The walkie-talkie crackles to life. "Delta Two, be advised -Thunder Road is closed! Repeat - Thunder Road is closed!" The flaming '56 Chevy convertible that took a rocket square in the grill a few seconds ago right in front of us is the reason why....

There were rumours, there were tweets, there were reported sightings around town days before and finally, putting paid to it all – there was the Daddy G DJ set!

South Africa’s biggest annual music festivals have begun to get lame. It is as if those who organise them have happened upon a winning formula, one that has distilled the science of making money from gullible party-goers (music fans being too strong a word), while offering less and less in return.

If the collected mass of people so angered by the shameless antics of America’s hardcore hunters (and “huntresses”) like Melissa Bachman where enough to force legislation to curb canned hunting, then we’d really all be winning.

She dresses in her guitar, and launches into it, and she is mesmerizing. Two songs in and she swaps places with her bandmate on the keys David Hunt, swapping him a synth for a turn at the black grand piano taking up most of the stage. Their music is fierce intensity and no one is immune. Between songs, she cracks self-deprecating jokes, apologises for being Australian, at one point, shrugs off her kimono in an overly dramatic gesture; all moments intended to bring some light-hearted fun into the otherwise heart-wrenching odes to bad break-ups, a forgetful God and the inevitability of human nature. Some of the audience sit transfixed, others sprawl back in their seats, eyes-closed, the couple next to me clutch each other tightly as if facing their imminent demise. Time turns to mud.

The sun is hardly up, early bells, and the place is already aswarm with locals and tastefully placed sponsor branding. Getting a good spot on the beach (and later, at the bar) are your main objectives for the day. A good spot on the beach means unrestricted access to the action and antics due out in the water, and later on at the bar upstairs, pretty much the same. For this is no ordinary battle of who has the best boards or the biggest balls, this is a different beast…

Jon Monsoon knows his music. And he can write about it....

It's amazing what you can achieve when you're not trying," reasons Martin Rocka. "One of the reasons we have lasted so long is because people can smell honesty."

Jon Monsoon ventures into the explosive world of competitive marketing at the table of the energy drink brands...

"Look, I know the two latest albums were really heavy-metal orientated and a lot of fans didn't like the direction, or they didn't understand where it was going, but for me it was a natural progression for my music. I am inspired by Pantera and Pink Floyd. Oh, and I love Queen!.."

We drape ourselves over the bar, watching as the barman bounces ice cubes off his biceps while charming the fake tan off a German tourist...

We stumble down the subcontinental rabbit hole...

Jon Monsoon lies down with lions and discovers that it really is better to be a lion for a day than a sheep all your life...

Sea Shepherd boss Captain Paul Watson on winning the whale wars, Greenpeace's incompetence and do-gooder celebs...

Editor with a penchant for gadgets, Jon Monsoon checks out some of the latest cool techno toys....

Imagine a world where music is in disarray. Where sounds collide, causing myriad offshoots of other sounds' sounds, where styles mutate and where genre is a meaningless term and where everything is heavily borrowed from what happened two decades ago...

"No, it doesn't get any easier," confirms Bliss. "It gets harder to maintain the same levels of energy. And we've got families to consider now..."

Of all the musical genres most likely to inspire the wrath of the righteous, heavy metal pips them all to the post. Jon Monsoon spoke to metal mayhemmers Lamb Of God's frontman Randy Blythe about the sins of being bad