Who Killed Nancy Johnson? - Petrolhead

  

  Is it just me or are Reading post-punk quartet Who Killed Nancy Johnson? (https://www.facebook.com/WhoKilledNancyJohnson) (https://www.wknancyj.com/about) somewhat under appreciated? They've featured on here on numerous occasions and every time they release new music, it never fails to impress. But I honestly believe they don't get the widespread acclaim they merit. Sure, those that do write about the band are fulsome in their praise but they deserve to find a wider audience. 

  Lining up with Mark Wren (drums), Pete Moulton (guitar), Sarah Moulton (bass) & Stefan Ball (vocals), they're a band that combine powerful, atmospheric music with well thought out lyrics that if I'm honest I don't always understand but which make me think. Case in point is their new single which I think is excellent but I've no idea what it's about. It's like being back at school studying English Literature and you've a book open in front of you with a page of prose which you know is very good indeed but you haven't yet worked out the meaning. You keep going back to it looking for clues that will fill in the puzzle. This is punk music with a little more depth than might on occasion be associated with the genre.

  The single is designed to tide us over until the release of the band's new album. Officially available on September 23rd, it's on Bandcamp early as a free download :  https://wknancyj.bandcamp.com/track/petrolhead

  Feel free to decipher the full meaning for me, I'm just getting flashes of light glinting through the darkness. I'm not even sure if it's literal or allegorical. To me it seems to be a collision of past and present? Maybe it's telling us even being a member of the ruling classes won't stop you feeling the oncoming heat? 

  I'm just sure it's worthy of sharing with you. This is Petrolhead... 

An ordinary start: a guard on the gate calls
Says people are coming to talk to him
He hides the gold plate in a drawer, discreetly
Rehearsing another angle
90 degrees from reality
Not touching the basic fact
Spinning up a fantasy
From bogus research done to distract

They made him stop - he backs away for days

Now a smell of petrol in the hall
Unstop a plastic can from Exxon out of Mobil
What Texaco has done cannot be undone
All of the south is burning
Charred hands coming to spread the love
Set flame to the lords above
Hammer home what the world’s become
Tear down the winners so nobody won

Nobody won

Overturn the sideboard
Smash the trophy cabinet into matchwood
Rip the files into pieces
And spread the paper over the carpet
Make a pile of the wood and cloth
The expensive suits and handmade guitars
Tear the paintings off the wall they’re also oil oil oil

And one final cigarette
The rattle of a matchbox
They’re walking backwards out the door
Pouring petrol on the floor