The Shape Of Punk To Come: An Homage

“Ah, in such an ugly time the real protest is beauty.” – Refused

Is music still politically motivating? Can it be? While I would like to believe that it is still possible, it also seems that it is very difficult. A certain Sparta drummer (Tony Hajjar) confessed that one cannot force another to do something; one must act entirely out of one’s own volition. Omar Rodriguez-Lopez of The Mars Volta attested that the majority of North Americans are too pacified to care about the big picture; there is little reason to be politically active because everyone enjoys their life of leisure and material possessions. One might ask, then, why bother making political music if its message will fall on deaf ears?

The trick to making partisan music is keeping one’s message salient, while simultaneously strengthening it with one’s music; riot-inciting lyrics cannot end up playing second fiddle. Rage Against The Machine were extremely politically active in the nineties—and perhaps one of the most influential acts during the decade—yet it still seemed their messages became overshadowed by the accessibility and popularity of their music. This has been a recurring malady for many musicians, even Bob Dylan and Neil Young. But where others have been afflicted, Refused have found immunity, The Shape Of Punk To Come being case-in-point.

Refused, not unlike Rage, met an untimely end. But before the Swedish five disbanded, they released the most politically poignant album of the past two decades. Refused’s magnum opus failed to be significantly influential, though, because it received little commercial success, especially compared to something like The Battle Of Los Angeles. But vast dissemination or not, The Shape Of Punk To Come is one of the most important albums of the twentieth century, politically and musically.

Words mean nothing without complementary delivery. Sincerity is paramount, and Refused’s lividity is unquestionably genuine. Refused are overtly angry, almost stereotypically so—it would be easy to pigeonhole the band’s sound as angsty screamo upon a cursory listen; though one need only pay attention to the very first line of “Worms of the Senses/Faculties of the Skull”—“I’ve got a bone to pick with capitalism/And a few to break”—to know that Refused are completely beyond the hollow and immense cesspool that defines twenty-first century hardcore.

Musically, Refused went beyond any rational expectation of what a hardcore band could do in the late 90s. Even though all of the songs are in 4/4 time, the band uses so much syncopation there is rarely a symmetrical groove, though they’re hardly arrhythmic. Drummer David Sandstrom is to thank for the band’s insuperable rhythmic intuition. The man is the bloody embodiment of an avalanche, tempest, or any other natural tumult one can think of. Sampling—a rarity for hardcore—is choreographed masterfully, and is never overused. The strings—another genre unknown—are minimal but beautifully arranged, especially on the ominous, and EPIC “Tannhauser/Derive”. Never have I heard such a beautiful, evocative, gripping, immaculate arrangement on a single instrument (a violin in this case) as I have in the first minute thirty of this song. Ever.

Because the songwriting is so impeccable, it can be easy to lose oneself in the cadence; but there is always some vocal tag to remind the listener what those kids are so damn pissed off about, be it “We want the airwaves back” in “Liberation Frequency”, or “There is no prestige in your title/We are after your head” in “The Apollo Programme Was A Hoax”. The deeper you dig, the more nerves you’ll ignite. “The Deadly Rhythm” asks many unabashedly poignant (and rhetorical) questions meant to enrage, rather than be answered: “Is it our duty to die for governments and for gods?/Is it our privelege to slave for market and industry?/Is it our right to follow laws set to scare and to oppress?/Is it our gift to stay in line and will it take away the blame?” The manifesto in the album liner is an essential read that elaborates on the topics of each song.

Perhaps Refused’s demise was timelier than originally perceived. It’s hard to imagine the band being able to surpass the sublime execution of The Shape Of Punk To Come. Setting the standard for punk music and then failing to meet it would have been tragic, and possibly mitigate the importance of this album.

The last line of the album goes, “Sabotage will set us free/Throw a rock in the machine.” Refused’s last performance was sabotaged mid-set by police officers. If that doesn’t blow your mind, then this album is not for you. If it does, know that The Shape Of Punk To Come is only as important as the person who listens to it.

Nocturnal penile tumescence

Why do I get boners in my sleep? Why? It doesn't make sense. What is the evolutionary advantage of getting boners in my sleep?

Fun fact about myself

I don't like orgies. Why? Because I'm an only child and I'm selfish.

An interview with Omar Rodriguez-Lopez

I was late. Any semi-serious journalist knows you should NEVER be late. A time miscalculation coupled with a twenty-minute goose chase at the venue did not sit well with The Mars Volta’s tour manager. Extremely disgruntled, he told me I would not be interviewing Omar Rodriguez-Lopez, the band's lead guitarist and composer--and one of the most brilliant men in music. Swallowing my chagrin, I decided to find the Universal Music label rep (my main contact that I should have found first) to see if I could still squeeze something in. Instead, I found Omar. I pled my case and expressed my frustration with jumping through the tour staff’s hoops. Reluctantly, he acquiesced and led me to the backstage bathroom. (No, he didn’t want me to hold it for him.)

I was grateful for his benevolence and made it quick. Though the interview lasted less than ten minutes, I learned a lot about Omar. I wasn’t dazzled after I had left—I still felt like a supreme asshole for being late and inconveniencing Omar—but when I listen to the tape now, I can’t help but feel extremely satisfied with our conversation. It feels different than any other interview I've done--mystical, perhaps. It feels like a subtle, gripping aura glows from that magnetic strip. It's inexplicable.

Five and a half hours in an uncomfortable block of steel for a few, equally uncomfortable, minutes in a tiny bathroom with a short, skinny thirty-something: a fair trade.

The transcript can be found here: http://www.puregrainaudio.com/interviews/the_mars_volta.htm

Some notes that you won't read in the above link:

Omar is a fidgety person. Even if we weren't in an 8 x 6 bathroom, I could not imagine him keeping still. He constantly paced back and forth (two steps to his left, and two steps back). The thing I found the most strange was that he RARELY looked at me. Most of the time he had his head down. Occasionally he stopped to pick up his head and look directly at my eyes, but would quickly return to his shoe-gazing shuffle. Yet, there was not a tremble in his voice. He spoke candidly, and sometimes heatedly.

After The Mars Volta finished their set, Cedric and Omar lingered for a few seconds while their collaborators left the stage. It was quite obvious they had found me in the crowd. I was too shy to meet their gaze for more than a tenth of a second, so I wasn't sure if they were giving me the stink-eye, or if they were trying to get my attention. Perhaps they wanted to berate me for doing an interview I wasn't supposed to do, or maybe they just wanted to talk. Perhaps I'll never know; perhaps someday I'll find out.

In case you missed it, the link to the interview is http://www.puregrainaudio.com/interviews/the_mars_volta.htm