I am always fascinated by what one can find taking place in abandoned parts of the city into the early hours of the morning. Last Friday we braved the seedier parts of the city to see Jim Neversink at Belavista in Bertrams. Normally the idea of a gig in a venue with a 360º view of the city skyline would be enough to entice me from cosy suburbia, but the thing that really had me seeking out a lift with a person braver and in possession of a better sense of direction than me was the fact that Richard Lloyd (who is working on the new Jim Neversink album), would be there, and would maybe grace the stage at some point in the evening. I had been in contact with him via email, so I convinced myself that this would merely be a way for me to politely introduce myself and put a face to the name, rather than yet another example of my totally uncool fan-girl tendencies.
Who is Richard Lloyd? Well, for a start, he was of the guitarists behind Television, the New York band that made their name at New York club CBGBs in the 70s alongside Patti Smith and the Ramones. Sure, their debut album Marquee Moon came out before I was born, but it’s impossible to ignore the adulation that still surrounds it, and the fact that much of the praise is directed at Lloyd’s guitar work. Unlike their contemporaries, the Ramones, Television have not been a band whose name is quoted when one talks of many current bands’ sartorial influences, nor can you find their name emblazoned across T-shirts at Big Blue, but at least they haven’t had their reputation tainted with the opinions of those who have never heard them.
We arrived at about 8.30pm, after negotiating unexpected one-way streets and bizarre road constructions. The venue is spectacular, with a slightly retro lounge feel and wraparound windows, and a roof bar with some of the best views you’re likely to find in the city. We decided to avoid the crowd downstairs, braving the chilly breeze, and after a while Jim Neversink brought Richard Lloyd to come say hello. After informing me that he loved Jo’burg, telling me that he intended to go somewhere on the weekend to buy a meteorite and handing me his business card (Richard Lloyd: Guitar guru), he asked me what I thought about alchemy. Alchemy? Was he asking me what I thought of Alchemy, his solo album? No, he was asking me about actual alchemy. Um. I didn’t really have a strong opinion either way. Yoga? Phew. I know something about yoga, but he knows a lot more. After chatting a while, while I listened and nodded bewilderedly, he was called to speak to someone else.
The gig itself was great, if you like Jim Neversink. I have heard people complain that their sound is a bit too “country” and though I understand that it’s not everyone’s taste, I think it suits the lyrics really well. He did an interesting cover of L7’s Shitlist (joined by Richard Lloyd), and Rian Malan played guitar on some tracks. I was expecting Lloyd to play more (Jim only called him up once or twice), but given that the man was jetlagged and exhausted, having flown from New York the night before, I was pretty impressed that he could stand. I even saw him nodding off at one point, and started thinking it would be horrible to demand more from him. I told him as much when I went over to say goodnight and goodbye, and he assured me that he would be recovered next time I saw him.
On the way down from Belavista we passed a room that seemed to explode with light and music. A photocopied notice on the wall informed us that it was an all-night gospel gathering, and the music suggested that at least some of the people were not Jo’burg locals. As we descended to the ground floor, the sound of drums and singing followed us into the misty night.
It was amazing to think that, in this deserted part of the city, one of punk rock’s most important guitarists was falling asleep in a corner waiting to be taken home while beneath his feet a joyous chorus danced and clapped, just warming up for the hours that would follow. It certainly seemed profound at the time, although that could have been because of the combination of the Japanese psychedelic noise (someone had put on Acid Mothers Temple) that accompanied scenes of misty, dreamy streets as we made our way home, and the way the Hillbrow tower glowed ominously through the fog.
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