All You Need Is Hate. The Delgados. 2003. Mantra Recordings.

 When Scotland’s the Delgados released their fourth LP, Hate, in the States, January, 2003, American politics were in the grip of Republican strategist Karl Rove’s enactment of his bigoted vision of a country divided along party and ideological lines. 9-11 was still a fresh wound, and the additional horrors of the Bush administration’s Iraq invasion and the Global War on Terror were only months away. The lies justifying both wars were occupying so much media airtime and print space that we all lived in a palpable, stultifying mood of inevitable dread. What was ultimately so maddening about that time—which has extended into today—was how grossly indifferent the GOP was to the effects of its falsehoods on anyone who was paying attention. One side internalized the hate of political propagation because of our helplessness to do anything about it, while the other side wanted the volume on deception turned all the way up because it inflamed their wildly egregious biases. All You Need Is Hate illuminates life in a time of hatred, how we grow comfortable with it and the relative ease with which we attempt to normalize it. Charged with irony, the song satirizes the ill fortunes of our modern life the way Kinks records used to: by locating the sadness at the heart of who we are then reframing it in bravura, transformative pop melodies that bewitch us if not with joy then with a sublime sense of self-recognition. The struggle to endure the madness of hatred amidst headaches and sleepless nights, mass shootings and grotesque fallout from the opioid crisis, also brings the occasional, illusive, wondrous breeze of shared respite. 

Comments

Post a Comment

Popular posts from this blog

Ça Plane Pour Moi. Plastic Bertrand. 1978. Sire.

  According to internet data, the Lollapalooza tour, 1995, reached Dallas, Texas, on August 10, a Thursday. Five of us rode in one car that I drove from Fort Worth to the Starplex Amphitheater; my fellow passengers were Jo, Pat, Trina, and that woman who lived in Azle, whose name I no longer remember, and who used to come into the record store often, along with her boyfriend. Her musical tastes tended toward the abrasive, commercial metal so popular with the white suburban kids of privilege: Nine Inch Nails, Iron Maiden, Alice In Chains. Her personal style was not that of a typical metal fan, more like Ally Sheedy after her character’s disastrous Breakfast Club makeover. I admired her bright and casual style, her propensity to good humor and cheer, and for not succumbing to conformity and becoming a metal clone like so many of our peers. She rolled joints during the entire car trip to Lollapalooza with the hurried precision of an efficient professional working against a deadline, and c
Read more

Blues Is King. Marshall Crenshaw. 1985. Warner Bros.

  Certain recording artists—Lindsey Buckingham, Lucinda Williams, Sylvester Stewart all come to mind—share such a deep affinity with American music that it can seem as if they’ve walked into our  fantasies of democracy and produced their best work from inside that dream. So it is with Marshall Crenshaw. His eponymously titled debut record was released in 1982, when American artists were engaged in a Janus faced dialogue with their audience; on one side, artists like Talking Heads, Prince, and Laurie Anderson boldly envisioned pop song dynamics that bore the irreducible stamp of their respective personalities, while on the other side, Los Lobos, the Replacements, and the Cramps refashioned the face of rock and roll itself to accurately mirror the tastes of a young public growing increasingly hostile to, as well as alienated from, the social and fiscal policies of a federal government that was becoming less and less representative. Somewhere between the two norms fell the music of Marsha
Read more

Les Bon Temps Rouler Waltz. BeauSoleil. 1988. Arhoolie.

  A modicum of sadness is built into BeauSoleil’s rendition of the Lawrence Walker ballad Les Bon Temps Rouler Waltz. It’s the emotional center point around which the song revolves, illuminating the record’s good faith by fixing the listener’s attention on the band’s collaborative dynamic, the process by which they draw poignancy from each instrumental performance. Every pop record is an implied contractual agreement between artist and listener, with listener consenting to his role as subjective recipient of the commercial audio product. The basic nature of this role is subject to change over a period of time as the listener’s relationship with the record changes, given, but not limited, to issues of personality maturity. Typically, the consumer role will fall into one of two camps: either the faceless, one-of-millions mass audience whose pop experience is often social or the cogent individual whose expectations of the pop experience are more personal and long lasting. The most signifi
Read more