hammer. And in the end – yourself.

PIET BOTHA EN KIE SÊ WOEF, EKSÊ!

Dis nie maklik om by Die Blou Hond in Vierdelaan, Linden verby te ry nie. Al reën dit ook Rottweilers en Staffies. By die ingang staan daar 'n regop reënjasgedaante met 'n sterk flitslig en wys waar jy jou motor se neus moet indruk. Dan spring jy net oor die modderplasse, duik vir die stoep met sy warm geel ligte, skud al die water van jou sambreel af, en gee jou voorpoot vir Philip Moolman.

Ja, hy lyk bietjie anders deesdae. Al die hare is kort teen die skedel geskeer, en dit laat hom lekker kwaai lyk. Hy staan gereed met 'n moerse blou gieter en 'n glas om jou pons te skink. Ek waai my stert vir 'n dankie, en proe-proe versigtig in die hoek van die stoep aan die rooierige sap voor ek 'n groot sluk in my keel afplons. Dit smaak soos sangria, Liviton, kersiesap, Chamberlains en 'n bietjie rietspiritus gemeng met 'n skeutjie sadisme en voorbedagte rade. Dit laat jou wange gloei en makliker met die mense langs jou praat. Ek slurp summier Irene langs my se glas leeg.

Binnekant Die Blou Hond staan lang houttafels, dik toegestrooi met roosblare en ander groen blare uit die klimop- en boomklas. Susan kry ons by die deur en wys vir ons waar ons kan platval. Op elke tafel staan 'n groot blikemmer vol rooi rose, langs elke kant van die emmer 'n klein swart laphondjie (lyk soos 'n Rottie) met 'n blou strik om die nek en blink bruin kraalogies vir my en kyk. Eetgerei (vurke, messe en moerse groot lang messe) staan op aandag saamgebondel in blou Butch hondekosblikke. Op elke tafel is daar ook plek gemaak vir 'n klein houtrakkie gepak met Susan se Blou Hond resepteboekies. En indien jy net water wil hê, is daar blou gieters met boorgatsous in die middel van die tafel. Die Blou Hond het nog nie die liksens vir die drankding nie, so almal bring hulle eie kromhoutsap.

Susan beweeg tussen die tafels deur met 'n reusebak vol sappige rooi waatlemoenstukke. "Vir die lewer," sê sy liefies. Daar is 'n rooi roos in haar hare. Sy het 'n prettige swart-en-wit bloes in Dalmatiese kolle oor haar bolyf, dan's daar 'n voorskoot en rooi rompie, ek sien lang denimbene iewers onder, en wanneer sy by jou verbyloop, swaai haar grys pelsstert guitig met elke tree. Almal gryp waatlemoen wanneer sy naby kom, en skuif langs mekaar in soos die lang eetkamer voller en voller raak.

Teen die mure is prente, portrette en foto's van honde, honde en dan nóg honde. Alle vorms, kleure en spesies. Ek vergaap my. Iewers hoor ek vir Bra Piet sing - dis die Jan Skopgraaf CD. In die hoek staan twee stoele en mikrofone gereed vir Bra Piet en Jonathan se akoestiese (oftewel ongepropte) optrede. 'n Elegante en aantreklike blondine by die tafel langs ons tik haar eggenoot op die skouer met 'n: "Ag man, ek wil net die een hoor van 'fucked-up geskiet'." Hiert-jou. Sy't al "Goeienag Generaal" gehoor, sy ken nie die naam nie, maar wat sy wel weet, is dat sy daarvan hou. Kom dit toe na vore dat meeste van die mense wat vanaand na Piet Botha kom luister, het wel 'n paar CD's van hom by die huis, maar het hom nog nooit lewend sien optree nie.

Ek skuif reg op my stoel en voorsien 'n genoeglike aand vir heelwat ore wat nog nooit Die Mamba van hoek tot kant deurgeluister het nie.

