Mon - August 25, 2008
COME ON UP
for the campaign of death.
Word on the street and in the Post is that TWM idol-and-inspiration Bruce
Springsteen will perform at the Democratic National Convention this week. If
that's true -- and if it is, please spare me the emails; we've already been through this -- then at least the
convention delegates will have had the good fortune to witness a performance by
someone who lived up to, and then far exceeded, the towering hype heaped upon
him early in his career. They can tap their feet and cross their fingers and
hope it proves to be a good omen.
If Bruce does play the gig, I hope he will, at some point, pull Senator Breath of Fresh Air aside and suggest that he pay a little more attention to the lyrics of the songs he's using for his campaign events. Though it's not nearly as egregious as Ronald Reagan thinking Born in the USA would make a great campaign ditty -- Born down in a dead man's town indeed -- the Obama campaign's recent insistence on playing The Rising, as it did for Joe Biden's introduction on Saturday, is as creepy and macabre as it is stunningly wrong-headed.
The swelling, anthemic chorus sounds great and stirring and very up-with-the-people, of course...
Come on up for the rising
Come on up, lay your hands in mine
Come on up for the rising
Come on up for the rising tonight
...until you actually listen to the verses and understand that the rising is, both literally and metaphorically, a firefighter's ascension to heaven after dying in the fiery hell of the Twin Towers on September 11th...
Spirits above and behind me
Faces gone, black eyes burnin' bright
May their precious blood bind me
Lord as I stand before your fiery light.
...or hear the poor man's dying memories of his family...
I see you Mary in the garden
In the garden of a thousand sighs
There's holy pictures of our children
Dancin' in a sky filled with light
...or feel the pain and foreboding in his description of that final mixture of earth and heavenly sky...
Sky of blackness and sorrow
Sky of love, sky of tears
Sky of glory and sadness
Sky of mercy, sky of fear.
I'm not sure what campaign theme they're trying to evoke here -- Yes We Can Die in a Terrorist Attack, or Pain and Suffering You Can Believe In, or maybe A New Kind of Tragedy -- but just about every possibility stretches both the credulity and the credibility of the campaign's usually sophisticated poetics. The only possible symbolic redemption I can imagine here is if the campaign wants to figure Senator Obama as a kind of selfless, noble, heroic martyr-in-waiting who, in all his eloquent grace and beauty, may be able to save us all and rise to meet the face of God. But that would be silly.
Wouldn't it?
If Bruce does play the gig, I hope he will, at some point, pull Senator Breath of Fresh Air aside and suggest that he pay a little more attention to the lyrics of the songs he's using for his campaign events. Though it's not nearly as egregious as Ronald Reagan thinking Born in the USA would make a great campaign ditty -- Born down in a dead man's town indeed -- the Obama campaign's recent insistence on playing The Rising, as it did for Joe Biden's introduction on Saturday, is as creepy and macabre as it is stunningly wrong-headed.
The swelling, anthemic chorus sounds great and stirring and very up-with-the-people, of course...
Come on up for the rising
Come on up, lay your hands in mine
Come on up for the rising
Come on up for the rising tonight
...until you actually listen to the verses and understand that the rising is, both literally and metaphorically, a firefighter's ascension to heaven after dying in the fiery hell of the Twin Towers on September 11th...
Spirits above and behind me
Faces gone, black eyes burnin' bright
May their precious blood bind me
Lord as I stand before your fiery light.
...or hear the poor man's dying memories of his family...
I see you Mary in the garden
In the garden of a thousand sighs
There's holy pictures of our children
Dancin' in a sky filled with light
...or feel the pain and foreboding in his description of that final mixture of earth and heavenly sky...
Sky of blackness and sorrow
Sky of love, sky of tears
Sky of glory and sadness
Sky of mercy, sky of fear.
I'm not sure what campaign theme they're trying to evoke here -- Yes We Can Die in a Terrorist Attack, or Pain and Suffering You Can Believe In, or maybe A New Kind of Tragedy -- but just about every possibility stretches both the credulity and the credibility of the campaign's usually sophisticated poetics. The only possible symbolic redemption I can imagine here is if the campaign wants to figure Senator Obama as a kind of selfless, noble, heroic martyr-in-waiting who, in all his eloquent grace and beauty, may be able to save us all and rise to meet the face of God. But that would be silly.
Wouldn't it?
Posted at 10:24 AM
Wed - August 13, 2008
THEY ALL KNOW THAT CRAP IS KING
when it's said and done they haven't told you a
thing.
I woke up this morning to hand-wringing about the
U.S. Women's Gymnastics Team's heartbreaking loss (you know, as if being
second best in the world is something that'll haunt you for the rest of your
life), brow-furrowing about exactly when and where and how (but, thank God, not
how long or deep) John Edwards carried on with that camcorder-toting glorified
groupie, and garment-rending over a young boy who survived a bear-attack in the
Great Smoky Mountains (if he'd survived a vicious bear attack in New York City,
that might have been news), and I'd just suffered through Cris Collinsworth's
Phelps family profile and Mary Carillo's panda porn report before going to bed,
so I was in just the right frame of mind to hear and enjoy and maybe even revel
in a little iTunes shuffle-up this afternoon of a song that, I had to remind
myself, and now remind you, was written twenty-six years
ago.
We knew it was good, and accurate, back then. But we had no idea, only two years after the launch of CNN, and still six years before the internet would open to commercial interests, how truly prophetic it was...
DIRTY LAUNDRY
Don Henley
I make my living off the evening news
Just give me something, something I can use
People love it when you lose
They love dirty laundry
Well, I could've been an actor, but I wound up here
I just have to look good; I don't have to be clear
Come and whisper in my ear
Give us dirty laundry
Kick 'em when they're up, kick 'em when they're down
Kick 'em when they're up, kick 'em when they're down
Kick 'em when they're up, kick 'em when they're down
Kick 'em when they're up, kick 'em all around
We got the bubbleheaded bleach-blonde comes on at 5
She can tell you 'bout the plane crash with a gleam in her eye
It's interesting when people die
Give us dirty laundry
Can we film the operation? Is the head dead yet?
You know the boys in the newsroom got a running bet
Get the widow on the set
We need dirty laundry
You don't really need to find out what's going on
You don't really want to know just how far it's gone
Just leave well enough alone
Keep your dirty laundry
Kick 'em when they're up, kick 'em when they're down
Kick 'em when they're up, kick 'em when they're down
Kick 'em when they're up, kick 'em when they're down
Kick 'em when they're stiff, kick 'em all around
Dirty little secrets, dirty little lies
We got our dirty little fingers in everybody's pie
Love to cut you down to size
We love dirty laundry
We can do the innuendo, we can dance and sing
When it's said and done, we haven't told you a thing
We all know that crap is king
Give us dirty laundry...
