THE APE – grownboyhood.
“The government’s filled with detestable crooks!” “Stop the wars killing people in places in the world that we wouldn’t bother visiting!” “Why do all of us live in London when it’s cold, depressing, and the rent’s too high!”
That, I hope, constitutes a fair summary of modern post-punk music. Yes, everyone’s angry, shouting about the world being unfair, and they live in London, which they hate because it’s old and smelly. But those are things that nearly everyone knows.
In fact, everyone agrees with the slogans of punk-adjacent music that they don’t mean anything to anyone anymore. Nobody protests in front of the White House while singing a modern punk song, or if they do, nobody bothers recording the protest.
Seeing as how modern punk has failed to change the outside world, I think it’s high time it starts an inside operation. Why’s everyone so nasty and evil? And how are we building a better future when we fail to construct ourselves? Those are questions that forward-thinking post-punkers THE APE dare to consider.
The refreshing question about THE APE’s “grownboyhood.” is that it just assumes that rock n’ roll is just a dumb boys club for people who haven’t matured past the point of talking about buying cars and romantic conquests like they’re the same thing.
And the Norwegian band is right. Purely romantic songs and tunes that talk about relationships as something that doesn’t resemble landing military troops on a beach in the dead of night are very few. “grownboyhood.” is, indeed, an angry post-punk song, but it also dares to assume that things can get better if we start retracing our steps, seeing where we left the path.
Body – Shrimp Heaven! The Rat Shack Plains of Olympus
Every year, a portion of the people who visit holy sights around the world go crazy. They’re the lucky ones. A percentage of these tourists, inevitably, will start believing that they’re the reincarnation of some prophet or other that millions across the world worship.
Those statistics are available a few clicks away, but nobody says what happens to these people once the holiday season runs out. Does somebody convince them that, really, they’re just Tom, Bob or Jane? Do they end up heavily medicated and in an institution?
What’ll heaven look like? Will it be something that disturbs, something that we can’t make any sense of? I’d like to believe that the people who go nuts on their pilgrimage keep on believing in their special powers and keep it a secret. I’d like to think that they dream while hearing the music of disco post-punk’s Body.
It’s all sharp images, see through a celestial blur. Body’s “Shrimp Heaven! The Rat Shack Plains of Olympus” sounds like being transported into a dance club positioned right ahead of the entrance to the Pearly Gates. The lyrics roll around as they belong to a psychedelic disco retreat organiser, while the alt-rock chords get funky and invite you to dance it all off.
