Spitting Knives

Non c'è niente da fà
In a città piccola così

Sto provando di pensare
A qualcosa che mi sveglia

Non c'è niente da fà
I venti non smettano mai
Appena che mi fa spacca
Sta bottiglia di rhum sulla testa tua
Nel parcheggio

Sto provando di pensare
A qualcuno che mi sveglia.

Non C'è Niente Da Fà

Bad ideas happen every day, right? This is probably the worst one. We all met when I was on tour at the Zvuldoom house and ended up living there for two weeks. We'd get stoned and talk about how cool it'd be to play the acoustic songs like a full electric band. Eventually we did a couple of practices and played a show with BO LA BAR, UZBEKS and FRIDAY NIGHT SISSY FIGHTS... then after a few days, I fucked off to Rome and Guy and Amit kept smoking bongs and working shitty jobs in Tel-Aviv. Eventually I came back to Israel on tour and we decided to do most of the tour as a full band. After a grand total of 4 practices (2 and then a pause of 6 months and then another 2) we decided to embark on the WORST IDEA EVER! But, it turned out to be the best idea ever. We played 4 shows all over Israel and indeed did raise much ass. We averaged one bottle of Arak and one bottle of Vodka per show... about 10 bong rips each before the sun went down each day and still managed to make it through in one piece... and several unexplainable bruises and open wounds... whatever, dawg. After our tour ended our friend Yuval took us to a fancy ass studio when we were drunk and stoned and this happened. If you wanna put out a tape of it, that'd be pretty cool. You should e-mail: davidvanhale [at] gmail [dot] com or avner_12345 [at]walla [dot] com.

This time around SIGFRIED AND ROID-RAGE is:

DAVID - Guitar
GUY - Drums
Amit - Bass/ Bongage

We all sing, especially when we're drunk and wide awake at 4 AM listening to THE BANANAS! 

Piazza Venezia (Part 2)

Cinco De Mayo

A moment of silence
The power and the dream
An actualization of autonomy
The smile on her face
The hope in his eyes
We crammed our bodies into bars
And watched our baby die

But we should be so lucky
To beg at the knees
Of murderers and engineers
And green washing
Of cycles of resistance
Packaged and sold to me
It's attitude, it's lifestyle
(That rent will accompany)

*-*
There once was a time when I would have told you how excited I would have been if they changed Alabama's backwards laws on Alcohol. That was before the craft brew explosion. In true Alabama fashion, they caught up to the coasts about 10 years after the craze had already moved to artisenal spirits. Instead, Craft Beer in Alabama is being used as a way to transfer money from our main export (Missile Systems, Attack Helicopters and Drones) and put it into something that can create direct violence and profit in the city. Engineers who once spent all day trying to kill people better, put their money into high gravity beer, while the police got a grant to stop intoxicated driving at all costs. 

The result has been a police state that's trying to emulate Chattanooga's model of gentrification on a rapid scale. Through the guise of shopping local and other feel-good Coastal liberal sentiments, the rich white people of Huntsville can think that they're helping the economy and supporting new jobs. In reality, money is just shifting from a few of the suburbs back into the inner city and the economy looks no different for the people at the bottom begging for their scraps.

As punks, we have lost our way in this fight, and I think we're on the wrong side of it. When your festival is "sponsored" by a "DIY" organization  along with various other capitalist entities; that is not DIY, that is corporate sponsorship (even if they are a local business). 

DIY Punk exists outside of the speculative market. Our tapes and records are cheap because we cover the cost of making them, but the art is for everyone. I will not have my credibility used against me, or used to evict 2,000+ people from Butler Terrace just so some fucking kids who can't cut it in Atlanta can finally feel safe to go to a neighborhood that they have ignored their whole lives and that their parent's generation red-lined because blacks just aren't a stable investment.

Campus 805 (Everything's a Product)

Son, there's some things
That I can't change
Like that there's banks
and EARTH CRISIS
Unfortunately
Happened at
The right time right place
Oh yeah there's AIDS
The Neutron Bomb
Al-Shabab
SUVs
and Al Gore
The Armenian Genocide
The Peloponnesian War
So, if I'm gonna impart
On you some advice
Take their money and run
Roll Tide!

