Francis Ford Coppola's Colonel Kurtz acknowledging 'the horror, the horror' of war, finally achieves catharsis, and embraces mother America, condoning his own assassination. Where have all the young men gone? Whines Pete Seeger. Osama Bin Laden exhorts the faithful to commit acts of war (read: terrorism), and yet all the religions of the world preach peace and brotherhood. So, what's wrong?
Simple, men love war. Any excuse to and for slaughter will do. And who are all these whiners that dare to impose their armchair pacifism on us?
At your local, the tough guys always walk in with the Barbie Dolls. Do you ever see the Hells Angels without a strumpet? When you were at school, were the academically talented wandering around the erudite halls of learning with the biggest tits and the longest legs hanging on to their wimpy frames? And when you walk into McDonald's sheepishly acknowledging your craving, isn't it always the little gang member prick with the tightest tee shirt and bursting muscles, with the only teenage tart that put11s out? And don't you also put on a polite supercilious air and ignore them? When in your heart of hearts, you really want to pull out a six-shooter and give all the above a third eye, grab the struggling wench, drape her over your saddle, and ride of to the applause of all and sundry, patting her derriere to the tune of the Good, the Bad, and the Ugly?
We've been happily butchering each other for thousands of years. And these peace freaks have to come and ruin it all by forcing us to justify our actions with banal platitudes like 'Collateral Damage'! Have a bloody heart! Do I come in and disturb the local nerds playing dungeons and dragons? Do I bust into homes for the aged and challenge them to knitting competitions? Do I call an institution for the mentally retarded and ask to compete in their lollipop licking races? When mummies and daddies are out in the11 park with their kids, do I interrupt their bemusement by joining them and offering them my chili and cucumber sandwiches? When perfectly dressed old ladies are out shopping for knick-knacks, do I jump the queue, barge in front of them, and wave my credit card? Do you think these people are you and I? Wallowing graciously in our self imposed placidity?
Do I flinch when my three-year-old daughter ignores all the standard girly paraphernalia and chooses instead 'Lethal Weapon' nine hundred and thirty nine? You know the one, the one that can zap her other three-year old friends at kindergarten into a zillion pieces. And doesn't Ken always have the best action and battle costumes? And given a choice, doesn't she always choose the most violent cartoons of all? Where the big guy is gonna mash the little guy and in turn gets mashed by an even bigger guy. And why is daddy the best? Because daddy is gonna beat up all the bad guys. And, when she grows up and brings home the school jock, would you sit side by side with him and discuss how the Sound of Music affected your whole generation? Or will you mentally be sharpening your pig sticker and wishing you were Twenty years younger?
When, NATO cluster bombed the living daylights out of the Serbs and the Serbs retaliated, by only 'stoning' the American embassy in Copenhagen! When, pictures, only of wretched refugees, invaded all the dailies including our living rooms! And, last but not least, when the two traditional enemies, the Germans and the Russians, were called in to broker a peace deal! By a Nokia flaunting reindeer herder! The then Finnish Prime Minister!
And you wondered why a little, peaceful and prosperous nation like Denmark had seventy percent of its minute population only voting for bloody land wars in all the conflicts of the world?
Memories are Now, is a bold and inventive collection from Jesca Hoop who says each new record begins with a musical identity crisis