Cecil's Story continued

I sat there , and just listened to him speak for hours about his childhood . I started to think that he was just waffling on , he was about 4 joints down by now. Then he started speaking about  his struggle with drinking and drugs .

“When I turned eighteen I joined a band called “the rancid apples “ and after a few gigs we found ourselves a manager and started moving up in the world , more money was coming in and with that came the girls . Oh man you should’ve seen these creatures ! All wanting a bit of the rock life . So I gave it to any one of them that asked . then came the drugs man . Drinking was fun and bender with mates is always good but my first time doing speed was something else. Bent over in a toilet stall backstage , doing three lines in a row off of the toilet seat , fuck  . I didn’t give a shit what it was . If you gave me rat poison I’d stick it up my nose or in my veins ."

“The toilet stall was my home for at least two hours before every show . Sometimes I wouldn’t even go on because I was to loaded . It got so bad that my band had to kick me out . They all chipped in and sent me to a rehabilitation center in Cape Town South Africa . I think they just wanted me as far away from them as possible. I love music man so you can imagine how upset I was to not have that outlet anymore . I never knew that through this terrible time in my life I would begin to find my true calling.” When I left rehab I had nothing, just my clothes and my guitar mate , that’s it . Then I met Joseph “

I wondered who this joseph was and what he had done to help Cecil . “ who’s joseph ?” I asked “is he still in Cape Town ? “ Cecil laughed , “easy mate he’s here I’ll introduce to him later “ I could see that Cecil was tired of talking . “I’m really high mate and there’s a band on in five, we’ll chat more later but now lets go get a drink .”

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Cecil's story

He took an old Zippo lighter out of the top pocket of his Jacket , the leather around the pocket was chipping away . I could tell that it had seen its fair share of action. He then turned around and reached into an old ruck sack that was lying on the ground behind him and I saw that like the lighter his jacket also had an anarchy sigh printed on the back of it .

Out of the ruck sack he pulled a joint , rolled in tie dye style paper . I couldn't take my eyes off it , maybe it was the mushrooms or that I had never seen anything like it before . He lit the joint and took a long draw . He held it in for awhile and the released a thick cloud of smoke . The smell filled the air around me and then he began to speak .

“I was born in Liverpool , don’t worry about the date what you need to be aware of is the state of the time I grew up in rather than when I grew up. I lived a sheltered life , you know, went to school and all that shit . It was a tense time for England , social uproar and all those good things that go along with it . When I was 14 my parents were killed in a riot . they weren't apart of it , innocent bystanders . They went to the shops to grab some milk and crisps and just happened to be in the wrong place at the wrong time.

I could see that this story moved him , his mood changed from friendly to noticeably  sad . He took another hit and continued. “ I went to live with uncle , he wasn’t around much so I had free roam to do what I wanted . So like any unguided teenager I got into the most rebel , dangerous movement I could find , Punk rock . I started going to these really divey underground shows where I met  a bunch of guys who obviously shared the same interests as me , you know drinking , head banging and getting up to shit . I can remember every saint Paddy’s day we used to see who could get arrested first , we were minors so the charges were never harsh .”

In The Beginning There Was Cecil

 

Then I met Cecil …

I left the comfort of my bus and began to exploring . Still under the influence of last nights dinner of psychedelic mushrooms and weed I stumbled along a road leading to the main tent where a band was playing.

The sky was pink and the trees were pixelated . I couldn’t feel my legs which would explain why I then collapsed .

My face hit the ground , I wasn’t hurt but I decided to just lay there for awhile. With the side of my face pressed against the ground all I could see was the tall grass which lined the side of the road . It seemed to join the ground to the sky. I was thinking of what would happen if somehow I was able to remove the pink sky from on top of the grass when a book stepped in front of my view . Combat boot with white spray paint on the heal , laces blood red. “you ok mate?” I turned my head and looked up to find a hand , black nail polish . He was reaching out to help me up . ‘ah yes . yeah I’m good” I took his hand and he pulled me to my feet . “thanks man “ I said as I dusted myself off . “so what was it ? , mushies ?” he’d obviously seen this before . “yes, stronger than my usual I guess “. He put out his hand again , “sorry , I don’t have anymore” he looked back at me confused and then laughed “no man , I’m Cecil , nice to meet you”

He had a white Mohawk and a tattoo on his neck . It seemed that he had a cigarette pressed between his top lip and his bottom lip ring at all times. Despite his rough exterior he seemed like a genuine guy. 

I walked with Cecil back to his camp and we spoke about music and the festival . I told him that it was my first time at this particular festival and that it was my last one . I found out that it was his 10^th . We sat down and smoked a joint and I told him about my fear . "you're looking for peace in the music ? , well I can tell you a bit about that"

And so it began , the story of Cecil and the Birth Of Kwaicore .

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Finding the music

As you've grown up I'm sure you've noticed , like I have that the music and quality of music has changed . Its just not cool anymore is it? Its gone and continues to go downhill . There's no excitement or soul to today's tunes .

As a music lover I spent along time worrying about this , I felt stressed at the thought of loosing something that I have grown up with . All those songs that would get me through whatever situation I was in at the time . Be it sadness where I would play a song that matched my mood or one that would lift me up . Be it happiness where I would play a song to commemorate or increase the awesomeness of a moment . Most importantly , the songs that when listened to would transport me back in time to a place where I was most happy , a time where there were no worries. Hot summer days followed by  crashing summer storms , a cold glass of Coke next to the pool and braais at my grandparents house were all occasions that had an unforgettable soundtrack.  

I worried about loosing this .

It was this fear that drove me to take in as much as I could when it came to music . I began travelling all over South Africa , attending as many gigs and festivals as I could . I did this for four years , living in the back of an old Volkswagen Bus , you know , the hippie one . 

I lived without running water , I bathed in rivers and the ocean . I ate food out of cans and wore clothes bought from thrift shops . I was a rubber tramp driven by the music .

Like all adventures , mine came to an end . The sad reality of life in our society is that we are all slaves to currency and soon my money ran out .

It was March 28 2012 when I attended my last festival before heading back home . Up until now I still had not found that feeling of comfort , I was still gripped by the fear of loosing the music. This festival was my last hope , my last chance at finding musical piece of mind . peace of mind that would allow me to go throughout the rest of my life knowing that the music would never leave me .