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Random Lyrics Thursday

Warrior in Woolworth's by X-Ray Spex

Warrior in Woolworth's
Humble he may seem
Behind his servile innocence
He plots and he schemes

He's the rebel on the underground
She's the rebel of the modern town
He's the rebel on the underground
She's the rebel of the modern town

Warrior in Woolworth's
His roots are in today
Doesn't know no history
He threw the past away

Warrior in Woolworth's
Dips on friday nights
Youths meet at Stockwell Tube
Weapons rule their lives

By min | April 26, 2007, 11:43 AM | Music | Comments (0)| Link

We Are Dancing In The Square

The French can make anything sound pretty. Even German.

By min | April 26, 2007, 8:37 AM | Music & Ummm... Other? | Comments (0)| Link

Random Lyrics Thursday

Space Dog by Tori Amos

Way to go Mr. Microphone
Show us all what you don't know
Centuries secret societies
He's our commander still
Space Dog

So sure we were on something
Your feet are finally on the ground
He said so sure
We were on something
Your feet are just on the ground girl

Rain and snow our engines have been receiving
Your eager call there's colonel Dirtyfishydishcloth
He'll distract her good don't worry so

And to the one you thought was on your side
She can't understand she truly believes the lie

Lemon Pie
He's coming through
Our commander still
Space Dog
Lines secure
Space Dog

Deck the halls I"m young again
I'm you again
Racing turtles
The grapefruit is winning
Seems I keep getting this story twisted
So where's Neil when you need him
Deck the halls it's you again
It's you again
Somewhere someone must know the ending
Is she still pissing in the river
Now heard she'd gone
Moved into a trailer park

So sure we were on something
(So sure those girls now are in the Navy)
Your feet are finally on the ground
(those bombs, our friends, can't even hurt you now)
He said so sure we were on something
(and hold those tears cause they're still on your side)
Your feet are just on the ground girl
(don't hear the dogs barking)
So sure we were on something
(Don't say you know we've gone, Andromeda)
Your feet are finally on the ground
(stood with those girls before)
He said so sure we were on something
(the hair in pairs it just got nasty)
Your feet are just on the ground girl
(and now those girls are gone)

By fnord12 | April 19, 2007, 9:33 AM | Music | Comments (0)| Link

Random Lyrics Thursday

Only A Pawn In Their Game by Bob Dylan

A bullet from the back of a bush took Medgar Evers' blood.
A finger fired the trigger to his name.
A handle hid out in the dark
A hand set the spark
Two eyes took the aim
Behind a man's brain
But he can't be blamed
He's only a pawn in their game.

A South politician preaches to the poor white man,
"You got more than the blacks, don't complain.
You're better than them, you been born with white skin," they explain.
And the Negro's name
Is used it is plain
For the politician's gain
As he rises to fame
And the poor white remains
On the caboose of the train
But it ain't him to blame
He's only a pawn in their game.

The deputy sheriffs, the soldiers, the governors get paid,
And the marshals and cops get the same,
But the poor white man's used in the hands of them all like a tool.
He's taught in his school
From the start by the rule
That the laws are with him
To protect his white skin
To keep up his hate
So he never thinks straight
'Bout the shape that he's in
But it ain't him to blame
He's only a pawn in their game.

From the poverty shacks, he looks from the cracks to the tracks,
And the hoof beats pound in his brain.
And he's taught how to walk in a pack
Shoot in the back
With his fist in a clinch
To hang and to lynch
To hide 'neath the hood
To kill with no pain
Like a dog on a chain
He ain't got no name
But it ain't him to blame
He's only a pawn in their game.

Today, Medgar Evers was buried from the bullet he caught.
They lowered him down as a king.
But when the shadowy sun sets on the one
That fired the gun
He'll see by his grave
On the stone that remains
Carved next to his name
His epitaph plain:
Only a pawn in their game.

By fnord12 | April 12, 2007, 9:37 AM | Music | Comments (0)| Link

"Life slowly starts to choke the poetry out of us"

Here is an interesting article in the Washington Post (thanks, julia). They got Joshua Bell, one of the world's best violinists, to play incognito in a metro station during rush hour to see how people would react.

His performance was arranged by The Washington Post as an experiment in context, perception and priorities -- as well as an unblinking assessment of public taste: In a banal setting at an inconvenient time, would beauty transcend?
Three minutes went by before something happened. Sixty-three people had already passed when, finally, there was a breakthrough of sorts. A middle-age man altered his gait for a split second, turning his head to notice that there seemed to be some guy playing music. Yes, the man kept walking, but it was something.

A half-minute later, Bell got his first donation. A woman threw in a buck and scooted off. It was not until six minutes into the performance that someone actually stood against a wall, and listened.

