r/Toryism • u/NovaScotiaLoyalist • 8h ago
đ Article Tory Music Volume V: For Labour Day, ârough but realâ comparisons between the Social Gospel, Canadian "Red" Toryism, and the IWW Anarcho-Syndicalist streak within the American Folk Music Revival -- Exploring the music of American folk singers such as Pete Seeger, Phil Ochs, and David Rovics
As /u/Ticklishchap mentioned in a recent thread the American Farmer-Labour influences within the old CCF, I thought the good people here may be interested in another music post, this time exploring the similarities between the âSocial Gospelâ of the CCF/NDP, Canadian "Red" Toryism, and the American Farmer-Labor / Progressive / Democratic Socialist movements, and even the Anarcho-Syndicalism of the Industrial Workers of the World. Nearly all the musicians featured here were/are associated with those movements.
Perhaps this playlist is the result of someone growing up in a post-industrial Nova Scotian town in Northern Nova Scotia: in a county which was the lone Tory stronghold in Nova Scotia during the Canadian Confederation debates of 1867, and in a town which later organized a General Strike in 1919 with the help of the One Big Union associated with the Industrial Workers of the World. Interestingly, the Industrialists in Cumberland County essentially agreed to the strike demands, and the General Strike of 1919 was ended relatively peacefully, co-cooperatively, and quickly. On the other side of the province, a few years later in 1925, in a coal minerâs strike in Industrial Cape Breton, an immigrant coal miner named William Davis was shot dead by company police during that labour dispute. The date of Davisâ murder, June 11, is commemorated every year in Nova Scotia as âDavis Dayâ.
I personally became aware of most of these songs as a High School student in the early/mid 2010s:
All I Want
Cold Iron
The Man Who Burned The White House Down
Automation Song
Remember Me
Denmark, 1943
Lyndon Johnson Told the Nation
The Men Behind the Guns
The High Sheriff of Hazard
Which Side Are You On?
The Ballad of Joe Hill
There is Power in a Union
Failed State
Crucifixion
Too Many Martyrs
William Moore
The Ballad of Sharpeville
âAll I Wantâ by Pete Seeger was originally released in 1941, and it contrasts the human suffering of the average person in the great depression with the luxuries enjoyed by the wealthy. I always loved the verse âTake the two old parties, Mister / No difference in them I can see / But with a Farmer-Labour Party / We could set the people freeâ. Pete Seeger would later support FDRâs former Vice President Henry A. Wallace in the 1948 U.S. Presidential Election, when Wallace ran for the Progressive Party; interestingly, Wallaceâs family political background involved preaching the Social Gospel in Iowa.
Chorus: *
I don't want your millions, Mister
I don't want your diamond ring
All I want is the right to live, Mister
Give me back my job again
*
Now, I don't want your Rolls-Royce, Mister
I don't want your pleasure yacht
All I want's just food for my babies
Give to me my old job back
/
We worked to build this country, Mister
While you enjoyed a life of ease
You've stolen all that we built, Mister
Now our children starve and freeze
*
Think me dumb if you wish, Mister
Call me green, or blue, or red
This one thing I sure know, Mister
My hungry babies must be fed
/
Take the two old parties, Mister
No difference in them I can see
But with a Farmer-Labour Party
We could set the people free
*
âCold Ironâ by Leslie Fish (lyrics by Rudyard Kipling) is a very interesting song that I only very recently discovered. Leslie Fish, who recently passed in 2025, appears to have been an Anarchist folk singer inspired by Woody Guthrie (and who was associated with the IWW). Most interestingly, she set many poems by the English poet Rudyard Kipling to music. Perhaps relevant to Canadian Toryism, in the 1911 Canadian Federal Election, which was fought over free trade with the United States, Kipling wrote in support of Sir Robert Bordenâs Tory Party: âIt is her own soul that Canada risks today. Once that soul is pawned for any consideration, Canada must inevitably conform to the commercial, legal, financial, social and ethical standards which will be imposed on her by the sheer admitted weight of the United States.". Kipling wrote his poem âCold Ironâ in 1910.
