Questions.

I see my follower count has not increased. Single minded fools. I must say that my previous blogpost was my most viewed. Woo. I do have some universal questions.

Why? - Why when faced with tragedy do we sympathise instead of help?
When? - When will we, as citizens of Earth, realise that petty disputes are just that, petty?
Where? - Where does our help come from? (I do know the answer)
What? - What is wrong with our mentality that we no longer fix, but the replace the broken? (things and people)
How? - How can we continue to live as though there's tomorrow, when we are guaranteed today?

Belief.

I understand that it has been some time since I last posted. For my one dedicated follower, I thank you for your patience. For the rest of you passing on through, you should follow this blog. I'm not going to tell you why, that just wouldn't be prudent. I also understand that so far no part of this post has anything to do with the title. I'm getting to that.

Recently, a few things have happened to me that have shook me to the core, have threatened my ideas, bombarded my dreams with pessimism and resulted in a spate of sadness. The combination of poor results academically, a distance between my father and I and a recent spate of undesirable decisions have a had a rather negative effect on my current mental state. Although this comes at a rather inconsiderate time, so be it.
Life has very little sense of occasion.

These events have led to me two things, one being an album by a revered artist, the other a film starring Morgan Freeman. No, it was neither Invictus, shot in my beautiful country, nor Shawshank Redemption, but in fact the first art film I had seen in a very long time. I am dealing with the film first because it came first chronologically. Anyway, this film, by director Rob Reiner, aptly named The Magic of Belle Isle, was a turning point. I won't rob you of the pleasure of watching this brilliant film, brilliant if you are of sound mind and not desperately dependant on the average social conformity to find purpose, but brilliant it is. It was a turning point, as I said. It made me realise that creativity is not a gift. It's not something you either have or don't. It's alive. It's a feeling that moves within you. I have always considered myself a creative person, I'm fairly talented musically, I feel like I have a feel for writing at times, as well as being able to appreciate many a good film. But I now know that that is just wrong. The mathematician solving equations has to be creative in his use formulae, the business man has to be creative in his implementation of marketing and growth strategies. Creativity is not a thing we are blessed with. It is a thing we tap into, but is always there. Creativity is not a gift for individuals, but a resource for all.

Now onto the album, which is currently playing in the background as I type this out. Bob Dylan's 35th studio album, Tempest. Brilliance. Dylan has a way with words and rhythms that has made him the legend he is. Although everyone knows certain songs of his, such as All Along The Watchtower, Hurricane, Tambourine Man, and The Times Are A-Changing, I still believe you don't know an artist until you have listened to a full album from start to finish the way it was intended. This album lead me onto another realisation. Art, especially music, is not a commercial entity as many have made it out to be. If you look at those who have made a significant impact on the musical world over the last few decades, they all share a specific trait. Passion. It's passion that leads artists like Sir Paul McCartney and Mick Jagger to continue to make music and tour until they're in what most would consider their twilight years. It is uncanny to think that all those years ago, when John, Paul , George and Ringo got together, music was not something you could learn on the internet. It was not something you could just start on a whim. The way they revered instruments back then is unreal when compared to the availability of them these days. Please, don't get me wrong, I would never have started playing music if it wasn't for the availability of affordable instruments, but I just feel that it has lead to an unhealthy consumerism culture in the arts. If one act doesn't make money for a label, it's OK, a new one will be around in the next few years. It's saddening. This is why I am hell-bent on establishing an indie label. Because not everyone is meant to be a musician, and the current routine of finding an attractive person with little or no talent but some sex appeal and making an artist out of them is ruining the industry. Label exec's have lost the thing that got them involved in the first place. Passion. Passion for good quality music and not just the bottom line. A lot of you will think this to be idealistic, but without ideals we are nothing. I am in no way naive about the fact that making a profit is a necessity these days, but there is a way to do it. a way where the passion for good quality art is never lost or forgotten.

