Review – Propagandhi at the Garrick Theatre, Winnipeg, March 21 2009
– by eugene osudar
i’m getting too old for this
gimme the rocking chair
i’m getting too old for this
gimme the rocking chair
“who the fuck is mick jagger”
the words read on m’s green shirt
“little triggers” fondly firing
memory bullets of elvis costello’s
song “green shirt”
i’m getting waaaaaay too old for this
gimme the rocking chair
shane macgowan
was too old for this
give him the rocking chair
the golden (s)watch
the piss/on
punk/rock
hand,shake
hank williams sang
“rockin’ chair money”
give him the enduring
power of youth
the enduring power of
truth
he sang the rockingest chair
and died before he got too old for this
i’m getting too old for this
propagandhi
gimme the rocking chair
the ;legendary winnipeg
core/hard;punk/band
two souled out shows
at the garrick.
books about anarchy
and the rights
and feelings, nothing more
than feeling,s of
animals.
books about the vegan choice.
the eye on the cops
the violence against silence
in the lobby
where are the books about ufo’s
(husker du!)
the youngsters and this old man
(i’m getting way too old for this
gimme the rocking chair)
avoiding the deafening
noise/blurring
inside,
ken/mode
putrescence
and i’m naked writing this
gimme the rocking chair
there were moments of brilliance
(today’s empires,
tomorrows ashes)
and the hard/core
encore
the rap/ping chant for
eugene
c’est moi?
non!
(eugene, the classy sound guy)
and truly shining
the anarchal
brilliance of
volunteering guy
from the audience
who knew the words
to “fuck the border”
and sang lead vocals
as if he belonged
in the band
on the stand
audience at his com/
mand, and yes
unplanned
“He did a wicked job.”
quoting janelle
and yes he did.
a
wicked
job.
the last half hour
moved me to dance
moved a red/haired
fair/skinned, pony
tailed
tattoo(ooo)oo/ed
an/gel/ic punkette
to touch me
her hand, my shoulder
softly, touchingly
to ask me to dance
with her
to share with her
my passion for the beat
for the songs
that smashed
into my soul
oh, truth
how i lamented
“pink turns to blue”
husker du
“your favorite thing”
replacements
“sometime to return”
soul asylum
when they hadn’t made it
and betrayed “it”
to become corporate whores
to Beck and call to freefalling
(tom petty)
into com/merce(hell)
i am getting too old for this.
gimme the rocking chair
propagandhi
i get it
these aren’t peaceful
people
this is anger
this is political hardcore an/
grrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrr
this is the threat to
el/ka/bong!
the stage/diverrrrrrrrr
who causes
the lead singer’s teeth
to fall out
as the mike smashes into
his 40something canines
dog eat dog
ac/dc
pardon me,
celery eats celery
(vegans)
it’s the other propagandhi guy
ranting/threatening against
the seated ones
get up/get up
or he’ll smash
his guitar into your heads
this isn’t gandhi
this isn’t sweetness
this isn’t tenderness
this is so many people
pushing you
instead of saying
excuse me
this isn’t politeness
this is angrrrrrrrrrrrrrr
this is propagandhi
this is the truth
i am getting way too old for this
gimme the rocking chair
or,
gimme the hand on my shoulder
softly
and saying
excuse me
and yes, people move
because we’re all so beautiful
wonderful
or nearly all.
you don’t have to push
to violence
to be ignorant
to threaten
to be the asshole of the day
(so many assholes vying
for recognition
and distinction
that night
that place)
the floor was packed
with smashers
and divers
pretenders
of humanity
of humane/ness
of humanness
vegan
carnivore
herbivore
oh snore/snore/snore!
the seated could have been,
invited
to join the mayhem.
but this isn’t gandhi.
this is the man who murdered gandhi.
this is angerrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrr.
and i am getting too old for this
(i have the anger too)
gimme the rocking chair
(i’d rather not be)
the
(angry)
man
i’m the dancing man
celebrating the permanent summer
of my life
oh long forgotten husker du
ever to be remembered?
soft hands
to massage
and stroke
the naked flesh
cooing in your ear,
“nobody,
not even
the rain,
has such
small hands”
ee cummings
i’m getting too old for this
gimme the rocking chair
hook up the electrodes
to my naked flesh
execute me
as i drivel on and on
about civility
on and on
about “Humanity
i love you
because you would rather”
(ee cummings)
push aside the person
in front of you
and threaten to hurt
and smash the people
who paid to love you
oh “Humanity i love you”
ee cummings
aside,
L cohen
pablo neruda
i love you.
a love letter to dearest humanity,
to the majesty
of sounds
of colors
of textures
of fragrances
oh senses
oh realms
of hank williams
of paul westerberg
of bob mould
of dave pirner
to the truth of youth
to fuck yous
to fanatics
(to this dancing lunatic)
to the romantics
(what i like about you!)
ribcage
ripped and torn
apart
naked beating
my heart
husker du
i remember you!
how could i forget
your ferocious attack of melodic
distortion
your celebrated summer
your books about ufo’s
your girl on heaven hill
your pink turns to blue
your zen arcade
your new day rising
flip, your, wig
set yourself on fire
stars!
moon,
sun!
birds
bob mould
grant hart
my heart,
my too old heart
i beat for you
i beat for you
i’m getting too old for this
gimme the rockingest chair
setting my imac volume
to the max
and i’ll celebrate
hold steady’s homage to bob mould
and husker du
“constructive summer”
the hold steady
remembers
h
u
s
k
e
r
d
u