Philip en Susan klim op die verhogie en kondig die reëls van die aand aan. Dis soos 'n surrealistiese korporatiewe PowerPoint voorstelling, maar met 'n lang stok in Susan se voorpoot en Philip wat die bord vashou. Jy word vertel (darem sonder 'n hondefluitjie) jy eet uit Pedigree hondebakke, wat baie skoon is. Jy blaf as jy van die musiek hou. Susan "Aaaiiouuuuuouuuuu!!!" sommer onmiddellik ter illustrasie. Die bedeesdes wip van skrik in hulle stoele. Jy tjank as jy iets nodig het. Jy vry binne en baklei buite. Verder word die bytkaart volledig uiteengesit, en om my begin 'n paar bekke ('skuus, monde) kwyl met die noem van "Spanjoelsop met Thoroughbreads" (botterskorsiesop met Franse brode), "Taai Voëlhond met stukkies hondenaels en Rabies" (Thaihoenderrepe met kokosneut en rys) en dan natuurlik die heerlike "Hondetietmelktert met roosblare en amandel" (melktert).

Ons word verder vertel dat die "Fieterjoelkoffie" (behoorlike filterkoffie) nie net lekker is nie, maar dat dit alle reuns sal verhoed om onskuldige tewe op pad huis toe te dek weens die hitsigheid wat deur die gatskopmusiek veroorsaak word.

Die sop is heerlik warm, dik en vol sampioenstukke. Die vars Franse brode so lank soos krieketpaaltjies. Dis skoon stil soos honde en windhonde (vegetariërs) uit hulle blink bakke smul. Ek gaan was my pootjies in die badkamer, en kyk twee keer na die hondesjampoe op die wasbak. Blou kristalle en glasvissies hang oor die bad, en die toiletpapier is pers soos 'n ou drinker se neus. Oral teen die mure in die gang is foto's van Blou Hondkeffers wat daar kom kou, blaf en been lig. Reëls vir honde, óór honde, en hoe om honde te verstaan.

Dan's dit tyd vir Bra Piet en Jonathan om te speel. Dit reën nog heeltyd saggies buite, maar binne is die stilte erg eerbiedig. Piet bedank almal dat hulle gekom het, knik oudergewoonte vir Jonathan, en hulle begin met "Bye Bye My Darling". Ek voel hoe my nekhare sak. Dit was 'n zef week, vol ongeskikte Rifrûe wat sommerso onder mens se stert kom snuif, donderweer wanneer jy net lekker in daai stoepdroom insak, en hope sopbene sonder sop.

Net so kom Piet en Jonathan met twee kitare en twee stemme - en vee al die stink slagysters van die grasperk af. 'n Blitsvinnige "Russian & Chips" laat 'n hele paar ore om my prik. Daar's "Manifesto" met Jonathan in 'n ekstradonker "... the fields are on fire ... don't try to calm me down, don't try to calm me down, NO ..." die onrustige "Morrisson Hotel", "Bordello", en die smullige "Suitcase Vol Winter". Bra Piet vra of ons mooi kan hoor. 'n Luide "Jaaaa!!" en 'n paar blaffe hier en daar wys vir hom die klank is perfek. Hy lyk bloedjonk vanaand sonder die kopdoek, en Jonathan is deurgaans die onderwerp van bespreking: "Wie's die jong outjie saam met Piet?" met 'n hele paar "Sjoe hy's mooi" en natuurlik die "Hy sing soos 'n blerrie engel." Piet doen 'n stadige "Klein Bietjie Reën" en wys 'n grimmige trek op sy gesig met "... die prokureur maak seker jy kry jou deel ..." - en 'n treurige maar hondmooi twannngggg op sy kitaar aan die einde.

Die hoofmaal word voorgesit en ons kan nie vinnig genoeg kou nie. Die musiek is so lekker, jy vergeet van jou maag. Dit lyk nogal vreemd om jou vurk in 'n Pedigree hondebak rond te stoot, maar dié is hondewêreld. Daar's nie plek vir luise, vrotpootjie en pie teen die tafelpoot nie. Die honde hier is almal tjomme en niemand ruik aan 'n ander se kosbak nie. Ons verslind die Voëlhond en Rabies met smaak.

Die tweede stel word rustiger, maar g'n stuk minder boeiend nie. Ons skuif ons stoele nader. In die dowwe geel van die plafonligte lyk Piet en Jonathan soos 'n poskaart, gebuk oor kitare en koppe vol stokou note. "Gister was ek nog jakkals se kind ..." laat die karakters en aksies in "Marilyn Monroe" leef. En net daarna maak hulle ons heeltemal bossies met die langste inleiding wat ek nog vir "Blues vir Louise" gehoor het. Dit ruk en pluk voor uit die hoek, Jonathan met die linkervoet aan't tik-tikketie-tik, ek moet my stert vasknyp tussen my bene, die bloemin ding wil op loop sit met die ritme, en Piet Botha gee g'n snars genade. Vanaand's sy vingers weer soos 'n eierklitser in 'n warrelwind.