I find myself wondering why I gave this post the title Belief, and not Creativity and Passion, and then I recall why. Because I have belief. I have faith. That by combining creativity and passion with belief, we will be able to do anything we set our minds to. Idealistic? Yes. Impossible? No. I'd hate to end with a clichéd statement, so rather, a quote by Irish playwright, George Bernard Shaw:

“You see things; and you say, ‘Why?’ But I dream things that never were; and I say, ‘Why not’?” – George Bernard Shaw

Cliché? Yes. Untrue? No.

Inspiration

As I wait it begins,
My heart starts to sing,
The crowd is moving,
To the people we bring.

A new type of music,
The type that comes from within,
Moving and shaking,
The boundaries it's breaking.

As my brow starts to sweat,
I'll be giving it my best,
Because this is what I am meant for.

Let us break free
Of the society
That provokes and promotes no longer the sounds of this nation's folks,
But rather the algorhythms that the machines have spoke,

Brings us to our knees,
Let us weep and plead,
For music that is written for the people by the people it belongs,
Not by the lifeless definitions of those zero's and one's.

Now's the time to forget,
And the time to reflect,
For the fear does relent,
I have time only for my frets,

And the strings,
Upon which my life depends,
For come the day of reckoning,
I will go down, my heart open, my mouth will sing.

As my brow starts to sweat,
I'll be giving it my best,
Because this is what I am meant for.

Let us break free
Of the society
That provokes and promotes no longer the sounds of this nation's folks,
But rather the algorhythms that the machines have spoke,

Brings us to our knees,
Let us weep and plead,
For music that is written for the people by the people it belongs,
Not by the lifeless definitions of those zero's and one's.

No longer shall we be required,
To put our lives in the fire,
For what we do isn't art, it isn't just a part,
But rather the entire start,
For the world to realise it's faults,
And rise up in a song, revolt.

Draw The Line

There was a time when I walked this road,
There was a time when I was alone,
There is this place I used to know, 
Nothing's changed, hatred grows.

I walked the streets, I carried the load,
Of shattered dreams, of broken homes,
We were deceived, with the lies they told,
It's not as it seems, break the mould.

I'm not happy, I'm not satisfied,
I can't help you, but we're not blind,
Someone save me, this life's not mine,
Where's the bravery, where is the line.

Dis nie my probleem nie, dis nie my skuld,
Jy het jou keuse, ek kan nie jou lewe red.

Now is the time we walk this road,
Now is the time we're not alone,
This is this place we know, 
Things have changed, settle the score.

We walk the streets, we carry the load,
Our shattered dreams, our broken homes,
We're not deceived with the lies they told,
It's not as it seems,we're gonna break the mould.

We're not happy, we're not satisfied,
We're gonna help you, causewe're not blind,
We will save us, we will in time,
We are the brave, we've drawn the line.

Dis nie my probleem nie, maar dis my skuld,
Ek het my keuse, ek sal jou lewens red.

(For those of you without a working knowledge of Afrikaans, the first two lines translate to mean "It's not my problem, it's not my fault, You had your choices, I can't save your life." and the second two lines translate to "It's not my problem, but it's my fault, I had my choices, I will save your lives.")

In dedication to my father.

Once there was a little spoon,
Who was so shiny, bright and new!
He had the sheen and glimmer that all good spoons do.

He learnt his lessons while he was young,
He never really thought it was fun,
Learning how to measure, stir and serve food.

So one late winter morning,
He heard the bed beckon, calling,
"Little spoon up on the table, how do you do?"

The spoon cried out "I'm bored!"
And slowly started shifting forward.
He'd found that rebel streak which was due.

The bed, menacing with his great lore,
Lay out far but still the nearest shore.
The colour, the pattern always in view.

The little spoon thought back to things his father said,
"All is well, and fair, but the bed!"
Yet the little spoon had thought it through.

He crept right up until the edge, and peered down, remembering his pledge.
"Always and forever, will I be a loyal, faithful spoon, through and through."