We knew it was good, and accurate, back then. But we had no idea, only two years after the launch of CNN, and still six years before the internet would open to commercial interests, how truly prophetic it was...
DIRTY LAUNDRY
Don Henley
I make my living off the evening news
Just give me something, something I can use
People love it when you lose
They love dirty laundry
Well, I could've been an actor, but I wound up here
I just have to look good; I don't have to be clear
Come and whisper in my ear
Give us dirty laundry
Kick 'em when they're up, kick 'em when they're down
Kick 'em when they're up, kick 'em when they're down
Kick 'em when they're up, kick 'em when they're down
Kick 'em when they're up, kick 'em all around
We got the bubbleheaded bleach-blonde comes on at 5
She can tell you 'bout the plane crash with a gleam in her eye
It's interesting when people die
Give us dirty laundry
Can we film the operation? Is the head dead yet?
You know the boys in the newsroom got a running bet
Get the widow on the set
We need dirty laundry
You don't really need to find out what's going on
You don't really want to know just how far it's gone
Just leave well enough alone
Keep your dirty laundry
Kick 'em when they're up, kick 'em when they're down
Kick 'em when they're up, kick 'em when they're down
Kick 'em when they're up, kick 'em when they're down
Kick 'em when they're stiff, kick 'em all around
Dirty little secrets, dirty little lies
We got our dirty little fingers in everybody's pie
Love to cut you down to size
We love dirty laundry
We can do the innuendo, we can dance and sing
When it's said and done, we haven't told you a thing
We all know that crap is king
Give us dirty laundry...
Posted at 07:01 PM
Sun - July 27, 2008
THANKS, DAVE
for the encore and everything
else.
So it looks like Dave Grohl does read this blog. After he and the rest of the
Foos closed out the main set with earthquaking, floor-shaking,
Richter-scale-breaking versions of Everlong, Monkey Wrench, and All My
Life, they opened the encores with a gorgeous, stripped-down version of
Big Me, complete with Jessy Green's lovely harmonies, that fulfilled my
request and completed my night. But they were just getting warmed
up.
Because it seems that Dave Grohl reads not only my blog but also my mind. After a rip-snorting cover of Bargain, one of my all-time favorite Who songs, they launched into raggedly glorious versions of Generator and Aurora, two songs they hadn't played in Cleveland the night before and, these days at least, only rarely play live at all. They also happen to be two of my favorite Foo Fighters songs, and the other two songs I considered for my Friday-Night-Notes-ending request.
So thanks, Dave -- and you too, Chris, Taylor, and Nate -- for the encore and everything else.
Oh -- and, at the risk of seeming just a tad greedy or ungrateful, I'd like to make one more request: please don't wait another five years to come back.
Because it seems that Dave Grohl reads not only my blog but also my mind. After a rip-snorting cover of Bargain, one of my all-time favorite Who songs, they launched into raggedly glorious versions of Generator and Aurora, two songs they hadn't played in Cleveland the night before and, these days at least, only rarely play live at all. They also happen to be two of my favorite Foo Fighters songs, and the other two songs I considered for my Friday-Night-Notes-ending request.
So thanks, Dave -- and you too, Chris, Taylor, and Nate -- for the encore and everything else.
Oh -- and, at the risk of seeming just a tad greedy or ungrateful, I'd like to make one more request: please don't wait another five years to come back.
Posted at 10:37 AM
Mon - May 26, 2008
NOW ALL THAT REMAINS
is my love for you, brother, lying still and
unchanged.
On a morning when writers of letters to the editor still want to argue that a
political cartoon of a wounded veteran is more offensive than the pointless war
and clueless President that produced thousands of the real things, I can think
of no better song with which to commemorate Memorial Day
than...
GYPSY BIKER
Bruce Springsteen
The speculators made their money
On the blood you shed
Your Mama's pulled the sheets up off your bed
The profiteers on Jane Street
Sold your shoes and clothes
Ain't nobody talking, 'cause everybody knows
We pulled your cycle up out of the garage
And polished up the chrome
Our gypsy biker's comin' home
Sister Mary sits with your colors
Brother John is drunk and gone
This whole town's been rousted
Which side are you on?
The favored march up over the hill
In some fools parade
Shoutin' victory for the righteous
But there ain't much here but graves
Ain't nobody talkin'
We're just waitin' on the phone
Our gypsy biker is comin' home
We rode her into the foothills
Bobby brought the gasoline
We stood around in a circle
As she lit up the ravine
The spring high desert wind
Rushed down on us all the way back home
To the dead it don't matter much
'Bout who's wrong or right
You asked me that question, I didn't get it right
You slipped into your darkness
Now all that remains
Is my love for you, brother
Lying still and unchanged
To them that threw you away
You ain't nothin' but gone
Our Gypsy biker is comin' home
Now I'm out countin' white lines
Countin' white lines and getting stoned
My Gypsy biker is comin' home.
GYPSY BIKER
Bruce Springsteen
The speculators made their money
On the blood you shed
Your Mama's pulled the sheets up off your bed
The profiteers on Jane Street
Sold your shoes and clothes
Ain't nobody talking, 'cause everybody knows
We pulled your cycle up out of the garage
And polished up the chrome
Our gypsy biker's comin' home
Sister Mary sits with your colors
Brother John is drunk and gone
This whole town's been rousted
Which side are you on?
The favored march up over the hill
In some fools parade
Shoutin' victory for the righteous
But there ain't much here but graves
Ain't nobody talkin'
We're just waitin' on the phone
Our gypsy biker is comin' home
We rode her into the foothills
Bobby brought the gasoline
We stood around in a circle
As she lit up the ravine
The spring high desert wind
Rushed down on us all the way back home
To the dead it don't matter much
'Bout who's wrong or right
You asked me that question, I didn't get it right
You slipped into your darkness
Now all that remains
Is my love for you, brother
Lying still and unchanged
To them that threw you away
You ain't nothin' but gone
Our Gypsy biker is comin' home
Now I'm out countin' white lines
Countin' white lines and getting stoned
My Gypsy biker is comin' home.
Posted at 10:01 AM
Tue - May 6, 2008
PUTTING HIS MUSIC WHERE HIS MONEY IS
and putting his money where his mouth
is.
Remember, about a year ago, when Nine Inch Nails creator
and resident musical genius Trent Reznor gave an interview to the Australian
Herald Sun decrying the sorry state of his own record label, the
festering bureaucracy of the Recording Industry of America, and the wanton,
miserable greed that both perpetuate upon fans of his and other bands' music?