So sien ek om my hoe raak die oë blinker en die snoete natter soos Bra Piet se toorkrag loop. Uit die grys CD-boksie eenkant vlieg Die Mamba een pad handsakke en baadjiesakke toe. Hier en daar word 'n swart laphondjie en 'n Blou Hond resepteboek ook gekoop en iewers by 'n spasietjie ingedruk om huis toe te vat.

Ek voel hoe kom die einde om die hoek met "Konings", maar Bra Piet hy's nie gewoond aan kort speeltyd nie - so hy doen die "fucked up geskiet" ding net vir ons elegante en geïnspireerde buurtafel, maar "Goeienag Generaal" het nou sommer troepe, kanonne en perde by wat jou in die ding inpluk, en ek soek naarstiglik nog van daai rooi pons, want akoesties of nie, hierdie ding maak jou ribbes bewe van binne. Dan laat Piet en Jonathan ons stuk vir stuk afkom bo van die plafon af met "Hulle noem my die Mamba, die hele kontinent behoort aan my ... " en ek voel my bakkies kwyl en grinnik soos 'n oopdeurpakhuis. "En ek beweeg, maar ek hou nie baie van die woestyn ..."

Ons stap uit op die stoep. Die trietserige modder en reën buite is die antitese vir die Die Blou Hond se regop ore en foefievrye kuier. Gaan snuf gerus rond daarso in Vierdelaan. Jy gaan nie jou stert kan stilhou nie.

Al voel jy (nes Kleinboer met sy berekende blikkie vrot vis) ambivalent jeens honde.

Windhond Bloutoon
Iewers in Johannesburg

SAKlank.com, Maart 2004

KOPDOEK, BAARD EN KITAAR



Ek sien die motors staan dikgepak buite in die straat. Ons moet agter die
gebou 'n plekkie vir die wiele gaan soek. Ja'k, Jack Hammer is vanaand op
die verhoog. En dis Vrydag. Hier sit die lywe lank vanaand.

Voor teen die verhoog is 'n hele tafel bykans die breedte van die vertrek
vol mense gepak. Hulle is baie vrolik. So vrolik dat hulle nie eens oplet
wat Jack Hammer agter hulle doen nie. Maar dis hulle geld, tyd en groen
shooters, wie's ek nou om te wroeg.

Al gaan jy na hoeveel Jack Hammer en Piet Botha optredes, nie een kan
regtig die vorige keer ewenaar nie. Al ken jy die liedjies en kom loop die
woorde weer soos miere op jou lyf, staan die manne elke keer met nuwe
rugstringe agter hulle gereedskap. En ja. Steak & Ale is nie die grootste
watergat in Pretoria nie. Dan word daar nog geëet ook, en so. Jy moet jou
sit mooi ken om die Generaal, Johno, Tertius (en die lang grys kitaar) en
Duke agter die dromme met een kyk raak te sien. En vanaand's die gesigte
strak, gemeen, vas in die hitte van die nuwe "Morrison Hotel", en dan "Die
Mamba", en die kokende "Russian & Chips". En my hel. "Goeienag Generaal".

Bra Piet is buite homself. Hy speel asof hy nou net "Goeienag Generaal"
geskryf het, en die loopgrawe lê vars, die koeëls trek hier by jou kop
verby, hy speel so dat jy voel jy kan opvlieg uit jou stoel, die kitaar
gryp en luister wat die ding vir hom sê, hy speel sonder om ons te sien, hy
glimlag so onder die baard, die oë toe, die man met kitaar. Dis eers hier
waar die mense begin glase neersit, en behoorlik oplet wat Jack Hammer
doen. Jonathan se stem saam met die kitaar wat sy hart laat klop.
Tertius se T-hemp sê "Ek is 'n grootwildjagter". Agter hom teen die muur
is 'n collage van plakkate - en sy oë blink. Dan - Duke se dromsolo.
Bebliksemd maar kort. Daar's nie tyd vir plieng-plong-doesjjj nie. Nee,
hy slaat daai dromme met grofgeskut niks kleiner as 'n negeponder nie. Ek
skrou ietwat onfyn dak se kant toe. Duke skop die hek oop. Hy sweet en
die hare waai in pas met Tertius en Jonathan, die ritme laat niks los nie,
en die gesigte tuur net so tussen ons in. Hulle sien ons, maar kyk ook
sommer déúr ons. Vlaktes toe. Daar waar die treinspore lê.

