Monday, 21 June 2021

Monday long song: Confessions of a Pop Group

The title track from The Style Council's unfairly-maligned swan song album, Confessions of a Pop Group is, in many ways, an update on the previosuly featured Money-Go-Round (and not just the bassline similarities). Paul and Mick were not happy with Thatch, nor her '87 general election victory, nor the general direction of the country ... and they weren't afraid to say so.

The album from whence this comes wasn't for most people, with an A-side leaning towards jazz and classical influences. I remember being a tad disappointed myself, wanting to embrace the new direction but finding it hard. The B-side was better, I thought at the time, but still not the Weller I wanted, and I wasn't alone in my thinking: it charted at #15 but only stayed on the chart for three weeks. The band recorded another album after this, but Polydor wouldn't release it, and that was effectively that for the Councillors. With more mature ears though, I can truthfully say that there's a lot to appreciate on Confessions, both sides of it.

Anyway ... here are the lyrics for today's song. Sad, isn't it, that so many of them still seem so relevant.

Cheap and tacky bullshit land,
Told when to sit don't know where you stand,
Too busy recreating the past to live in the future.

Poor relations to Uncle Sam,
Bears no relation to the country man,
Too busy being someone else to be who you really are.

Shitty plastic prefab town,
Mind where you walk when the sun goes down,
Too busy hating others to even love your own.

Bobbies on the beat again,
Beating blacks for blues again,
It's one way to get involved in the community.

Love me, love my jeans,
I must buy shares in Heinz baked beans,
Too busy buying up, selling out, selling off.

3,2,1, in others terms,
Win a life sentence and a queen mum perm,
The individuals that state, in a state of seige.

Do pop and press and mix, do tits and news stew,
The next one in the poor house could be you,
Too busy saying "thank you" to say what for?

No time to spare - "spare me a dime",
The Great Depression is organised crime,
Their confessions are written in your blood.

Kiss your ass an' dreams goodbye,
Come back when you've learnt to cry,
Too busy tryin' t'be strong to see how weak you are.

Wave your flags and waive your fate,
The freedom you claim is the one you hate,
The victory you seek will never come.

Brutal views through brutal eyes,
See no future, hear no lies,
Speak no truth to me or the people I love.

When I grow up I want to be,
All the things you've never been,
And your opinion will count for none.

Headed for the breakdown (repeat)

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