Too Hardcore for HuffPo!

Every now and then we do a song that I just don’t bother putting on The Huffington Post because it’s clearly stylistically too removed from anything their readership listens to. This week’s song is one of those.

In our 47 weeks we have flitted around from style to style quite a bit, and for me, these have been among the most fun. I’ve always been a huge fan of older hardcore bands like Born Against, Gorilla Biscuits and Articles of Faith, and was never in a band that even dabbled in it.

This week’s song, Rope, is my favorite that we’ve done in this vein. Just for this week I’ve updated the player to include some of our other songs that toe the line into the Sunday CBGB matinees of my youth.

The song is a reaction to Toby Keith’s “Beer For My Horses”, a song which has been correctly called out for being nostalgic for the days when folks in the south practiced justice by hanging people from trees. In a total head-up-ass demonstration of epic proportions, Toby seems completely unaware that this practice was usually carried out against black people who hadn’t committed any transgression at all.

I tap my foot to wal-mart country music, and am often impressed by the craft that the lyricists put into it. That said, the nostalgia for the confederate flag, the days of street justice, and yes, the lynching has got to stop. Half the people who buy this offensive garbage will go on and on about how offensive rap lyrics are while blasting this ode to the days when black folks swung from trees from their pickup trucks.

And oh – the Toby Keith thing was brought to my attention because fellow Huffposter Max Blumenthal led the fight on this and was called a “moron” by Keith, and a lot of people that that it was me because Max Blumenthal and I have practically the same name.

So, with that, enjoy “Rope”.

(put mouse over, player appears)

I can see by the looks of the figures on hand
that business is quite good indeed
They’re dancing and clapping their hands
to the worst moments of history
Disguised as nostalgia for what?
An era of shame and disgust
The fiddles will fecklessly play
but they can’t disinfect it

‘Cause heritage and history are picture perfect enemies
A throwback to justice’s travesty, lusting and longing for tragedy
Coded deep in perfect pitch, syncopated in clever quips
Tightly tuned cascading on each sour note
When you sing, when you sing about rope

There’s a bank hidden deep in this ditch
that preserves all these demons of old
And etches them stitch after stitch
in circles of platinum and gold
The protest persistent against
the rhymes of the city next door
Reminiscing on days old
of vengeance and violence

Before my time and theirs as well
Way down south just north of hell
Stars and steel guitars glamorize this sick past of ours
Turn the clocks to long before the little minds in big box stores
Boots gently tapping hanging on each ugly note
When you sing, when you sing about rope


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