Me and the girl behind the counter are talking condoms.

?Hieries is die beste, hulle ruik lekker,? she says, pointing out a yellow pack. I walk round the side to investigate. We estimate how many packs have been sold tonight by counting the empty spaces. 47 packs of Durex.

?Dis koud,? she goes on, cute dimple saying howzit, ?so die mense soek kondome.?

When it comes to theatre, I?m a tough one to please. ?Serious? theatre has never quite been my vibe. Sure, it?s good to see something like Tshepang once in a while (I haven?t, but by all accounts it is phenomenal), but to have to wade through all the dregs to discover the gold isn?t my thing. Luckily, there are reviewers you can (sort of) trust, otherwise you just have to keep your ear to the ground to hear what?s good.

Like, serious theatre, you know

I booked a ticket for Johnny Boskak is Feeling Funny simply because the title seemed to indicate that Greig Coetzee wasn?t going to go all depro on us. And that?s right, because Johnny Boskak is way funny. But it?s far more than that, too. Coetzee takes the Boskak character and constructs not only an entire life, but also a subculture ? that of bosbefokte ex-grensvegters who find themselves at odds with society ? in the mesmerising hour or so of the show. And the pace is something else. Coetzee?s mean and lean figure poses and jabs across the stage, giving the cocksure Boskak a streetsmart, dogged presence.

It?s all about hitch-hiking, bikes, pool bars, a hot girl from the East Rand and a mean mothertrucker, and when it comes down to the wire, kak spats in a wide arc. The dialogue (monologue, that is) is delivered in near-rhyme, making for some very impressive word play. How the heck he can remember it all, I don?t know, but it?s cool verby.

If music be the food of love...

Sometimes trying too hard doesn?t get you anywhere. Saharadja is an Indonesian ?world music? band who got the concept a little bit wrong. While the term ?world music? is a kak one anyway, it?s become a very wide description of ?ethnic? or, essentially, non-Western music. But Saharadja has decided it means ?music of the world?, so their show tries to include their own interpretations of American jazz, African rhythms, Irish folk and sounds of Asia.

They?re excellent musicians who play a wide range of instruments and when they hit the groove, they?re awesome. Even their cover of ?Roxanne? I can live with, since they completely reinterpreted it. Actually, the whole band I?m fine with, it?s just the lead singer who?s a bit too much. He hogs the spotlight and his lines are so over-rehearsed and down-right corny that you just want to get up and smack him with a limp paw-paw.

For curiosity value though, their finale of Lennon?s ?Imagine? must be seen. Mr Lead Singer goes all bos towards the end, adding all sorts of wars and tragedies to the mix: the Gulf Wars, Afghanistan, the Bali bombing etc. People loved the show though ? and it was of a very high standard musically ? but they should tell their frontman to tone it down a bit.

No such problems with two other music shows I saw. Firstly, Des and Dawn Lindberg?s Still Truckin?, in which it?s clear to see that 40 years in the business has ensured that they know what works and what not. The show is a retrospective of their careers and is accompanied by an extensive slide show featuring everything from an unpeeled Dawn trotting down a dune to proud wedding photos of their sons. There?s also a rapping skit by Des?

On the other end of the spectrum (as Stratford-upon-Avon is different from Whittlesea), there was A Compendium of Imaginary Wavelengths by James Webb and James Sey. Here, there are no lead singers and zero ego, with just two men in black sitting behind desks, dimly lit by the glow from their laptops? open faces, from which they play, control and manipulate the sounds and textures that make up their specific brand of electronica. It?s a bit like listening to Benguela (or like watching the film Powaqqatsi) ? music in which you can completely dissolve into. Before you know it, an hour has passed and your thoughts have been drifting here and there in some weird dream-like state almost subconsciously guided by the delicate pulls and thrusts of the music. No encores when done though, just a synchronised slapping-shut of their laptops.

Down the other side of town, Die Taphuis once again emerged as just about the only spot to go for late nights of big beers and great original music. Having only been able to pop in every now and then, my gigs here have been limited to eating chips during the Nibs van der Spuy and Guy Buttery soundcheck, Thandiswa Mazwai (lots of shaking ass, great music, fantastic back-up singers), Louis Mhlanga (when he grins, you grin), Marcus Wyatt and 340ml, who had the usually seated crowd up dancing, riding their reputations as current kings of cool all the way to the last hip kid with a retro t-shirt and low-slung jeans. This time the crowd demanded an encore and they got it.

The soul in SA music?

