"But I Digress ..." Read Free Page B

week it snorts and shimmies out of range with the glimmer of a sequinned waistcoat and the reverb of an electronic synthesiser.
    The more I think about it, the more convinced I become that Darwin would have the answer. Watching an episode of Noot vir Noot is like watching footage of a National Geographic expedition to the Galapagos Islands. It’s a strange and fascinating world, populated by bizarre creatures with weird skills and survival techniques.
    The Galapagos archipelago was so valuable to Darwin because, pristine in its isolation, it offered him an opportunity to study the effects of natural selection and environmental adaptation in a more or less closed system, undisturbed by outside influences or competition. Of course the Galapagos spawned some odd critters, but few more foreign than those I see every Saturday night.
    For those without scientific curiosity, who haven’t experienced the fearful fascination of Noot vir Noot at first hand, it is a game show of sorts, in which a variety of guests identify snatches of tunes presented by Johan Stemmet and his in-house band, the Musiek Fabriek. Ah, but so bland a description can’t begin to convey the sense of dislocation that accompanies watching the show. The (English-speaking) viewer becomes a stranger in a strange land, bereft of recognisable cultural cues or points of familiarity.
    Consider the Musiek Fabriek, in their variegated plumage of pink, purple and sunset-orange, and wonder at the environment that would have encouraged such perverse evolutionary adaptation. But more than this, more than the hairstyles and white canvas belts and unearthly moustaches, consider their principal means of communication. Consider the music.
    Who makes that music? Where does it come from? Why does every episode of Noot vir Noot remind me of Valentine’s Day in some infernal, interminable Kardies of the mind? Is it just me, or is that music the aural equivalent of a bunch of carnations, a red inflatable heart at the end of a stick, one of those small fluffy teddy bears holding a sign saying, “I love you beary much”? Most astonishingly, what extrasensory affinity do the contestants have with this music?
    Because each of these individuals possesses an arcane knowledge so esoteric, so abstruse, that it leaves me dumbstruck, humbled by the rich diversity of nature. They listen to a note (no kidding – one note) banged out on the synthesiser, and are able to identify “Ek verlang na jou” by Gé Korsten, or “My liefde is soos a warm hasie” by Carike Keuzenkamp. These are preternatural skills. Like the greater blue-gilled Galapagan iguana, these people make use of instincts and abilities that are no longer available to their distant, mainland relatives. This is a case of evolution taking the road less travelled.
    Noot vir Noot is a time capsule of a particular cultural strand or species of Afrikanerdom. It is endlessly intriguing, inexplicably entertaining, and to an outsider, hopelessly impenetrable. Like the Galapagos, it should be preserved intact, not only for the contribution it makes to our cultural biodiversity, but as rich research material for the naturalists and cultural anthropologists of the future.

That’s no duck, that’s Ally McVeal
    SUNDAY INDEPENDENT, 28 JUNE 1998
    S HOULD THE SPOOKY day come that I accidentally receive a transfusion of blood from Felicia, and find myself suddenly taking seriously Oprah’s suggestion that we all keep Gratitude Diaries, my first entry will be: I am very grateful that I don’t know anyone who even vaguely resembles Ally McBeal.
    Ally McBeal (SABC3, Mondays, 9.30pm) is rapidly gathering something approaching popularity among 20- and 30-something white South Africans. Set in what I gather is a Canadian law firm, it is billed as a sophisticated sitcom. By “sophisticated” I presume they mean it doesn’t have a laugh track. As for the sitcom, I see plenty of sitting