Song Of The Day

"He left the road and climbed across the spine of the hill to look down on the other side. From there he could see a ten-acre field of cockleburs spotted with clumps of sunflowers and wild gum. In the centre of the field was a gigantic pile of sets, flats and props. While he watched, a ten-ton truck added another load to it. This was the final dumping ground. He thought of Janvier’s 'Sargasso Sea.' Just as that imaginary body of water was a history of civilization in the form of a marine junkyard, the studio lot was one in the form of a dream dump. A Sargasso of the imagination! And the dream dump grew continually, for there wasn’t a dream afloat somewhere which wouldn’t sooner or later turn up on it, having first been made photographic by plaster, canvas, lath and paint. Many boats sink and never reach the Sargasso, but no dream ever entirely disappears. Somewhere it troubles some unfortunate person and some day, when that person has been sufficiently troubled, it will be reproduced on the lot."
- Nathaniel West, The Day of the Locust

Deconstruction - L.A. Song

Blue screen water
It's not an ocean anymore
It's just a backdrop
Now come on

La la brae bones walk west
Bring your water
Plant your scenery Ramona
Map out the dream
And make the desert grow

Move out flat don't rise up
One neighborhood
Kraft cheese and a cup of joe
Raw fish in a burrito
Game show, straight to video
In the land of the setting sun

Psychotherapy
Sci-fi religion
Tit pigs
Bikini barbell
Chakra
Gridlock
Don't think just talk
Jog don't ever walk
Weight loss
Talk radio
Roll up your windows

Private home securities
Take the streets while the LAPD become blue machines
Cop copter spotlights down
Premiere klieg lights up
None of your business buildings
Gonna keep you out and keep us in
There's a hope downtown
And a mission that feeds
En pocas palabras de espera un duelo [A duel is imminent]
This is no place
This takes place

(Does your horizon burn?)
I have lived here my whole life
I don't need more stories
(Does your horizon burn?)
About your broken midwest boulevard dreams
Stars also lie down that street
(Does your horizon burn?)
Stars also lie down that street
You pretty little town
You sad flower in the sand
(Does your horizon burn?)
You pretty little town
Give me some of you
Give me, give me
Give me some of you
(Does your horizon burn?)
Give me, give me
Give me some of you
Give me some of you
give me some of you
Venus and a silver moon
Give me some of you
(Does your horizon burn?)
Give me some of you
Give me some of you
(Does your horizon burn?)
Give me some of you
Give me some of you

Song Of The Day

Alfred Pennyworth: When I was in Burma, a long time ago, my friends and I were working for the local Government. They were trying to buy the loyalty of tribal leaders, bribing them with precious stones. But their caravans were being raided in a forest north of Rangoon by a bandit. We were asked to take care of the problem, so we started looking for the stones. But after six months, we couldn't find anyone who had traded with him. One day I found a child playing with a ruby as big as a tangerine. The bandit had been throwing the stones away.
Bruce Wayne: Then why steal them?
Alfred Pennyworth: Because he thought it was good sport. Because some men aren't looking for anything logical, like money. They can't be bought, bullied, reasoned or negotiated with. Some men just want to watch the world burn.
- The Dark Knight

Nine Inch Nails - Burn

This world rejects me
This world threw me away
This world never gave me a chance
This world's gonna have to pay

I don't believe in your institutions
I did what you wanted me to
Like cancer in the system
I've got a little suprise for you

Something inside of me has opened up its eyes
Why did you put it there, did you not realize
This thing inside of me, it screams the loudest sound
Sometimes I think I could . . .

Burn

I look down there where you're standing
Flock of sheep out on display
Saw your lives burned up around you
I can take it all away

Something inside of me has opened up its eyes
Why did you put it there, did you not realize
This thing inside of me, it screams the loudest sound
Sometimes I think I could . . .