Well-known SAFM music man Richard Haslop presented a lecture called Twelve Songs ? Searching for the Soul in South African Music in which he touched on everything from home recording (he?s all for it as long as it spreads the gospel of good music) to the issue of royalties by looking at South African music through 12 songs which, according to him, embody true soul. This was his list:

The Cherry Faced Lurchers ? ?Shot Down?
The Dedication Orchestra ? ?You Aint Gonna Know Me ?Cos You Think You Know Me?
Freedom?s Children ? ?The Kid He Came From Hazareth?
iShoba Lembongola ? ?Icala Lakho Naja?
Madosini ? Wenu se Goli?
Mahlatini and the Mahotella Queens ? ?Sithunyiwe Thokozile # 3?
Miriam Makeba ? ?Angilalanga?
Malombo ? ?Lefatse?
Reggies Msomi?s Hollywood Jazz Band ? ?Midnight Ska?
Shiyani Ngcobo ? ?Yekanini?
Eric Nomvete?s Big Five ? ?Pondo Blues?
John Oakley-Smith ? ?God Keep The People?

The lecture ran over its time and afterwards people kept Haslop busy for another half an hour outside the venue, asking questions about musicians and music issues alike.

...And the soul of the Festival...

This is one of the great things of a festival ? you sometimes get to bump into a hero of yours at Steers, or in a bar somewhere, and you get to ask him/her a question, or simply tell the person how much you like his/her work or whatever. The South African arts world is small enough for us to have real stars, but often those stars don?t take themselves too seriously, making it entirely possible to say howzit to Marthinus Basson at the Long Table or marvel at the funky dancing of an Isidingo star somewhere else.

So it is that I find Zebulon Dread in front of Dulce?s. I?ve met the legendary shit-stirrer many times before ? always at festivals ? and I know that, beneath his loud street image, he?s one of the smartest observers of the art world, and of South Africans in general.

Dread says he?s a bit disappointed with the festival this year, confirming his fears that it?s becoming a more constrained space for expression. It needs new blood at the top, he says, they must whip out the old gang organising it and bring in some new blood. You only have to glance at the archaic design of the official festival posters and programme to outwardly agree with this statement, as both have exuded nothing but 80s style since, well, 1980.

Still, there is a lot of excellent art on show here. It?s almost day six when I finally find the time to view some exhibitions.

At the art of it all

Of course, everyone?s talking about the cows. Leigh Voigt?s oil paintings of Nguni cattle truly are something to see. The paintings literally glow with that special little something that separates the great from the rather not so.

Through the Looking Glass is a collection of work from different mediums and artists investigating ?representations of self? by our women artists. There are some truly thought-provoking pieces ? a couple of Christine Dixie?s paintings really got to me. It?s amazing how an artist can evoke everything from intrigue and sadness to savagery and self-doubt within 20 seconds of looking at a framed piece of art.

Around the corner in the Albany History Museum, Moleleki Ledimo has curated Initiation as a Rite of Passage, a textured but direct look at initiation featuring some shocking images. And that?s another job of art: to amplify the things we sometimes want to shy away from.

Down the street in the Rhodes Fine Art Department, some interesting student work hangs. I particularly liked John Walters?s ?The Absent Child?. Fine Arts Photography Lecturer Brent Meistre has a solo exhibition titled Sans in the Side Gallery, featuring black and white images of compounding strength which drives home his visual message of broken communication, the fragmented leftovers of civilisation and the blotted out crossing points between boundaries. Sounds complicated? Hell, that?s the sense I got from copious pictures of farm gates, telephone poles and chimneys.

Greg Schultz?s Frequency seems easier to deal with, simply because it?s easier to enjoy his pieces as separate entities. His paintings have a rich, warm colour base of browns, oranges and greens, with images of nature, flowers, bulbs and bird wings dominating. Really beautiful stuff.

After seeing the excellent James Phillips documentary (directed by Lloyd Ross and Robbie Thorpe) earlier in the afternoon, I wind my festival down with a 10pm viewing of Godfrey Reggio?s 'Powaqqatsi'. The film, which has no dialogue, is accompanied by a Phillip Glass soundtrack, matching and emboldening the visuals to such an extent that it becomes half the film.

On my way to the film, I popped in to warm my hands at the setting for Totanderkantuit ? the performance art sequence of Peter Andrew Hamish van Heerden. He?s got his own little kraal, complete with ox wagon on the side of Fort Selwyn overlooking Grahamstown. He lives there for the duration of festival, with performances throughout the day, starting with flag raising at sunrise. His has been by far the most interesting piece/ sequence at the festival and it?s a pity some people have brushed him aside as nothing but another attention-seeking concept artist, for his work here (and I only saw fractions of it, as it essentially runs for the full festival, with only some repetition) is so tangible, so fully human that you naturally want to interact with it ? and this dialogue is what he wants, for without it, the artwork is incomplete.

It?s late when I eventually find myself at the BP Express Shop again. The same girl is behind the counter. Again we marvel at how many packs of condoms have been sold. I buy some Ghost Pops and give a couple of actors a lift to the varsity residences where they are staying.

And that gives me an idea. Next year I?m definitely going to be a taxi driver at festival. And I?ll get an actor to perform a one-man show from the front passenger seat and we?ll charge people R5 a show. And we?ll call it art. And drinking money.