This punk band from Greece recently signed on with Motorhead Music. This is subversive, in your loving face punk. Pyn Doll grabs my attention here. Her act comes across as a genuine middle finger to the establishment’s cages, and I for one just adore her for I love to be disturbed. This band won’t be for everyone and never has a punk band been. Pyn reminds me of Wendy O’ Williams in how free she is with her rioting towards the lines of what is acceptable and what ain’t, although Pyn is a bit more refined.
One thing that caught my eye is that Steve Albini produced “The Slit” album. Damn, I love the name of that album. I reckon sex is a bit more palatable with my music than it is with my politicians. Rock n’ Roll has a large lane dozed out for sex to ooze from the pores of the pavement. Punk has a level of total freedom, and the Barb Wire Dolls appear to be taking full advantage of the total freedom that punk provides. One may want to consider what Greece has experienced as a nation during the past decade when looking to understand the theme with this band’s creations. I think that they have found the proper outlet.
“People who work in a factory, right, or some awful fucking mind-numbing job like that – ‘cause I worked in a factory, I know what it’s like; it’s fucking awful, yeah? Most people have to do that kind of job that they hate every day of their lives. Can you imagine what that must be like? You have to submerge your intellect completely, right, and just, y’know, che cha, y’know, and all that. So, at the weekend, they want to hear something that tears the heart out of ‘em and gives it back better.”
― Lemmy Kilmister
Sturgil has been compared to Waylon Jennings, and it is fairly easy to see the fairness in that comparison, but I would like to compare him to maybe George Carlin and Timothy Leary. I see Sturgil’s hand up high in the sky when Jimi asks “Are you experienced.” My favorite country artist may tell that he has never been over the edge, but his creations tell me a different story. The only way to know where the edge is is to cross it, and my dear folks he seems to know the edge.
Here’s my original post on Sturgil two years ago. (Link)
Here’s a link to an interview with Charlie Rose. (Link) Charlie Rose kicks ass.
Call to Arms is a new song by Sturgil. It is in your face call to stop the insanity of needless killings of human life. It is a call to an awareness of where we have our attention buried, which is usually in our palms. It is not a beautiful piece on the harmony of which we live. It will be disturbing to many who for whatever reason have bought into a level of patriotic nationalism that mortars a wall of stupidity and ignorance around their perspective of the reality of the horrors this nation facilitates. Sometimes the most patriotic citizens will appear to be the most treasonous to the folks with these walls. On the flip side, all these facilitated horrors do play a part in how we live in this country and I can’t deny that I have lived a fairly comfortable life which for me inspires me to do a little towards opening up minds to the potential reality that is easily ignored. Which may be a little of what Sturgil is aiming to do with this tune.
I done Syria, Afghanistan, Iraq and Iran
North Korea, tell me where does it end
Well the bodies keep piling up with everyday
How many more of them they’re gonna send
Well they sent their sons and daughters off to die
for some war to control the heroin
Well, son, I hope you don’t grow up
Believin’ that you’ve got to be a puppet to be a man
Well they cut off your hair and put a badge on your arm
Strip you off your identity
Tell you to keep your mouth shut boy and get in the line
Meet your maker overseas
Wearin’ that Kim Jong-il hat while your grandma is selling pills stat
Meanwhile, I’m wearing ‘can’t pay my fucking bills’ hat
Nobody is lookin’ up to care about a drone
All too busy lookin’ down at our phone
Our ego’s begging for food like a dog from our feed
Refreshing obsessively until our eyes start to bleed
They serve up distractions and we eat them with fries
Until the bombs fall out of our fucking skies
Turn off the TV
Turn off the news
Nothin’ to see here
They’re serving the blues
Bullshit on my TV
Bullshit on my radio
The Hollywood telling me how to be me
The bullshit’s got to go