The Orwells are Live Streaming their SXSW Show.
They’re loud.
They’re amazing.
They don’t like oppression.
They’re playing the biggest show of their lives.
They’re 16 years old.
Click it!
[Flash 9 is required to listen to audio.]
“Listen up forefathers, I’m not your son.”
The new single, “Who Needs You” from the “The Orwells” is not currently slated to be released on any album.
This new song takes the band in lyrical territory that I had failed to see previously. A simple, yet eloquent, “screw you” to recent U.S. political agenda masked by a radio-friendly melody and clap along.
“I said, “No, Thank you. Dear old Uncle Sam.”
A statement for a generation of youths too young to remember pre-9/11 America.
See The Orwells perform on March 15th at SXSW in Austin, most definitely the best new band to keep an eye on, but don’t take my word on it, listen yourselves:
More about the Orwells:
http://www.facebook.com/theorwellsband
http://theteenagehead.com/blog/2011/10/the-orwells-remember-when-third-lp/
http://theteenagehead.com/blog/2011/12/the-orwells-mallrats-official-music-video/
http://www.myoldkentuckyblog.com/?p=21549
http://www.weallwantsomeone.org/2011/11/16/the-orwells-halloween-all-year/
http://yvynyl.tumblr.com/post/14917797034/the-orwells-mallrats-la-la-la-not-gonna-lie
‘Then something astonishing happened. One day, early in the morning, thin columns of white smoke were seen to be coming out of the tops of the tall chimneys of the factory! People in the town stopped and stared. “What’s going on?” they cried. “Someone’s lit the furnaces! Mr Wonka must be opening up again!”
This is me at Stage 84 in Davie. I love me a little bit of women vs. man comedy. Thanks for everyone who constantly supports my stand-up.
Falling into The Wormhole
Singing Shit and Flashing Colors
Everybody is just getting fucked up
nothing intellectual
“Why do you think music is the way it is, or whatever?”
The kids stopped being creative.
“What caused it?
Ronald Reagan’s America, probably.
The idea of great wars have created a whole new cultural downfall. Music used to be so powerful, but now a dude with a high powered Mac and a good voice can write some album and add it to the national bullshit lexican’t.
I feel like Aristotle, but after society’s modernity made it totally impossible to come to your own conclusions and impressions of things. Everyone has done everything, we’re just fools sticking around in the same place as we were born.
- Cut your nails
- Get a job
- Don’t say crazy thing.
Are we educated enough to amuse ourselves? I guess we’ll huff computer cleaner and get stoned enough to make it so, number one.
When will my country empower me again?
I guess we’re all just a bunch of American solo artists, but sometimes I’d like to play in a band of my peers.
A Recurring Dream I Have (I Made it a Literary Peice and Removed the Part About Having Sex with Hot Aliens)
A memory of doing a bit too much cocaine and having a panic attack suddenly lodges itself into my frontal lobe.
Laying in a tin can, an indecipherable distance from home, I was definitely having a heart attack. The back of my throat was free from irritation so this one is all natural.
With just enough room to reach it, I opened my leather attaché case and begin the process of administering whatever was in these small plastic bottles inside my bodysuit. My immediate action and precision with a needle leads me to believe I was trained as a nurse or had been an advanced recreational needle drug user.
Neither would have surprised me due to the myriad of thoughts crashing themselves into my current thoughts.
As the needle enters my fleshy forearm I conclude that I was trained for this very moment. My squeamish discomfort tells me that any recreational drugs I’ve ever decided to use have gone through my body’s natural orifices.
Now that I wasn’t dying, I begin to think again how I fell onto my current predicament.
“Self-Centered”
Billions of millions away from my home, but I still could not seem to recall what my name was.
“Goldilocks.”
A story of walking-talking bears starts to play in my head but it seems absolutely ridiculous. Why would a story of human-like bears be relevant to my situation?
The name Major Tom entered my head, but it is accompanied by an intense urge to hum so I figure it’s a buried piece of pop culture permeating the front of my brain and trying to figure who’s t-shirts I wear.
I look out of my window and I see what appears to be sand. A distant star is heating my front window and making my coffin uncomfortable. Suddenly, an urge to replace the suit I was wearing and open the door in front of me grips me from the depths of my fear.
This is the moment I choose to die for.
Years before, I chose to give away every worthless dollar I had worked my entire life to acquire in hopes of flying a tomb through space for the chance of landing on a distant planet that in turn had a miniscule chance to be inhabitable.