Here's a refresher:
I created a little issue down here because the first thing I did when I got to Sydney is I walk into HMV, the week the record's out, and I see it on the rack with a bunch of other releases. And every release I see: $21.99, $22.99, $24.99. And ours doesn't have a sticker on it. I look close and, oh, it's $34.99. So I walk over to see our live DVD Beside You in Time, and I see that it's also priced six, seven, eight dollars more than every other disc on there. And I can't figure out why that would be.
Well, in Brisbane I end up meeting and greeting some record label people, who are pleasant enough, and one of them is a sales guy, so I say, Why [are our records and DVDs priced seven or eight dollars more than other releases?] He goes, Because your packaging is a lot more expensive.
I know how much the packaging costs -- it costs me, not them; it costs me 83 cents more to have a CD with the color-changing ink on it. I'm taking the hit on that, not them. So I said, Well, it doesn't cost $10 more. He goes, Ah, well, you're right, it doesn't. Basically it's because we know you've got a core audience that's gonna buy whatever we put out, so we can charge more for that. It's the pop stuff we have to discount to get people to buy it. True fans will pay whatever. And I just said, That's the most insulting thing I've heard. I've garnered a core audience that you feel it's OK to rip off?...
That [extra $10 is] not going into my pocket, I can promise you that. It's just these guys who have fucked themselves out of a job essentially, that now take it out on ripping off the public. I've got a battle where I'm trying to put out quality material that matters, and I've got fans that feel it's their right to steal it, and I've got a company that's so bureaucratic and clumsy and ignorant and behind the times they don't know what to do, so they rip the people off.
I have one record left that I owe a major label, then I will never be seen in a situation like this again. If I could do what I want right now, I would put out my next album, you could download it from my site at as high a bit-rate as you want, pay $4 through PayPal. Come see the show and buy a T-shirt if you like it. I would put out a nicely packaged merchandise piece, if you want to own a physical thing. And it would come out the day that it's done in the studio, not this Let's wait three months bullshit.
In the almost twelve months since he gave that interview, Reznor negotiated himself out of that last major label contract stipulation and, months before selling copies of it in stores, released a double disc of 36 instrumentals for free on his band's website. Today, he takes the next step, stays true to -- and, in fact, even exceeds -- his promise in that interview, and, as firmly and defiantly as any artist I can remember, puts his music where his money where his mouth is by releasing the band's brand new album, The Slip, for free, in multiple audio resolutions, on the NIN web site.
Enter an email address, get a download code, and choose your resolution. That's it. You can't even give them money, a la Radiohead, if you want to. Though you can, come July, purchase CD or vinyl copies if you're interested in the physical product.
You don't have to like the guy's music -- and, though I love it, I certainly understand why some people don't -- but you sure as hell have to admire and respect (and maybe even salute) him, his word, and his steadfast commitment to the integrity of both his fans and his art. The gesture would be pretty punk, if it weren't so damned, defiantly rock & roll.
I created a little issue down here because the first thing I did when I got to Sydney is I walk into HMV, the week the record's out, and I see it on the rack with a bunch of other releases. And every release I see: $21.99, $22.99, $24.99. And ours doesn't have a sticker on it. I look close and, oh, it's $34.99. So I walk over to see our live DVD Beside You in Time, and I see that it's also priced six, seven, eight dollars more than every other disc on there. And I can't figure out why that would be.
Well, in Brisbane I end up meeting and greeting some record label people, who are pleasant enough, and one of them is a sales guy, so I say, Why [are our records and DVDs priced seven or eight dollars more than other releases?] He goes, Because your packaging is a lot more expensive.
I know how much the packaging costs -- it costs me, not them; it costs me 83 cents more to have a CD with the color-changing ink on it. I'm taking the hit on that, not them. So I said, Well, it doesn't cost $10 more. He goes, Ah, well, you're right, it doesn't. Basically it's because we know you've got a core audience that's gonna buy whatever we put out, so we can charge more for that. It's the pop stuff we have to discount to get people to buy it. True fans will pay whatever. And I just said, That's the most insulting thing I've heard. I've garnered a core audience that you feel it's OK to rip off?...
That [extra $10 is] not going into my pocket, I can promise you that. It's just these guys who have fucked themselves out of a job essentially, that now take it out on ripping off the public. I've got a battle where I'm trying to put out quality material that matters, and I've got fans that feel it's their right to steal it, and I've got a company that's so bureaucratic and clumsy and ignorant and behind the times they don't know what to do, so they rip the people off.
I have one record left that I owe a major label, then I will never be seen in a situation like this again. If I could do what I want right now, I would put out my next album, you could download it from my site at as high a bit-rate as you want, pay $4 through PayPal. Come see the show and buy a T-shirt if you like it. I would put out a nicely packaged merchandise piece, if you want to own a physical thing. And it would come out the day that it's done in the studio, not this Let's wait three months bullshit.
In the almost twelve months since he gave that interview, Reznor negotiated himself out of that last major label contract stipulation and, months before selling copies of it in stores, released a double disc of 36 instrumentals for free on his band's website. Today, he takes the next step, stays true to -- and, in fact, even exceeds -- his promise in that interview, and, as firmly and defiantly as any artist I can remember, puts his music where his money where his mouth is by releasing the band's brand new album, The Slip, for free, in multiple audio resolutions, on the NIN web site.
Enter an email address, get a download code, and choose your resolution. That's it. You can't even give them money, a la Radiohead, if you want to. Though you can, come July, purchase CD or vinyl copies if you're interested in the physical product.
You don't have to like the guy's music -- and, though I love it, I certainly understand why some people don't -- but you sure as hell have to admire and respect (and maybe even salute) him, his word, and his steadfast commitment to the integrity of both his fans and his art. The gesture would be pretty punk, if it weren't so damned, defiantly rock & roll.
Posted at 01:28 PM
Fri - May 2, 2008
MISSION BITCHSLAPPED AND ABANDONED
cold beyond comprehension.
Yesterday, on the fifth anniversary of President
Top Gun's Mission Accomplished speech, another American soldier died. He
(or she) was the 4,065th American killed in Iraq. The 3,926th since that
speech.
On my way home from dropping off Ethan at school, Patterson Hood's voice, a couple of persistent, insistent chords, and the distant, plaintive wail of a harmonica came snaking out of the 4Runner's speakers. They felt like an elegy. And a prophecy.
THE HOME FRONT
Drive-By Truckers
The hours creep across her face
As she paces across the floor
And she can’t even get to sleep
Since Tony went to war
She feels bitchslapped and abandoned
By a world she thought she knew
Cold beyond comprehension
As their little girl turns two
Now they’re saying on the flat screen
They ain’t found a reason yet
We’re all bogged down in a quagmire
And there ain’t no end to it
No 9/11 or uranium
To pin this bullshit on
She’s left standing on the home front
The two of them alone.
