Categories
Electronic Music Jungle Poetry Song of the Day

Song of the Day (Chaotic Neutral): The Prodigy – Breathe

Day 13.

Thought of The Prodigy’s Firestarter today after hearing a parody by anti-Conservative music group The Iain Duncan Smiths called Childstarver by Boris Johnson (“crony subcontractor, Serco benefactor”).

Unfortunately, I have chosen Firestarter previously, in the Song of the Day (The Chain) series. As a worthy substitute I have chosen The Prodigy’s (in my opinion superior) follow-up single Breathe. I’ve also added the video of Childstarver as a bonus.

Breathe with me

Breathe the pressure
Come play my game, I’ll test ya
Psychosomatic, addict, insane
Breathe the pressure
Come play my game, I’ll test ya
Psychosomatic, addict, insane
Come play my game
Inhale, inhale, you’re the victim
Come play my game
Exhale, exhale, exhale

Breathe the pressure
Come play my game, I’ll test ya
Psychosomatic, addict, insane
Breathe the pressure
Come play my game, I’ll test ya
Psychosomatic, addict, insane
Come play my game
Inhale, inhale, you’re the victim
Come play my game
Exhale, exhale, exhale

Come breathe with me
Breathe with meBreathe the pressure
Come play my game, I’ll test ya
Psychosomatic, addict, insane
Breathe the pressure
Come play my game, I’ll test ya
Psychosomatic, addict, insane
Come play my game
Inhale, inhale, you’re the victim
Come play my game
Exhale, exhale, exhaleBreathe with meBreathe the pressure
Come play my game, I’ll test ya
Psychosomatic, addict, insane
Breathe the pressure
Come play my game, I’ll test ya
Psychosomatic, addict, insane
Come play my game
Inhale, inhale, you’re the victim
Come play my game
Exhale, exhale, exhale



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Indie Rock Pop Punk Punk Song of the Day

Song of the Day (Chaotic Neutral): The Offspring – All I Want

Day 11.

Weird how we’ve travelled from the paranoid, Post-Punk prog of Peter Gabriel’s Games Without Frontiers to this absolute powerhouse of a Pop Punk anthem. I might not talk, or write, about ’90’s Pop Punk artists very often but I do love The Offspring & a bunch of their contemporaries through a mainly nostalgic vibe. All I Want is just the perfect expression of rage against authority. I especially, as a working class warehouse worker, get a shiver down my spine from “I’m sick of not living to stay alive.”

Copying & pasting these lyrics has left it in a really weird formatting. The professional thing to do would be to correct it, but truth be told, I kind of like it:

Day after day your home life’s a wreck
The powers that be just
Breathe down your neck
You get no respect
You get no relief

You gotta speak up
And yell out your piece
So back off your rules
Back off your jive
‘Cause I’m sick of not living

To stay alive
Leave me alone
I’m not asking a lot
I just don’t want to be controlled

That’s all I want
All I want
How many times is it gonna take
‘Til someone around you hears what you say

You’ve tried being cool
You feel like a lie
You’ve played by their rules
Now it’s their turn to try

So back off your rules
Back off your jive
‘Cause I’m sick of not living
To stay alive

Leave me alone
I’m not asking a lot
I just don’t want to be controlled
That’s all I want

All I want
I said it before
I’ll say it again
If you could just listen

Then it might make sense

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Categories
Ambient Electronic Music Experimental Hauntology

d a r k w a v e – P R A X I S

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Indie Rock Song of the Day

Song of the Day (Chaotic Neutral): Pixies – Debaser

Day 11.

No particular reason that I’m choosing this song today. Was just listening to a playlist & it came on, reminding me how much I love it. A quick check back through previous Song of the Day series to make sure I hadn’t already used it & here it is.

