Smokin' Hot On A Saturday Night!

Yes, it was us causing a racket in the neighbourhood on Saturday night.

We let our hair down. Rocked the joint. A job well done upsetting the nasty neighbours

and lifting the lockdown blues.

All because the resident DJ took his mother back in time to around 20/30/35 years ago with a selection of sounds that resulted in us crooning to music on a playlist that doesn’t usually enjoy the same preference as his rap, all forms of rock and pop, lo-fi and electro-deep-dance-house, which he listens to in varying dialects.

Of course I'm giving away my age, but it was way too good to spoil the treat from my boy.

Our own impromptu lockdown-style not-so-virtual party, right in the kitchen while cooking pasta. Twin Shadow for a curtain-raiser entree.

Starters got served. Pink Floyd’s Another Brick In The Wall. Who would even think of complaining about the calories? I was transported back to my high school days and my friend Sonja’s house. Growing up in a small town put limitations to rebellion.

For Saturday evening’s show U2 made it all the way to Polokwane to perform Sunday, Bloody Sunday and reminded me of my young days in Namibia. I was hooked. It was all I listened to. Unfortunately I never made it to a performance though. All those years ago. Christine gave me a book on the band that I still have on a shelf somewhere.

The Clash came on stage to do Should I Stay Or Should I Go, before ACDC was given the prime slot on the concert programme. Thunderstruck, Back In Black, Shoot To Thrill for a sizzling hot main course. Bliss!

The Animals shook things up with Boom Boom. Lipps Inc took us to Funkytown – the remake that bridged generation gaps as my ma and I could easily sway to it together. The remastered version of Smokie’s Alice was stirred into the mix. John Denver took us on a country road before making a turn on a boathouse down by the river to look for Pretty Belinda. It was the dessert on the menu decades after it used to play at small-town parties my brother and I attended with our parents, who shared a love for dancing. If calculations based on search engine optimisation could be trusted, Chris Andrews should have made the track famous when I was about 3 years old.

I wasn't the one who opted out first. The music screeched to an abrupt halt. And we haven't even gotten to Annemarie’s recommendation, Dance Me To The End Of Love, Queen's Bohemian Rhapsody, the Bee Gees’ Staying Alive or anything from Bon Jovi yet. With mock dismay my son commented that I was exhausting. “I'm 20 years old. I'm not as young as I once was!” he exclaimed.

By 18:58 he was already in bed. I saw it coming. The previous evening he poked around about what it entailed energy-wise to go clubbing. I still remarked, and dryly so before continuing reading, “When you're out there you... uhmm… (apparently) don’t stop.”

A lifetime later. Oh, what a night. The best party ever. Smokin’ hot on a Saturday night!