MOPP by Robert Clark

Robert Clark
Current Round: 1  

My Own Private Public. MOPP. written at the tail end of my career with Cranial Sabotage, with RJ, it's a autobiographical telling of my thoughts about how certain things were transpiring in my life at the time ... with RJ's influential acoustic guitar leading me down the road to the telling of it - as ambiguous as it was.

Featured Review

What happened was that after a couple of bongs they put on that Zep album and fell asleep to The Rain Song and the next afternoon had a little jam out back and – miraculously - came up with this one.
A little bit free form but less exploratory than they’d have you know, it sounds like the seppo version of an English Prog Rock band who are trying to sound oh-so Stateside.
Having got over that I have to admit to its charm and gentle expressiveness, achieved by an undeniable synthesis between guitarist and singer (for surely they are two). That singer does some lovely long notes all finished off nicely and none of yer sloppy RnR crudeness.
Just a little bit camp and trousers-too-tight but expertly processed and after all this Punk Rock it’s quite a breath of fresh cheap aftershave.
It makes me want to be serenaded on a summer evening somewhere non-English. And just a little bit gooey.
After a couple of listens though I’m growing curious about what this elusive ‘it’ is. Will it ever be revealed? Will we ever get to the punch line?
There’s some sweet little improv warbling, I’m holding my breath…but no, he just hasn’t thought it through. See, this is what makes me think of ‘that’ song, I actually think he doesn’t know himself, he’s still trying to come up with an ending. Perhaps – ah, yes – perhaps it will be revealed in the title.
Anyway, it were lovely really. Boy and hairy motherplucker in perfect harmony; the schoolgirls will gaze up adoringly and take imprints shaping their sexuality for the rest of their lives.



My Own Private Public

It's the morning of the death
it's the mourning for the less
it's the hunger of the weak
it's a whisper to the meek, speak.

it's the foolish laughter of the pain
it's the fading rainbow in the rain
it's a lowly lover lonely low
it's a shadow far from home.

it's the fountain filled for fools
it's inherently correct and cruel
it's a telling time we test
it's the mourning of my death.

my own private public

(c) 1995 Silly Voo Doo, Cranial Sabotage Subcellar Productions
Words and Music by RJ Grady and CJ Denecia