That moment.
This moment:
When this bellowed through the corners of Cape Town Stadium I felt that violent churn.
Nostalgia, elevated recollection, time travel – whatever you want to call it. The many hours I spent as a girlfriendless teen attempting to master that riff on an old nylon guitar with a crack in its body, inherited from someone, somewhere.
That was the moment of the show.
But allow me to back up …
It’s the day of the Red Hot Chili Peppers’ gig in Cape Town Stadium. As a working man I can’t duck out early enough to miss the inevitable traffic congestion clusterfuck that is Cape Town’s city bowl on … well, most days, but especially on event days.
At approximately 4 pm I phone the transport department. Yes, the deal of getting a free bus ride to the stadium with the MyCiti bus service is valid for the stop at the Gardens Centre. Absolutely! You’re welcome! Hoohah!
After a 30-minute wait at the centre, the bus finally arrives. Nope, says the driver, it’s not valid. Many other previously reassured passengers share the frustration. One of them takes down the licence plate (CY 341-541) of the bus with the intention of filing a formal complaint.
Well, never mind. My colleague and I are forced to go to Cape Town Stadium by foot. At a brisk pace this took us about an hour.
But never mind that (no one cares). More about the show …
Due to the unforeseen delay we catch only the last three or four songs by opening act Die Antwoord. By the end of their set the stadium’s pretty full and the applause at the end, especially for “I Fink you’re Freaky”, is respectable. As a pretty ardent fan of Die Antwoord I’m surprised by the fact that after their set the traditional chants of “encore!” from the crowd simply doesn’t happen. According to reports they did do an encore at the Joburg gig … yet now the internationally celebrated band doesn’t get an encore from the crowd at their former home town? Interesting …
It’s my turn to do a beer run (only four left!?!?!). I rush to the bars, only to find queues that go on for ever and ever. A guy that I sort of know from somewhere greets me and introduces me to his friend as a member of the Afrikaans band Die Tuindwergies. This is not correct.
By the time I get even remotely (really remotely) close to the counter, the stadium erupts. Evidently, I’ve missed their arrival on the stage. Drag.
I manage to hold the four plastic cups pretty much upright on the way back to the seats.
And goddamn, what a show it would be.
Look, since 2002-ish I haven’t followed the band all that religiously. In fact, before the show those of us sort of in the know speculated on the band’s abilities without master guitarist John Frusciante, who left the band for a second time around 2007/8, in the mix. His replacement, Josh Klinghoffer, would have to prove his worth.
And worthy he did prove – to an almost mythical extent. From the perfectly executed solos to the manner in which he carried himself on stage – apparently oblivious to the tens of thousands of audience members seemingly getting aggressively lost in the melodies ground out from the neck of his axe – his overall performance was something of a highlight in the show.
Speaking of the fans – the stadium was packed, all the way from the front of the golden circle to the very back of the farthest corner of the farthest block from the stage.
Frontman Anthony Kiedis seemed shyish in between songs, though certainly not during – when not clutching the mic, he was jumping about like someone who’d just discovered rock ‘n roll an hour before. Interaction with the crowd in between songs was left up to bassist Flea, who shot off-the-cuff musings into the mic at such a pace that almost everyone in my general vicinity let out an enthusiastic “Yay … huh?”
Flea is a phenomenon. In an interview with Q Magazine in 2011 he declared his love for Bach’s music – “the pinnacle of human achievement”, as he called it. I don’t pretend to be particularly knowledgeable on the classical music front, but when you watch and listen to what Flea accomplishes on his instrument – from the pacing to the harmonies to the sheer drool-to-able riffs – it’s hard not to stand in awe.
Video uploaded by TheGrumH
Close-ups of drummer Chad Smith projected on to the big screens revealed him to be quite a bit more … mature in complexion than his fellow peppers. His performance, however, undeniably disproved any speculation of waning skill. A highlight of the evening was when, sans band mates on stage, he produced a kind of disjointed but highly invigorating spell of drumming, which led the crowd into choruses of “Olé olé olé!” (I wasn’t paying enough attention to the crowd to be able to tell whether this was spontaneous or not).
The band’s real excellence – both musically and regarding performance – lies in their chemistry. The moments during which Flea and Klinghoffer moved towards each other like cowboys in a standoff with only (only!?) guitars at their disposal were some of the most memorable visual and auditory highlights.
For the most part it would seem the majority of the crowd was as unfamiliar with RHCP’s latest work as I was, judging by the singalong volume and levels of enthusiasm at the reception of an intro. When they let rip with iconic singles like “Under the Bridge”, “By the Way” and “Give it away”, though, the crowd was uncontainable, arms in the air representing a massive wave, aimed for the stage at a frantic pace. The moment of enforced meditation I experienced when “Scar Tissue” was played was certainly applicable to many, many others in attendance.
At one point Flea remarked that the band would like to make this visit to South Africa a “regular thing” – he loves “the sweet air, the sweet people …” It’s unclear whether this was a reference to an earlier remark made by him and Kiedis simultaneously about the smell of weed drifting on to the stage …
Teken in op LitNet se gratis weeklikse nuusbrief. | Sign up for LitNet's free weekly newsletter.