I'm gonna burn this whole world down

I never was a part of you
Burn

I am your savior (I never was a part of you - burn)
I am corruption (I never was a part of you - burn)
I am the angel (I never was a part of you - burn)
Of your destruction (I never was a part of you - burn)

I am perversion (I never was a part of you - burn)
Secret desire (I never was a part of you - burn)
I am your future (I never was a part of you - burn)
Swallowed up in fire

Song Of The Day

"In itself it is worthless: you cannot eat or drink it, plant it, ride in it or sleep under it. Yet it has more value than anything else because it is value, because it is how we define value, and therefore it can transform into anything else. The psychological problem arises when life becomes motivated by the desire for that pure value. We all sense what is wrong with this, but it is helpful to make it explicit: to the extent that life becomes focused around the desire for money, an ironic reversal takes place between means and ends; everything is degraded into a mere means to that worthless end, all else is devalued to maximize merely symbolic ends, because our desires have been fetishized into that pure symbol. We end up rejoicing not at a worthwhile job well done, or meeting a friend, or hearing a bird-song - the genuine elements of our life - but at accumulating pieces of paper . . . The contemporary original sin is that we do not have enough money; and the solution is to get more, until we have enough and no longer feel any lack - which ends up being never."
- David Loy, Buddhism and Money

This song is dedicated to nine tenths of Mammonists, material girls, confidence men, record company executives, Flying Lizards, rappers, racketeers, oil barons, drug lords, slave traders, Cash Money Millionaires, flim-flam men, dictators' wives, insider traders, Nigerian princes, used electronics dealers, kingpins, gold diggers, Hilton heiresses, organ thieves, crack dealers, plutocrats, chemical weapons traders, televangelists, Fordists, spam barons, war profiteers, sycophants, extortionists, kleptocrats, Ferengi, Social Darwinists, hucksters, pushers, loan sharks, tobacco lobbyists, Bond villains, hustlers, misers, gangsters, gangstas, human traffickers, pimps, faith healers, phishers, business students, grifters and Saudi royals.

Killing Joke - Money Is Not Our God

Nine tenths of the law than sic
Is possession
Life expressed in matter is a blasphemy
Success defined by aquisition stinks!
So busy trying to make a living I forget about living
Yes I do
So busy trying to make a living I forget about life
Come on, let's live!

The best things I found in life were my birthright
Green fields mean more to me than a brand new car
Will you swap your hi-fi for a clear blue sky?
Will you cash in all your shares for God's clean air?
Is your answer yes or no to these painful truths?
Is your answer yes or no to these painful truths?

Do you grovel to your master?
Do you beg like a dog?
First things first, repeat to yourself:
Ahh money! Money is not our GOD!

Pushin' it
Do it like this

Mine!
The best things in life are free
Mine!
I own the beach and the blazing sunset
Mine!
I own the waves and the fresh air
Mine!
I drink the milk of the stars in this beautiful moment

Say to yourself:
All these things are mine!

Repeat after me!

Money money money
Money's not our God!

Do you grovel to your master?
Do you beg like a dog?
(Arf arf arf)
First things first, repeat to yourself:
Ahh money!

Song Of The Day

"In the world of living beings the struggle for life establishes an association, and a very close one, not only between those who unite together in combat against a common foe, but between the combatants themselves. And is there any possible association more intimate than that uniting the animal that eats another and the animal that is eaten, between the devourer and the devoured?"
- Miguel de Unamuno, Tragic Sense of Life

Jane's Addiction - Of Course

Of course this land is dangerous!
All of the animals are capably murderous.

And when I was a boy,
my big brother held on to my hands,
then he made me slap my own face
I looked up to him then, and still do
He was trying to teach me something
Now I know what it was!
Now I know what he meant!
Now I know how it is!
Ohh, ohh, ohh ohh, ohh, ohh ohh

One must eat the other who runs free before him
Put them right into his mouth
While fantasizing the beauty of his movements
A sensation not unlike slapping yourself in the face...
Slapping yourself in the face...
Slapping yourself in the face...

La la la la...

