the nude girls are back

it's official... the springbok nude girl's have reformed and are releasing a new studio album... i heard it straight from the man himself. granted i had had a few cokes (the result of a heavy weekend in reading), but i'm sure i heard him say it last night after a few of us descended on the halfmoon in putney to catch arno carstens and former sng guitarist theo crous perform an acoustic set.

at the height of their popularity, sng were the biggest band of their day in south africa. more popular than the international bands at the time, their performances defined the late 90's and early 2000's. playing to packed clubs all over the country, their energy was legendary... arno in his sweat-drenched black kitters, tattooed theo rocking hard on guitar, the trumpet howling.

one of my biggest regrets ever is never having seen the nude girls live. they still occupy an awesome place in my life though and whenever i hear those trumpets start up, they always manage to take me away...

the (rsa) spring of 1997. my first year out of school. long hair was in fashion. everybody had long hair. the days were long and hot and the nights hazy. everything was easy. life was easy. life was for living. nothing mattered except having a good time. we had our whole lives ahead of us.

little little daisy
you drive me crazy
the garden of my brain is green
and brown sometimes

cruising round in my purple beetle. purple badboy sticker on the rear windscreen. anri in the front. his infectious laugh. caide and his dry humour in the back. shirts off. windows open. wind in our faces. tape deck on full blast. tapping on the roof. screaming.

oh oh a little bit of money
yeah yeah from a little bit of hurry

pulling up at durban train station. 750ml vodka (the R13 bottle that just said "vodka" in big red writing). 1l orange juice. mixing the vodka in a plastic beaker. downing the mix and smashing the remaining third of neat vodka from the bottle. inking in the fake "c-r-a-s-h" stamp on the eraser. avoiding the R10 cover charge at the door. the dark ominous atmosphere inside. damp. heading to the bar. the bitter-sweet taste of lion in a can. the dingy dancefloor full of jamming bodies. the beautiful girl. the the nervousness in my stomach when i catch her eye.

bubblegum on my boots today
bubblegum on my boots today
bubblegum on my boots today
bubblegum on my boots today

the dancefloor goes mental. sweat dripping. breathless. euphoria. more and more to drink. loss of time, memory. timeless. unforgetable. 4am. piling back into the car. snake park. stripping off. charging into the sea. wild abandonment. drying off with our shirts. johnnies. chip 'n cheese. mutton curry gravy. wake up.

the nude girls still rock.

alpha bravo down to romeo
we go on to the next show
and we frizz our hair
and status reports to long discussions
wondering about whether my boots is still stuck
and i think about this thing
and i wonder why
but i think i know what's wrong with me