In no particular order, this is a playlist of some of the songs I've written through the years that tell a story, about a person or an event.

Story Songs

52 Stories

The first 14 songs are related to the struggle against fascism, mainly in Europe, in the 1930's and 1940's.  The rest are songs very directly related to the struggle against fascists and fascism since then, as it pertains to the phenomenon popularly referred to as Antifa.  Not included are the hundreds of related songs I've written about what we might call American fascism -- songs about American apartheid, genocide, our culture of police violence, racism, mass incarceration, etc., are to be found in different playlists, with the exception here of "State House Lawn," because the killer is a bona fide fascist.  I'm not really sure where these lines are, as is often the case with picking playlists, but hopefully this one makes sense, and is of potential interest in particular to those interested in history, the study of fascism, and especially for anyone who has been following the ongoing dialog between me and my critics, who say I'm sympathetic with fascism.

Antifascist

Despite Andy Ngo's politically conservative worldview and tendency towards exaggeration, his book, Unmasked, made for fascinating reading.  Especially since he and I and other people I keep on meeting have been targeted for cancellation and more by the same group of "antifascist" morons, for different reasons.  Me because I'm a Nazi, of course!  (Didn't you know?)  

Here's a playlist of songs I've written that are on subjects written about in Ngo's book, from a very different vantage point.  If you contrast the perspective of these songs from the way the people of whom I'm singing the praises are considered by Ngo to be criminals or terrorists, it's that much more intriguing, or disconcerting, or something, that we're both being constantly trolled and harassed by the same group of people, or groups with lots of crossover.

Songs related to Unmasked

Lorna McKinnon and Kamala Emanuel -- both radicals and musicians from Scotland and Australia respectively -- joined me in Denmark and spent several days working out three-part harmonies while I was across the street setting up Cafe Hellebaek mostly, and feeding them espresso drinks.  During the last day of Lorna's time in Denmark, I managed to spend most of an afternoon with them in the gazebo, playing music.  These songs were recorded with my Pixel phone.  The recording is very primitive, the reverb is very excessive (and totally natural), but I thought I'd put these up anyway.  The image is one of the gazebo across from the cafe, doctored up by graphic artist and web designer Kalindi Jackson, who was also visiting Denmark at the time, mostly working on the cafe's web presence.

Gazebo Sessions

What if Trayvon had stood his ground?

This is a song from the album, Spies Are Reading My Blog, which you can download or stream in its entirety at:  www.davidrovics.bandcamp.com

Trayvon

This is the studio version of the song I wrote after the racist police execution of Michael Brown in Ferguson, Missouri on August 9th, 2014.

Lyrics:

His Hands Were In The Air

The town is mostly black, almost all the cops are white
You can see it right away, something isn't right
There's no funding for the schools and they're being shut down
The powers that be don't give a shit about the town

They were walking in the street, it's the safest place to be
In case someone comes shooting, you got a better view to see
They were walking in the street, they weren't hurting anyone
Then came a white man with a badge and a gun

His hands were in the air (4x)

“Get the fuck on the sidewalk,” that's what the cop said
He cut them off in his car, fat face, blood red
The cop says he was attacked, and from a cursory check
It seems his fingers were assaulted by Michael Brown's neck

His hands were in the air (4x)

There were witnesses who saw it, it was recorded on a phone
But the police couldn't handle the light that would've shone
She was forced to hand it over so they could try to hide away
A racist execution in the middle of the day

His hands were in the air (4x)

He had just finished high school and was off to college next
Instead he was shot and killed with no pretext
The media joined in, called the community a mob
A cop called them animals while Michael's mother sobbed

His hands were in the air (4x)

His Hands Were In The Air

When I was very young, in New York City, I had a babysitter/nanny named Lola Aglialoro who lived on 172 West 107th Street.  I still remember her address, because I used to write her so many letters.  I visited her every so often as an adult, too, until her death in 2002.  I found out more about her then.  And today I wrote a song.

From the album, 1939:
https://davidrovics.bandcamp.com/album/1939

Lyrics:

Lola Aglialoro

When Lola was born the First World War
Had only just ended 3 years before
In '77 she took a flight
She told a reporter who asked her that it was alright
2002 is the year that she died
She lived in Manhattan on the Upper West Side
If you look on the web that's almost all that will show
There once was a Lola Aglialoro

She always said she was from England
But after she died I learned she came from the mainland
The last Kindertransport was the one she was on
And she spent her youth then being bombed in London
She met a soldier, followed him back 
How many kids she raised, who could keep track
Only 2 of her own, but so many others would follow
My nanny Lola Aglialoro

She always said she never had
A problem with the gangsters they said were so bad
She would laugh loudly, as she often did
Saying I knew all the gangsters when they were wee kids
She said not one child should be forsaken
Maybe because her own childhood had been taken
A woman of joy, a woman of sorrow
A lady named Lola Aglialoro

As I grew up I still kept in touch
With this woman who had affected so many so much
My lady of laughter, my mother of mirth
Who seemed to know so deeply what laughter was worth
There's no Stumbling Stone to recall when she came
And she long ago changed both her first and last name
But now there's a song so someone out there might know
There was once a Lola Aglialoro

Lola Aglialoro

This should be a campaign song for at least 27 US governors, among other xenophobic idiots, who, well before Trump's election, said they wouldn't accept any Syrian refugees in their states.