On my way home from dropping off Ethan at school, Patterson Hood's voice, a couple of persistent, insistent chords, and the distant, plaintive wail of a harmonica came snaking out of the 4Runner's speakers. They felt like an elegy. And a prophecy.
THE HOME FRONT
Drive-By Truckers
The hours creep across her face
As she paces across the floor
And she can’t even get to sleep
Since Tony went to war
She feels bitchslapped and abandoned
By a world she thought she knew
Cold beyond comprehension
As their little girl turns two
Now they’re saying on the flat screen
They ain’t found a reason yet
We’re all bogged down in a quagmire
And there ain’t no end to it
No 9/11 or uranium
To pin this bullshit on
She’s left standing on the home front
The two of them alone.
Posted at 09:24 AM
Tue - April 8, 2008
BRUCE AGAINST THE MACHINE
waitin' on the ghost of old tom
joad.
Oh, to have been in Anaheim last night and seen
this...
...Bruce & the E Street Band, joined by Rage Against the Machine's Tom Morello, ripping off one holy righteous scorcher of a version of The Ghost of Tom Joad.
On wonderful days and occasions like this, we can thank Al Gore for giving us the internet, and the fine folks at YouTube for turning it into a place to hear, if not quite to see, the glory of it all.
...Bruce & the E Street Band, joined by Rage Against the Machine's Tom Morello, ripping off one holy righteous scorcher of a version of The Ghost of Tom Joad.
On wonderful days and occasions like this, we can thank Al Gore for giving us the internet, and the fine folks at YouTube for turning it into a place to hear, if not quite to see, the glory of it all.
Posted at 12:28 PM
Tue - April 1, 2008
GROHL '08
he will rock you.
To hell with Obama's Bus Tour and Hillary's Sniper
Fire Tour. Today brings word that the tour we've really been waiting for --
five years and counting, kids -- will finally be coming back to
Pittsburgh.
The real primary is July 26th. Vote Dave, Chris, Taylor, and Nate for President.
(I can feel the Change -- and the Echoes, Silence, Patience, and Grace -- in the air already.)
The real primary is July 26th. Vote Dave, Chris, Taylor, and Nate for President.
(I can feel the Change -- and the Echoes, Silence, Patience, and Grace -- in the air already.)
Posted at 11:11 AM
Tue - March 18, 2008
HANGIN' ALL OUR WISHES
upon underrated stars.
Some days, some nights, you just have to surrender
yourself to the majesty, the mystery, and the ministry of rock &
roll.
SELF-DESTRUCTIVE ZONES
Drive-By Truckers
It was 1990 give or take I don't remember
When the news of revolution hit the air
The girls hadn't even started taking down our posters
When the boys started cutting off their hair
The radio stations all decided angst was finally old enough
It ought to have a proper home
Dead fat or rich nobody’s left to bitch
About the goings on in self-destructive zones
The night the practice room caught fire
There were rumors of a dragon headed straight for Muscle Shoals
"Stoner tries to save an amplifier"
And it's like the dragon's side of the story is never told
When the dream and the man and the girls hang around long enough
To make you think it's coming true,
It's easier to let it all die a fairy tale,
Than admit that something bigger is passing through
The hippies rode a wave putting smiles on faces,
That the devil wouldn’t even put a shoe
Caught between a generation dying from its habits,
And another thinking rock and roll was new
Till the pawn shops were packed like a backstage party,
Hanging full of pointy ugly cheap guitars
And the young'uns all turned to karaoke,
Hanging all their wishes upon disregarded stars
My Grandaddy's shotgun is locked in a closet
And it never shot a thing that could have lived
An old man decided that you couldn't choose your poison
Till you're nearly old enough to vote for him
They turned what was into something so disgusting
Even wild dogs would disregard the bones
Dead fat or rich nobody’s left to bitch
About the goings on in self-destructive zones...
SELF-DESTRUCTIVE ZONES
Drive-By Truckers
It was 1990 give or take I don't remember
When the news of revolution hit the air
The girls hadn't even started taking down our posters
When the boys started cutting off their hair
The radio stations all decided angst was finally old enough
It ought to have a proper home
Dead fat or rich nobody’s left to bitch
About the goings on in self-destructive zones
The night the practice room caught fire
There were rumors of a dragon headed straight for Muscle Shoals
"Stoner tries to save an amplifier"
And it's like the dragon's side of the story is never told
When the dream and the man and the girls hang around long enough
To make you think it's coming true,
It's easier to let it all die a fairy tale,
Than admit that something bigger is passing through
The hippies rode a wave putting smiles on faces,
That the devil wouldn’t even put a shoe
Caught between a generation dying from its habits,
And another thinking rock and roll was new
Till the pawn shops were packed like a backstage party,
Hanging full of pointy ugly cheap guitars
And the young'uns all turned to karaoke,
Hanging all their wishes upon disregarded stars
My Grandaddy's shotgun is locked in a closet
And it never shot a thing that could have lived
An old man decided that you couldn't choose your poison
Till you're nearly old enough to vote for him
They turned what was into something so disgusting
Even wild dogs would disregard the bones
Dead fat or rich nobody’s left to bitch
About the goings on in self-destructive zones...
Posted at 05:59 PM
Tue - March 11, 2008
AFTER TEN
comes eleven.
Most of you have probably never heard of Nils
Lofgren. Which means most of you have probably never heard or seen Nils
Lofgren. Let's remedy that.
Click the link. Watch the video (Montreal: Because the Night). And turn it all the way up to eleven.
Click the link. Watch the video (Montreal: Because the Night). And turn it all the way up to eleven.
Posted at 04:35 PM
Sat - January 12, 2008
IT SEEMS TO ME THE REASONING IS A LITTLE OUT OF SYNC
but the song, and the singer, are right in
tune.
Several other blogs and even a few of the
mainstream media outlets have directed your attention to this great little
ditty, but after exchanging a couple of messages with Terry Griffith, the
Pittsburgh-based Irish Balladeer and creative genius behind it, I had to
contribute to the accolades and attention here at TWM, if only to be sure that
no one missed it. Because this one is surely not to be
missed.
It's a ballad and a broadside and a wonderful protest song, yes, but it's also just a great song greatly played and sung by a man with charm and talent and intellect to burn. Truly brilliant work.
You can see Mr. Griffith perform The Drink Tax here.
You can visit Mr. Griffith's web site, complete with booking information and a live performance schedule, here.