Met so 'n woedende rammetjie-uitnek gepluk van die heup af doen hulle die
baardmanne ZZ Top se "La Grange". "Uhhh-huhh-huh-huhhhhh ..." grom Piet en
Jonathan in die mikrofoon in. Harig, dik en kwaai, met so 'n skop onder
die agterent om jou weer regop te laat loop. "Well, I hear it's fine if
you got the time, and the ten to get yourself in. Uhhh-huh-huummmmm. And
I hear it's tight most ev'ry night, but now I might be mistaken.
Uhh-huhh-hu-hummmm." Die Generaal en sy manne gryns - en sleep ons aan ons
hare oor die grondpad.

Nes jy die doringtakke uit jou hare pluk, kom hulle weer en smyt jou teen
die grond met daardie wilde Texas ding van The Doors. Nou raak dinge lelik
van die lekker. My drankie verdamp teen dieselfde spoed as wat die
hoendervleise my vel toesak. Ek wens Billy Bob Thornton kan hierdie ding
sien vanaand. Nie net 'n ou bra van hom so bedonnerd goed aan't snaarslaan
nie, maar vier van ons eie manne met hare op hulle tande, hande wat weet
van snare, weet waar die hart van die ritme sit, en die drang na bonkige
rou rock wat bly loop in die bloed soos 'n kiem.

Rustyd. Ek sien nou eers die tafels is met koerantpapier oorgetrek.
Plastiek pryk bo-oor om die drukkersink uit die pasta te hou. In die een
hoek sê die swart letters "Britse Kabinet Dalk Geskommel" en 'n ander
opskrif onder my elmboog vra "Sadam se wapens begin van einde vir Tony?"

Die ure word plat en verdwyn. Dis hoe dit is met Jack Hammer. Een oomblik
sit jy nog en wikkel jou stêre op die stoel met "Kitty" en raak mal oor "G8
Manifesto", "Bordello" en "Codename Ruby" - die volgende oomblik kom Piet
Botha se grinterige stem met "Koebaai julle konings, koebaai ..."

Jy vat jou goed en loop. Die hoofweg is loom en donker. Die huis is stil
tot jy in die luidsprekers die aand met "Sarajevo" herroep. Maar die
honger loop al klaar vir die volgende keer.

"Maar nou moet ons waai, daar's myle wat wag
en die man met kitaar moet vir die gelag betaal
koebaai julle konings koebaai ..."

Katvrou
MELVILLE
Februarie 2004

PIET BOTHA
Live in Westdene
by Carina Laubscher

It's May. That old winter hag skulks around every corner, breathing down your neck. If you seriously crave some blues-rock heat, catch Piet Botha in Back 2 Basics. Whether it's an acoustic set or one of those jammin' Jack Hammer sets, it really doesn't matter. This man, together with Tertius and Jonathan, transforms any guitar into a schizophrenic tool with a voice that can talk to the dead. So here they sit, lightly stubbled and stylishly crumpled. Piet grins, pulls on his smoke and jokes about Joburg's terrible highways.

They do a lot of things from the new CD, 'Die Mamba'. It's freaky - the way Piet Botha lets stories and strange places materialise through guitar and hands. 'Man met Kitaar' has no end. "Beaufort Wes en Kimberley, was nie lank gelede nie, oorlog kom en oorlog gaan, maar myle hou net aan en aan, so as jy vir Jakob soek maar jy kan hom nie kry, en jy wonder waar is die ou siel nou - hy sit in die son met sy kitaar, die plaas se naam is Goedvertrouw."