Song Of The Day

There aren't enough songs sublimely conveying universal feelings of dislocation using a slightly obscure literary reference as lyrical lynchpin. Some background from New York Magazine's review of Michel Houellebecq's H. P. Lovecraft: Against the World, Against Life is useful for context:

In Houellebecq’s reading, Lovecraft was initiated into the secrets of the vile by his disastrous move from Rhode Island to Brooklyn in 1924. He did it for love: At the age of 30, he’d married an older woman, Sonia Haft Greene, who was both Jewish and divorced (no small thing, Houellebecq points out, “for a conservative anti-Semite”). But affection, which had taken him this far, could take him no further. In the metropolis, he was jostled and out-hustled by immigrants and “negroes” and could not find work. “My coming to New York,” one of Lovecraft’s narrators concludes, “had been a mistake.” In that story, the hero is shown a terrifying vision of the future by a demon in Greenwich Village; in real life, the desperate Lovecraft and Sonia were forced to sell their furniture. For some time, he had to live alone in Red Hook. Two years later, utterly defeated, he left. The marriage failed.

Now to delve into what Lovecraft, in top spine-tingling form, called the "Italo-Semitico-Mongoloid" lower east side:

The Mountain Goats - Lovecraft In Brooklyn

Gonna be too hot to breathe today
But everybody is out here on the streets
Somebody has opened up the fire hydrant
Cold water rushing out in sheets

Some kid in a Marcus Allen jersey
Asks me for a cigarette
Companionship is where you find it
So I take what I can get

Lovecraft on the car-length funhouse mirrors
I stick to the shadows when I can
Lovecraft in Brooklyn

Well the sun goes down
The armies of the voiceless
Several hundred-thousand strong
Come without their bandages
Their voices raised in song
When the street lights sputter out
They make this awful sizzling sound

I cast my gaze towards the pavement
Too many bloodstains on the ground
Rhode Island drops into the ocean
No place to call home anymore
Lovecraft in Brooklyn

Head outside most everyday to try to keep the wolves away
Imagine nice things I might say
If company should come

Woke up afraid of my own shadow
Like, genuinely afraid
Headed for the pawnshop
To buy myself a switchblade
Someday something's coming
From way out beyond the stars
To kill us while we stand here
It will store our brains in mason jars
And then the girl behind the counter asks "How do you feel today?"
"I feel like Lovecraft in Brooklyn!"

Yeah!

Song Of The Thursday

Random House Unabridged Dictionary defines a rake as, "A dissolute or profligate person, esp. a man who is licentious; roué." It defines a roué as, "A dissolute and licentious man; rake." If I were to be a rake or a roué - and I'd much rather be a rake or a roué than a pimp or a player - this song would be my soundtrack. It reminds me of my life in everything but the details.

Morphine - Thursday

We used to meet every
Thursday Thursday Thursday in the afternoon
For a couple of beers and a game of pool
We used to go to a motel a motel
A motel across the street
And the name of the motel was the Wagon Wheel
Oh
One day she said come on come on she said
Why don't you come back to my house?
She said my husband's out of town
You know he's gone till the end of the month
Well I was just so nervous so nervous
You know I couldn't really quite relax
Cause I was never really quite sure when her
Husband was coming back
Sure one of the neighbors yeah one of the neighbors
One of the neighbors that saw my car
And they told her yea they told her
I think they know who you are
Well her husband he's a violent man a very violent and jealous man
Now I have to leave this town I got to leave while I still can
We should have kept it every
Thursday Thursday Thursday in the afternoon
For a couple of beers and a game of pool
We should have kept it every
Thursday Thursday Thursday in the afternoon
For a couple of beers and a game of pool
She was pretty good too

Protest Song Of The Day

Usually when I post a "Song of the Day" it's at least a decade old, perhaps because the majority of new music tends to the not good. But here is a (relatively) new song that defies that rule! The lyrics even manage the rare feat of being political but not embarrassing - cathartic and vitriolic in the Bob Dylan, "Masters of War" sense! The fan-made video is a little heavy-handed for my tastes but, eh, times are what they are.

