Carol’s Column

Meet my son the rock star

LIKE most people, we mortgaged the house, sold the cars, took out substantial overdrafts and moonlighted so that our two eldest unmarried sons could receive a tertiary education.

“Education is the one thing nobody can take away from you,” my paternal grandmother, the belly dancer from Stellenbosch, always used to say as she shook her children until their teeth rattled in order to make them study.

And, I must be honest, there’s nothing that gives me a greater kick, than to tell the bookclub ladies about “my son, the almost business scientist” or “my son the almost lawyer”.

That was until a week ago.

Gertie Drabble phoned. “Carol, congratulations,” she said. “You are a dark horse.” The dark horse smiled, thanked her for the congratulations and waited.

“I’ve just come back from Cape Town. Imagine my surprise when I saw the boys. Wow, they were great. What talent, what movement, what sound. They make The Rolling Stones look silly. Their gig was sensational.”

“Ah, thank you,” I murmured.

And immediately called the boys.

“What’s happening?” I asked Barry, “Gertie Drabble saw you and Ralph gigging.”

“Ma, we were going to surprise you,” said my oldest son the almost business scientist. “We’ve formed a rock group.”

“A rock group?” For this we have scrimped and saved, eaten mince instead of steak, bought local instead of imported and sold Tupperware. “But you’re both studying, you’re getting degrees. How can you be a rock group?”

“Ma, cool it,” said Barry.

When he says cool it, my blood pressure rises dramatically, I break into a cold sweat, my heart begins to pound against my navel and I do not feel happy.

“We were watching the Miss South Africa finals and got so despondent at the poor standard, that we decided to do something different. So we formed an instant band.

“We couldn’t make up our minds whether to call ourselves the Undulating Stovepipes or the Tossie Budd Breakers. We thought that had style, so we call ourselves Tubb for short.

“What about your studies?

“Relax, Ma.” My blood pressure shot up a further 50 kilowatts.

“We’re moonlighting. This is only a night-time job. Ralph plays the lead guitar. I’m on vocals and footwork with Kevin Feldscher as a backup.”

Footwork?

“Mel Rom toots the sax, Matthew Seftel’s a hot shot on the harmonica and Brad Fisher’s into percussion.”

I was speechless.

Ralph took the phone. “What do you think, Ma? Isn’t it great?”

“But you only know three chords on the guitar and Barry sings like a sore-throated camel. He’s always sung like a sore-throated camel.”

“Ma, have faith,” said Ralph. “We play in wetsuits with sunglasses and our props are simple, a telephone and three jerrycans. Way out.” Way out? Telephones, wetsuits, jerrycans and sunglasses. This was way out?

There was worse to come.

“We had our first gig in Muizenberg last Friday night,” said Barry, who’d grabbed the phone. “It was sensational. It was just a warm-up session but the owner of Cinnabars asked us to come back and play again.

“First we played on the traffic circle near the beach, then we moved to the putt-putt range. From there we stood outside Cinnabars, where we made a killing with all the guests going inside, so we stayed.”

“We’ve got a manager, well-known Johannesburg music man Johnny ‘Big Buzz’ Sacke, and he says he’s arranging a big gig at Ellis Park, the Wemmer Pan Bowling Club or Menlo Park School. Whichever venue’s available.”

A glow of motherly pride tickled my toes. My sons the rock stars. It didn’t sound bad at all. I mean, The Beatles, The Beach Boys and Abba, they all made a living, didn’t they?

“So how much did you make at your first gig?” I asked my oldest son the rock star.

“Forty cents,” he said.

“Forty cents?”

“We forgot to take a cap to catch the money,” said Barry, “but 40 cents isn’t bad for a start. Gauguin and Picasso made nothing on their first paintings.”

Forty cents. For this my sons need a university education?

“Tell Johnny Clegg to watch out,” said Barry, “we’re on our way.”

Pssst. Don’t worry, Johnny. At 40 cents a gig, it’s going to take them a long time to get here.

I think.

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