Got me a movie
I want you to know
Slicing up eyeballs
I want you to know

Girlie so groovy
I want you to know
Don’t know about you
But I am un chien andalusia

I am un chien andalusia
I am un chien andalusia
I am un chien andalusia

Wanna grow up to be
Be a debaser
Debaser
Debaser
Debaser
Debaser
Debaser

Got me a movie
Ha ha ha ho
Slicing up eyeballs
Ha ha ha ho

Girlie so groovie
Ha ha ha ho
Don’t know about you
But I am un chien andalusia

I am un chien andalusia
I am un chien andalusia
I am un chien andalusia

Debaser
Debaser
Debaser
Debaser
Debaser
Debaser
Debaser
Debaser
Debaser
Debaser
Debaser
Debaser

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Categories
Politics Punk Song of the Day

Song of the Day (Chaotic Neutral): TV Smith – Expensive Being Poor

Day 10.

This song by Punk legend Tim “TV” Smith has been on my mind a lot this week. The general response from right-wingers to the UK government’s refusal to offer the poorest children free school meals, has been to bemoan & harass them for the crime of “owning an iPhone” or “smoking cigs”. Typical mean-spirited stuff from the Tories & their legion of trolls. This song, as well as the attached Another Angry Voice infographic, has formed my own personal resistance to this callous & brutal disregard for our fellow man.

And the car is of the road 
But I never had a car 
And I pay more for food 
‘cos the supermarkets too far

 
It’s expensive being poor 
Because everything cost more
Knocking on a closing door
It’s expensive being poor
Someone throw me down some crumbs 
I will eat them off the floor
It’s expensive being poor 
But I look good when I get desperate


And the box is on the fritz
It’s a black and white, or was
I tried taking it to bits 
Now the picture’s just a grey fuss


It’s expensive being poor 
Because everything cost more
Someone pick me off the floor
It’s expensive being poor
How can I live with what I did 
When the cinema is 6 quid’ 
It’s expensive being poor 
But I look good when I get desperate

Let the good times roll 
Into a bottomless hole 
With job friends and future 
My ideal home furniture
Let the trumpets sound 
As my house falls down


And the dust begins to clear 
And I’m lying on the ground
And I’m standing on a path 
In an unknown part of town
And the path leads me away 
Over hills and out of sight
In the blazing sun by day 
And the hanging moon by night
And I wind up in a place 
Where I never have to count
And I never see the waves 
As I push my leaking boat out


It’s expensive being poor 
Because everything hurts more
Knocking on a bolted door
It’s expensive being poor
Someone throw me down some crumbs

I will eat them off the floor
It’s expensive being poor 
But I look good when I get desperate

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Categories
Indie Rock New Wave Post Punk Song of the Day

Song of the Day (Chaotic Neutral): The Cure – A Forest

Day 9.

Another one inspired by Mark Fisher’s writings today. Just read his post about The Cure’s seminal trilogy of albums (Seventeen Seconds, Faith & Pornography) & this song gets mentioned quite a bit. It’s a great song by a great band & is one of the songs which helped to shape & define the angular, jerky nature of Post Punk & the ghostly ephemerality of Goth. Fisher, in his piece, also speculates about whether Robert Smith spectral, effect-laden guitar sound was also a key influence in the formulation of My Bloody Valentine’s dreamlike Shoegaze sound.

Come closer and see
See into the trees
Find the girl
If you can
Come closer and see
See into the dark
Just follow your eyes
Just follow your eyes

I hear her voice
Calling my name
The sound is deep
In the dark
I hear her voice
And start to run
Into the trees
Into the trees

Into the trees

Suddenly I stop
But I know it’s too late
I’m lost in a forest
All alone
The girl was never there
It’s always the same
I’m running towards nothing
(Again and again and again and again)

And again

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Categories
Indie Rock Politics Post-Rock

Poisoned political discourse, Gonzo journalism & Rock n Roll: The Strange Existence Of Richard Milhous Nixon

“He has poisoned our water forever. Nixon will be remembered as a classic case of a smart man shitting in his own nest. But he also shit in our nests, and that was the crime that history will burn on his memory like a brand. By disgracing and degrading the Presidency of the United States, by fleeing the White House like a diseased cur, Richard Nixon broke the heart of the American Dream.”