The thoughts plagued him as he began to hop,
But once he lept he had but one lonely thought.
"But I shall be the only spoon of the bed, what ever shall I do?"

But once he landed, although with regret,
He knew that he had decided his fate.
Forever to be held, forced between blankets, two.

He gave a shriek in despair,
And remembered his life so fair,
He cried, and sobbed, till the sheets looked like dew.

Then he heard a faint call,
"Little Spoon, Little Spoon, where'd you fall?"
His heart jumped and squealed and his spirit grew.

He knew the voice that was calling out,
And suddenly he was filled with doubt.
"I left my father" he thought, and back he drew.

But there, standing on a great crest,
Stood his father, bearing his chest.
The Little Spoon saw him, and felt renewed.

His father grabbed him and held him close,
"I've been searching for you, coast to coast"
The Little Spoon looked up at him confused.

His father held him tight and whispered in his ear,
"You never have anything to fear"
The Little Spoon just said "I love you".

For his father had saved him,
Fought warriors, and slayed dragons,
Just as the best dads do.

The Best Friend Paradox

As I lay through sleepless nights,
There is but one things that plagues my thoughts,
To think of you, wherever you may be,
Lying here, right next to me.

To imagine those lines and curves and colours,
And endless gazes at each other,
With glowing eyes and dark brown hair,
And a look that destroys my despair.

Your softened yet so sultry voice,
Your touch that leaves me with just rejoice,
A broken heart beneath layers of beauty,
If only you could see what I see.

Although your soul lies far from home,
Your wing's are clipped, your dreams dethroned,
Your complete and utter sacrifice,
To keep the peace, and let others rise.

I remember when we were young,
And my first love you had become,
So shy, so insecure, so very scared to lose you,
I didn't know that there was nothing I could do.

I held onto the dream of you for many and many a-summer,
But Decembers past and the dream grew dimmer,
When at last you had found your fix,
I knew my love had been replaced.

Although I could never bare to lose you,
You are the cause of my love-heart voodoo,
For once cupid's sharp arrow did strike,
And alas it has never done alike.

For you were my first true love,
My only, my white pure dove,
And though my heart to you is worthless,
My hearts desires will fight the surface.

The tears and weeps and cries will come,
When I stand beside you, when he has won.
And watch as you are taken from me forever,
Your best friend, and secretly the I-love-her.

A little poem I call...

Youth - R. Mould

If you ask me who I am,
I have but one word to say,
I would tell you were speaking,
To the youth of today.

I would tell you of my struggles,
And I would tell you of my strife,
I would tell you of those who weren't accepted,
And who took their own lives.

The words and tears would flow as one,
The emotions of the others of my kind,
The brunt of past, present and future,
And the reason we have been bind.

Tears would turn to anger,
As my story duly unfolds,
And the fables of so many stories,
That will be forever untold.

The stories of the average man,
Living in pure poverty,
This is not a man who's face you'll say,
You have seen on Disney.

Why is it then that when I'm asked,
So very few of my kin,
Are the ones given the burden,
To represent your sin.

Are we not one and the same,
Youth and sin?
Are we not forever plagued,
By man's greed that lies within.

Although now we are,
A facade of hope and life,
Deep within we know the truth,
That we are to be only greed's lustful wife.

Therefore I say,
Before you come and call upon the youth,
Remember yourselves,
Being the defiers of the truth.

Although we will try and push and fight,
To change the outcomes of your mis-doing,
But alas our attempts are in vain,
While you, your wallet are pursuing.

I Have Not Forsaken You!

This short, brief message is to say that I'm back. You may precede with your lives.

Drum-roll please...

I apologise profusely for the lack of posts lately, and I have a short and sweet reason as to why:

E - Excruciating
X - Xenophobic
A - Activities
M - Manufactured
S - So that all those trying, failing or passing, cease to blog.

Rowan's Chilled Vibes will be back after these commercial messages.

