Karoo Saloon on Route 62: How a biker bar became a rock roadhouse route

In my 20-year career covering the Karoo, mostly spent bumping over dusty roads in an old grey bakkie and giving voice to Heartland dwellers, I’ve come to respect all manner of hustle out here.

It’s been a long and lovely procession of shamans, rieldans queens, Zen masters, junksters, bikers, AfrikaBurners, shape shifters, blacksmiths, backyard philosophers, night owls, prospectors and stoep-sitters with the wisdom of the world in their eyes.

But I’d never been to a Rock Saloon in the Karoo. Not one where you can fall into a Led Zeppelin trance, or listen spellbound to an alternate Afrikaans number spiced with Southern Rock, or meet a wine maker who knows the chords and lyrics to thousands of songs, all because one woman loved her fellow so much she built him a Rock Palace on Route 62 and let him play to his heart’s content.

Stars in their eyes

It’s mid-May of 2016, and we’re on a jolly road trip through the Klein Karoo, heading towards the Overberg, the land of corn and wine. Fifteen or so klicks west of Barrydale we see a roadside spot called Karoo Saloon, bearing an enormous Harley Davidson Screamin’ Eagle icon done up in slate on the outside wall.

“It’s a biker bar,” says my wife, Julie.

“Time for a beer,” says I.

Minutes later, drinks in hand and bums on barstools, we meet Janet Brewer and Marius Slabber, the new owners who moved in a month ago.

“This used to be a Harley hangout,” says the bouncy Marius, eyes twinkling like a kid with a new toy. “Now it’s a Rock Saloon for everyone who loves my kind of music.” Janet, we hear later, is more of a blues and jazz person.

For the love of the tunes

Janet made her money in world travel and property, Marius had been a farm manager and budding artist with a soldierly past. They met online, fell in love, moved to Somerset West and then embarked on a year-long cruise around Europe.

When they came back, it was decided that they should live in the country, in a more open space. They eventually found and liked the look of the Karoo Saloon, which stands on 27 hectares of land. Driving back to Somerset West, they came upon the idea of turning the saloon into a music venue.

“By the time we arrived home, we had planned the first series of festivals,” says Janet. “We even named them.”

Once they were in, Marius started painting portraits of the rock legends you see all around the bar area. The couple began to scout the region for entertainers who would come out and play at the Saloon. Marius already knew a lot of the head-banging bands, and booked them.

I look around the room. Its walls are festooned with guitars, especially in the vicinity of the stage.

“Me and guitars – it’s a weakness,” admits Marius. “When I was a cop living in barracks, I bought my first one for R120, only to discover I was a really bad guitarist. The other guys were doing all the intricate stuff on songs like Neil Young’s Needle and the Damage Done, while I just stuck to the basic chords.”

September, 2017: Under Karoovian Skies

Fifteen months later, and we’re at the re-branded Karoo Saloon Route 62 Rock Roadhouse, a veritable mouthful of keywords. They’ve built an outdoor stage, there’s a camping area, the restaurant section is humming and the Defenders Motorcycle Club from Cape Town is “in the house”.

It’s the Under Karoovian Skies Festival, and the sign at the bar says: “Alcohol. Because no great story ever started with someone eating salad.”

Silly people. They haven’t heard my Greek Island story yet, involving a bottle of retsina, a certain dodgy tavern on Paros and a flying bowl of lettuce.

The bikers are settling in. True to form, the men are huge, with spade-like beards, tattoos, Black Sabbath T-shirts, bandannas and leather outfits – dressed for the open road.

We find a camp table among the crowd of Defenders, and presently a very strong man comes to visit. He is the Enforcer of the club.

“If any of this lot misbehave or make too much noise, you talk to me, okay?”

Savannah from Windhoek kicks the show off and then the Karoo Kowboys take the stage for an extended session. After a bit of Knocking on Heaven’s Door and a free-range version of Stairway to Heaven, they call the blushing Marius up on stage. What is this?

There he is, bashing away on rhythm, doing justice to Jimi’s Hey Joe and glowing from the inside out. Janet is drifting between tables, greeting familiar faces, occasionally glancing up with pride at her man on the stage.

It’s a Taj Mahal Moment in the Klein Karoo, and we’re all part of it.

