ONS KERK SE MENSE

Various Artists
OneF1015
Distributed with ONS KLYNTJI magazine dated November 2007

FULL DISCLOSURE: The reviewer collaborates on three of these 22 tracks and

will therefore make no value judgments on the content or his own vocals but
will restrict his comments to the inputs of his partners. Two and a half years
down the line, this extraordinary compilation has garnered only one online
review. The reviewer-contributor is thus compelled to reveal the neglected
rarity’s treasures & travesties.

Ons Kerk Se Mense (The Members of our Congregation or literally, Our

Church’s People) was compiled by Drikus Barnard of the bands Slow, Brixton,
Moord & Roof, Plank & Trike. Nine or ten of these were recorded and
produced at his Lekkerrus Studios. (Mystery surrounds track 22). Paul Riekert
of OneF Records produced 4 of them and mastered the album.
Photographic credit: ‘Train and Trout’ by Mariska Ison.

Acts with more than one contribution include Buckfever Underground (2),
Insek (2) and Drikus (under the moniker Brixton Barnard and with Slow).
Recorded in 2000, Slow’s Krismiswurm is the oldest as it would appear that all
the others were recorded in either 2006 or 2007. Spoken poetry/prose
comprises approximately one third of the work although some tracks straddle
genres. Besides numbers 1 and 21 which are in English, the rest is Afrikaans
through and through.

1
PART ONE
Slow’s edgy Krismiswurm opens with sampled male & female voices before
the guitars & drums kick in. The complex arrangement encompasses shifting
tempos, innovative guitar work and startling bursts of percussion over and
around which Drikus steers his acerbic social commentary.

Both of Buckfever Underground’s contributions come from their album The

Buckfever Underground SAVES. Over a mix of what sounds like sax,
cymbals, guitar, drums and drones, the first offering Psalms en Gesange
(Psalms & Hymns) praises inter alia airmail, e-mail, roadblocks, alcohol
abuse, community service, national parks, simplicity, various vehicles, giving
birth, painkillers, the ability to urinate, the dreams of a child, a bank balance,
seekers that find, strategic retreats and fellatio.

That wild parade emerges after the slow, ominous intro that lists a series of
“iconic” politico-religious figures; the pace picks up for the praises that are
interspersed with off-the-cuff observations. Finally the tempo winds down in a
loop-like repetition of the jubilations alone.

A burst of textured feedback unleashes the only English song, I Want To Die
On A Tuesday Afternoon. This passionate rant’s up-tempo beat supports the
swirls and shapes summoned up by massed guitars, surging synths and
sundry chimes, hums & buzzes.

Insek’s first track is the brief instrumental called Derrick on which trumpet-
dominant segments alternate with screaming guitars & sax-like sounds. The
maniacal Terug Van Die Dood (Back From The Dead) combines bellowed
vocals & shrieks with 200bpm industrial beats.

Phew! In the name of sanity, let’s turn to the more conventional structures of
the singer-songwriters. Ironically, Piet Planter’s blend of brooding vocals and
jangling guitar deals with insanity (Niemand By Die Huis). A choir of electronic

2
crickets at first subtly insinuates itself into the rich full sound, progressively
infiltrates the matrix and finally fragments the psyche as it triumphs in the mix.

An interplay of symphonic synths and stirring guitar give rise to the beautiful
autumnal tones of Bacchus Nel’s Ballade Van Die Vrou Wat Te Lank Alleen
Gebly Het (Ballad Of The Woman Who Stayed On Her Own Too Long). His
rich tenor narrates a tale of woe, something like Eleanor Rigby’s Afrikaans
aunty who dwelt on a farm in the Karoo.

The third singer-songwriter (second in the segue after Bacchus) is Bittervrug

with Ek Sien Jou In My Drome (I See You In My Dreams). Alas, the mood lifts
not… grieving guitar embraces solemn orchestral sounds while a funereal
beat provides the perfect backdrop for Charles’ anguished vocals as they
spiral ever deeper into despair.

Feeling suicidal? Let’s jump 5 tracks for the love of life! Brixton Barnard saves
the day with a Ween-like faux country send-up of 1970s country queen
Barbara Ray. Not exactly humorous either, the song serenades the chanteuse
within a framework of bitter irony, dark humor and apocalyptic imagery.

By now, Angst starts sinking its claws into my soul so I skip Moord Greeff’s
Ballas for Monster Soek Sy Meester (Monster Seeks Its Master) by Willem
Welsyn en die Sunrise Toffies. At least this one has chugging, buoyant
rhythms, roaring guitars and soaring vocals. The music brings brief respite but
the lyrics relentlessly push the mutant.

Jeez, dudes … feed me Effexor, Elavil, Prozac.

Singer-songwriter Roof Bezuidenhout’s tender Afrika Wat Wag (Africa Which
Awaits) offers elegant melancholia in its acoustic simplicity which is
atmospherically enhanced by the odd strategic bleep, exquisite percussive
infusions plus some whirring effects that embellish the outro.

OK, bring on the poets then!

3
The double-tracked vocals (normal & delay) of Esmé Eva Kwaad’s tone poem
The Heaviest Red create an echo that’s reinforced by the reference to
“echoes of memories”. Conventional time evaporates as the voices spirit us
into a dreamtime inseparable from the setting. Timelessness and
disintegration exist and occur simultaneously: “nothing’s happening at all”
versus “the ache is so beautiful it makes me tick.” The spooky superstructure,
the sense of foreboding, rests on a bedrock of resignation. This juxtaposition
of the sinister and the soothing resembles the unsettling yet hypnotic effect of
the lullaby. Tick-tock percussion joins the eerie background rumble on the line
“the clock is only correct twice a day.” Following the last word of the final line
“and the sky drips the heaviest reds” this beat speeds up till the single ring of
a bell swallows it.

Accompanied by church organ, Esmé Eva Kwaad delivers an equally other-

worldly rendition of Ben Jonson’s “Song To Celia” (Drink To Me Only With
Thine Eyes) as introduction to the collaboration with Piet Pompies whose
spoken vocal commences after her final note has faded, narrating a nightmare
over the organ tune (no pun intended).

Filthy but fun! Dit Was Immers 1 January exhibits Paul Riekert’s scatological
musings on the word “turd.” Claiming that women will go to any lenth to avoid
using it, he examines the synonyms & circumlocutions and then narrates an
encounter with the only woman who had ever articulated the word in his
presence. On Retha Vermeulen’s lips it became a “bon mot,” expressed with
conviction at just the right moment.

Well, that’s what Miranda claimed in the movie Picnic At Hanging Rock:
“Everything happens at exactly the right place and time.”

TBC