And, because he gave me permission to use it and because I love to showcase songwriting I admire, you can enjoy the lyrics, in all their righteous, rhythmic, poetic glory, right here...
THE DRINK TAX
Terry Griffith
I sat down one evening to figure income tax.
I read the regulations, and I wrote down all the facts.
Before too long my pencil was just a little nub.
My head was aching badly so I went down to the pub.
I called for a pint of Guinness, it had a lovely head.
The barman set it on the bar, he looked at me and said,
I know it was six dollars the last time you were out,
But now it's six and sixty for a pint of Guinness stout.
I asked him what the deal was and why the price was high.
Was the Publican so greedy he had to wring us dry?
He said County Allegheny had decided to tax the drink
To bail out public transit which is teetering on the brink.
I thought about the logic of taxing those who drink.
It seems to me the reasoning is a little out of sync.
The only time I take the bus I'm tryin' to stay alive,
'Cause home is just too far to walk, and I'm too drunk to drive.
There's a sin tax, a luxury tax, a tax on what we earn.
And a tax on entertainment, but what really makes me burn.
Is taxing people in the pub who like a drink or two.
I guess Dan Onorato is not like me and you.
He says it's not an issue that matters much to him.
He'd rather bow to pressure than to go out on a limb.
Other areas tax the drink, they're in the very same boat.
We'll see how much it matters when we all go out and vote.
If you think that it's an unfair tax and don't know who to tell
Remember the Whiskey Rebellion started here as well.
Remember the tax you pay on every single beer
And then you tell ol' Danny Boy that he's not welcome here.
Did Onorato honor auto rental tax to boot?
I'm surprised that Enterprise hasn't brought a legal suit.
If Port Authority wants to last and forever stay alive
I guess they'll just encourage us to rent and drink and drive.
It's a ballad and a broadside and a wonderful protest song, yes, but it's also just a great song greatly played and sung by a man with charm and talent and intellect to burn. Truly brilliant work.
You can see Mr. Griffith perform The Drink Tax here.
You can visit Mr. Griffith's web site, complete with booking information and a live performance schedule, here.
And, because he gave me permission to use it and because I love to showcase songwriting I admire, you can enjoy the lyrics, in all their righteous, rhythmic, poetic glory, right here...
THE DRINK TAX
Terry Griffith
I sat down one evening to figure income tax.
I read the regulations, and I wrote down all the facts.
Before too long my pencil was just a little nub.
My head was aching badly so I went down to the pub.
I called for a pint of Guinness, it had a lovely head.
The barman set it on the bar, he looked at me and said,
I know it was six dollars the last time you were out,
But now it's six and sixty for a pint of Guinness stout.
I asked him what the deal was and why the price was high.
Was the Publican so greedy he had to wring us dry?
He said County Allegheny had decided to tax the drink
To bail out public transit which is teetering on the brink.
I thought about the logic of taxing those who drink.
It seems to me the reasoning is a little out of sync.
The only time I take the bus I'm tryin' to stay alive,
'Cause home is just too far to walk, and I'm too drunk to drive.
There's a sin tax, a luxury tax, a tax on what we earn.
And a tax on entertainment, but what really makes me burn.
Is taxing people in the pub who like a drink or two.
I guess Dan Onorato is not like me and you.
He says it's not an issue that matters much to him.
He'd rather bow to pressure than to go out on a limb.
Other areas tax the drink, they're in the very same boat.
We'll see how much it matters when we all go out and vote.
If you think that it's an unfair tax and don't know who to tell
Remember the Whiskey Rebellion started here as well.
Remember the tax you pay on every single beer
And then you tell ol' Danny Boy that he's not welcome here.
Did Onorato honor auto rental tax to boot?
I'm surprised that Enterprise hasn't brought a legal suit.
If Port Authority wants to last and forever stay alive
I guess they'll just encourage us to rent and drink and drive.
Posted at 09:25 AM
Sat - December 8, 2007
IT DIDN'T TAKE A HOLE IN THE GROUND
to put the bottom in their
face.
I sang their praises yesterday, and I've been listening to them sing
in my iTunes all week, so tonight, after a day of decorating and recording and
relaxing, seems like a fine time to break out a song from Drive-By
Truckers. You'll miss the roaring three-guitar attack and
Crazy-Horse-stomp -- click here to get at least a little taste -- but
you sure won't miss the kind of raw power and gritty poetry that make these boys
(and gal) the best band in America you've probably never
heard...
WHERE THE DEVIL DON'T STAY
Drive-By Truckers
My Daddy played poker on a stump in the woods back in his younger days
Prohibition was the talk, but the rich folks walked to the woods where my Daddy stayed
Jugs and jars from shiners, these old boys here, they ain't miners
They came from the twenty-niners
It didn't take a hole in the ground to put the bottom in their face
Back in the thirties when the dust bowl dried
And the woods in Alabama didn't see no light
My Daddy played poker by a hard wood fire
Squeezing all his luck from a hot copper wire
Scrap like a wildcat fights till the end
Trap a wildcat and take his skin
Deal from the bottom, put the ace in the hole
One hand on the jug but you never do know
Son come running
You better come quick
This rotgut moonshine is making me sick
Your Mama called the law and they're gonna take me away
Down so far even the Devil won't stay
Where I call to the Lord with all my soul
I can hear him rattling the chains on the door
He couldn't get in, I could see he tried
Through the shadows of the cage around the forty-watt light
Daddy, tell me another story
Tell me about the lows and the highs
Tell me how to tell the difference between what they tell me is the truth or a lie
Tell me why the ones who have so much make the ones who don't go mad
With the same skin stretched over their white bones and the same jug in their hand
My Daddy played poker on a stump in the woods back when the world was gray
Before black and white went and chose up sides and gave a little bit of both their way
The only blood that's any cleaner is the blood that's blue or greener
Without either you just get meaner, and the blood you gave gives you away.
WHERE THE DEVIL DON'T STAY
Drive-By Truckers
My Daddy played poker on a stump in the woods back in his younger days
Prohibition was the talk, but the rich folks walked to the woods where my Daddy stayed
Jugs and jars from shiners, these old boys here, they ain't miners
They came from the twenty-niners
It didn't take a hole in the ground to put the bottom in their face
Back in the thirties when the dust bowl dried
And the woods in Alabama didn't see no light
My Daddy played poker by a hard wood fire
Squeezing all his luck from a hot copper wire
Scrap like a wildcat fights till the end
Trap a wildcat and take his skin
Deal from the bottom, put the ace in the hole
One hand on the jug but you never do know
Son come running
You better come quick
This rotgut moonshine is making me sick
Your Mama called the law and they're gonna take me away
Down so far even the Devil won't stay
Where I call to the Lord with all my soul
I can hear him rattling the chains on the door
He couldn't get in, I could see he tried
Through the shadows of the cage around the forty-watt light
Daddy, tell me another story
Tell me about the lows and the highs
Tell me how to tell the difference between what they tell me is the truth or a lie
Tell me why the ones who have so much make the ones who don't go mad
With the same skin stretched over their white bones and the same jug in their hand
My Daddy played poker on a stump in the woods back when the world was gray
Before black and white went and chose up sides and gave a little bit of both their way
The only blood that's any cleaner is the blood that's blue or greener
Without either you just get meaner, and the blood you gave gives you away.