So hereâs a song played by an American Anarchist with the words written by an Englishman associated with Canadian Toryism: it describes a medieval Baron who starts a rebellion against his King for wealth, said Baron is eventually captured by the Kingâs forces, and realizes that said King is actually Jesus Christ in the flesh:
Gold is for the mistress, silver for the maid
Copper for the craftsman cunning at his trade
"Good," cried the baron sitting in his hall
"But iron, cold iron, is the master of them all"
/
So he made rebellion against the king his liege
Camped before his citadel and summoned it to siege
"Nay," said the cannoneer on the castle wall
"But iron, cold iron, shall be master of you all"
/
Woe for the baron and his knights so strong
When the cruel cannonballs laid âem all along
He was taken prisoner, he was cast in thrall
And iron, cold iron, was master over all
/
Yet his king spake kindly, "Ah, how kind the lord
What if I release thee now and give thee back thy sword?"
"Nay," said the baron, "mock not at my fall
For iron, cold iron, is the master of men all
/
Tears are for the craven, prayers are for the clown
Alters for the silly neck that cannot keep a crown
As my loss is grievous, so my hope is small
For iron, cold iron, must be master of men all"
/
Yet his king made answer, few such kings there be:
âHere is bread and here is wine, now sit and sup with me
Eat and drink in Mary's name while I do recall
How iron, cold iron, can be master of men all"
/
He took the wine and blessed it, he blessed and broke the bread
With his own hands he served them and presently he said:
"See these hands they pierced with nails outside my city wall?
Show iron, cold iron, to be master of men all
/
Wounds are for the desperate, blows are for the strong
Balm and oil for weary hearts all cut and bruised with wrong
I forgive thy treason, I redeem thy fall
For iron, cold iron, must be master of men all
/
Crowns are for the valiant, scepters for the bold
Thrones and powers for mighty men who dare to take and hold"
"Nay," said the baron kneeling in his hall
"But iron, cold iron, is the master of men all"
âThe Man Who Burned The White House Downâ by David Rovics recalls the burning of York (now Toronto) during the War of 1812, and how the British retaliated by sacking Washington. David Rovics, an Anarchist associated with the Industrial Workers of the World, mentioned in this live introduction to the song in a 2014 show in Belfast, that he was partly inspired to write the song because âThe first time I went to Halifax, Nova Scotia, a labour organizer named Tony Tracy, wonderful guy, brought me to a cemetery where a man named Robert Ross was buriedâ, and also notes how because of the âcomplicated phenomenon of Irelandâ he had a hard time understanding why Canadians would simultaneously refer to Ross as being either Canadian, British, or Irish. Also worth mentioning, it appears that a certain Tony Tracy has recently wrote a few articles for the socialist Spring Magazine on the legacy of Industrial Cape Breton for modern Cape Breton.
Robert Ross was from Rostrevor, he was born there in County Down
His family was given land there, by the British Crown
He was a man born of the gentry, born with wealth and fame
But he joined the British Army, to serve his Queen and make his name
/
In the Napoleonic Wars he fought in many lands
In Holland and in Spain, and on the far-off Egyptian sands
He was wounded there in battle, came back to fight another day
And he was sent off to attack the USA
/
York had been sacked and burned, by invading Yankee men
But the Canadians regrouped, chased the Yankees home and then
The British Navy made its way to the shores of DC town
Where General Ross burned the White House down
/
The year was 1814, the US was in retreat
It was a Canadian victory, an American defeat
Without the French to help them, they got their ass whipped by the Crown
When General Ross burned the White House down
/
The place had just been constructed, only twelve years before
But it had to be rebuilt, soon after this disastrous war
The President turned tail and ran like a raggedy clown
When General Ross burned the White House down
/
He was killed a few months later, Irish rebels stopped him in his tracks
He was buried in Nova Scotia, in the town of Halifax
He might have been forgotten, but heâll forever be renowned
Heâs the man who burned the White House down
/
Heâs the man who burned the White House down
The âAutomation Songâ by Phil Ochs is a song from 1964, and it is perhaps more relevant than ever with it detailing of the human cost of automation. As Phil Ochsâ music makes up a large proportion of this playlist, it may be relevant to note that Ochsâ contemporary (and part-time-rival) Bob Dylan once called Ochs more of a journalist than a musician in a heated argument in the early â60s. With that, hereâs one of my favourite songs from the album âAll The News Thatâs Fit To Singâ:
Chorus: *
For the wages were low and the hours were long
And the labour was all I could bear
Now you've got new machines for to take my place
And you tell me it's not mine to share
Oh, I laid down your railroads, every mile of track
With the muscles on my arm and the sweat upon my back
And now the trains are rolling, they roll to every shore
You tell me that my job is through, there ain't no work no more
/
Though I laid down your highways all across the land
With the ringing of the steel and the power of my hands
And now the roads are there like ribbons in the sky
You tell me that my job is through, but still I wonder why
*
Though I laid down your factories and laid down your fields
With my feet on the ground and my back to your wheels
And now the smoke is rising, the steel is all aglow
I'm walking down a jobless road and where am I to go?
