The Sunday Song Poem has been absent for a little while, but I’m back.
“14 Later, he appeared to them as they were eating; he rebuked them for their lack of faith and their stubborn refusal to believe those who had seen him after he had risen.
15 He said to them, “Go into all the world and preach the Song Poems to all creation. 16 Whoever believes will be saved, but whoever does not believe will be condemned.”
There’s that well worn aphorism that says The Devil has the best tunes. Stevie Wonder, Daniel Johnston, Aretha Franklin, James Brown, Johnny Cash and erm, Dave Mustaine, among others, beg to differ. But if you were to interrogate your friendly neighbourhood Satanist with a few well-intentioned tickles to the ribs, they’d admit they’re just unencumbered by supernatural notions of rewarded-morality and the accompanying subjugation to a mythological father figure, believing themselves to be the ‘be-all-and-end-all’ of their subjective stint in this existence, Alpha and Omega if you will.
We here at Joup have no beef with Jesus, and in no way want to besmirch his re-birthday. I myself would love to share a bottle of wine with the Big Guy, in part, admittedly, due to his talent for stretching out that last glass, but also because I think the bloke had a pretty amazing back catalogue before everyone else got into it, started doing remixes of his shit and profiteering from tacky merchandise.
I suppose I’m a bit of a Hipster Christian.
Having said that, during the end of days when my background check comes up clean for good deeds and ‘doing unto others’, and I provisionally scrape through on a technicality because my Grandma baptised baby-me in the bath while my parents were out for the night (never forgave her for that), as soon as St Peter starts flicking through my record collection I’m probably getting strong-armed out of there; the odd purely curiosity-driven interest in Varg ‘Laugh-a-minute’ Vikernes here, and an ‘Antichrist Superstar’ there, and I’m sliding down the lava waterslide to Hades with Jeffrey Dahmer (“No honestly, after you Jeff, I insist”).
Ironically, if you condensed every Metalhead’s efforts at creating the most unnerving dirge the Universe has ever heard, they probably couldn’t outdo the efforts of the unknown musicians who conjured-up today’s Song Poem. While we know its lyrics were penned by a Sgt Kenneth E. Green, this composition, discombobulating warped-vinyl or not, likely out-ugly’s anything he ever witnessed on the battlefield.
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Chester Whelks is a peripheral figure on the fringes of existence. Predominantly bothering the local music scene of his native Manchester, England, he has a very finely attuned Justice-button, and knows how to call a spade a ‘Multi-Purpose Murder/Concealment Device’.