Posted at 10:57 PM
Thu - November 29, 2007
STILL AT THE END OF EVERY HARD-EARNED DAY
people find some reason to
believe.
This one just made my
day.
For the last two weeks, I've been reveling in and recovering from yet another amazing performance by Bruce Springsteen & the E Street Band at Mellon Arena. And, while hearing them play Kitty's Back live for the first time was surely the highlight of the show for me, the song I knew we'd hear and that I was most breathlessly anticipating was a reworked, revamped, Texas-blues-style version of Reason to Believe.
It was worth the wait. And every bit the musical and spiritual revelation it was rumored to be.
This morning, the good folks at BruceSpringsteen.net, who've been posting a short clip from each one of the shows online, have finally gotten around to posting a clip from the Pittsburgh show: the last three-and-a-half incendiary minutes of Reason to Believe.
If you like rock, if you like blues, if you like great singing or songwriting or guitar or harmonica playing, and especially if you'd like to see all those things in one great, driving, the-devil-and-his-hellhounds-are-on-my-trail burst of fire-and-brimstonepossession performance, then you need to watch this clip:
If it doesn't get your heart pounding, your head shaking, your foot stomping, and your ass rocking, well...
...maybe there isn't anybody alive out there.
But I know better. And so does Bruce.
For the last two weeks, I've been reveling in and recovering from yet another amazing performance by Bruce Springsteen & the E Street Band at Mellon Arena. And, while hearing them play Kitty's Back live for the first time was surely the highlight of the show for me, the song I knew we'd hear and that I was most breathlessly anticipating was a reworked, revamped, Texas-blues-style version of Reason to Believe.
It was worth the wait. And every bit the musical and spiritual revelation it was rumored to be.
This morning, the good folks at BruceSpringsteen.net, who've been posting a short clip from each one of the shows online, have finally gotten around to posting a clip from the Pittsburgh show: the last three-and-a-half incendiary minutes of Reason to Believe.
If you like rock, if you like blues, if you like great singing or songwriting or guitar or harmonica playing, and especially if you'd like to see all those things in one great, driving, the-devil-and-his-hellhounds-are-on-my-trail burst of fire-and-brimstone
If it doesn't get your heart pounding, your head shaking, your foot stomping, and your ass rocking, well...
...maybe there isn't anybody alive out there.
But I know better. And so does Bruce.
Posted at 09:43 AM
Tue - November 27, 2007
A FRIEND OF CARBOLIC IS A FRIEND OF MINE
to benefit the big easy.
Alan Faneca, the Pittsburgh Steelers' perennial
All-Pro left guard, and Randy Baumann, WDVE Morning Show All-Star and Tireless
Supporter of the Carbolic Smoke Ball, have teamed up to present a benefit show,
The Concert for New Orleans, this Thursday night at Altar Bar in the
Strip.
The show, which starts at 7, will feature live performances from Dr. John, Terrance Simien, and Rebirth Brass Band. The menu will feature a wide variety of Cajun cuisine classics. Tickets are $150 for VIP access (open bar and full buffet) or $50 for general admission (cash bar and a la carte). Should be a great show and a great time.
If you go, tell 'em The Judge and TWM sent you.
The show, which starts at 7, will feature live performances from Dr. John, Terrance Simien, and Rebirth Brass Band. The menu will feature a wide variety of Cajun cuisine classics. Tickets are $150 for VIP access (open bar and full buffet) or $50 for general admission (cash bar and a la carte). Should be a great show and a great time.
If you go, tell 'em The Judge and TWM sent you.
Posted at 08:40 AM
Wed - November 21, 2007
Thu - October 18, 2007
WE DON'T MEASURE THE BLOOD WE'VE DRAWN ANYMORE
we just stack the bodies outside the
door
I woke to George Bush on the television talking
about Iran and World War III. I watched two talking heads -- one liberal, one
conservative, both supremely proud of their own empty cleverness -- talk about
Iraq and the drumbeat of self-defensive war. I drove a son to school, a wife to
work, another son back home, listening by turns to the beat of a
thirty-eight-year-old heart, the breath of seven-year-old lungs, and the
percussive, concussive groove of one more loving father searching in vain for
the answer to a now thirty-six-year-old, and maybe now unanswerable, question...
LAST TO DIE
Bruce Springsteen
We took the highway till the road went black
We'd marked Truth or Consequences on our map
A voice drifted up from the radio
And I thought of a voice from long ago
Who'll be the last to die for a mistake
The last to die for a mistake
Whose blood will spill, whose heart will break
Who'll be the last to die, for a mistake
Kids asleep in the backseat
We're just counting the miles, you and me
We don't measure the blood we've drawn anymore
We just stack the bodies outside the door
Who'll be the last to die for a mistake
The last to die for a mistake
Whose blood will spill, whose heart will break
Who'll be the last to die, for a mistake
The wise men were all fools, what to do
The sun sets in flames as the city burns
Another day gone down as the night turns
And I hold you here in my heart
As things fall apart
A downtown window flushed with light
Faces of the dead at five
Our martyr's silent eyes
Petition the drivers as we pass by
Who'll be the last to die for a mistake
The last to die for a mistake
Whose blood will spill, whose heart will break
Who'll be the last to die
Who'll be the last to die for a mistake
The last to die for a mistake
Will Darlin' tyrants and kings fall to the same fate
Strung up at your city gates
Who'll be the last to die for a mistake...
LAST TO DIE
Bruce Springsteen
We took the highway till the road went black
We'd marked Truth or Consequences on our map
A voice drifted up from the radio
And I thought of a voice from long ago
Who'll be the last to die for a mistake
The last to die for a mistake
Whose blood will spill, whose heart will break
Who'll be the last to die, for a mistake
Kids asleep in the backseat
We're just counting the miles, you and me
We don't measure the blood we've drawn anymore
We just stack the bodies outside the door
Who'll be the last to die for a mistake
The last to die for a mistake
Whose blood will spill, whose heart will break
Who'll be the last to die, for a mistake
The wise men were all fools, what to do
The sun sets in flames as the city burns
Another day gone down as the night turns
And I hold you here in my heart
As things fall apart
A downtown window flushed with light
Faces of the dead at five
Our martyr's silent eyes
Petition the drivers as we pass by
Who'll be the last to die for a mistake
The last to die for a mistake
Whose blood will spill, whose heart will break
Who'll be the last to die
Who'll be the last to die for a mistake
The last to die for a mistake
Will Darlin' tyrants and kings fall to the same fate
Strung up at your city gates
Who'll be the last to die for a mistake...