*
Though I laid down your factories and laid down your fields
With my feet on the ground and my back to your wheels
And now the smoke is rising, the steel is all aglow
I'm walking down a jobless road and where am I to go?
/
Tell me, where am I to go?
âRemember Meâ by Phil Ochs describes an unnamed American soldier who was killed in the Second World War, and urges the listener to remember his sacrifice during all the social strife that followed the war:
Chorus: *
Remember me, when the crosses are a burnin'
Remember me, when the racists come around
Remember me, when the tides of peace are turnin'
Remember me and please don't let me down
Oh, I am the unknown soldier who died in World War Two
Didn't want to fight, it was the only thing to do
I was the victim of a world that went insane
Will you show me that I didn't die in vain
*
On the south pacific islands and the Iwo Jima sands
We raised the flag of freedom over many distant lands
Every time I killed a man my own heart felt the pain
Will you show me that I didn't die in vain
*
And I carried my old rifle to the European shores
And every friend that died made me die a little more
Have pity on the man who put a bullet through my brain
And show me that I didn't die in vain
*
When the fascists started marching many millions had to pay
We saw them come to power but we looked the other way
It happened once before and it can happen once again
Will you show me that I didn't die in vain
*
âDenmark, 1943â by David Rovics describes the emergency boatlift of Danish Jews to neutral Sweden in late 1943; an act of organized resistance against Nazi tyranny that ensured nearly all of Denmarkâs Jews would survive the Holocaust:
Chorus: *
I thank God for the fishermen who gave us a ride
And took us over, to the other side
When we heard the news we were to be arrested
We had no doubt exactly what our fate would be
We had hours to get out, only hours to be tested
For five thousand people to cross the Baltic Sea
/
We had to go at night in the cover of the darkness
Thereâs no way I could exaggerate the threat
We tried not to make a sound, wore nothing that would mark us
But no one knew how far across weâd get
*
To find so many boats ready for the journey
To find so many prepared to risk it all
Not everyone could read the stars, not every boat was worthy
Not everyone prepared to heed the call
*
Some risked everything for free, accepting nothing but a handshake
Some charged enough to live on for a year
But such details donât matter when so much is at stake
When all that matters is a boat that you might steer
/
We lived out the war in Sweden while so many others didnât
And most people now would easily agree
To say we deserved asylum would simply be redundant
In the boat lift of 1943
*
And took us over, to the other side
âLyndon Johnson Told the Nationâ by Tom Paxton, a contemporary of Phil Ochs, describes the mission creep that happened during in the Vietnam War in this 1967 song. Given how the current President of the United States campaigned on ending American Wars abroad only to start a War against Iran with no long-term end-goal, these lines seem particularly relevant in 2026, âYet how sadly I remember / Way back yonder in November / When he said I'd never have to goâ. Although unlike the bigot Donald Trump who purposefully stirs up racial hatred in his country, at least Lyndon Johnsonâs ideal of a Great Society, and his support for Civil Rights legislation despite being a Southern Democrat himself, were commendable acts of statesmanship:
I got a letter from L.B.J.
It said, "This is your lucky day
It's time to put your khaki trousers on!
Though it might seem very queer
We've got no jobs to give you here
So we are sending you to Vietnamâ
/
And Lyndon Johnson told the nation:
âHave no fear of escalation
I am trying everyone to please
Though it isn't really war
We're sending fifty-thousand more
To help save Vietnam from the Vietnameseâ
/
I jumped off the old troop ship
I sank in mud up to my hips
I cussed until the captain called me down
Never mind how hard it's raining
Think of all the ground we're gaining
Just don't take one step outside of town
/
And Lyndon Johnson told the nation:
âHave no fear of escalation
I am trying everyone to please
Though it isn't really war
We're sending sixty-thousand more
To help save Vietnam from the Vietnameseâ
/
Every night the local gentry
Slip out past the sleeping sentry
They go out and join the old V.C.
