Sondebok

South African industrial band Battery 9's ‘Sondebok’ does not offer the kind of music one can do nothing on. On the contrary, it makes one feel quite industrious, but, like industry, not without the destructive element.

Waking up with it is like taking a can of condensed milk intravenously: I jump out of bed and feel quite justified in kicking the dog, but I don’t. Yet I do bite deep into the CD cover, shred my pillow, suck that wake-up cigarette so that it whistles like a locomotive and hammer my half eaten bowl of Weet-Bix to pieces.

Perhaps it is good then that they only released the album now; apparently they were recharging their batteries since the October 1998 release of Best Rock Album of the Year ‘Wrok.’ Because if I were to listen to it when I was still young, dumb and full of come I might really have used ‘Sondebok’ as a scapegoat for my destructive behaviour. (Sondebok is Afrikaans for scapegoat.)

I can imagine rapping along with Huyser Burger, better known as DJ Fokkolnonsins, to ‘iets om te blameer’ (something to blame.) Or dancing with my freshly broken chair to ‘don’t show me the way’ where an electronic voiced Paul Riekert sings “why is how I get there so important to you?”

The album would have given voice to that rebellious attitude of “Why do I need to explain myself?” Those days I belonged to the school of thought that held that if you don’t understand me, you should listen harder. Pump up the volume! Why explain when you can express?

Funny that I should think back on younger years because ‘Sondebok’ is not for troubled teenagers only; troubled grown-ups should also be able to amp up their day with a few volts by Battery 9. The album as a whole is also more mature and does not suffer the growing up noises of its predecessors. Not surprising then that Riekert managed to strike a deal with music label giant Gallo.

After nine tracks of hard paced angst ‘kakstraat’ (shit street) comes like a catharsis with choir and churchy organ and brilliantly troubling lyrics. The album ends with ‘skryf dikwels hoor’ (do write often) which captures that post World War II mood when one looks around the room and counts the losses: amputated leg of chair, unhinged door, broken window, disfigured bookcase and even some collateral damage; your sister’s decapitated teddy bear. It is indeed very melancholic, even my dog I didn’t kick agrees; she pulses slow soft howls, in tune with the desolation piano. One is compelled to press the repeat button to psyche up for the clean up.

It is a pity that the album, despite the nice cover art, does not come with lyrics because on most tracks the vocals are obscured by loud guitar and the sounds of machines. But that might be because I haven’t lost my adolescent hearing problem, or is that simply the speakers distorting?