David Ford - Requiem

Well the world’s getting heavy and it sticks to my feet
Well-practiced in losing and brave in defeat
With no friends in this business you keep your enemies sweet
And keep one in the chamber for every stranger you meet

I’ll take pieces of silver for a head full of rhyme
I’ll take a headache and a casket for a life full of time
I’ll take a patch of New Mexico and I will call it mine
And I’ll swear never to return to the scene of the crime

Well the mob’s getting angry and the torches alight
Because they’re putting up taxes by a penny tonight
And you can never taste freedom boys if you run from a fight
And when the heavens are falling take a step to the right

So we smoke ourselves skinny and we drink ourselves blind
Self-discovery knocks but there is nothing to find
And if you’re looking for victims would you keep me in mind
Let us be kissed on the cheek, let us be fucked from behind

There’s no need to tread carefully there’s no need to fear
Just talk in obscure non-specifics and try to look all sincere
Every administration blames the one from last year
So when consequence calls there’ll be nobody here

So we sell out our kids for a tank full of gas
And a lifetime in plastics for a fistful of cash
Let the rivers run dry let the economy crash
And let the discotheques resound to the requiem mass

So we sell out our kids for a tank full of gas
And a lifetime in plastics for a fistful of cash
Let the rivers run dry let the economy crash
And let the discotheques resound to the requiem mass

Song Of The Day

I first saw the video for this song on . . . television. Actually it was the remake by Disposable Heroes of Hiphoprisy, basically the Beatnigs in avant-hip-hop form. The Beatnigs came from that forgotten late 80s-early 90s era when alternative actually meant alternative, its last bang coming with Jane's Addiction's farewell tour - the first Lollapalooza. The Beatnigs combined industrial instrumentation, samples, funk basslines, spoken word, punk attitude and conscious black politics to create a unique sound and aesthetic. While their politics were often heavy-handed (song titles "Malcolm X" and "C.I.A." give a clue), the fact that they gave a shit - and no one gave a shit about Disposable Heroes of Hiphoprisy despite opening for bands like U2 and Nirvana - I view with nostalgia given the twin 90s domination of grunge apathy and hip-hop materialism. My favourite song by them is actually "Nature" (featuring the refrain, surprising from leftists, that "People are the best part of nature"), but the agitprop lyrics to this one stand out for being so gloriously dated and so gloriously not.

The Beatnigs - Television

One nation under God has turned into
One nation under the influence of one drug:
Television

T.V. is the reason why less than 10 per cent of our nation reads books daily
Why most people think Central America means Kansas
Communism means un-American*
and Apartheid is a new headache remedy

Television, the drug of the nation
Breeding ignorance and feeding radiation

T.V. is the stomping ground for political candidates
Where bears in the woods are chased by Grecian Formula'd bald eagles
Where all you need to do to get elected is to make monkey movies
Where straight teeth in your mouth are more important than the words that come out of it
on:

Television, the drug of the nation
Breeding ignorance and feeding radiation

T.V. is the place where self-canceling phrases like fresh shows, pop art and military intelligence have become standard
T.V. is the place where words are redefined
like terrorist to freedom fighter and Sandinista to aggressor regime

Television, the drug of the Nation
Breeding ignorance and feeding radiation

T.V. is the place where the pursuit of happiness has become the pursuit of trivia
Where toothpaste and cars have become sex objects
Where Sesame Street has become more real than Hill Street

Television, the drug of the nation
Breeding ignorance and feeding radiation

* Switched to "socialism" in the Disposable Heroes version

Song Of The Day

'Bad men have no songs.' -- Then why do the Russians have songs?
- Nietzsche

Kino - Gruppa Krovi [Blood Type]

It's a warm place here but the streets
Are anxious for our footprints
Stardust on our boots sparkles and shines
There's a cozy armchair with a checkered blanket
The trigger hasn't been pulled in time
Sunny days in blazing dreams

My blood type is marked on my sleeve,
My ordinal number is marked on my sleeve,
Wish me luck in the fight,
Wish for me not to remain in this grass,
Wish me luck . . .

I can pay, but I do not want victory at any cost
I don't want to put my foot on someone's chest
I would rather stay here with you,
Just to stay here with you,
But the star high in the sky is calling me on my way

My blood type is marked on my sleeve,
My ordinal number is marked on my sleeve,
Wish me luck in the fight,
Wish for me not to remain in this grass,
Wish me luck . . .