A hungry soul in the back pleads for 'Die Mamba' but Piet chuckles and gives us 'Die Gemmerbroodman'. A rather nippy piece of sardonic art. "Haai ek is tog te oulik, met my bakkies blink poleer, whatever jy verdien, ek verdien tog meer, en ek maak my bek oop - elke kans wat ek kry, want ek is so belangrik - die wêreld moet weet van my." Oh my. Oh yum. The bitch called winter slips through the door and out into the night.

Tonight the sound is exceptionally sharp and clear. It is also rather difficult to follow Piet Botha's fingers. Yes, of course you can stare until your eyeballs detach themselves, but not during 'Russian & Chips' because you will not see the hands. Jonathan and Tertius bob their heads in dilly unison, the hair long and free.

They knock us flat with 'Bordello', an Afrikaans version of 'House of the Rising Sun'. This one's good. Very good. "Daar is 'n huis in Johannesburg waar die rooi lig brand elke aand en baie siele het hier alles verloor - dobbel, slegte vrouens en drank." Never before did a warning sound so hot. Followed by 'Skielik Somer' and the stunning 'Herfsgedagtes' - "As jy dan moet gaan, laat die son en die wind en die maan jou altyd terugbring na my, ek ken van die reën, en dit maak nie saak waarheen die pad jou vat - ek sal jou kry."

And now Piet and the guys give us 'Kitty'. An achingly beautiful song. Strong. Humming with a restless rhythm and soundless tears. I want to bawl, it's stuck in the back of my throat, but this song is so bloomin' deep, it hurts. That dark rough voice with "Ek was nog baie myle weg van Leeudoringstad" and the femme fatale materialises in "En sy kom met die sekelmaan, hierdie een maak die lug blou, hierdie een het al 'n leeu geskiet sonder 'n scope..." The restaurant listens. Red wine swirls into glasses. And 'Kitty' settles like a sigh between the flickering candles and quiet tables.

They end with 'Die Mamba'. It's met with raucous applause, this kick-ass drawling tune that's just plain HOT. "Hulle roep my die mamba, en ek looi die kitaar, op die lang pad gebore - ek en my vriend adder loop by die nag, al daai heerlike diertjies wat wag, jong bokkies, bokkies om te byt."

G'night Piet Botha. We're ready for winter.
(Carina Laubscher, May 2003)

JACK HAMMER AT THE STEAK AND ALE
Carina Laubscher caught up with the Piet Botha Gang, live at the Steak & Ale.

We walk in just as Piet Botha strums the first heated notes on his green guitar. Jonathan Martin bends over his string machine, coveting her, empowering her voice, the long hair obscuring the intense young face for a moment. Paul van der Waal is taking no crap from the drum set tonight. He's slick, fast and bloody fit, firing sharp volleys of rattling pots andcold cymbals - and smiling ever so slyly. Tertius du Plessis looks supacool with that long grey bass against his hips, his hair tied back. For now.

In the Steak & Ale in Centurion, that seasoned old waterhole with its warthog head and horned kudu torsos, I am once again struck by the wicked reality of Jack Hammer's sharp, tight and unfathomable partnership. Look at Piet and Jonathan while they do 'Mamba.' Between the two of them they give that snake a double-rattle, moving in slow unison with guitar and body, the closed eyes and bottomless throats taking them where the fans can only dream to be.

'Suitcase Vol Winter' is crammed with acute jabs of unvoiced feelings, a bluesy rhythm that soothes and unnerves at the same time. Piet's straight profile looks almost regal against the yellow lights and swirling tongues of smoke around his head. He asks for the sloshed patrons not to kick his mike stand when they go to the loo, please. He sounds dangerously calm. And then Jack Hammer regroups with red-hot jams and a blistering pace - favourites like 'Station', 'G8 Manifesto', 'Kid From Nazareth', and that crazy airborne wench in 'Blues Vir Louise'. I can feel my eardrums bulging, perforated by those addictive guitar jolts and "rrruhhhm-rruhmmmms" from Paul's corner. Tertius loosens his hair and all hell breaks loose. 'Sarajevo' is a black thing from the mud-drenched trenches, spiced with the sweat and passion from the musos in front of us. We scream and yell, we whistle and roar like banshees without regret.