My children, my wife, my girlfriend, my colleagues all brand me every negative label in human existence.
I see their crying faces. With their weak and selfish pleas for help. Telling me it was not my right to take everything from them. It only takes a few minutes to go from “loving father” to “deadbeat villain.”
“Yes, I’m of sound mind.”
“No, I don’t really care what they’re going to do.”
“I’m not sorry, but I can understand why you’re upset.”
“That’s fine but I’m not sure what any attorney will be able to do.”
I was leaving a world where people gave small rectangular pieces of paper all their human powers. Where people draped themselves in pieces of cloth and associated with each other to be able to rank themselves above the same people they choose to associate with.
It’s a cycle of insanity. People attach themselves to each other with these horrible family and social units that became safe havens for the weak and those with no abilities.
The system was too simple, to trap and turn everyone into these mindless drones, and to do it so well that even smart people you love became trapped.
So I don’t think I’m justifying my actions to myself when I see that I left merely to free them from the shackles of my watchful eyes.
The sand outside my iron box began to blow over my window. Another hour in this death machine and my face will melt.
“Good news, there is wind out there.”
Considering I couldn’t consciously remember any of my training, I had no idea if it really was “good news.”
I spastically turn over in my confines, I remember the oxygen tanks wrapped in a thin plastic behind me. The German engineers who developed this contraption certainly didn’t have the passenger’s comfort and safety in mind, but considering I was basically blown out of a cannon in a frozen icebox pointed at a planet that “might” be just far enough away from a sun to be liveable, I couldn’t blame them for not equipping a “first class” section.
Suddenly, and with no logical reason, I begin to kick open the door in front of me. I paid for a one-way trip, and didn’t plan to spend another minute in this earth-made confinement.
The moment of truth was here and I never was the child at the pool who dipped his toe at the water’s edge, I was the brat who got onto the diving board and pissed off those sitting remotely near water’s edge.
Either the atmosphere could support human life or my recent awakening will be an unbelievably brief one.
My door clicks open and nearly unhinges in a few kicks, a rush of warm air splashes across my face. It is how I would imagine emerging from my mother’s womb for the first time. I didn’t have the stamina to shriek uncontrollably. I took my first breath from a new world.
I was surprised as the sand easily and cleanly filled directly into my lungs with no effort. The site of this yellow particle entering my lungs is alarming but, at this point, my mind is prepared for much worse.
My second breath is easy and less labored. I looked down at my hands and body for any signs that I am oxygen deprived. None are evident.
Childlike glee enters my body as I rush out of the capsule and onto the hot and moist ground. Below me, like a shallow stream, a yellow sand-like substance moves graciously around my feet.
For all I know, I am the first human being from earth to visit an inhabitable planet. I begin to sing at the top of my lungs!
“Ziggggy playyyyed guitar! Jamming good with weird and gaillly, and the spiders from Mars!”
At this point, my memory has not returned and I can’t exactly remember my own name. This song has been running through my head since awakening. Something I probably told myself I would do if I were ever to wake up again.
A nearby star beams enough heat for me to be comfortable. I strip all my clothes off. I had gone this far disobeying all the suggestions so I figure it was my human nature to disregard the rest.
I fall to my knees trying to constrain myself. In my youth, I would have said a prayer. But at this moment, for the first time in my life, I was actively searching for God.
In a few minutes, my unrequited joy began to subside.
Was the entire planet like this?
Beautifully barren.
I slowly walked back towards my capsule to trigger a pulse in this iron deathbox that alerted home that I have reached an inhabitable “Goldilock Planet.” The pulse won’t reach the home for hundreds of years, if at all.
It was a one-way trip for me. My purpose was to trigger the pulse.
Walking back, I fall to the floor in shock.
A second capsule is attached to mine.
As I was leaving my company yesterday I saw this on one of the cars in the parking lot.
If you live in Nashville, hide yo kids…
This is not what I like to see going into the weekend.
When you look at the men who spend hours taking it out of the ground. Their sweat and work was for nothing.
The men in Brazil who spend hours loading it into a container, and my men in Miami who unloaded it, then my truck driver’s who spent ten hours bringing it to South Carolina.
All to just become a bunch of rubble on a cold black South Carolina parking lot.
It’s not just countertops to me…
it’s not a rock..
It’s a part of my soul.
Everyone have a great weekend and make to sure to love your fellow humans.