[The world's an evil fucked up place. Macho militant vegan straightedge hardcore is just a side effect of patriarchy, puritan morality and misplaced revolutionary zeal, much like Al-Shabab]

ROLL FUCKING TIDE

Everything is vomiting inside me
In the shadow of an election
There's a man on the TV screen
Who says he's looking out for my protection
But I know that's just a media blitz
Power can drive you wild
As the wind blows 
Through the streets
I'll stay here for a while
Where we used to find strength
We only find hate and denial
I'll die here in this bong
I know that I'm not the only one
When I look around
I need hope
What can I see?
Bitterness of humanity
Complacency
What did you buy?
When will we die?
I call out your name
The sun comes up
Nothing's changed
The street lights 
Sing me to sleep
On this bench I'll cry

[The spectacle of the election looms over all of us. The illusion of change can be wrapped up and sold to you as well as the newest Apple sweatshop labor debacle. When we quit buying it, they don't quit trying to sell it to us. It's good to have strong people around you to lean on. Sometimes it's also good to walk around by yourself on New Year's Eve, cursing everyone and everything.]

Why Should We Try Anymore? (Part Two)

Wasting my time being wasted about you
Try to console myself
Think of what to do
Write a pop punk song
Watch as you don't sing along 

It's in my best interest 
To be a man
Write about how everything's gone wrong
It's all your fault 

And i'm alone
But you know
That i'd be wrong
I'm an asshole too
No matter what I say or do

Because I'm the man with the microphone
Because I'm the man who's walking home alone
Because I'm the man calling the shots, everyday

I can stay awake and ponder my life
Where everything went wrong
Or what I could say
What can I say?
Everyone wants to hear about it
All I can do is whine about you
Another sad white boy
Oh woe is me

[I listen to tons of songs written by dudes who only know how to express their feelings through music. They don't deal with their emotional problems by talking with actual people. Instead, their creative frustrations are either sung at or yelled at some girl that may or may not really be there and has no chance to respond to the things that are said in the song. /

So what? The world is filled of sad white dudes just like me? Why should I care anymore? I'm not telling you to do anything, but at least be self-aware, ya dick.

Patriarchy is omnipresent. 

It's a violent everyday occurrence that effects every interaction we have with each other and almost every aspect of our society.... and in the words of THE MARKED MEN, "we don't talk about it". I can make fun of D4 all day, but that's not gonna stop the Dude Party that's surrounding me or that I'm sometimes directly a part of. 2 of those pop-punk puns most of you got, the third one is for all floor punks in Chattanooga, TN. Fuck the CPD! Black Bloc at River Bend!]

Baby Baby Baby Baby Baby Baby Baby, I'm a Victim of Patriarchy, Too (Now Will You Sleep With Me?)

Buddy can you hear my crying?
Sounds like sirens and police
Sit here in suspended animation
Waiting around for a release
And I'd like to 
Be the one who's
Not wasting yer time
Staring at a blank wall
Buddy can you hear them whining?
On the banks of Lake Neuchâtel
We exercise our inner demons
Living in our own personal hells
And I'd like to
Be the one who's
Screaming at the top of my lungs
On Salame Street at the sun
It's so easy
For them to assume that they know you
It's so easy 
For them to try to control you
But I'll stay right here
I'll hold my ground
Find some strength
In this shitty 
Town

[Winter sucks. I'm sitting around and complaining to you alot. Maybe I should just shut up and think about how lucky I am to live with awesome people, have everything I really need in my life and be glad that I can go to Salame Street by choice.]

Salame Street

Wasting my time being wasted about you
Try to console myself
Think of what to do
Write a pop punk song
Watch as you don't sing along

It's in my best interest 
To be a man
Write about how everything's gone wrong
It's all your fault

And i'm alone
But you know
That i'd be wrong
I'm an asshole too
No matter what I say or do

Because I'm the man with the microphone
Because I'm the man who's walking home alone
Because I'm the man calling the shots, everyday

I can stay awake and ponder my life
Where everything went wrong
Or what I could say
What can I say?
Everyone wants to hear about it
All I can do is whine about you
Another sad white boy
Oh woe is me

[Another selfish, self-aware love song. Smash patriarchy by smashing yourself.]

