Thursday, 12 November 2015

Big D & The Kids Table - L.A.X

  An old favourite today, this is a song that blew me away when I first heard it. I think my reaction could have been "How the hell can Mike Davies get away with playing a song on Radio 1 that contains so many fucks!" The impressive swearing aside though, it's one hell of a catchy tune.

  Big D And The Kids Table are a collective of musicians from Boston, Massachusetts, that coalesced whilst at college back in 1995. Fronted by David McWane, they lay claim to being modern day American gypsies who make music because they've no choice, they're addicted musicians. They aren't afraid to mix differing styles of music; punk, ska, reggae, thrash, stroll and several other variations all come together in a heady melting pot. Energetic, fun and experimentation are some of the words I'd use to describe them.

  Their back catalogue is an Aladdin's cave of treasures, a few of their most recent offerings can be perused here :

  Given the energy they bring to their records and the number of talented musicians involved, it's no surprise that their live shows are a blast, they're certainly one of the more enjoyable bands I've seen.

  This one's from way back in 2001. It was on a split ep with Five Knuckle that came out on Household Name Records (which also featured the Big D song President, another great tune) and it's called LA.X

Hey, elitists from L.A.; Los Angeles, California
You know who you are
You drive in fancy cars
Your allowance exceeds my rent
Well listen to what I have to say
Remind yourselves every day
Let's get the message on its way

Well first of all,
Fuck your fucking attitudes
How can you be so fucking rude?
You fucking look at me like when girls are jealous
And fuck your fucking L.A. bars
You're all a bunch of wannabe superstars
Yeah, fuck your fucking act
You're a bunch of dressed up fucking rats

You get anything you want
Mommy's jobless fucking runt
You're fucking lounging in daddy's fucking mansion
And all your fucking stupid names
Blair and Tavis, that's fucking lame
Z-A-C does not spell Zack,
What the fuck is with all that?

And you think you're so fucking impressive
You can get your name on the fucking guestlist
Raise your nose to the people in line
Give the doorman a fucking high five

And they go

Do my shoes match my shirt?
Does my shirt clash with my pants?
Do my pants match my eyes?
Do my eyes look good tonight?
Will this place be cool enough?
Your hair looks so, so tough
This looks so good for us
Tonight my money's gonna buy me love

And fuck all of your deceiving
What's your fake heart fake fucking bleeding?
And all the girls you lay to your mat
Are the same fucking girls you fucking laugh at
And fuck your fucking fake ass world
And all your handed out fucking thrills
Some of us, we have to work hard
Just to get our little part
And maybe your clan is not in Boston
But my friends are fucking awesome
And we'll keep on doing our best
Even though our lives are a mess

Even though my life is a mess, yeah

And we go

Will this check support this tour?
Will this tour lose my job?
Without my job where's the rent?
Should we all just call it quits?
The dinner dates sure cost a lot
When 28 bucks is all you got
And your life is at a stop
And all your dreams are all self-taught

And this is the difference between our lives
No wonder tonight you feel alright
And I'm sorry if my mind is occupied
I'm trying to forget to wonder why

We're built up from nothing
I'm trying to forget to wonder why

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