Raunchy, seductive, and hinting at political persuasion, Steve Earle sings a yearning love song to Condi, a certain Condoleeza, insisting “People say you're cold, but I think you're hot”, and while Laura Flanders, author of BUSHWOMEN: tales of a cynical species, might take issue with the object of his affection, based on her role in the current administration and its assault on civil and women’s rights, nobody can argue with the tune . It’s spicy, foot tapping, danceable and ironic – as it should be. Imagine a slice of dirty, Texan Dub, and you'll have put your finger on it. Hopefully it'll be the soundtrack to numerous peaceful protest marches, as America struglles to find its way in this election year. More dancing and less diatribes is certainly what's needed. Earle has been consistently on form of late, and his new album The Revolution starts here is no exception. The finest example of why it’s o.k. some times to mix music and politics.

 

Dark, sinister and utterly compelling. Who knows what it’s about lyrically, but when John Bramwell goes over the top at the chorus singing 'Cuckoo' it’s attention grabbing. It makes me want to round up the first 100 Marilyn Manson fans I can find and force them to listen to some really ‘dark’ music. I am Kloot are a trio from Manchester, but don’t hold that against them – they’re as unique and left of centre as the name. Cuckoo, taken from their second album I am Kloot, is sung in a Mancunian accent that oozes uncertainty, melancholy and a bit of madness thrown in.

 

A cover of Split Enz’s 80s pop tune. Split Enz, and subsequently Crowded House always had an edge to their pop tunes, covered up by the production and sugar sweetness of it. Here, live in Verona, Pearl Jam run through a rip roaring version of it, ragged at the edges and all the better for it. The song itself is one of those that you’ll instantly recognise when it hits the chorus – it’s one of those classics that you hear all the time and wonder “Who wrote that?”. The cover version is yet another example of why Pearl Jam can record and release their concerts from multiple cities, with fans clamouring to get each disc. They are without doubt one of the finest live bands around, and when Vedder sings “I don’t know why sometimes I get frightened”, he sounds like he wrote the song. Can their be a finer compliment for a cover version?

 

It seems to be a week for politically related songs and covers on the Monkeys Jukebox, and so we move on fittingly to Fiorella Mannoia and this achingly beautiful song, written by Brazilian Chico Byarque De Hollanda and Italian Ivano Fossati. First things first, let’s make sure we’re on the same wavelength – we’re not talking about Doris Day songs here, and more to the point we’re not talking about the studio version recorded by Mannoia. The only way to listen to this is the live version, with Pino Daniele on guitar. It’s sparse and stripped down, and even with no knowledge of Italian you can sense that this song is ‘Political’. Mannoia’s voice is an instrument itself. Singing about drunken prophets, justice, and decency, Mannoia performed this last year at a benefit/protest concert for comic Sabina Guzzanti, banned from Italian state T.V for being funny and political, and received a justified standing ovation.

 

 

Imagine the scene if you will – a Three Monkeys Online writer rings the lead singer of an up and coming English Rock band, for a pre-arranged interview. The singer answers the phone and procedes apropos nothing to scream, in a voice reminiscent of Linda Blair in the Exorcist, “You watch too much T.V, you sick communist git!”. The irony being that the writer in question is quite proud to be a wishy washy liberal git. What has this got to do with anything? Very little, suffice to say that complex political concepts are very rarely understood, let alone communicated on, by members of the long-hair, loud guitar brigade – and I don’t think that the International Noise Conspiracy really aspire to proselytising, at least you’d hope not. I doubt Marx would be hugely impressed by “Let’s all share our dreams under a Communist Moon” as a chorus. Martha and the Vandellas on the other hand might see their influence, by way of the clash. A foot stomper.

 

Mp3 downloading is killing Record Companies – this song has to be one of the best proofs that this in itself is a wonderful thing. Before the music moghuls grabbed her, blonded her up and blanded her out, Shakira was a puppy fat, dark haired, Colombian teenager blessed with a voice that American Divas would die for. This song, off her second album Dónde Están Los Ladrones, was first played to me by a hippy in the Colombian town of Cartagena, and it followed me around as I travelled through South America. From Bogota to Buenos Aires they recognised something beautiful and rare in her voice, and then it was ‘internationalised’ and stripped of all its charm. Sure it’s the sound of a teenage songwriter, but an extraordinarily gifted one, and the best argument for singing in your own language that there is.

 

Their third album Final Straw has justifiably been nominated for the Mercury Music Awards as Album of the year, and this tune has a bit of everything that’s good about Snow Patrol. Pounding rhythm, delicate, beautiful vocals, catchy choruses and an air of complexity that is all too rare in a chart topping band. People who’ve come to the album by way of lead singer Gary Lightbody’s side project The Reindeer Section, which grouped together virtually all of Scotland’s indie talent on one record, won’t be dissapointed. If the Celts are the Mediterraneans of Northern Europe (bare with me on this one!), then it explains this Irish/Scottish band perfectly as they embody a delicate balance between Northern European Melancholy, and an unhinged Joy. Intelligent, passionate and catchy all together – you’ve died and gone to heaven, say the Monkeys.