Treble Army—Lullabomb (w/ lyrics)

I can’t believe these brothers were based in Arizona. I know how that place can make you this het up.

The album version of this tune does not include audio of these creepy vids that only enhance the impact of this colonial critique. Nov ’13 UPDATE: Sese himself, the man behind Treble Army, has responded with the lyrics, so I have moved my occasionally-wonky transcription to the comments for archives’ sake. (I wonder if this gambit will work for other tunes?)

Sese’s flow is breakneck, choppy and freely accordions between languid and deep-sea compressed. Yet he chuckles in this interview with True Skool Radio that on TA’s new album Amierdaca, he has better control of his flow than in previous efforts. Yao.

My city never sleeps
In tha distance do I hear soprano sax or drone attacks?
Night vision sensor beeps
Target locked, Darpa profits, phosphorus bombs, carnage is common
Helicopters like I’m walkin’ in ‘Nam
New widows every week
In tha mirror it’s civilian casualty, collateral damage or enemy combatant?
No choice but carry munitions, I’m forced to Yankee resistance
‘Cause protest/prayer don’t lessen extraordinary rendition
…Imprisoned Guantanamo Bay, sensory deprivation, swimming in waterboarding
Innocents slaughtered all week, minimum media coverage
Pillage and rape tha people, B-52 Bomber’s foreplay
Dreams: relatives skeletons weapons discharged to stomach
Open my eyes Obama increased tha Defense Department budget
They said freedom/democracy that’s when tha nightmares came
Shock and awe Iraq version Disney Electric Light Parade

Lullabye, Lullabomb, hear tha cry of tha young
New insurgent Tossin’, turnin, Kabul burnin’,
Insomnia certain. Shoot first, mom!
Uncle Tom wants troop surges

Babies born deformed experiments gone wrong
According to warlords their cause is right
Lethal chemicals breathed by fetal specimens
Each and every pregnancy we gon’ mourn tonight
Bodies twisted like tha penmanship’s calligraphy
Voiceless victims of violence ’cause limbs are where their lips should be
Oil rigs become private, mercenaries majority
Torture prisons hide, takin’ pictures of inmate strip routines
Your country tis of the-f-t, Liberty let’s see
If my missile heat headrest feels like your M16
You left it on an uninvolved civilian
Mustache, brown skin, turban cost our children
Y’all extremists REAL terrorists evil equals intent to
KILL for Lockheed CEO elites that you’ll never meet at their
GRILL Peel caps of poor people ain’t seen a meal since your last congressional
SEAL, bullets are sleeping pills

Lullabye, Lullabomb, hear tha cry of tha young
New insurgent Tossin’, turnin, Kabul burnin’,
Insomnia certain. Shoot first, mom!
Uncle Tom wants troop surges

I see tha Brown & Black soldiers, how they treat ‘em awful
Gang raped and mutilated, like Lavena Johnson
Tha Spanish speakers fight for citizenship
While tha Black ones think that white folks is interested they enlist!
Poverty good recruit, laugh at Black skinned armor
Brown is bulletproof, Africannon fodder
How they make it to tha front lines of tha gun deployment?
Same way they at tha front lines of tha unemployment!
Sergeant cuttin corners think we won’t take P.O.W.’s
Recruit amongst tha coloreds like tha Viet Cong accustomed to
Convince ‘em we got common cause ’til Uncle Sam’s inaudible
We allies in tha struggle, suffocate commanding officers!
Our war memorials would need a poet laureate to write
Each freedom fighter and innocent bystander daughter/son
‘Cause this notorious empire strikes with gory lust
Tha red, white and blue’s in tha sights of new Afghani warriors

DIVIDE & Conquer won’t work this time (Peace is a language that they don’t understand)
Divide and conquer won’t work this time (Tell peaceful protest 2 tha terrorist on my land)

This is a parent’s story FROM
Occupied territories GUN
By my side ready loaded HUNG
Cyanide necklace never die lonely!
Palestine, Lebanon surprise! America & Israel thought genocide was single-side only!

NYC Anarchist Book Fair & Art Exhibit

RPG Attack on Kirkuk Police, reproduced in ABF Exhibit

The first thing I notice about the NYC Anarchist Book Fair is the widespread rebellion against deodorant. I flash back to college with nostalgia but for the stifling enclosure of Judson Church, and recall Nietzsche’s caution that one does not go to church to breathe clean air. This is the earthy air of the human real, and anyway my own quasi-effectual deodorant free from aluminum salts is probably not so masking either.

On this Saturday, the book fair combines workshops, free child care, extensive outlays of books, zines and pamphlets, and an art exhibit. The tables are jammed together and traffic is lively; at one end I encounter a guy who believes anarchy is a state of chaos without order or structure (and a bookseller remonstrating with him), and at the other a young man having a fiery discussion about means of resistance with another bookseller offering Kropotkin titles and excerpts, inter alia. I bought the illustrated “Abolish Restaurants” and a FAQ about anarchy from the bookseller while he insisted to another visitor that at a recent protest, he was there to fight Nazis, not cops: “At every revolution that’s made a difference, the cops stood aside.” I can’t disagree, and move on.

I learn that South End Press, a Brooklyn-based independent house, was responsible for publishing Manning Marable’s “How Capitalism Underdeveloped Africa.” It’s the only title I recognize on a table with a lot of Vandana Shiva books. This is especially moving considering that Marable died just over a week ago, barely managing to publish his 10-year magnum opus about Malcolm X. The woman at their table thinks I know who Josh MacPhee is because I’m carrying a book of his graphic art, and we have a brief desultory discussion about Facebook and Twitter before we’re interrupted by another browser.

I meet some friends at the exhibit just as the fair is winding down. The collection was memorable, but not labeled; fortunately Antonio Serna of vizKult, who had curated the show, drove us out at closing. We sit at a low table covered with photographs from the Iraq and Afghanistan wars; they include themes from “chillin drunk at the base” to “burnt haji corpse on a slab, thumbs up!” photos. Antonio tells us that this piece is called “At Ease” and it’s by Lucas Michael, using photos from a now-defunct military website where the enlisted posted all kinds of images from their travails. A small stack of CDs in sleeves offers the audience a thirdhand souvenir, and invites them to distribute the images. It’s a sobering coda to the bookfair, and we take discs to do our bit.