Song Of The Day

This song simply makes me want to dance the Snake Dance and shed my skin, no questions asked. Favourite non sequitur: "Break the heart of my very soul." Na-na-nas, piano breakdown, dual male-female vocals . . . if you don't like this song you have no understanding of dark pop sublimity.

March Violets - Snake Dance

Take my hand said Cleopatra
Take me to the fires to burn
Save your passion and your kinship
Take me to the flames the flames
The flames the flames

Pay my price in pearls of wisdom
Tell me stories of my fame
Scented oil on troubled water
Take my love in vain

Break the heart break the heart
Break the heart of my very soul
Cast it on the desert sand
This dance catches fire with me

Take my body clean of blame
I am the heat inside the flame
Take my body clean of shame
I am the heat inside the flame
I am the heat I am the heat

Play my song the serpent whispered
Golden skin and eyes of flame
Painted heart and painted nails
She ran her fingers down the scales

Just back from the snake dance baby
I love you when you shed your skin
Just back from the snake dance baby
Open the door, let's go in

Just back from the snake dance baby
I love you when you burn me up
Just back from the snake dance baby
This dance catches fire with me

Snake dance

Song Of The Day

This song has the perfect rock n' roll lyrics, a bunch of quotable lines that on the surface mean little but imply much: a distillation of politics, sex, violence, the open road, nihilism, war, excess, restless youth, riots, a state of emergency, cynicism, anger mixed with ennui. The Sisters of Mercy started out as lo-fi miserablists, but ended as a hard rock outfit perfectly in tune with the times, particularly these times. George H.W. Bush never sounded so goddamn inspiring. Some lyrical references discovered with the help of a song interpretation website.

The Sisters Of Mercy - Vision Thing

Twenty-five whores in the room next door
Twenty-five floors and I need more!
I'm looking for the 'can' in the candy store
Two thousand Hamburg four
And colours I ain't seen before

Well, well

It's a small world and it smells funny
I'd buy another if it wasn't for the money
Take back what I paid
For another motherfucker in a motorcade

In a long black car
With the prettiest shit
From Panama
When the sirens wail
And the lights flash blue
My vision thing come
Slamming through!

It's a small world and it smells bad
I'd buy another if I had
Back
What I paid
For another motherfucker in a motorcade

Slamming through!
Slamming through!

What do we need to make our world come alive?
What does it take to make us sing?
While we're waiting for the next one to arrive?
One million points of light
One billion dollar
Vision Thing!

Another black hole in the killing zone
A little more 'mad' in the methedrome
One blinding flash of sense
Just like the president's
Well, I don't mind
Out of my mind
Blizzard king
Bring it on home!

It's a small world and it smells bad
I'd buy another if I had
Back
What I paid
For another motherfucker in a motorcade

And a vision thing
And a vision thing
And a . . .
Sha la la la

What do we need to make our world come alive?
What does it take to make us sing?
While we're waiting for the next one to arrive?
One million points of light
One billion dollar
Vision Thing!

Sha la la la

Anthem For A Perfect World

Behind all visions of utopia lies the same yearning cry: can't there be a place where everybody knows your name? And they're always glad you came? If only my friends. If only...

Where Everybody Knows Your Name

Making your way in the world today
Takes everything you've got;
Taking a break from all your worries
Sure would help a lot.
Wouldn't you like to get away?

All those night when you've got no lights,
The check is in the mail;
And your little angel
Hung the cat up by it's tail;
And your third fiance didn't show;

Sometimes you want to go
Where everybody knows your name,
And they're always glad you came;
You want to be where you can see,
Our troubles are all the same;
You want to be where everybody knows your name.

Roll out of bed, Mr. Coffee's dead;
The morning's looking bright;
And your shrink ran off to Europe,
And didn't even write;
And your husband wants to be a girl;

Be glad there's one place in the world
Where everybody knows your name,
And they're always glad you came;
You want to go where people know,
People are all the same;
You want to go where everybody knows your name.