Hunter S Thompson, ‘He Was A Crook’

Earlier in the year, whilst furloughed from work in the midst of the pandemic, I read through Fear and Loathing at Rolling Stone: The Essential Hunter S. Thompson. One of the most striking pieces in the book, for me, was the obituary he wrote for Rolling Stone following the death of disgraced Republican former president, & in many ways Thompson’s arch-enemy, Richard Milhous Nixon (Reprinted in The Atlantic here). The most striking thing about this article, here, in the year of our lord 2020, is that the poison that Nixon poured into the political discourse is what has, inexorably, lead to the batshit chaos of American politics today. The normalisation of lawbreaking by public figures, at least in the public eye, is probably the primary building block which lead to the incumbent Republican, criminal, president Donald J Trump. Unlike Nixon, however, Trump didn’t have the weasel cunning to jump ship, to resign, rather than face impeachment. As such the stain of being an impeached president will forever linger on his record.

The pardoning of Nixon in light of his many criminal acts, is perhaps the single greatest mistake made in US history. Had Nixon been convicted & imprisoned for his lawbreaking, perhaps the crass opportunism of Trump wouldn’t have turned so many heads in the 2016 election. This is all by the by, however, Trump’s opportunism isn’t his worse crime. He is merely a toxic byproduct of Reaganism/Thatcherism, a poisoned outflow. His greatest crime is the enormous amount of fraud & tax evasion he has committed o=ver the years to hide his greatest flaw, his lack of ability in business. Ironically, he presents his business acuity as his greatest strength, despite the wreckage of his many bankrupt business ventures littering the highway behind him. Richard Milhous Nixon normalised this use of criminal acts by a public figure, & normalised the notion of the said public figure then being able to ascend to the lands highest office.

The main reason, however, for my thinking about Nixon today, is that I heard the excellent hit single The Love Of Richard Nixon by Manic Street Preachers on YouTube earlier & decided that I’d put together a blogpost of artwork, pics & links about the both the song & the Hunter S Thompson article. The video & artwork are excellent & the song is extremely different to much of the Manic’s catalogue up until that point. Driven by synth sounds & motorik rhythms, The Love Of Richard Nixon resembles artists like Depeche Mode more than the usual list of Manics influences. Over this New Wave/Post Punk sound, singer James Dean Bradfield treats the lyrics with a wonderful vocal performance. According to one YouTube commenter, “it is loaded with wit, pathos, irony and humour.”

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Indie Rock Song of the Day

Song of the Day (Chaotic Neutral): The Cribs – I Don’t Know Who I Am (feat. Lee Ranaldo)

Day 8.

This is the second (that I know of) collaboration between Wakefield alt-rockers The Cribs & Sonic Youth guitar wizard Lee Ranaldo. Unlike the top-notch spoken word Beat poetry of Be Safe however, Ranaldo brings noisy, fuzzy, melodic guitar to this exceedingly catchy song.

I also love the video’s aesthetic, which ties in somewhat to some of my current interests (ie. Hauntology).

Sometimes I think it’s strange I’ll never see you
Then I realize
I’ve been watching you my whole life in every
Look I don’t recognize
Every feature in my face with no relation
From my mother’s side
Shows where we came from

I was looking so hard I missed the sign that
I’d been waiting for
An obituary wrote in the local paper
From a town that is no more
Carrying this around gains nothing but I’m
Fool enough to care
Brave enough to try

I tried it
You know I tried it
I tried it

Are you a raw nerve like I am or are you more like
The bathrooms in the park?
Closed for the season every season
Seen in the lighter’s spark
The moment that the world began, it’s ending
Captured by chance on a field recording

We caught it
It’s not important

You wouldn’t love me
Keep out of my way, I’m not in your way
You wouldn’t love me
Descend a marble staircase
Slap me in my face
I don’t know what I am

There’s a telegraph pole, reminds me of you
Its shadow against the sky
Buzzing in the night but no one gets through
No longer on the line
Messages unheard are staying that way
Bouncing back like echoes in the valley

In the valley
In the valley

You wouldn’t love me
Keep out of my way, I’m not in your way
You wouldn’t love me
Descend a marble staircase
Slap me in my face
I don’t know what I am, ooh

I don’t know what I am, ooh
I don’t know what I am
I don’t know what I am

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Categories
Art Pop Dream Pop Pop Song of the Day Synth Pop

Song of the Day (Chaotic Neutral): Kate Bush – Running Up That Hill

Day 7.

