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This week: As the country surges towards a political reckoning, some musicians take aim

by John Sewell

Popular music in general, and rock music in particular, has always provided a healthy breeding ground for voices of dissent. The inherent bohemianism of the music scene came to a head in the ’60s, when rock ‘n’ rollers perpetuated an Us vs. Them paradigm: “Us” being the youth in revolt, and “Them” being the government, organized religion, the status quo—collectively known as, ahem, “The Man.”

Twenty years into rock history, the emergence of punk had once again polarized music fans. For punkers, “Us” became the punk community and “Them” became hippies and rock dinosaurs. And in the ’80s, Ronald Reagan became punk’s whipping boy.

Proof positive of Punk’s universal disdain for Reagan, circa 1982, is Not So Quiet on the Eastern Front (Alternative Tentacles). The album’s 40-odd, shoddily recorded tracks verbally assail St. Bonzo, spanning the gamut from studied criticism to sophomoric toilet humor. In retrospect the Reagan era seems like an age of innocence. Sure, the economy sucked, and the religious right was a powerful force. Nonetheless, it was a time of peace and the opiate of conspicuous consumption. Smiling Ron was the country’s new Fred McMurray, a benevolent father figure who seemed wise and didn’t really do anything.

For the hardcore kids of the ’80s, Reagan was considered the Great Satan because you simply had to have something to rebel against. Reagan was blissfully dumb and an easy target.

Fast forward to the infinitely more turbulent present. Rock ‘n’ roll music is so thoroughly ingrained in the American psyche that it is hardly revolutionary. And punk has become nothing more than packaged rebellion.

Nonetheless, punk practitioners keep believing. NOFX’s Fat Mike has unified today’s more popular punk acts with Rock Against Bush (Fat Wreck Chords), a compilation benefiting PunkVoter.com. As a musical document, the comp is about as thrilling as the state of “punk” in general, circa 2004. Tracks range from downright bad (Good Charlotte) to moderately entertaining (Alkaline Trio, NOFX), but it’s all for a good cause: getting the proverbial “kids” (Ain’t it always about the kids?) out to vote. And the accompanying DVD features a standup performance by David Cross that’s both good and good for you.

One of the few punk bands that’s survived the two-decade span between Anti-Reagan and Anti-Dubya, California’s Descendents have weathered the storm, sidestepped the obvious pratfalls and created the template for modern day pop/punk in the process. (The Descendents just can’t be held accountable for the pernicious scourge of Ataris, Newfound Glory, Blink182 et al that came in their wake.)

After a seven-year hiatus, the Descendents return with Cool To Be You (Epitaph Records), utilizing their tried and true formula yet older, wiser, and madder than hell. “’Merican,” the album’s highlight, is the Descendents’ most overtly political song yet, a scathing indictment of national arrogance in general and Dubya’s War on Terrorism in particular. A pungent dose of middle-aged reality for the today’s Warped Tour crowd, perhaps?

Of course, the punkers aren’t the only folks in the rock ’n’ roll community who’ve had it up to here with the Bush, Jr. administration’s wacky hijinks.

It seems like every niche of the indie rock world has Dubya and Co. on target for ridicule.

It’s more than fitting that DC’s own space-rock consortium, Trans Am, has finally gone political with its most recent and most aptly titled Liberation (Touch & Go Records) album. For once, the band provides more than a supercool soundtrack for action movies of the mind. Unlike the band’s earlier, more opaque material, Liberation takes off the gloves and lets it be known exactly where the band is coming from. The album’s 14 tracks vilify Dubya by manipulating snippets of his orations into sound collages that are simultaneously funny and terrifying. This is pessimistic stuff indeed. Here’s hoping the band can’t say “I told you so” in the future.

Finally, there’s a revolution you can dance to. No wave, punk/funk consortium, !!! (pronounced “chk, chk, chk” or “pow, pow, pow,” depending on your mood) manage to get its groove thang on an’ dis Dubya and Tony Blair on the devilishly danceworthy Louden Up Now (Touch & Go Records). Sure, the band’s dig at the righteous right may be no more than street-smart wisecracking, but there’s no denying where the group’s coming from. Imagine if the Gang of Four was reanimated in the post-hip-hop world, and you’ll have some idea of the sound of this invigorating and continually challenging album. Get your freak on—and bring your voter registration card.

And who’da thunk that a glitter-funk hybrid band fronted by an elfin smartass would ever go overtly political? Well, that’s exactly what you’ll get from Bobby Conn & The Glass Tigers’ new long-player, The Homeland (Thrill Jockey Records). Conn & Co. are musically all over the place, but the lyrical thrust leaves little to the imagination. Homeland is a concept album that takes Dubya et al to the cleaners.

A snippet from the album’s closing track, “Ordinary Violence” says it all: “Stupid people (that’s most of us)/Got to find somebody else to place our trust/Tell us the difference between wrong and right/ Good and evil, keep it black and white/But if you’re willing to die for what you believe/Then we’re happy to kill you all/For the homeland.”

July 15, 2004 • Vol. 14, No. 29 © 2004 Metro Pulse