Where everybody knows your name,
And they're always glad you came;
Where everybody knows your name,
And they're always glad you came;

(fade out)

Song Of The Day

I like songs about historical events, and this one is admirably even-handed for a rock song. The Shah certainly was luxury's greatest fan: in 1967, in celebration of his forty-eighth birthday, 17,432 roses were scattered over Tehran by the Royal Iranian Air Force, each representing a day of his life. He did sell the English a lot of oil; though instead of making the people work the soil, he was actually attempting an agenda of modernization around the time of his fall, contributing to the unforeseen backlash. The most glaring inaccuracy in the song, however, is when the band claim Khomeini "made the people get up and da da dance." The cassettes Khomeini's network distributed contained political sermons, not Casbah-rocking agit-punk. (Which would have been a lot cooler.) In fact the Ayatollah was notoriously anti-dancing, but considering the song was written in 1979, the band's final analysis: "Said he'd set the people free, we shall see we shall see," remains as they say, fair and balanced. Compare this to "Cortez the Killer" by hippie utopian Neil Young, which is unmitigated pro-Aztec propaganda. "Hate was just a legend and war was never known"? Please! Cortez was certainly a killer but the Aztec theocratic necro-state was hardly more humane. I digress, however. Enjoy this stirring piece of politically astute synth-punk courtesy of the Stranglers.

The Stranglers - Shah Shah A Go Go

Did you hear about the man
Used to live out in Iran
He was luxury's greatest fan
People ate out of his hand
People ate out of his hand

Shah shah a go go
Shah shah a go go
Shah shah a go go
Shah shah a go go

Sold the English all their oil
Made the people work the soil
Thought his kind had got it made
But his kind just had to pay to fade
But his kind just had to fade

Shah shah a go go
Shah shah a go go
Shah shah a go go
Shah shah a go go

Then a priest in Paris, France
Made the people get up and da da dance
Sold cassettes for 60p.
Said he'd set the people free
We shall see we shall see

Shah shah a go go
Shah shah a go go
Shah shah a go go
Shah shah a go go

Shah shah a go go
Shah shah a go go
Shah shah a go go
Shah shah a go go
Shah shah a go go
Shah shah a go go

The Unofficial National Anthem Of Humankind

Amazes me that a band with such a decidedly downcast view of the human race could be socialists. "Who's responsible? You fucking are," seems a strange fit with the notion of man being a slave to impersonal dialectics of history. I understand though: it's difficult to follow ugly truths to their natural conclusions. Easier to stop short and pledge post-Christian allegiance to a secular utopia/class messiah. A millennium of cultural conditioning dies hard, which is why many universities--which started out as religious institutions--continue to pledge allegiance to that latter-day Neo-Testament prophet Karl Marx. Another misanthrope hiding his contempt behind a veneer of righteousness, peering so close to the void only to close his eyes and imagine light. Bonus points for the obscure historical references, which not enough songs contain, and a unique definition of life.

Manic Street Preachers - Of Walking Abortion

Life is: lead weights pendulum died
Pure or lost
Spectator or crucified
Recognize truth
Acedia's blackest hole
Junkies, winos, whores
The nation's moral suicide

Loser, liar, fake or phoney
No one cares
Everyone is guilty
Fucked up, dont know why

We all are of walking abortions
Shalom, shalom
We all love our children

We all are of walking abortions
Shalom, shalom
We all love our children
There are no horizons

Mussolini hangs from a butcher's hook
Hitler reprised in the worm of your soul
Horthy's corpse screened to a million
Tiso revived
The horror of a bullfight

Fragments of uniforms
Open black ruins
A moral conscience
You've no wounds to show
So wash your car in your 'X' baseball shoes

We all are of walking abortions
Shalom, shalom
We all love our children

We all are of walking abortions
Shalom, shalom
We all love our children
There are no horizons

Little people in little houses
Like maggots small blind and worthless
The massacred innocent blood stains us all

Who's responsible? You fucking are
Who's responsible? You fucking are
Who's responsible? You fucking are
Who's responsible? you fucking are

Song Of The Day

Today's song of the day is an anthem for our times, courtesy of Jarvis Cocker's electro-erotic side-project Relaxed Muscle. Read this article while listening for added effect. Or just turn on the TV.

Relaxed Muscle - Sexualized

Ooh!
Ooh!