Things never got much better. In the three-quarters of an hour that Joshua Bell played, seven people stopped what they were doing to hang around and take in the performance, at least for a minute. Twenty-seven gave money, most of them on the run -- for a total of $32 and change. That leaves the 1,070 people who hurried by, oblivious, many only three feet away, few even turning to look.

Now, fnord12 would point out the elitist subtext that goes on throughout this article. The not quite said opinion that these people rushing by just weren't cultured enough to know they were in the presence of greatness. It is certainly hinted at by phrases such as the one describing this particular metro station as being "more plebeian than most". Or how about the premise of the experiment: would ordinary people recognize genius? It even states that you shouldn't be too quick to "label the Metro passersby unsophisticated boobs," as if this would be the default reason for people not recognizing the rare treat they were being exposed to. During rush hour.

It's definitely there. I can't argue with him about that. But i feel that the writer redeems himself in the rest of the article. I feel that although this is the first explanation they come up with, they come to realize that it's not that people are "uncultured" or "unsophisticated boobs" but that they are busy and rushed and have no time to take notice of the beauty around them.

First, he brings up a very important point. Context.

"Let's say I took one of our more abstract masterpieces, say an Ellsworth Kelly, and removed it from its frame, marched it down the 52 steps that people walk up to get to the National Gallery, past the giant columns, and brought it into a restaurant. It's a $5 million painting. And it's one of those restaurants where there are pieces of original art for sale, by some industrious kids from the Corcoran School, and I hang that Kelly on the wall with a price tag of $150. No one is going to notice it. An art curator might look up and say: 'Hey, that looks a little like an Ellsworth Kelly. Please pass the salt.'"
In his Critique of Aesthetic Judgment, Kant argued that one's ability to appreciate beauty is related to one's ability to make moral judgments. But there was a caveat. Paul Guyer of the University of Pennsylvania, one of America's most prominent Kantian scholars, says the 18th-century German philosopher felt that to properly appreciate beauty, the viewing conditions must be optimal.

"Optimal," Guyer said, "doesn't mean heading to work, focusing on your report to the boss, maybe your shoes don't fit right."

He also gives an example of what really is going on in people's minds when they're trying to get to work on time.

"I had a time crunch," recalls Sheron Parker, an IT director for a federal agency. "I had an 8:30 training class, and first I had to rush Evvie off to his teacher, then rush back to work, then to the training facility in the basement."

This is prolly typical for most people. They haven't got time to stop and listen to music no matter how beautiful. It's not about how cultural they are, it's about the daily grind. It's about how our society is structured in such a way that we have no choice but to focus on rushing from daycare to work back to daycare to home to extracurricular activities then back home again to collapse before tomorrow's routine starts. It's about how this ridiculous way of life chokes the poetry out of us. It's consumerism pushed on us to keep us numb to the fact that insanity of 9-hr/day jobs plus commute is depressing.

A hundred feet away, across the arcade, was the lottery line, sometimes five or six people long. They had a much better view of Bell than Tindley did, if they had just turned around. But no one did. Not in the entire 43 minutes. They just shuffled forward toward that machine spitting out numbers. Eyes on the prize.

Happiness is only a few lucky numbers away! Don't stop now!

Fnord12 says i see this because i'm sympathetic to this idea. But it's not exactly the message the people at the Washington Post got.

This article just misses the mark of total redemption. They understand that people are missing out on life because they're too busy to take the time out to appreciate the beauty around them. What they don't get is that people are too busy not by choice but by necessity. If you've got the good paying job, you're prolly expected to put in 50 hours a week. If you've got the crappy paying job, you're prolly working 2 jobs to make ends meet. And this on top of any family obligations and commuting. So what little time is left after that is most likely spent on housekeeping and sleep, not attending $1000 concerts.

In 2 places, there's mention of how it would be different in another country. A crowd would stop to listen. More people would recognize the person playing. This isn't because there's something wrong with the people here. There's something wrong with the structure of our society.

By min | April 9, 2007, 1:19 PM | Music | Comments (2)| Link

Random Lyrics Thursday

I Don't Need Society by D.R.I.

Your number's up, you have to go
The system says, "I told you so"
Stocked in a plane like a truckload of cattle
Sent off to slaughter in a useless battle
Thousands of us sent off to die
Never really knowing why
Fuck the system, they can't have me
I don't need society

You were an apple pie clone living at home
Never straying too far from your phone
Now, son, make it through enemy lines
You must hurry, there's not much time
Made it, sir, they're gonna drop the bomb
No time to evacuate, they'll write our moms
Fuck the system, they can't have me

I don't need society
I don't need society
I don't need society
I don't need society
Fuck you

By fnord12 | April 5, 2007, 10:02 AM | Music | Comments (0)| Link

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