Saturday

One thing about Rock the River is that it certainly didn’t discriminate. While troops were predominantly sporting tattoos, piercings, bizarre hairdos and black clothes… floral and 80’s get-up could also be spotted amongst the crowds; this was a relief, because my take on being hard core (the small henna tattoo on my back) had faded to nothing more than an orange smudge.

After setting up camp we sat lethargically in the dust. Entertainment certainly wasn’t lacking. If you ever got bored of watching the sumo wrestling, fools trying to conquer the thrashing electric bull (panty flashes anyone?) or lunatics letting themselves be strapped to the inside of a giant inflated ball and pushed down a hill, you could always stare at passers-by. I witnessed everything from Mohawks to latex bodysuits.

Soon enough though, the comedians stole the scene – I especially liked Peter Sserwanga (‘Buying salad at McDonalds is like going to Mavericks for a hug’) as well as a chick called Angel (‘With a name like mine, I could have either been a stripper or a comedian’).

Visiting the Metal Stage reminded me of my Wynberg Sports Club days, when I used to smother my cuticles in dark polish (good times, good times). Instrumental talent appreciated and all, screaming goblins don’t do well for my disposition. We move on.

The surface of the ‘river’ – more like murky puddle – vibrated as the main stage kick-started with the jarring sound of Junkyard Lipstick. Turns out angry ladies can do punk, and well at that. Nicely.

I let ‘Dustland Express’ calm my nerves with a little old school reggae mixed in with his Electro. An appropriate name, as around his ‘stage’ – a monstrously large Red Bull truck – dust was being kicked up galore by some of the less scary-looking punters.

Evening ascending, we headed back to the main stage where one could now find lighter flavours of rock. ‘My Flawless Ending’ offered more than eye candy and ironic advice (‘Don’t watch TV kids’); their sound is catchy and playful. I wasn’t the only one rocking air guitar as a man in a cow suit stage dived.

Sticky from Vodka-infused cola, the rest of the evening was a blur – but I do seem to remember spending a lot of time at the Electro Stage, hugging people, passing out and being woken at midnight by a nearby car blasting 5fm’s countdown.

Happy New Year freaks.

Sunday

Rising horrifically early due to the harsh fact of HOT, we rubbed our eyes clean of 2011 and sought the cool miracle that was the ‘Chesterfield’ tent. Lounging on velvet couches we sipped coffee. Throngs of youth suffering cigarette withdrawals waited on the morning’s sales.

Later we enjoyed a brief trip to Blouberg to top up on resources (plus an eventful crusade to find an Atlantis ‘smokkie’), returning just in time to hear a Goth playing Cranberry covers. The evening kicked off with some melodic riffs from the pretty boys of Bicycle Thief, followed by The Sleepers with some darker tunes.

Back at the Metal Stage, the screaming continues. I try to join the head bangers, but I am too terrified of puncturing my skull on a nearby piece of stud jewellery. Seeking sanctuary at the Electro Tent, we stomped more sand as I detected the Star Wars theme tune in the dub stepping sounds of ‘InFemy’. Has Dub step become nerdy?

‘Reburn’ rocked the Main Stage 10ish, attracting thick crowds with their smutty tunes. After that ‘Fokofpolisiekar’ got everybody singing along to their Afrikaans melodies, serious anthem rock delivered with much energy. And so ended Rock the River.

All in all, I found the festival amusing, possessing qualities of raw with an awesome emphasis on local talent. A vibrant and layered experience shook me silly and took my new year experience into a music pallet frenzy. Now to get my brain back to normality and figure out this 2012 thing… Thank you Rock the River!

REVIEW: Rachel Briant

Images: Grant McPherson