Posted at 08:35 AM
Sun - October 7, 2007
COME ACROSS THE STATE THREE HUNDRED MILES FROM HOME
with nothin' in their bellies but the
fire down below.
There are few places in the world I would have
rather been than here in Pittsburgh at the Mellon Arena last night, watching the
Penguins beat the Stanley Cup Champion Ducks in a wild and wooly 5-4 thriller of
a home opener. But one of them would most surely have been back at the Wachovia
Center in Philadelphia, watching this.
Posted at 11:57 AM
Tue - September 11, 2007
BECAUSE THE LIARS MOVED IN
and they believe their own dark
medicine.
It's the most haunting and beautiful song on the new Crowded House CD, and it seems
appropriate not just for this haunting and beautiful day, but also for what has
come to pass in the last month, the last year, the last five years. For the
memory, and for the
ministry...
POUR LE MONDE
Neil Finn
He imagines the world
As the angel ascending
Like the ghost of a man
Who is tied up to the chair
And he tries to believe
That his life has a meaning
With his hand on his heart
Pour le monde pas pour la guerre
And I wake up blind
Like my dreams were too bright
And I lost my regard
For the good things that I had
And the radio was sad
When you listen for good
In a hope that comes to nothing
Because the liars moved in
And they believe
Their own dark medicine
They act so nonchalant
But he is not a dog
Perform for you in the stadium
For the world not for the war
And he won't hesitate
Though it might lead to heartache
In the night club indigo
For the world not for the war
Pour le monde pas pour la guerre
When you listen for good
In a hope that comes to nothing
Because the liars moved in
And they believe their own dark medicine
Believing its good
Behind their jaded eyes a dilemma
He's the best you've ever had
He's so low you'll never know...
POUR LE MONDE
Neil Finn
He imagines the world
As the angel ascending
Like the ghost of a man
Who is tied up to the chair
And he tries to believe
That his life has a meaning
With his hand on his heart
Pour le monde pas pour la guerre
And I wake up blind
Like my dreams were too bright
And I lost my regard
For the good things that I had
And the radio was sad
When you listen for good
In a hope that comes to nothing
Because the liars moved in
And they believe
Their own dark medicine
They act so nonchalant
But he is not a dog
Perform for you in the stadium
For the world not for the war
And he won't hesitate
Though it might lead to heartache
In the night club indigo
For the world not for the war
Pour le monde pas pour la guerre
When you listen for good
In a hope that comes to nothing
Because the liars moved in
And they believe their own dark medicine
Believing its good
Behind their jaded eyes a dilemma
He's the best you've ever had
He's so low you'll never know...
Posted at 12:07 PM
Tue - August 28, 2007
THERE'S GONNA BE SOME MAGIC IN THE NIGHT
i believe in november
14th.
I want a thousand guitars
I want pounding drums
I want a million different voices
Speaking in tongues...
Posted at 11:16 AM
Tue - August 21, 2007
COVER ME
i can hear the wild wind
blowing.
One more mystical
indulgence.
For the majesty, the mystery, and the ministry of rock & roll.
For the majesty, the mystery, and the ministry of rock & roll.
Posted at 11:21 AM
Thu - August 16, 2007
Mon - May 28, 2007
MEMORIAL DAY MIX, TRACK FIVE
take heed.
And finally, another late, great Pink Floyd song -- both as elegy and as
prophecy -- to close out our mix of Memorial Day tributes and
remembrances...
THE GUNNER’S DREAM
Roger Waters
Floating down through the clouds
Memories come rushing up to meet me now
In the space between the heavens
And the corner of some foreign field
I had a dream
I had a dream
Goodbye, Max
Goodbye, Ma
After the service when you're walking slowly to the car
And the silver in her hair shines in the cold November air
You hear the tolling bell
And touch the silk in your lapel
And as the tear drops rise to meet the comfort of the band
You take her frail hand
And hold on to the dream
A place to stay
Enough to eat
Somewhere old heroes shuffle safely down the street
Where you can speak out loud
About your doubts and fears
And what's more, no one ever disappears
You never hear their standard issue kicking in your door
You can relax on both sides of the tracks
And maniacs don't blow holes in bandsmen by remote control
And everyone has recourse to the law
And no one kills the children anymore
And no one kills the children anymore
Night after night
Going ‘round and ‘round my brain
His dream is driving me insane.
In the corner of some foreign field
The gunner sleeps tonight
What's done is done
We cannot just write off his final scene
Take heed of the dream
Take heed...
THE GUNNER’S DREAM
Roger Waters
Floating down through the clouds
Memories come rushing up to meet me now
In the space between the heavens
And the corner of some foreign field
I had a dream
I had a dream
Goodbye, Max
Goodbye, Ma
After the service when you're walking slowly to the car
And the silver in her hair shines in the cold November air
You hear the tolling bell
And touch the silk in your lapel
And as the tear drops rise to meet the comfort of the band
You take her frail hand
And hold on to the dream
A place to stay
Enough to eat
Somewhere old heroes shuffle safely down the street
Where you can speak out loud
About your doubts and fears
And what's more, no one ever disappears
You never hear their standard issue kicking in your door
You can relax on both sides of the tracks
And maniacs don't blow holes in bandsmen by remote control
And everyone has recourse to the law
And no one kills the children anymore
And no one kills the children anymore
Night after night
Going ‘round and ‘round my brain
His dream is driving me insane.
In the corner of some foreign field
The gunner sleeps tonight
What's done is done
We cannot just write off his final scene
Take heed of the dream
Take heed...
Posted at 10:31 PM
MEMORIAL DAY MIX, TRACK FOUR
i've watched all your
suffering.
Next up, another great and searing song from the
80s that a whole lot of people bought but not a whole lot of people got. It's
not nearly as powerful without the haunting and evocative guitar work, but this Dire Straits tune still fits the mood and
fills the bill for the
day...