This version of the song is from Live In Rostrevor (2016) with Lorna McKinnon on harmony vocals.

Lyrics:

It's 1939 and the boats are coming
But we can't have them here, that much at least is clear
Our economy is poor, we can't just open up the door
We've got problems of our own, they should just leave us alone
And they're a tribalistic race, they keep a separate space
They don't really integrate, they'll be a burden on the state
Watch before it is too late

It's 1939 and the boats are coming
But if we let them land and acquiesce to their demands
We'll soon be overrun, our Christian country will be done
They should just take the tram closer by to Amsterdam
Keep their problems in the region, this invading legion
Enemies within our ranks with names like Rosenberg and Frank
Watch that water that you drank

It's 1939 and the boats are coming
But they must stay away, in the newspapers they say
They don't believe in Christ the lord and they're jumping overboard
Crossing borders in a swarm, they'll never be reformed
It's a Trojan Horse attack and we've got to send them back
There may be Nazis in the hall, answering Hitler's call
These Jews are Germans after all

It's 1939 and the boats are coming

Send Them Back

For Omid, who died in an Australian concentration camp in Nauru.  Omid's wife is still in indefinite detention for the crime of being a refugee who had to flee her country quickly, without waiting for papers.  She wishes to remain anonymous, so I changed both of their names, since their story bears a lot of similarity to the ancient Persian poem anyway.

From my 2017 album, Ballad of a Wobbly.

Lyrics:

When Leila met Majnun it was at a traffic light
He handed her his number at first sight
It all happened very quickly, soon both of them were aware
That life can be so good when it's shared

When Leila met Majnun it was convenient, it would seem
That both of them were living in the city of their dreams
They had no plan to leave and lots of plans to stay
But one day that all changed and they had to go away

So Leila and Majnun together left the country 
They got on a crowded boat, sailed the Pacific Sea
They were headed to Australia, a place they thought they knew
Then the Australian Navy took them to Nauru

Where Leila and Majnun were kept there in detention
On a tiny little island run just like a prison
Where they were told by Immigration, dream all that you can 
But your only pathway off this island is on a boat back to Iran

Leila and Majnun, amid the heat and damp
Tried to make the best of life in a prison camp
But the strongest of foundations eventually will shake
And the strongest of hearts eventually will break

Leila and Majnun were on the island when 
One day there came some visitors from the UN
The next thing Leila knew, she was witness to the scene
Of her beloved doused in gasoline

Leila saw Majnun in a state no one should be in
Bright flames rising, burning off his skin
Sometimes you can reach a point – so beaten down, so tired
The only option that seems left is to set yourself on fire

Leila and Majnun

For Mawda Shawri, a two-year-old Kurdish girl who was killed for being in a van full of refugees with a driver who wouldn't stop the van when the police wanted him to.  The obvious message here from the Belgian cops, in case you missed it, is that the lives of refugees don't matter at all.

The song appears on my vinyl album, Historic Times -- www.davidrovics.com/historic.

Lyrics:

Mawda Was Her Name

Their country was invaded and destroyed
Then they had a baby boy
They sold everything they owned
So they might escape the war zone
They took the Baltic Route, north and west
It was the one the smugglers said was best
They got as far as Germany
Which is where they had another baby

It's a deadly thing, what some call immigration
England was their final destination
In a crowded van, driving to the port 
On past Flanders' fields, yet another life cut short
Cops on every side, the vehicle surrounded
When the loud crack sounded
Mama held her daughter, tight in place
Then she saw the bullet hit her face

And Mawda was her name

There are many ways to stop a van
Many ways to do it – they can
Make a roadblock, for one
If you're under fire, you can use your gun
But all the bullets flew in one direction
At first they denied it, but at closer inspection
The cop was aiming for the driver's head
But he missed and hit the girl instead

And Mawda was her name

And if the driver had been hit, how many more
Numbers would be added to the score
Of those who only wanted to raise a family
But then died on the shores of Turkey
Or somewhere in the desert, or tortured in a prison
Or on the bottom of the ocean
At a Baghdad checkpoint, or at a traffic stop
Or shot down by a Belgian cop 

And Mawda was her name

Mawda Was Her Name

For blood and soil.  From the album, Historic Times (2018).