The years go by

In the seasons that follow, friendships are forged at the Karoo Saloon, dipped in hard rock music and good times. The musos stream in over weekends, deliriously happy to play a gig in the platteland and bond with other members of their tribe.

You got your Radio Kalahari Orkes, your Crowfoot, your Slow Boat, your Hazy Blue Band, your Black Cat Bones, your Ozzie and the Saloon Dogs, your Dukes of Note, your Downtown Gypsies and your Mind Assault. Jan Blom and Willim Welsyn play here. The American blues singer Doc McLean makes the Karoo Saloon his annual stopover.

But the chaps who really light the place up are Piet Botha (rebel son of the late SA Minister of Foreign Affairs) and the brothers from Akkedis, who have formed a breakaway band called Lyzyrd Kyngs, a dual tribute to Jim Morrison (the Lizard King) and, oh yes, Lynyrd Skynyrd.

September, 2024: Karoostock

On the smaller stage next to the bar, a winemaker is doing a Bob Dylan medley, from Subterranean Homesick Blues to The Times They Are A-Changing, some of the anthems of my youth.

That’s Henry Conradie of Arabella Estate near Hermanus, and he segues into John Fogerty’s Born on the Bayou like he wrote it. Conradie has been playing music for 14 years, and in that time has perfected more than 3,000 cover songs, ranging from rock to folk to country.

Looming above the stage setup is the silver-slivered face of the late Piet Botha, spiritual centrepiece of the Rock Saloon.

And on come Arthur and Rudi Dennis, the core of Akkedis, and tonight they’re not messing about. A rendition of Voodoo Child follows, and if you close your eyes you’re back to 18 August, 1969, Woodstock, US, with Jimi Hendrix playing his heart out in front of half a million people.

And suddenly I am consumed by a marvellous feeling that calls for another beer and a gentle boogie at the back of the room with my wife. Who also, incidentally, is crazy about all of this.

The hangover session

At breakfast the next morning on the deck overlooking the highway, we chat to Arthur from Akkedis.

“It’s great just to get away from the city, hang out with all these musos and play on the Piet Botha Stage,” the grizzled rocker says. “I remember one time, the sound was so loud at the Karoo Saloon that the bats flew out of the stone wall in front here, by the Screamin’ Eagle.”

Everyone’s a little bleary-eyed today, except for some new young arrivals, in the form of the Earth Blues band. They play what the older guys played yesterday, and just as well, ripping through Stevie Ray Vaughan and Hendrix covers, complete with very intricate lead breaks and vocals that are totally on song.

“Go figure,” says Marius, joining us at the table. “Generation Z coming full circle back to our old fart music and playing it like they were born with it.”

Why is this?

“It’s because the youngsters are listening to the music of their fathers and grandfathers,” he says. “A lot of them tell me this stuff they hear on the radio, it’s all fake. Five kids in China are writing all the songs in the world today.”

Janet returns from Barrydale, having been on a whisky run to stock the bar. She fills us in on some history.

The initial saloon venue had been built by a guy who ran a construction company doing interesting things with stone, Barrydale Slate in particular.

Marius adds: “In the beginning, there was no stage. A band would be playing, and people would have to walk between them just to go to the toilet.”

Did the saloon make them money?

“I have a business background,” says Janet. “At first, I tried to operate it profitably, but that didn’t work. One day, I woke up and realised this wasn’t a business, it was our hobby. And then I could relax. I mean, people spend fortunes on boats and motorcycles – this has been much more fun.”

Change of hands

I sense an air of finality about these two, and ask the dreaded question.

“Yes, it’s up for sale,” says Marius.

“There has been a lot of love here, but it’s time to move on,” says Janet.

A year later as I’m penning this piece, I contact Marius for a quick update. Did they sell the place? Are they happy down on the coast?

He replies: “Howzit Boet, All good, being semi-retired and fairly settled. Sold the Saloon and it’s going to keep rocking.”

It’s passed into the hands of a younger couple who plan to honour its central rock ethos. The guard has changed, but the music plays on, and that’s good news for everyone who ever raised a glass on Route 62. DM

This is an excerpt from Klein Karoo Magic (390 pages, full colour) by Chris Marais and Julienne du Toit. To order your author-signed copy (R400 including SA courier service), email Julie at julie@karoospace.co.za