The drink that I drink is sexualized
The thoughts that I think are sexualized
The life I live is sexualized
I shoot from the hip 'cos I'm sexualized

The posters on the walls - all sexualized
Shopping malls - all sexualized
The car that I drive is sexualized
Yeah, the hole in my life is sexualized

Oh-oh, sexualized
It's keeping me up all day and all night
And I ain't got no more time for the wife
So, sex me, sex me, sex me, sex me, sex me, sex me, sex me, sex me

Prudent preachers are sexualized
Student teachers are sexualized
Instructors in the gym - all sexualized
Fill you to the brim 'cos I'm sexualized

I woke up in the morning I was sexualized
A new day was dawning I was sexualized
Read the morning paper, it was sexualized
I really got to make-up - got to sexualize

Oh-oh, sexualized
You're keeping me up all day and all night
And I ain't got no more time for the wife
So, sex me, sex me, sex me, sex me, sex me, sex me, sex me, sex me

Oh, God it's in my eyes!
'cos everywhere I look
Everything's sexualized
I said, oh, a goddess in my eyes
'cos everywhere I look
It's all sexualized

It's all sexualized
Oh, oh, all sexualized
Oh, all sexualized
Ohh

The girls in FHM are sexualized
Take a look at them, they're all sexualized
On the TV it's all sexualized
Everything that I see is all sexualized

Everybody in the street - sexualized
And children on the swings - yeah sexualized
When you're talking on the phone - sexualized
And they're sitting in their homes all sexualized

Oh-oh, sexualized
Keeping me up all day and all night
And I can't even get it on with the wife
So, sex me, sex me, sex me, sex me, sex me, sex me, sex me, sex me!

Oh, it's in my eyes!
'cos everywhere I look
It's all sexualized
I said, oh, I gotta shut my eyes
'cos everywhere I look
It's all sexualized

Song Of The Day

One of my favourite industrial stompers from a short-lived Ministry side-project, though the chorus, "Faster than light and harder," is a bit of a non-sequitur. Why not "Faster than light and hotter"? Still, one must remember the copious amount of drugs the Ministry crew were on and applaud them for effectively communicating their psychotropic mania in such a manner. I salute you! Look for a brief, pre-bigshot appearance by Trent Reznor on guitar a little after the three-minute mark.

Lead Into Gold - Faster Than Light

Again we understand
Mauled by greasy hand
Worked to the bone
Again
Feel it ready
Again
Feel it ready
Once more it's ready
Believe that speed will win
Again

Faster than light and harder
Bleeds into overkill
Faster than light and harder
Never stop never ever

Truth lies at the core
It always worked before
Starve to the bone
Some more
Takes forever
Feels like it takes forever
Believe that speed will win
Some more

Faster than light and harder
Bleeds into overkill
Faster than light and harder
Never stop never ever

Faster than light and harder
Bleeds into overkill
Faster than light and harder
Never stop never ever

Again we prostitute
And hold a greasy hand
Cooked off the bone
Cooked to the end
Is it ready?
Believe it ready
And know that speed will win
Again

Faster than light and harder
Bleeds into overkill
Faster than light and harder
Never stop never ever

Faster than light and harder
Bleeds into overkill
Faster than light and harder
Never stop never ever

Song Of The Day

If love was really anything like this song, I wouldn't be so opposed to it.

Serge Gainsbourg & Brigitte Bardot - Bonnie & Clyde

You've heard the story of Jesse James
Of how he lived and how he died
You liked that eh? You ask for more.
So then, listen to the story of Bonnie and Clyde.

So then, Clyde has a girlfriend
She is beautiful and her name is Bonnie,
Together they had left the straight and narrow
A gang of two: Bonnie Parker and Clyde Barrow.

Bonnie and Clyde, Bonnie and Clyde

When I met Clyde a long time ago
He was loyal, honest, and straight-arrow.
For you must see that it was society
That drove me to a life of crime and misery.

Bonnie and Clyde, Bonnie and Clyde

The newspapers think they have our measure
They say we kill for cold-blooded pleasure.
That's not true but sure it's in our nature
To shoot first and ask questions later.