Baby Baby Baby Baby Baby Baby Baby I'm a Victim of Patriarchy, Too (Now, Will You Sleep With Me?)

Every night, I take the same bus home
Stare at the stupid statue
And I see someone I know
Sometimes that I think
I'd rather be alone
But there's still that stupid bus
And always someone I know

What are you waiting for?
Some fucking sign?
I thought this town was ours?
I don't wanna take that bus tonight!

We try and talk
But we have nothing to say
You're here for a few months 
And you know that I'm I stay
I wish there was something
That we could relate to
Because I'm stuck here on this bus
And I have to see you

What are you waiting for?
Someone to take you home?
So you can puke on your stairs?
Well is that really a home?

Because I know you know
That you don't have to
When you go to the same bar every night
They speak your language
You loose your mind
That's ok,
I'm going crazy to

At least we'll have each other to bitch to!

On this bus we say nothing at all.

[If you're going home late at night in Rome, Italy. You will come to Piazza Venezia. You will have to stare at the giant fascist monument to commemorate all of Italy's dead soldiers (who comitted war crimes at home, in Eritea, Libya, Somalia, Albania, all while fighting for ol' Benito). Most people around the monument will tell you how beautiful it is, what they won't tell you is that one empire destroyed a former empire's glory so you could sit and wait for the bus. It's a shame Musolini create the Via Imperiale , covering up all those Roman ruins, but they were also built on the backs of exploited people. When will we learn? Never as long as everyone keeps taking pictures of their stupid monuments instead of building their own.] 

Piazza Venezia (Part Two)

I  wandered so aimless life filed with sin
I wouldn't let my dear saviour  in
Then jesus came like a stranger in the night
Praise the lord  I saw the light.

I saw the light I saw the light
No more darkness no more  night
Now I'm so happy no sorrow in sight
Praise the lord I saw the light.

Just like a blind man I wandered along
Worries and fears I claimed for my own
Then like the blind man that God gave back his sight
Praise the lord I saw the light.

I was a fool to wander and astray
Straight is the gate and narrow the way
Now I have traded the wrong for the right
Praise the lord I saw the light.

[Now that I read about Noam Chomsky, I can punch you in the face! Praise the lord!]

I Saw The Light

Sing a song of empathy
Yell at more racists on the street
My false sense of certainty
Feeds into my self-esteem

1 arak
2 arak
3 arak
4
Scream your name
Then I'm out the door

Ha ha ha, you can't understand me
Cos I'm so goddamn interesting
Curse yer name
Fuck this place
Generalize the human race

Give me a flag
Forget my name
Take me back home
I'll never be the same

[I like yelling at racist people on the street, but it's only for my own enjoyment. I don't think we're gonna get anywhere like this. I like drinking arak, too, but that's also only for my own enjoyment and usually to the dismay of those around me. Sorry for being a drunk. I love you all]

On Anise and the Guilt-Industrial Complex


SIGFRIED AND ROID-RAGE is my acoustic punk project that's not always acoustic. I write these songs, get drunk and sing them for you in yer local squat/DIY punk cultural center/basement and then we go back to the punk house listen to EDDIE MURPHY's epic 1985 classic "My Girl Wants to Party All The Time" while someone is puking in the bathroom, then someone will school us on late 70's Finnish punk and I do the dishes. Sometimes my friends are with me and play along really fast. Sometimes we get too drunk to play. Sometimes it's in English, sometimes it's in Italian, sometimes everyone else in the band speaks the same language as the crowd and I have no clue what they're saying. Sometimes you just have to fight the kid with the BURZUM shirt on. Sometimes you just have to get some high fives. Right now in Ulsan, Korea some old guy is burying cabbage in the ground to get at the end of the winter, and somewhere in Treviso, Italy a bunch of crazy punks are putting on make-up to play spacey Krautrock. Let's keep this weird!

SIGFRIED AND ROID-RAGE

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