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by Toast Coetzer

Upon my return, basic services have broken down. There's no toilet paper, tea or coffee. Fresh milk is a myth, not heard of for more than ten days. My digsmates have taken in three female French exchange students, harbouring them from the cold and lonely autumn nights. They are pretending to understand some French. There's kissing going on. It's infuriating.

I put down my bags and they ask what it was like. 'Mad', I say.

The 8 days of the Klein Karoo Nasionale Kunstefees always feel like at least double that. Call it a Kerkbasaar on acid, call it DSTV in one language, even call it Huisgenoot City if you like, but there's no escaping the sheer mass of diversity on display here.

Sure, it's still a predominantly Afrikaans festival, so don't go there and demand to be spoken to in your favourite national tongue. And don't go there expecting the cold, calculated culture and high arts of the Grahamstown festival. This is a big, hot sweaty stew where cheesy commercial entertainment gets as much, and more, attention as complex installation art. And this is a sponsored festival. You will know more about Klipdrift, Castle, Parmalat and White Horse whiskey than you ever needed to know when you leave. And what to mix them with.

The over the top commercial aspect of the KKNK is not the only thing that makes it an aggressive, hands-on experience. There's also the people. It's Easter school holidays, so everyone's here. Families, senior citizens, kids and drunken bakkie loads of students just here for the jol. And the jol is a major part of the KKNK's success - an entire street is blocked off so drunken strollers can stay out of harm's way. Liquor companies and breweries sponsor venues, hand out samples, sell t-shirts, make witty posters and make you 'live the brand'. I don't even drink Klippies and I got pissed on it more than I could care to remember. And here's a new drink we invented: shot of White Horse topped off with Dark Dog energy drink - the Dark Horse, of course. Great for energetic pissed-ness.

Amidst the overload, one has to look to find the experiences that will linger longer than the hangovers of Tass. A good thing then, that Tass sponsored the Stalteater, where the cream of the Afrikaans (and some English) rock music was on display.

While old hands like Valiant, Anton Goosen, the Blues Broers, Sons of Trout, Boo! and Battery 9 proved that there's nothing wrong with the generals, it was the new frontline of Diff-Olie, Riku Lätti, Brixton Moord & Roof Orkes and Karen Zoid that had people talking about a new era in Afrikaans music. Yet, it's more a continuation of the line than a new era.

Looking at acts like Beeskraal, Akkedis, Spinnekop, Scicoustic and Anika, one can see where they come from and how they've built on the past to create something slightly different. In this way. Lätti's brilliant songwriting is comparable to Valiant's, but his sound is more pop than blues. And Diff-Olie is the bastard child of a metal frontman screwing the innocent Afrikaans girl at the video store. Their tune 'Rock-Pop' possibly the finest tune written about groupies for years.

Then, of course, there's Kobus! And you better remember the exclamation mark. This much anticipated project of ex-Nudies guitarist Theo Crous and ex-VOD frontman Francois Blom is everything you expected, plus some more. With such a wealth of experience between them, it was only logical that they re-invent the entire thing. Somewhere in it lingers Theo's characteristic guitar playing, but put some crazy backtracks (ever headbanged to the noise of chickens?) and Francois' sometimes eerie (Nick Cave), sometimes seemingly Afrikaans MOR (Jurie Els!) and mostly just plain weird vocals and lyrics, like a hushed Marilyn Manson. It's brilliant. They're tipped to cross the great divide from alternative Afrikaans band to being in the center-poster of Huisgenoot within a year.

For variety, the Tass stage also offered some blues, with Delta Blue and the Boulevard Blues Band pitching in with Frosted Orange, Brasse Vannie Kaap and Not My Dog to offer some respite from the middleway rock vibe which dominated.

Best sets I witnessed: Battery 9, Boo!, Riku Lätti, Diff-Olie and Kobus! At the week's grand finale, Kaktus Op Die Vlaktes, thousands rocked up to see all the young talent - a victory for the growth of original SA music, since none of the old crowd pullers (Koos, Valiant, Goosen etc) were on the bill. Dominating proceedings was Karen Zoid. Let's just say it all ended in broken bits of guitar set alight with Zippo fluid. If that doesn't turn you on, what will?

Inbetween all the great music, one had to contend with the dubious joys of the like of Kurt Darren (whose backtrack skipped during one performance), Steve Hofmeyr, Patricia Lewis and your fair share of likeminded artists who make crap posters. There was also the Steve Hofmeyr-punches-journalist thing, of which I will only say that Steve shouldn't have punched the journalist, for it exposed a rather ugly side of him. Was the incident a publicity stunt. Possibly, since his ticket sale went up 60% the next day. Steve's fans will always dig him, it seems. Quite a shame. And I thought his shoes were pretty stylish in case you were wondering.

While I never found the time to see any drama productions, word on the street listed 'AARS!', 'Die Goue Seun', '110 Meter', John Jacobs' 'Mime le France', 'My Aand Met Arne' and 'Gert Garries' as some of the top productions. Other favourites were Kramer's 'Karoo Kitaar Blues', 'Van Mozart tot Gershwin' and Stef Bos. The Insig-Animasiefees showcased some brilliant animated works under the curatorship of Diek Grobler.

Under the Sasol Visual Arts 2002 exhibition, my favourites were Jacques Coetzer's acid-pop culture items (electric guitar/ chainsaw combo! yes!), William Scarbrough's 'history project' (an investigation into the fascinating life of American Dr Kowalski) and Jan van der Merwe's rusted metal objects. While some of the video installations seemed a bit too static to stimulate one for more than a minute, those of Jo Ratcliffe (snow, isolation, personal journeys within the comfort of silence) and Candice Breitz (acute look at characterisation through language, stereotypes) did the trick, true blades in the brain. Moshekwa Langa's picure series 'Commercial Jet Airliner' is the kind of thing photography was invented for.

The KKNK is very much a head-on collision between 'popular' culture and 'highbrow' culture, the result being an often rather slutty co-existence to the benefit of both. And sometimes there's no distinction and all that remains is entertainment value, horses for courses and every man for himself. One really has to decide what you want from the KKNK and then search for it. Whether it's arbitrary entertainment at one of the many free open-air venues, attending book launches or finding the perfect drinking spot, it's out there somewhere.

Talking about book launches, the launch of Jackie Nagtegaal's debut 'Daar's 'n vis innie punch' included live performances by Karen Zoid and the Trouts, making it every bit as rock and roll as the book appears to be. Read this book, you'll be astonished to know that Nagtegaal is still at school. There's a new thing brewing, alright.

In the end, everyone is happy. A record number of tickets are sold, the stall-holders sell their calamari and t-shirts and the artists hopefully make a buck along the way. And the people selling beer make a staggering amount, they have to, because people here drink very, very hard. Which leads to some unsavoury incidents every now and then, without which we will live in Pleasantville.

So yes, it's mostly white Afrikaans people who attend the KKNK. Why? Well, it's still a place they can call 'theirs', even though the average person here will tell you that's not it, they're here for the party, the music, the drama, the beer. Still, in a perfect country many years from now, there will be no racist incidents, no discrimination and no violence. In the meantime, we - and Zebulon Dread - will have to try.

PS. The weirdest thing reported to me by a very reliable source were the two guys who spent an entire night collecting other peoples' pubic hair in a bar, aptly named Debateerbar. While they could not score any off my reliable source (they asked nicely though), they already had a nice little ball going. Here's where you lose faith in the human race.