Another one that came on the radio at work. I’ve never been a big fan of Kate Bush, but when I heard this again for the first time in years, it really hit me what a great song it is. Don’t really have much more to say about it than that. I’m just really digging it at the moment.

It doesn’t hurt me
Do you want to feel how it feels? 
Do you want to know, know that it doesn’t hurt me? 
Do you want to hear about the deal that I’m making? 
You, it’s you and me

And if I only could
I’d make a deal with God
And I’d get him to swap our places
Be running up that road
Be running up that hill
Be running up that building 
See if I only could, oh

You don’t want to hurt me 
But see how deep the bullet lies
Unaware I’m tearing you asunder 
Ooh, there is thunder in our hearts

Is there so much hate for the ones we love? 
Tell me, we both matter, don’t we? 
You, it’s you and me
It’s you and me, won’t be unhappy

And if I only could 
I’d make a deal with God
And I’d get him to swap our places
Be running up that road
Be running up that hill
Be running up that building 
Say, if I only could, oh

You 
It’s you and me
It’s you and me, won’t be unhappy

Oh come on, baby
Oh come on, darling 
Let me steal this moment from you now
Oh come on, angel
Come on, come on, darling 
Let’s exchange the experience, oh

And if I only could
I’d make a deal with God 
And I’d get him to swap our places 
I’d be running up that road
Be running up that hill 
With no problems

Say, if I only could
I’d make a deal with God 
And I’d get him to swap our places
I’d be running up that road
Be running up that hill
With no problems

So if I only could 
I’d make a deal with God
And I’d get him to swap our places
I’d be running up that road
Be running up that hill
With no problems Say, if I only could 
I’d be running up that hill 
With no problems

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Categories
Electronic Music Experimental Hauntology Philosophy

Ruptures In The Fabric Of Everyday Life

So many dreams of collectivity have died in neoliberal London.

Now they are incarcerated in hospitals, or languishing in the gutter.

‘territories of commerce and control’.

Once those spaces are enclosed, practically all of the city’s energy is put into paying the mortgage or the rent. There’s no time to experiment, to journey without already knowing where you will end up. Your aims and objectives have to be stated up front. ‘Free time’ becomes convalescence. You turn to what reassures you, what will most refresh you for the working day: the old familiar tunes (or what sound like them). London becomes a city of pinched-face drones plugged into iPods.

No Pedestrian Access To Shopping Centre.

a bombed-out city, full of chasms, caverns, spaces that could be temporarily occupied and squatted.

The struggle here is not only over the (historical) direction of time but over different uses of time.

The whole city is forced into a gigantic simulation of activity, a fantacism of productivism in which nothing much is actually produced, an economy made out of hot air and bland delirium.

The eroticism here is not primarily to do with sexuality,

Fugitive time, lost afternoons, conversations that dilate and drift like smoke, walks that have no particular direction and go on for hours, free parties in old industrial spaces, still reverberating days later.

the city as a site for drift and daydreams, a labyrinth of side streets and spaces resistant to the process of gentrification and ‘development’ set to culminate in the miserable hyper-spectacle.

Cool Britannia. Old joke. ‘Space’ becomes the over arching commodity. Notting Hill. New Age cranks peddling expensive junk. Homeopathy and boutiques, angel cards and crystal healing.

ruptures in the fabric of everyday life.’

A new kind of human being was supposed to live here, but that all had to be cleared away so that the restoration could begin.

Haunting is about a staining of place with particularly intense moments of time,

trapped inside the drearily glossy spaces imagined by advertising and regeneration propaganda, sometimes free to drift.

Perhaps it is here that the space can be opened up to forge a collective resistance to this neo liberal expansion, to the endless proliferation of banalities and the homogenising effects of globalisation. Here in the burnt out shopping arcades, the boarded up precincts, the lost citadels of consumerism one might find the truth, new territories might be opened, there might be a rupturing of this collective amnesia.

Words by Mark Fisher &/or Laura Oldfield Ford

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