WANDA DNA
This certainly was one of the oddest episodes in an undistinguished musical career. Wayne Raath had been performing as one half of a duo with Des, ex-Rear Window guitarist and award winning journalist in his spare time. The songs, mainly penned by Des, were quirky and immediately likeable. Titles included Hey Diddle Diddle, Remodel and Big Bang. With Des's manic vocal delivery and offbeat lyrics, the overall effect was a little like Violent Femmes played at 45rpm instead of 33rpm, underpinned by a cheerful bass line that wavered between Country & Western and reggae (I shit you not). Andrew Cleland and I were recruited for drum and bass duties respectively.
Wayne - it was something in the DNA
The first gig was at a rooftop party in Natal St., Yeoville. I was suffering from a bad bout of gastric flu, so all I remember is sweating bullets through the set, swaying one step away from a dead faint and praying that my bowels would hold together long enough for me to finish (they did).
Shortly thereafter, we all went down to Rustlers Valley to play in the annual four-day Easter festival. Rustler's Valley is usually an idyllic setting, a Garden of Eden cradled in the foothills of the Maluti mountain range that demarcates the Lesotho border. Unfortunately, torrential rains had turned the beautiful field into a quagmire of Woodstockian proportions. In spite of the awful weather, about four thousand people were camped there, to see bands ranging from the super slick Tananas (with Steve Newman, awesome ex-Genuines drummer Ian Herman and consummate bass-slinger Gito Baloi) to the offensive Two Dogs Funking, an act that embraced the very worst of what over-technical guitar & poodle haircut bands had perpetrated in LA years before. Seen through the pointillist hazy perspective induced by too much alcohol and illicit substances, it was daunting, although I dare say it would have been unbearable viewed sober. Surprisingly, we managed a lively set on the wooden stage 10 feet above the straw-strewn floor in the marquee. After the show, Andy's car was sunk up to the axle in mud. As I leant into the fender and pushed, the wheel spun free, effectively plastering me from head to toe in brown slime like a hopper gun from hell. Andrew roared. I cursed. Of course, I was too filthy to get into the car, so I stumped back to the sodden remnants of our tent, reflecting on the glamour of rock n roll and only partially thankful that the incessant rain would at least wash off some of the mud.
The dubious thrill of Rustlers Valley behind us, Wanda DNA's short lifespan ended abruptly two weeks later. Booked to play at a house party on Kensington ridge, during the sound check we noticed Wayne acting oddly - very negatively in fact. That night, halfway through the set and eye to eye with an enthusiastic party crowd, Wayne stopped playing. Angry and upset, we tried to continue, but had to call the set to an abrupt close. That was the last gig for us. Des did go on to record demo versions of some of the songs. I regret not having gotten my paws on a copy - they were damn good.
