'Punch the clock, shorty...'
278. Bottle Rockets "Gotta Get Up"
No matter what system or ideology one lives under or espouses, there's still one tyranny that awaits most of the citizenry, indeed it occupies most of their waking lives. I'm talking about occupational tyranny, the 9-to-5, the J-O-B.
Brian Henneman sings this song like a man awoken from two hours of fitful sleep by a loud alarm clock and the guitar and drums are as relentless as a factory assembly line or a line of customers at Wal-Mart. Most importantly, the eight lines worth of lyrics don't offer the listener the luxury of some follow-your-dream, you-gotta-believe way out.
And the Bottle Rockets maybe know that all too well. Founded by vocalist/guitarist Henneman, a roadie for country punk pioneers Uncle Tupelo, this Missouri based outfit gathered a devoted following on indie labels with their tough, driving but smart and compassionate hard country-laced rock. They were signed by major label Atlantic and cut an amazing album called 24 Hours A Day which the label 'declined to promote.' They basically found the band too rural and hickish for MTV and too aggressive and pointed for CMT, so they were left to twist in the wind. It's a sad day when being innovative and unpigeonhole-able is a liability. Chalk it up to corporate ignorance. Anyways, after signing to an indie, they cut the album Brand New Year featuring this song, perhaps prompted by the knowledge that even the 'alternatives' to the workaday life are ruled by the same old bullshit.
No matter what system or ideology one lives under or espouses, there's still one tyranny that awaits most of the citizenry, indeed it occupies most of their waking lives. I'm talking about occupational tyranny, the 9-to-5, the J-O-B.
Brian Henneman sings this song like a man awoken from two hours of fitful sleep by a loud alarm clock and the guitar and drums are as relentless as a factory assembly line or a line of customers at Wal-Mart. Most importantly, the eight lines worth of lyrics don't offer the listener the luxury of some follow-your-dream, you-gotta-believe way out.
And the Bottle Rockets maybe know that all too well. Founded by vocalist/guitarist Henneman, a roadie for country punk pioneers Uncle Tupelo, this Missouri based outfit gathered a devoted following on indie labels with their tough, driving but smart and compassionate hard country-laced rock. They were signed by major label Atlantic and cut an amazing album called 24 Hours A Day which the label 'declined to promote.' They basically found the band too rural and hickish for MTV and too aggressive and pointed for CMT, so they were left to twist in the wind. It's a sad day when being innovative and unpigeonhole-able is a liability. Chalk it up to corporate ignorance. Anyways, after signing to an indie, they cut the album Brand New Year featuring this song, perhaps prompted by the knowledge that even the 'alternatives' to the workaday life are ruled by the same old bullshit.
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