'Kitty' puts Piet Botha in a place where lobotomies will never work. He stuns us with the uneasy rhythm and sweet hoarse words breathed into the mike about a femme fatale - one who's not like the others. And Jack Hammer zips up the third set. You feel the strength of their kick-ass art flow straight to your battered suburban vertebrae. Medicine for the soul.
(Carina Laubscher, early 2003)

JACK HAMMER AT HURDY GURDY'S, JEFFREYS BAY
28 September 2001

"Hurdy Gurdy stands for breaking the silence with a song", reads the poster on the wall. Hurdy Gurdy's in J'bay had its silence broken on Friday night the 28th of September when Jack Hammer strolled onto its limpid stage for a night of acoustic rock.

Due to good weather, friendly townspeople and an eagerly watched Currie Cup rugby match that just had to be finished first, the gig started a bit late, but who's watching the watch anyhow on a good day at Jeffreys Bay.

Jack Hammer refers to a number of entities; Piet Botha, at times, is referred to as "The Hammer". Add guitarist/vocalist Jonathan Martin, bassist Tertius du Plessis and drummer Paul v/d Waal with Fenders and Gibsons plugged into big Marshall amplifiers then Jack Hammer transforms into a pile-driving band with a beautiful full-bodied rock sound. Jack Hammer also refers to Piet Botha and Jonathan Martin performing as a duo {sometimes known as "Piet & The Kid - ed}. Acoustic guitars donned (with the occasional harmonica and keyboard), bar stools drawn closer and licks, lyrics and riffs traded on road tested songs. This was the entity that offered entertainment at Hurdy Gurdy's that night. Two guitarists/singers/songwriters acting in unison to improvise on the rock'n'roll slogan of stage lights and late nights.

Hurdy Gurdy's is a smallish venue - its prominent feature is a bar with a wide counter and a well lit service area to facilitate drinking, and a big drawing of a young and a smiling Mick Jagger that serves as a backdrop for the stage. To the approving gaze of Jumpin' Jack Flash, a bearded Piet Botha, clad in a Oppikoppi long sleeve, and Jonathan Martin with a white-on-black Jim Beam blazed across the front of his T-shirt sauntered on stage to start off the music with "Staan Saam Burgers". Their regular opener (acoustic or electric) it featured an innovative opening riff and a gentle call-up to the "volk" to gather around to rock in union. The song demonstrated the association between music and history, that the one feeds on the other, with its references to the Anglo-Boer War.

"Liberty" followed. This is Jonathan Martin's coup de grace. Great melody, great guitar work, great vocals. Lyric-wise: - after several readings I still haven't figured out why Kaelin didn't survive the wild. "Sien Jou Weer" and "Suitcase Vol Winter" had the Rolling Stones blues "Love in Vain" {a Robert Johnson composition - ed} sandwiched between them. "Suitcase Vol Winter", the title track of Piet Botha's first Afrikaans album, bared the raw nerves of a season of melancholy, hard luck and painful memories. "Last Fair Deal Gone Down" is a seldom heard Robert Johnson tune dusted off and polished by Jack Hammer. Martin on vocals sounded every bit like the blues belter he aspires to be. The first session played out with a cover of Guns and Roses' "Sweet Child o' Mine", with an interplay with Martin on guitar and Botha on keyboard.

The second session found a dour-looking cat called Mervin, with a troubleshooting Ovation guitar, seated between Martin and Botha, contributing licks and riffs when his guitar would allow it. "Pick-up trouble" was mooted by those in the know. Apparently a celebrated banjo player from Bloemfontein, Mervin and his erratic guitar did not distract from great versions of great songs.

"Blues vir Louise" segued into a harrowing adaption of the Rolling Stones' "Dead Flowers". "Goeienag Generaal" was met by the usual chorus of cheers. Arguably the most popular Piet Botha song, it's a song with a meaning - meaning a lot to a generation who unwillingly, unwittingly took up arms in a war orchestrated by ideologists and securocrats burrowed in Pretoria offices. Botha's harmonica on this song sounded as if he tried to blow away all the agonies and barricades of the Angolan bush war put up in the minds of ex-conscripts and border fighters.

"Russian and Chips" a.k.a. "The Kid He came from Nazareth", an old Freedom's Children tune featured some intricate guitar work from the duelling fretboard brothers. "Billy", a Bob Dylan song from the film "Pat Garrett & Billy the Kid" retained its outlaw flavor envisaged by the composer. A change to the original lyric featured an innovative "Dylan... they don't want you to be so free". "Tangerine", an old Led Zep tune and "Crossroad Blues" {Another Robert Johnson song, made popular by Cream - ed} saw the sending off of Mervin - three guitars trading lead and rhythm to fair effect.

