maanantai 30. tammikuuta 2012

Enemy of Any Business.

Tim Minchin got banned from Jonathan Ross show, because executive thought his song was too provocative and would stirr a shitstorm in a Christmas show. Tim, naturally was pissed off, here's his rant, and below my comment on it:

"I think that’s complete, absolute, utter oxfeces. The song was one of the most intelligent interpretations of Jesus I’ve ever encountered. I’ve always admired your big brains, and your way with words, and I was laughing my ass off when I watched the video, thinking that you are dodging all the bullets and still getting your message through with this song, and then I read the rant and found out you were cut out anyway… I knew British people (especially ones working with telly or politics) were uptight, but I was not aware that they carry clusters of bananas stuffed up their asses.

It’s funny how Christianity, in all it’s randomness has gained such an chokehold on …well, everything. After all it’s nothing more than a misinterpretation of one jewish fellow, who probably never told anyone he’d be the only son of god, let alone starting a new religious cult in his own name (at least according to what I’ve read about this fellow, it would not fit the profile.) He was just misfortunate and surrounded by stupid people. I believe he was one of the many anarchist, humane fellows of his time, but after his martyr death things blew out of proportion. Without Romans there would not have been Christianity for the past 1700 years, it would have withered and died, but because it survived to the middle ages and was the last solid Roman ideal, it was preserved… Well, I guess you know all this, but my point is, that it’s just random luck that brought Christianity to it’s current state, and they just dodge this by relying on their fatalist faith, saying it was meant to be.

I think it’s just so fucking irritating to see such cencorship in the “western civilization”, which are all about freedom of speech and liberty on the paper, but something completely different when the reality hits the fan. Saying we’re better than Chinese does not make us better than Chinese. We’d need some shit to back that accusation up, and cencoring a song like this does not really do the trick.
Keep up the good work, come to Finland and I’ll buy you a cheap glass of red wine and we’ll discuss these and all other things. You made my day, but stupidity of TV executives already ruined it. I’m off to write some angry music."
The bit that made me think further on is the one about Chinese. We usually use China as an example when we try to find a place, where people are oppressed and their freedoms are limited to minimum. NO one complained about their crimes against human rights when we were on our knees, begging for money to save EU. I would not say we are any more free than they are. We're victims of very vivid and visible oppression, that is without a doubt even worse than oppression coming from the state alone: we have reached the time and place in the history, when our freedoms are limited by "multi-national corporations", just as Napalm Death declared about 25 years ago. I don't mean McDonald's or that sort of colonialist shitfaces, things are not one-sided, they provide chickenshitjobs for people who would not get any other job. I'm talking about major record labels, SOPA/ACTA-bullshit.

I'm a musician, and my statement is that art which is not honest, is just a decorative piece of furniture, pretty but hollow. Honest artist, who has something to say, is willing to do his or hers shit without getting paid too. It's his passion, probably the only thing he can do, so he does not have a choice. Of course, it's always a great thing if you can make a living with your music or arts, but usually it just drains all your money. And you still don't have a choice. Internet has introduced me to a shitloads of bands I would have never encountered otherwise. This is because of PIRACY. My music would not spread without PIRACY. Today it is somewhat grucial part of the music world, because record labels fucked us in the ass in prices for good twenty years. It's their own grave the greedy fucks dug, and now when it would be the time to lay down and let us bury them alive, they start suddenly policing the globe, running around "because they want to bring to the copyright owners what belongs to them."

Now this is where it gets interesting. Whereas twenty years ago "copyright owner" meant automatically "musician", on this millenium, it has become more and more "the one with the dough". Meaning the record label representative, who came up with the idea of putting these kids on stage. AND anyone with the dough can buy someone else's copyrights. This is fucked up. Although the idea of Bill Gates buying Justin Bieber's copyrights to shut him down may sound tempting, one should keep mind, that Justin Bieber did not write his songs. So, would buying his copyrights do any damage to Justin Bieber? Of course you can always buy the "brand" and the "name", so he can't use them anymore, but then he'd simply became Just Justin and switched to another label and "made" new songs. The fucked up part, in my opinion is, that the major labels are buying us all silent one by one, paralyzing music "business" in itself, since individual people can't share the music they love with others without violating someones "RIGHTS". WHAT THE FUCK!? They would be violating someone's RIGHTS, if they ripped a whole song, changed the name and played it as their own. Wait, no they wouldn't, because mankind has been playing the same twelve fucking notes for the last three millenias. Listen to the blues. There's practically three songs, that are varied, and no one complained about copyrights. But if I take my guitar, go to the street corner and play Boom, Boom, Boom, it's concidered a show and I need to fill attendance information and which songs I have played and.... FUCK. This makes me mad, because they say they are helping the artists, but they are actually helping three artists, 99 lawyers for every single one of them, and paralyzing the whole world with their stupidity.

I say, revolt. Download music, spread the art, kill the business. Fuck your copyrights, we know what is ours, what we have done and what we have stolen. Let's see it that the music business will die, and those who really love MUSIC, are out there, doing the thing they love, just like they were long before there was any business in the Music. We made a song about this, it will be on our next record, Havoc Supreme. The name is an answer to Napalm Death's Enemy of the music business.