Bonnie and Clyde, Bonnie and Clyde

Every time that a policeman hears
That a gas station or a bank was held up
For the cops it's nothing mysterious
They hang it on Clyde Barrow and his mistress.

Bonnie and Clyde, Bonnie and Clyde

There's no point in trying to settle down
To find a little house, a quiet town
By the third day there's the tac-tac-tac
Of machine guns coming to attack us.

Bonnie and Clyde, Bonnie and Clyde

One of these days we will fall together
Me, I don't give a damn, it's for Bonnie I tremble
What does it matter if they kill me?
Me Bonnie, I tremble for Clyde Barrow

Bonnie and Clyde, Bonnie and Clyde

Ambushed on a road their end was nigh
The only way out for them was to die
But more than one followed them to hell
When they died, Barrow and Bonnie Parker

Bonnie and Clyde, Bonnie and Clyde

Song Of The Day

This awesome cinematic video perfectly captures the grunge-gospel, dirt-transcendent feel of the song, featuring one of my favourite vocalists, Mark Lanegan.

Soulsavers - Revival

Said "Gonna be revival tonight", oh
Wanna see revival, yeah

Gonna be revival tonight
Lord, let there be a revival, yeah

Forgive what I have done
It means my soul survival, oh

I need you so insane
Put an end to my suffering, oh

Why am I so blind
With my eyes wide open? oh

Trying to get my hands
Clean in dirty water

Mmmmm

Wanna see revival tonight
Lord, let there be a revival, yeah

I need to see a revival tonight, oh
Wanna see revival, oh

Why am I so blind
With my eyes wide open? yeah

Now I need someone
Let this dark night be done, oh

I need you so insane
pouring into my suffering

Wanna see revival tonight
Lord, it needs to be revival

Song Of The Day

A sad song of heartbreak and loneliness and mesh hats. This band is wonderful, featuring a very off-kilter but poetic and honest lyrical perspective. What better description for the heartless is there than "Just for fun, from-behind bastards"? Pick up the album Not on Top if you should chance to see it, because this is one underlooked band that deserves the support. Another choice lyric I give an amen to: "I'll lose my hair but not my fire."

Herman Düne - Walk Don't Run

Walk don’t run, don’t let them know
That you’re all alone
’Cause they’ll chase you and throw you stones
Just for fun, from-behind bastards
Here’s a feather, I got it from a crow
Put it on your mesh hat, I know you like to wear black
Make it straight to the nearest phone and call me
(Did you keep my number zombie?)
’Cause I’ve been there before and I know what you’re made of
You call her a bitch but you wish she was right here
Tell me about how she played you like a fool, like a rookie
How you’ve never put your trust in anyone before and how you’re never gonna do it again
Then if you make sure that there’s no one around, I’ll tell you a secret, baby
You’re right, she was the one and she’s never gonna come back, she’s gone
And now you wish you were dead or at least you could fuck your brains out
’Cause there’s nowhere in the world you’ll stop thinking about her

Song Of The Day

My future last words.

Califone - Don't Let Me Die Nervous

Weather like the crucifixion
Dreaming of a whore that's sparkling like a sparkler
Dead eyed starlet calm

Laid you down upon the coats covering the bed
And said you are my brothers and what's his is mine

The blinder you get the more you can taste
Don't let me die nervous

The kids are eating candy skulls
Your face is buried in the engine
The breaks were singing as you slide someone else's name

Like a crosseyed baby teething on a rusty knife
I'm gonna have your backside
Lay your plantation down

Jump the fire, burn your hair
Don't let me die nervous

You can't hear a noise til your tongue's bitten out
Don't let me die nervous

Sweated off the number on the palm of your hand
Cold rain about to bust in between your bones and skin

Forgot what I was begging for
You walk like a healthy meal
The car alarms are moaning someone else's name

Jump the fire, burn your hair
Don't let me die nervous

The blinder you get the more you can taste
Don't let me die nervous

Don't let me die nervous
Don't let me die nervous
Don't let me die nervous
Don't let me die nervous
Don't let me die nervous
Don't let me die nervous
Don't let me die nervous
Don't let me die nervous