After a short break for refreshments Botha and Martin were back on stage with a dreamy lullaby. "Northern Sky" with Martin on vocals got the third session going. A moving folk song, it was, along with "Liberty", Martin's finest performance of the night. "Boomstraat", an ode to smokers of a special weed, was funny and evoked also a few grins from the more dignified portion of the audience. Pink Floyd's "Wish You Were Here" and "April" set the mood for the final stretch of songs.

"Laat die Wiele Rol", a chronicle of life on the road, set up cheers for mentioning Jeffreys Bay. "Runaway Train" had Botha again doing great things on harmonica, blowing life into an otherwise dull song. Ideally a cover version should add originality or new insight into a song. "All Along the Watchtower" is covered by more artists than rock and folk encyclopedias can list. With alternate vocals and tasty acoustic guitar Jack Hammer brought new dimensions to this well weathered song. Dylan is after all free - free to alter and adapt. A return of "Sweet Child o' Mine" brought the evening's music to a rolling close.

So what's the meaning of taking pains to go watch Jack Hammer and then to write about it? Entertainment? Sure won't get better music this side of the equator. But it goes deeper. Jack Hammer has a cool that stems from delving into the rich musical movements of blues, folk and country rock and then infuse their music with an own individuality, producing songs that remains true to the spirit of these movements. Piet Botha and Jonathan Martin were worthy of breaking Hurdy Gurdy's silence with their songs the night of 28 September.

Adriaan Moolman

NICE BOTHA AT THE SPRINGBOK BAR
Springbok Bar, London
11th June 2001

If you'll follow me through the main bar area to the room at the back, these used to be the cellars as you will see from the low curved ceilings. It's a nice long room with low tables and stools. Please take a seat and relax. To eat you can choose from the best pap and wors (met sous) this side of the equator, or if you like it a bit spicy, try our delicious bobotie.

For your entertainment tonight, we have South Africa's Ambasador of Rock, Mr Piet Botha along with his talented assistant Mr Jonathan Martin, expect a treat. Marvel to some hard hitting numbers made famous by Jack Hammer and Mr Botha in his own right, be awestruck by cover versions of songs by Neil Young, Led Zeppelin and Pink Floyd, and mellow out to the expertly executed acoustic dueling of these two maestro's. Grow goose bumps to the baritone vocals of Mr Botha, or melt to the pureness of Mr Martin's.

The wine tonight? A semi sweet white, with a touch of melancholy. Savour it as it will be gone before you realise, but will leave a warm glow inside. Evenings like this are hard to come by these days, treasure the memory. I trust you have enjoyed your evening.
-- John Samson, SA Artists Live In London

More reviews of the June 2001 African Ambush gigs with Piet, Jonthan, Valiant Swart and Akkedis at the SA Artists Live In London website.

PIET BOTHA AND JONATHAN MARTIN
Cool Runnings, Observatory, Cape Town
4th January 2001

Cool Runnings in Observatory, Cape Town is a wonderful venue. Excellent laid-back Jamaican-style decor, friendly staff and great food. Half the bar area is open to the sky and on a pleasant summer's evening it doesn't feel like you are in the middle of suburbia at all.

On the 4th January 2001 Piet Botha and Jonathan Martin (Half of Jack Hammer, affectionately known as "Piet and the Kid") entertained the crowd to an evening of laid-back, mellow English and Afrikaans folk, pop and rock. They played songs from the whole of Piet's back catalogue including 'Russian and Chips' from the 1981 Wildebeest album. Piet and Jonathan are obvious blues enthusiatics, and they played a number of songs by Robert Johnson, such as 'Crossroads', 'Love In Vain' and 'Last Fair Deal Gone Down'. What is amazing is that Robert Johnson died in 1938 and is still considered a major influence by the likes of Eric Clapton and Jimmy Page.
-- Brian Currin

SA Rock Digest Issue #88, 17 December 2000:

PIET BOTHA AND JACK HAMMER
The Dorp Street Theatre, Stellenbosch
14th December 2000

I caught Piet at a packed Dorp Street Theatre in Stellenbosch on Friday night. The 3-piece acoustic Jack Hammer band (Piet - vocals, guitar, piano & mouth organ; Jonathan - guitar & cello and Tertius on 5-string bass) is on a 2 month Breakaway tour of the Cape and this is a performance not to be missed.