Lyrics:

1933

History doesn't repeat, they say, but it often appears it does
Enough so that it seems like we should know just how it was
When in another time and place the party in the driver's seat
The Social Democrats ruled on behalf of the elite
And the next person who arose to lead the state
Said he'd stand up for his people and make his country great

He said everyone's exploiting us, and the reason why
Is we've been ruled by weaklings, and now it's time we must reply
Military spending and industry grew
And the razor wire tent camps did, too
He said we'll take the country back, and standing on the brink
He said it's anarchy or me, we can rise or we can sink

For Blood and Soil

From Budapest to London, from Chicago to Milan
There was the specter of all those so inspired by the man
He signed treaties that were broken before the ink was dry
He left the League of Nations and Prime Ministers would try
Appeasement, but whatever they would do
The fuhrer would just tighten the screws

Most of the news seemed real – at least after a while
The same propaganda, wherever on the dial
Germany was the victim – it would be victim no more
That's what he was saying years before the war
Years before the blitzkrieg, before extermination
Became the fate of so many then living in the nation

For Blood and Soil

He talked of enemies within and enemies outside
Who together had conspired and stolen and lied
He said they took us for a ride with treaties signed by those
Serving foreign interests, as every Aryan knows
But follow me, he said, you won't recognize the place
We'll be great again – we're the Master Race

People look back and wonder what could have been done
Many years before the war was won
When social institutions fell one after the next
And then faster than almost anyone expected
Few people could have even imagined the cost
Once it was too late, and the chance for peace was lost

For Blood and Soil

1933

Virtually the entire western media is spouting the most outrageous propaganda, as it often does when it's most needed to tell the truth instead.  It's not that everything's fine in Venezuela -- it's most definitely not.  But that is mainly due to foreign and domestic sabotage of the Venezuelan economy.

From the 2019 album, Strangers and Friends.

Lyrics:

In Venezuela

Chavez was elected 
Like every time he ran 
When his Socialists took power 
That's when the changes began
The opposition started 
Attacking every forward move
But reforms went ahead 
The people's welfare improved
A land of such riches 
That had always gone to so few
Was reaching places 
Ignored since 1492
In Venezuela

Millions poured into the streets 
To stop the coup back then
They got the man that they elected 
Back into power again
The Bolivarian Revolution 
Became famous worldwide
Soon other socialist governments 
Swept in in a red Latin tide
Between the Cuban doctors 
And the Venezuelan oil
Millions got medical care 
Millions tilled the soil
In Venezuela

Bush began the sanctions 
Obama imposed more
A slow-burning, destabilizing 
Economic war
Following the formula 
Of the Chicago Boys team
Used in many places 
To make economies scream
Oil prices plummeted 
Foreign holdings locked
Invasions being planned 
Negotiations blocked
In Venezuela

From the Haitian Revolution 
To Venezuela today
From the Seminoles 
To Salvador Allende
Look at their ankles 
You'll see the chains
Imperial vampires 
Open veins
Those who stand up 
To the business elite
Who cannot stand to see 
The workers in the driver's seat
In Venezuela

In Venezuela

Behind the Barricades

Just A Renter

Autobiographical.  From the 2019 album, Strangers and Friends.

My Great Grandparents

Santiago

If I Had A Hammer

For Heather Heyer.  From my 2017 album, Ballad of a Wobbly.

Today In Charlottesville

Ever heard about the act of war that predicated the Japanese Empire's bombing raid on the Pearl Harbor Navy base in 1941? A US naval blockade on Japanese oil imports from Indonesia that had been going on for months, threatening to strangle the Japanese economy.

From my 2019 album, Strangers and Friends.

Oil Blockade

Free Julian Assange.  This version is from my 2021 album, Rebel Songs.

Behind These Prison Walls

With Trump threatening to bomb 52 cultural sites for each of the 52 hostages at the US embassy taken by student activists in 1979, I offer a brief musical commentary on the subject.

From the 2020 album, Notes From A Failed State.

When the Students Took the Embassy

Song for the Biotic Baking Brigade

One of the lesser-known details about the aftermath of the Spanish Civil War is how badly the Republican refugees were treated in France, after they fled over the border, running for their lives.  The Vichy authorities, after the Nazi occupation, were worse.  But for 2,200 of the refugees in France, the fate of their comrades would be avoided, as Pablo Neruda and the government of Chile at the time had arranged for a cargo ship, the SS Winnipeg.

Recorded live as part of the Viral Solidarity Concert project at Big Red Studio on April 2nd, 2020.

Across The Ocean Wide (When The Winnipeg Set Sail)

Assata Shakur has long been a heroine of mine, along with the organizations she has long been associated with, the Black Panther Party for Self-Defense and the Black Liberation Army. When the FBI teamed up with New Jersey authorities to announce that she had been declared the #1 Most Wanted Terrorist on their list, and the first-ever woman to occupy that esteemed position, I was appalled, as were many others. It is well-documented that despite her one conviction by a kangaroo court, Assata is innocent of all charges and allegations made against her over the years, including the killing of the cop. The terrorists who should have a lot to answer for, in a remotely just society, are the FBI and other federal and local authorities who considered members of the Black Panther Party and other organizations guilty until proven innocent.

This is a track from my 15-song album, Into A Prism, which can be downloaded in full here:
http://davidrovics.bandcamp.com/album/into-a-prism

Assata

2011 album recorded at Big Red Studio featuring Billy Oskay, Nick Angelo and others.

13. The Last Lincoln Veteran

Singer/songwriter, writer, podcaster (on Spotify, Substack & Patreon), libertarian socialist, dad, lover of life.