"45 45's until I'm 45" (#43/45)

Good morning friends,

admittedly I stole the following from somewhere else, but I think it describes today's record perfectly well:

'We Hate The Kids’ is The Indelicates’ attempt to write no less than an anthem for our times. They cast their eyes over the state of popular music and find it sadly lacking. It’s a song for a time where Simon Cowell unashamedly reduces Pop to a pure commodity, a time where things like passion, depth and integrity are entirely expendable. It slowly builds to the point of bursting while Simon and Julia spit out lines steeped in venom. I would say they have succeeded, this is the definition of an anthem.

Well, I'm all for that, I must say. This is a song which needs to be listened closely to, therefore this time I'll add the lyrics to what is your number forty-three, friends. Turn this up good and loud and enjoy:

 

The Indelicates - 'We Hate The Kids' (mp3)

Sad Gnome Records - SG0601 (2006)

 

Every generation gets fooled again
And every generation is to blame
And its no good saying its not in your name
'cause it is in your name
And this generation is the same
And this generation is to blame
And I'm sorry that I can't join in any more
But I've been let down too many times before
Oh yeah we mean it
We hate the kids
So dance dance dance to the radio tonight

I wanted to believe in rock'n'roll stars
I wanted to believe in contemporary art
I wanted to aspire to a higher path
But there's no higher path
It was ever thus, and it was ever you
And it's ever us because we'll do it too
And we're sorry to the all the disinherited meek, and
We're sorry for this con-trick that we play on the people
Oh yeah we mean it
We hate the kids
So dance dance dance to the radio tonight

And nobody ever comes alive
And the journalists clamour round glamour like flies
And boys who should know better grin and get high
With fat men who once met the MC5
And no one discusses what they don't understand
And no one does anything to harm the brand
And this gift is an illusion, this isn't hard
Absolutely anyone can play the fucking guitar
Oh yeah we mean it
We hate the kids
Useless children genuflecting
To the idols who exploit them
Open mouthed and arsed expecting
Some god to anoint them
Dance Dance Dance to this radio tonight

And there's always a monk to get set on fire
And there's always a crackhead charismatic liar
And there's always a depth to which you can aspire
And there's always a teenager due to expire
Pop had a beginning, it grew and was tended
Now it is rotten. Let it be ended.
Let every hopeless case that every drummer befriended,
Every seven-inch that every student intended
Every groupie and ligger and identity seeker
Every druggy and drinker and every loudspeaker
Be done with, be piled up, tossed, set alight
No more music, thank you, goodnight.

 

 

What a masterpiece. Oh god, I do love this song!!

 

Take care,

 

Dirk