Eine Kleine Nachtmusik

We are now thoroughly into exams, and I find myself sitting the day before my first Varsity accounting paper, on the web. Listening to Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart's resplendent "Eine Kleine Nachtmusik". And it struck me. The famous composer hit it right on the nose all those years ago. We've made music so commercial it's sickening. We've polluted it with formulae and samples, so much so that nothing's original any more. Whenever you turn on the radio you think "Oh, that sounds like..." and precede to name at least one other artist already doing the same thing. But the same cannot be said for Mozart. When you listen to his music, it's pure emotion. Pure, raw emotion. Happy, sad, discontented, it matters not. It will be there. What emotion do you hear when you turn on your mainstream radio station? Unless there's an emotion called skanky, I doubt you will find any other emotion but desperation. Desperation. It seems that desperation is the root of the death of creativity. People are so desperate that they will do anything for their 3 minutes of fame. To hear their own voice playing over the airwaves thanks to some dirty lyrics and a torturous and repetitive "beat". And people say it's better than classical music. The ignorance. Personally I am an Indie/Alternative/Blues/Folk kinda guy, which is already leagues ahead of the utter crap polluting our ears from day to day. But even I can't deny that Mozart, in all his glory, captures human emotion better than any other of any other time. Even the 60's hero Bob Dylan with "The Times They Are A-Changing" or John Lennon's "Imagine" can't compare with the musical prowess. Of course I am committing contemporary musical blasphemy. Lennon and Dylan were beyond any of the last 100 years in the way that they affected and continue to affect generations of people, inspired by their works as musicians and activists. But when the Great Composers are brought into the equation, there are none that can compare. These masters of music were revolutionary for their time, but their music was popular because it was of high quality. Not because it can sell a certain number of records, or because it could've made them rich. It was because it was their lives. And their whole lives. And if we want to return to a place where people are respected because of the quality of their work, and not the profit it can make the record label fat cats, we need to take a good hard look at ourselves and really consider what we've done to our society. Or maybe, just maybe, all we really need, is A Little Night Music?

Friends. And Other Disappearing Acts.

Many will say that such is life. That when you reach Varsity some friends, who were so important to you, fade into the abyss. And, I guess, that's true. Many friends of mine have seemingly evaporated from my life faster than a glass of water on warm Sudanese day. But this begs the question; Are WE to blame? Perhaps the societal expectations of leaving school and going to university demands that we let go of, or try desperately to hold on to, once perfect friendships? I can easily name 10+ "friends" who have vacated their once prized spots since school ended and university began. But were they true "friends" to begin with? Or were they forced acquaintances that occurred due to circumstance? These are questions all first year students process. Often we're told that the friends we make while studying are friends forever and that you make most of your friends at university, in class and the like. This is when I begin to worry, for several reasons. First, I made no friends in any of my first semester classes. Only acquaintances that I was led to believe I would enjoy working with. I was wrong. But I find all these myths about university are there to force people into a specific social group I call the Wrongs. They are the ones who are forced into a friend group they probably have very little interest in due to necessity. Shame. I find it's a lot more productive to find one person, who you have a true friendly interest in, to be friends with. Cause she more than likely has other friends, who are equally as awesome as she is. True story. But even this has it's downside. This route will more than likely led you to comparing everyone you meet to said awesome person. Like your room mate. Who doesn't understand how to stop the slightly unfixed toilet from running. Or makes way too many attempts at poor conversation. Or insists on looking over your shoulder while you're navigating the hallowed pages of the web. You can see why this is an issue. But none the less, said awesome friend will end up letting you break her car. And allow you to subject her to endless hours of conversation about several other interests. Some of which are her friends. And allow you to become more awesome because of her awesomeness. For which, I am eternally grateful. So kids, the moral of the ever-so-enticing story? Lose friends. Cause you make better ones.

The Plastics - Polluting the brain.

