Invisible Cities - A Sunday afternoon sunset spent schmoozing, boozing and swinging from a rooftop in the Jozi CBD.
I’m a total fan of doing things in town. As terrible a cliché as it sounds - and I can’t believe these words are about to sail off my tongue - town makes me feel... alive (insert rampant butterflies and unicorns and the opening beach score from Grease). Town reminds me why I love Jo’burg so much. Playing with friends under that skyline? It really is something.
It’s also a nice escape from the Stepford-esque lawn and mushroom-complexes of my hood.
So receiving an invite on trustly ol’ facebook bearing a picture of a burning piano with the venue boldly displayed in blue: REVOLUTION HOUSE, I knew I was in for something, well, alternative. “Arty” as my dad would say. I scanned the line up: The Frown and The Brother Moves on, two bands I’d heard plenty about but hadn’t yet clapped eyes on. This was a no brainer.
Click. Lauren Bow is attending Invisible Cities.
Revolution House greeted me with the earnest smell of dust and a rickety staircase. I’d encountered this staircase before, my old nemesis. Blundering through the most strenuous work out I’d had since, ever, I just kept vying for the light. Rage, rage against the dying of the light!
I made it. I won. And illuminated as far as my shaded eye could see: drinks in parody-sized cups, bonfires, Canon G12s, Ray Bans, brogues, a burning piano projection, The Frown, plastic bag performance art (I think), The Brother Moves On, gold spandex, Chinese lanterns and winter’s tight grip around my throat.
I left at dusk; content, positive and with the ever pertinent existentialist question churning in my mind: What did I do with my scarf?