Valiant Swart was in the audience and Piet played 'In Die Transvaal' from Valiant's 'Die Mystic Boer' album. One of the Springbok Nude Girls was also there, but Piet didn't cover any of their songs...

The band trawled through the extensive Piet Botha and Jack Hammer back catalogue, singing both English and Afrikaans songs with ease. Among the covers performed was Canned Heat's 'On The Road Again', Guns 'N Rose's 'Sweet Child O' Mine' and Robert Johnson's 'Love In Vain' (also covered by the Rolling Stones).

An unexpected surprise was a cover of 'Russian And Chips' from the Wildebeest's 1981 Bushrock 1 album (which had featured Piet on bass). 'Russian and Chips' is also known as 'The Kid He Came From Nazareth' from Freedoms Children's classic Astra album from 1970. Wonderful to hear SA artists covering other SA artists, past and present...

I was very impressed with the talent that these 3 men displayed, especially the guitar-picking style of Jonathan "The Kid" Martin. Jonathan's version of Nick Drake's 'Northern Sky' was one of many highlights of the evening. Another was the combination of Piet's mouth organ and Jonathan's cello on 'Donkermaan'... real cold shivers stuff.
-- Brian Currin

SA Rock Digest Issue #71, 20 August 2000:

PIET BOTHA AND JACK HAMMER
The Dorp Street Theatre, Stellenbosch
17th August 2000

Piet Botha (known as "Hammer" to his friends and colleagues) has been playing, performing and recording his own brand of South African pop, folk and rock music since the late 70s. He has teamed up in the last few years with some young and very talented musicians including the 22-year old Jonathan Martin (born 12th November 1977) (this duo was credited as "Piet and The Kid" at the recent Oppikoppi Festival!).

On Thursday night a 3-piece acoustic Jack Hammer consisting of Piet on vocals, guitar, piano and mouth organ, Jonathan Martin on vocals, guitar and cello and Tertius du Plessis on bass, played a selection of songs from the 5 album Jack Hammer back catalogue as well as a number of Afrikaans folk-rock songs from Piet's 2 solo outings, 'Suitcase Vol Winter' and 'Jan Skopgraaf'.

One of the highlights for me was the incredible 'Goeie Nag Generaal', which Piet dedicated to all the guys who were in army. This is song that captures the feelings and emotions that surrounded the Border War, especially the futility of the whole f****g exercise. Similar in essence to Billy Joel's 'Goodnight Saigon'.

The band also covered a wide range of songs including 'Dead Flowers' by The Rolling Stones, 'Sweet Child O' Mine' by Guns N' Roses, 'Wish You Were Here' by Pink Floyd and Nick Drake's 'Northern Sky'. This last song is available on the brand new live compilation 'Tassenberg All-Stars'. It is credited to Jonathan Martin, but actually performed by Jonathan and Piet at the recent Oudtshoorn Festival.

Jack Hammer never fail to entertain and another great evening was spent in the company of one of South Africa's true legends.
-- Brian Currin

SA Rock Digest Issue #47, 21 February 2000:

PIET BOTHA AND JONATHAN MARTIN
Cape Town, February 2000

I caught Piet Botha and Jonathan Martin's unplugged set at two different venues in Cape Town recently. First at the Big Tree in the Strand on the 12th February and again on the 17th February at the Whammy Bar in Table View.

These 2 musicians are incredibly talented and they entertained the enthusiatic crowds with songs from all 4 previous Jack Hammer albums, as well as Piet's 2 solo Afrikaans outings.

They also played a few covers which included Nick Drake's 'Northern Sky', Soul Asylum's 'Runaway Train', Bob Dylan's 'All Along The Watchtower', Led Zeppelin's 'Tangerine', Pink Floyd's 'Wish You Were Here', Guns 'N Roses' 'Sweet Child 'O Mine' and Robert Johnson's 'Crossroads'.

2 brilliant evenings of Acoustic Afrikaans Alternative Folk Rock (pick one or all of the above) which will never be forgotten...
-- Brian Currin