Is it possible that South Africa has finally found a unique Indie band? Perhaps. Last week's headliner at !AE suggests that. For those of you not in the know, The Plastics are a Cape Town-based band, complete with hipster vibes unheard of in P-Town. They consist of brothers Sasha and Pascal Righini, on drums and guitar and lead vocals respectively, Karl Rohloff on bass and Arjuna Kohlstock on lead guitar. They play some eclectic indie (such as Jukebox and Caroline) with some rock n' roll influences (Dirty Dancing and Monkey Simulation come to mind) and have a super tight live act. Pascal has a voice that just sits in the music perfectly. Although I imagine they might not have been too impressed with the !AE regulars (excluding me of course), who tend to be overly large, drunk and rowdy, they seemed to enjoy themselves on stage. One thing that never ceases to surprise me is the overwhelming support bands get from the limited numbers that seem to frequent !AE. Encores are demanded. Every. Single. Time. And the same happened here. But this time I desperately wanted them to play an encore. Desperately. Maybe purely for the reason that they might decide to play my favourite Plastics' song ever, Caroline. But alas it was not to be. Despite my utter disappointment at not having heard the sultry riffs of the "ballad", the gig was pretty awesome. Although The Plastics are an immense band, oozing the indie vibes SA desperately needs, please don't go and find out more about them. We don't want another commercial "Indie" band here.

Gig rating; 8.43/10.5
Venue rating: It's !AE. Don't be silly.
Specials: Thursdays mean buy one get one free cocktails and pizza. The pizza's surprisingly good. For the only beer that matters, a Zamalec will cost you R10, a double brandy and coke (this is P-Town) will burn you R18 and it's R10 tequila. (Stay away. Trust.) These specials die at 8pm, so start the party early.

Lewe.

So life. It's quite an epic thing. It's kinda everything we do, everything we have done, everything we're going to do. So it's vaguely important. But then. Like. Why do people sell out? It's something that irks me. Why do people who know what they love, what they're passionate for, why do those same people with the huge dreams, sell out and become corporate drones? I would never say I'm an anarchist. But for real. I think a lot more people could use some serious hippie vibes when they decide to kill any creativity they may have left. Money is not everything. In fact it's not anything. For the love of money is the root of all evil. Greed, envy, lust. They can all come back to money. A false prophet of happiness and longevity. Like anti-wrinkle cream or gyms. Sometimes I really feel the world would be better off if everyone just lived healthy, self-sustained lives; giving back as much as we take, living in peace with everything. There'd be no more wars. There'd be no more poverty. Cause what are these things but states of mind that the human race has themselves created? You don't find an economy in the natural world. There's no financial crisis, or crime. All the things we are constantly complaining about would cease to exist. There would be no racism, discrimination, anger, poverty, corruption or sadness. We have everything we need right at our fingertips. Tell me, would there be pollution if making a profit wasn't the determining factor of our lives? Would there be widespread disease if we cared a little less about having perfect looking food and a little more about how healthy it keeps us? I don't think so.
It leaves us thinking, can't we all just get along?

Rough Draft #465738273 and 1

I'm sitting, watching people pass me by,

Like ants roaming round under the sky.

All hurrying up to get to what they know,

All dressed up with no place to go.

Walking in a crowd of 40 000,

Wishing there was one like me.

There are those, big and small,

Who try to be those we all see.

There are the girls with the big beehives,

Trying their best just to hide,

The fact that they aren't perfect.

Don't worry so are we.

Then comes the big afros,

Hello Oom, dis Tannie vir jou.

The true sense of original,

You find it in these individuals.

Those ones who roam,

By the corner we all wish to go.

There by the grass, against the flow,

Spend a few minutes, then you'll know.

A little ways down the road,

Are those who's load we do not know.

Hours and hours in despair,

Just be glad that you're not there.

So let me start by thanking some people...

I should probably explain. I tend to write things. Things that are sometimes ludicrous, controversial or straight-out different. Other times they're deep and meaningful. This is the exception. They can come into life in the form of songs, poems, stories, badly strung together thoughts or annoying catch phrases. So don't expect anything. Cause you will be disappointed. But read along anyway.  Cause life's no fun without some Chilled Vibes.