by Brian Currin, originally appeared on PietBotha.com
Thanks to Carina Laubscher for the phrase “blowtorch poetry” which she coined in her review of the CD launch for ‘Die Mamba‘.
Piet Botha, a good friend of mine, possessed a poetic prowess that could sear into the very depths of your soul. His words, akin to a scorching blowtorch, had the ability to strip away layers, leaving you vulnerable and exposed, yet remarkably enriched by the experience.
My profound gratitude for being fluent in Afrikaans stems from the fact that some of Piet’s most poignant and incisive works were expressed in this language. Afrikaans songs from the 1960s and 1970s were radio-friendly and saccharin-sweet with titles and sentiments like “Ek Verlang Na Jou” and “Daar’s Niks Soos Ware Liefde”.
And for years, I had been immersed in songs glorifying “New York, New York,” “Nashville Tennessee,” “California Girls,” “Route 66” and the quintessential American imagery prevalent in rock music. Then came the Alternative Afrikaans pioneers like Anton Goosen, David Kramer, Valiant Swart, Koos Kombuis, and, of course, Piet, who narrated stories that resonated with my own experiences.
Piet delved into unvarnished realities, with no sugar-coating, depicting experiences like compulsory military service, visits to Jeffrey’s Bay and Vredenburg, and road trips along the N1, punctuated by stops in Beaufort-West and Kimberley. His words were often unapologetically harsh and uncompromising, exemplified by pieces like “Welcome To Azania“, “The Game” and “Jozi Town“. Yet, amid the savagery of his blowtorch, Piet possessed the unique ability to soothe wounds with a gentle balm of humor and self-deprecation.
“En jy wonder waar is die ou siel nou / Hy sit in die son met sy kitaar”.
Poignant words that encapsulates the paradox of Piet’s artistry, where profound introspection meets a soothing musical embrace. His wicked sense of humor, subtly woven into songs like “Man Met Kitaar,” “Blues Vir Louise” and “Die Heks Is Dood” added a delightful layer to his masterful songwriting.
Notably, Piet refrained from explicit language in his music, except for a powerful exception in “Goeienag Generaal.”
“Toe ek weer kyk, het ‘n AK jou fucked-up geskiet”.
This departure from his standard style emphasized the gravity of expressing the sentiments of a generation whose youth was stolen by the formidable Apartheid government.
Piet was a pioneer, one of the first musicians to articulate the collective emotions of a generation. His song “Goeienag Generaal” became a lifeline, a beacon of understanding for those who had felt the weight of history on their shoulders. The sarcastic sign-off, “Goeienag Generaal, slaap lekker,” serves as the culmination of a blowtorch set to maximum intensity.
Piet’s musical narratives were populated with gypsies and ghosts, exploring Blues clichés such as midnight trains, whisky, crossroads, rivers, and vagabonds. In Piet’s hands, these became vivid, personal tales that resonated as if experienced for the first time. He didn’t merely take you on a journey; he made you a fellow explorer.
In his storytelling, Piet names names, but couched in aliases. Louise, Ruby, Kitty, Juanita, Diana and others appeared and sometimes reappeared in tales of searching, longing, and eventual loss of love. Yet, amid the tribulations, he found solace in the love of family and the brotherhood of the road.
Piet’s songs often centred around life on the road, capturing the essence of the hard-touring musician. I was fortunate to share some of these experiences with Piet and the brotherhood (and sisterhood, as Piet often included his daughters in his travels) during tours to the STRAB Festival in Mozambique.
A generous spirit, Piet treated people of all races and social standing with kindness. He collaborated eagerly with younger musicians, offering encouragement and willingly sharing the stage.
“It’s a long way to Mozambique”.
His generosity extended beyond his music, seen in gestures like generously tipping local petrol station and Wimpy staff along the way from Pretoria to Mozambique. I experienced this first hand and it profoundly and positively affected me.
Piet’s ability to paint word-pictures was unparalleled, effortlessly capturing vivid scenes with lines like “Target one, anything that moves,” or the evocative “Daar was altyd ‘n bietjie reën in jou oë” and “Kyk hoe dans hy, in die skemer, in die verte…”. His influences, worn proudly on his sleeve, included musical legends like Neil Young, Leonard Cohen, Johnny Cash, Bob Dylan, Warren Zevon, Jim Morrison, Bruce Springsteen and Steve Earle.
In the song “The Pilgrim” Piet asks the question:
“When I’m gone will you miss me, even think of me sometimes?”
My answer, echoed by many I am sure: “All the time, Piet, all the time.”