ENEMY OF ANY BUSINESS
Keep your fucking dollars to yourselves.
We're not obligated to be your slaves.
You don't own us, no one will.
This as far as your bullshit flies
There was music before business.
This is the death of your music industry
Keep your copy rights, we know what's ours.
Your law-term warfare has been outdone.
This is the end of your music business.

torstai 12. tammikuuta 2012

Knucklebone Blues

As her eyes rolled back and my fist raised back up to it's oh so natural striking position, I started to realized what I had done. What had begun as mutually agreed act of our own fetishes on my kitchen floor had been destroyed by my complete dominance over her. She was practically pulp by then. She was young, probably a wounded teen from a broken family, dad drove cab so he was never around until one night he came home drunk and beat her mother beyond recognition. You know, the usual, old and worn out story. She grew to understand love is nothing but pain. If you give love a chance and enough time, eventually it will backfire with serious consequences. She grew to understand that every moment carries a threat of violence in it. The easiest way to get away is to embrace it. As I thought all these thoughts she was bleeding my purple rag-carpets all black. So much blood.
It's surprising how much a woman's face can bleed when you pound it with only your fists. But in a way, it's her own decision. We're not connected in any way. This is just a way of letting all the steam out. And for her, a way to feel loved, I guess. I can't possibly think of any other reason a girl would volunteerly enter someone's house to get beaten up repeatedly. Suddenly I feel embarrassed.
Why am I doing this?
Why am I DOING THIS?
What do I get out of it?
Shot-term pleasure, perhaps, but in the long run it could only do damage. I raised my fist, with an intention of stopping this train of thought and crashing it into her face. But I just couldn't. I felt guilty. I felt pity. I felt actual love. I rolled off of her, to her side and laid there for a whole minute, listening to her shott, sharp breaths. She was sobbing, she was broken. Her beautiful young face was nothing but blue, bruised flesh and broken cheek-bones. Sobs grew into cries. I looked at her and hugged her uneasily. I had never been kind to anyone. I mean really, honestly kind. I've pretended a lot of times. But I can't remember many occasions where I would have acted out of actual, pure kindness. She was so small. So fragile. She was trembling in my arms. She was electricity.
She was incredibly loud sounds choked by silence. It felt so... Invigorating.
It was like I have imagined dying would be. It was release.
"Don't be scared..." I whispered to her ear through the mess that was her hair. I realize I sounded insecure and scared myself. I was shaking too. Just like her. She calmed down eventually, but it was not easy. I held her tighter and cried. I fell asleep.
As I woke up she was still there. Trying to breather through her swollen nostrils. I stood up and went to the fridge. Milk, OJ, some tomatoes and butter. I drank some milk and went to take a leak. I left the bathroom and saw the girl starting to wake up, little by little.
"Don't be scared..." I muttered again. I went to my bedroom and turned the guitar amplifier on. The valves took their time to warm up. Soon they begun their soothing, warm, fuzzy humming. I took mu guitar from the bed and turned the amp from STANDBY to ON. I let my fingers do what they can. The first blue notes filled the air. They followed eachother smoothly. It was somewhat devastating experience. Some moments ago these hands were destroying.
Now they were creating. But they were creating out of their own need to create. I had nothing to do with it. It made me kinda sad. Destroying that girl was entirely my decision. My work of art. This was not. This was purely therapy for the aching fingers. I was completely drowned by the sounds. They were choking me. My guilt was swimming into my brain. These blue notes were healing, but they were also honest. They brought back all the pain, they truly let me have it all. Guilt and blame with the works, please.
I felt tears flow down my cheeks and into my beard. I can't remember the last time I cried before this day.
"That's beautiful.." the girl had snuck up on me. Speaking was painfull and hard, but she had made the effort of expressing her feelings about the music. It felt strange.
"I guess..." I muttered to my beard, I turned the amp off and looket at the doorsill where she was standing. She was struggling to stay calm, but she was not afraid. more like cautious.
"..After all, it's your music." I finished my somewhat confusing sentence. Interest lit her eyes.
"whaddya mean?" she asked.
"Well... I didn't have that much to do with it. It was more like my fingers, trying to apologize for everything.. Every note was a mistake.. unintended."
"What the fuck are you talking about?" She clearly did not get it.
"Nah, it's just some existential voodoo mambo-jambo, nevermind..."
Now that I looked at her as a person instead of object of... passion, I realized she was kinda pretty. In that fragile, clumsy way. She did not look like a whore, that's for sure. She was not like all the others. She had a long, dark hair that fell down her shoulders like river. It was a bit messy, for you-know-what that had been going on a bit earlier. Her eyes would have been pure fire if I would not have beaten them to just dim embers that had to fight to maintain any warmth at all. Knowing it was me who did all this made me feel uneasy.
I turned my back at her and fingered restlessly the frets of my guitar. The blues comes so naturally in times like these.
"Listen... I'm not angry or anything... No regrets, right?" She said. Her voice was soft, insecure, broken. She sounded a bit scared again. As if she thought I was going to jump at her and beat her with my guitar. I know. My own fault. I was speechless. She left the doorsill and I played some more. The music carried me away. This has been one strange fucking night. The slam of the closing door woke me up from my unwritten songs. She's gone? Just like that? Well, can you really blame her?
I unplugged my guitar and dragged my feet to the hallway. For some good minutes I could do nothing but stare at the closed, heavy wooden door of my apartment. Another door shut. She's never coming back. Now I have to confront the complete silence. It surrounds me, it attacks me. It is violent. It is malevolent. She's the only girl I ever even felt sorry for. Suddenly I hear the same blue notes again. Life goes on. I am the spider, this is my web. I play these notes, and eventually, after all the flies, it will attract someone like me. And she'll come. And she'll complete me. Until then.... I just wait.