BROTHERS IN ARMS
Mark Knopfler
These mist covered mountains
Are a home now for me
But my home is the lowlands
And always will be
Some day you'll return to
Your valleys and your farms
And you'll no longer burn
To be brothers in arm
Through these fields of destruction
Baptisms of fire
I've watched all your suffering
As the battles raged higher
And though they did hurt me so bad
In the fear and alarm
You did not desert me
My brothers in arms
There's so many different worlds
So many different suns
And we have just one world
But we live in different ones
Now the sun's gone to hell
And the moon's riding high
Let me bid you farewell
Every man has to die
But it's written in the starlight
And every line on your palm
We're fools to make war
On our brothers in arms...
BROTHERS IN ARMS
Mark Knopfler
These mist covered mountains
Are a home now for me
But my home is the lowlands
And always will be
Some day you'll return to
Your valleys and your farms
And you'll no longer burn
To be brothers in arm
Through these fields of destruction
Baptisms of fire
I've watched all your suffering
As the battles raged higher
And though they did hurt me so bad
In the fear and alarm
You did not desert me
My brothers in arms
There's so many different worlds
So many different suns
And we have just one world
But we live in different ones
Now the sun's gone to hell
And the moon's riding high
Let me bid you farewell
Every man has to die
But it's written in the starlight
And every line on your palm
We're fools to make war
On our brothers in arms...
Posted at 06:29 PM
MEMORIAL DAY MIX, TRACK THREE
duty calls your sweetheart's name
again.
Next up, a beautiful old folk ballad once thought
to have been written by Woody Guthrie, but eventually traced to the Tin Pan
Alley songwriting team of Will D. Cobb and Gus Edwards. My favorite version of
this song come from a
Mermaid-Avenue-era
collaboration between Billy Bragg & Wilco, but lacking a reliable link to
that one, I'll refer you instead to this sweet and lilting version by Laura
Cantrell...
WHEN THE ROSES BLOOM AGAIN
Will D. Cobb & Gus Edwards
They were strolling in the gloaming
Where the roses were in bloom
A soldier and his sweetheart brave and true
And their hearts were filled with sorrow
For their thoughts were of tomorrow
As she pinned a rose upon his coat of blue
Do not ask me love to linger
When you know not what to say
For duty calls your sweetheart's name again
And your heart need not be sighing
If I be among the dying
I'll be with you when the roses bloom again
When the roses bloom again
Beside the river
And the mockingbird has sung his sweet refrain
In the days of auld lang syne
I'll be with you sweetheart mine
I'll be with you when the roses bloom again
Mid the rattle of the battle
Came a whisper soft and low
A soldier who had fallen in the fray
I am dying, I am dying
And I know I'll have to go
But I want to tell you
Before I pass away
There's a far and distant river
Where the roses are in bloom
And a sweetheart who is waiting there for me
And it's there I pray you take me
I've been faithful, don't forsake me
I'll be with her when the roses bloom again...
WHEN THE ROSES BLOOM AGAIN
Will D. Cobb & Gus Edwards
They were strolling in the gloaming
Where the roses were in bloom
A soldier and his sweetheart brave and true
And their hearts were filled with sorrow
For their thoughts were of tomorrow
As she pinned a rose upon his coat of blue
Do not ask me love to linger
When you know not what to say
For duty calls your sweetheart's name again
And your heart need not be sighing
If I be among the dying
I'll be with you when the roses bloom again
When the roses bloom again
Beside the river
And the mockingbird has sung his sweet refrain
In the days of auld lang syne
I'll be with you sweetheart mine
I'll be with you when the roses bloom again
Mid the rattle of the battle
Came a whisper soft and low
A soldier who had fallen in the fray
I am dying, I am dying
And I know I'll have to go
But I want to tell you
Before I pass away
There's a far and distant river
Where the roses are in bloom
And a sweetheart who is waiting there for me
And it's there I pray you take me
I've been faithful, don't forsake me
I'll be with her when the roses bloom again...
Posted at 04:00 PM
MEMORIAL DAY MIX, TRACK TWO
they're still there, he's all
gone.
Next up, a big song by Bruce Springsteen that just
about everyone -- from George Will to Ronald Reagan to stadiums full of
flag-waving "fans" who hopped on board for this album and got off soon after --
seemed to misunderstand. Maybe because they only never listened to the verses.
Or because they only wanted to sing along to the chorus. Or maybe because they
never heard the raw power and anger of this
version...
BORN IN THE U.S.A.
Bruce Springsteen
Born down in a dead man's town
The first kick I took was when I hit the ground
You end up like a dog that's been beat too much
Till you spend half your life just covering up
Born in the U.S.A.
I was born in the U.S.A.
I was born in the U.S.A.
Born in the U.S.A.
Got in a little hometown jam
So they put a rifle in my hand
Said, "Son you ever heard of Vietnam?"
Well, go and kill the yellow man
Born in the U.S.A.
I was born in the U.S.A.
I was born in the U.S.A.
I was born in the U.S.A.
Born in the U.S.A.
Come back home to the refineries
Hiring man says, "Son, if it was up to me"
I go down to see the V.A. man
He said, "Son, don't you understand"
I had a brother at Khe Sahn fighting off the Viet Cong
They're still there, he's all gone
He had a little girl in Saigon
I got a picture of him in her arms
Down in the shadow of the penitentiary
Out by the gas fires of the refinery
I'm ten years down the road
Nowhere to run, man, nowhere to go
I'm a long gone daddy in the U.S.A.
Born in the U.S.A.
I'm a cool rockin' daddy in the U.S.A.
Born in the U.S.A...
BORN IN THE U.S.A.
Bruce Springsteen
Born down in a dead man's town
The first kick I took was when I hit the ground
You end up like a dog that's been beat too much
Till you spend half your life just covering up
Born in the U.S.A.
I was born in the U.S.A.
I was born in the U.S.A.
Born in the U.S.A.
Got in a little hometown jam
So they put a rifle in my hand
Said, "Son you ever heard of Vietnam?"
Well, go and kill the yellow man
Born in the U.S.A.
I was born in the U.S.A.
I was born in the U.S.A.
I was born in the U.S.A.
Born in the U.S.A.
Come back home to the refineries
Hiring man says, "Son, if it was up to me"
I go down to see the V.A. man
He said, "Son, don't you understand"
I had a brother at Khe Sahn fighting off the Viet Cong
They're still there, he's all gone
He had a little girl in Saigon
I got a picture of him in her arms
Down in the shadow of the penitentiary
Out by the gas fires of the refinery
I'm ten years down the road
Nowhere to run, man, nowhere to go
I'm a long gone daddy in the U.S.A.
Born in the U.S.A.
I'm a cool rockin' daddy in the U.S.A.
Born in the U.S.A...
Posted at 12:01 PM
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Published On: Jan 16, 2009 04:51 PM
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Published On: Jan 16, 2009 04:51 PM