In their nightly little dramas
They put on their black pyjamas
And come lobbing mortar shells at me
/
And Lyndon Johnson told the nation:
âHave no fear of escalation
I am trying everyone to please
Though it isn't really war
We're sending seventy-thousand more
To help save Vietnam from the Vietnameseâ
/
We go round in helicopters
Like a bunch of big grasshoppers
Searching for the Viet Cong in vain
They left a note that they had gone
They had to get down to Saigon
Their government positions to maintain
/
And here I sit in this rice paddy
Wondering about Big Daddy
And I know that Lyndon loves me so
Yet how sadly I remember
Way back yonder in November
When he said I'd never have to go
/
And Lyndon Johnson told the nation:
âHave no fear of escalation
I am trying everyone to please
Though it isn't really a war
We're sending a hundred-thousand more
To help save Vietnam from the Vietnameseâ
âThe Men Behind the Gunsâ by Phil Ochs is an anti-war song rooted in a pro-war poem. Here, Ochsâ took an old poem from the time of the Spanish-American War by John J. Rooney in 1898, and changed a few verses to emphasize how poorly enlisted sailors can be treated compared to officers. Given the current US War in Iran, I canât help but think of how poorly both the officers and crew aboard the USS Abraham Lincoln were treated in their nearly 1 year long deployment at sea without a port stop:
Let's drink a toast to the admiral
And here's to the captain bold
And glory more for the commodore
When the deeds of might are told
/
They stand to the deck through the battle's wreck
When the great shells roar and pound
And never they fear when the foe is near
To lay their orders down
/
But off with your hats and three-times-three
For every sailor, son
For the men below who fight the foe
The men behind the guns
Oh, the men behind the guns
/
Their hearts a-pounding heavy
When they swing to port once more
With never enough of the greenback stuff
They start for their leave ashore
/
And you'd think perhaps the blue-blouse chaps
Had better clothes to wear
For the uniforms of officers
Could hardly be compared
/
Warriors bold with straps of gold
That dazzle like the sun
Outshine the common sailor boys
The lads who serve the guns
Oh, the men behind the guns
/
But say not a word till the shot is heard
That tells the fight is on
And the angry sound of another round
Says there must be guns
/
Over the deep and the deadly sweep
For the fire and the bursting shell
Where the very air is a mad despair
The throes of a living hell
/
But down and deep in a mighty ship
Unseen by the midday sun
Oh, you'll find the boys who make the noise
The lads who serve the guns
Oh, the men behind the guns
/
And well they know the cyclone blow
Loosened from the cannon's steel
And they know the hull of the enemy ship
Will quiver with the feel
/
And the decks will rock with the lightning shock
And shake with the great recoil
While the sea grows red with the blood of the dead
And swallows up her spoil
/
But not until the final ship has made her final run
Can we give the rest to the very best
The lads who serve the guns
Oh, the men behind the guns
/
So, let's drink a toast to the admiral
And here's to the captain bold
And glory more for the commodore
When the deeds of might are told
/
They stand to the deck through the battle's wreck
When the great shells roar and pound
And never they fear when the foe is near
To lay their orders down
/
But off with your hats and three-times-three
For every sailor, son
For the men below who fight the foe
The men behind the guns
Oh, the men behind the guns
âThe High Sheriff of Hazardâ by Tom Paxton is about a 1964 coal minerâs strike in Hazard, Kentucky:
Now the High Sheriff of Hazard is a hard-working man
To be a fine sheriff is his only plan
With his hands in our pockets, he'll take what he can
For he's the High Sheriff of Hazard
/
He went through my pockets and searched them with care
But nary a nickel or penny was there
So I got thirty days and some bumps in my hair
God bless the High Sheriff of Hazard
/
He caught me one evening and here's what he said:
"You look like a Russian, you look like a Red
And if you are fond of your skin and your head
Beware the High Sheriff of Hazard!"
/
I thanked him politely, I thanked him for all
And five minutes later, I made a phone call
To call a strike meeting at our union hall
And damn the High Sheriff of Hazard!
/
Now men there are many who sweat out their lives
To scratch out a living for children and wives
They sweat for their pennies while the mine owner thrives
With the blessings of the High Sheriff of Hazard
/
And when union men strike and the troubles come on
The High Sheriff's word is the mine owner's bond
He's a mine owner, too; you know which side he's on
He's the wealthy High Sheriff of Hazard
/
Well, it seems to be so since this world first began
That some men are willing to scheme and to plan
To gouge out a fortune from the poor working man
For example: the High Sheriff of Hazard
/
But the answer is simple, the answer is clear
We'll all get together with nothing to fear
And throw the old bastard right out on his ear
Farewell to the High Sheriff of Hazard
âWhich Side Are You On?â by Pete Seeger, was referenced in Paxtonâs âHigh Sheriff of Hazardâ, and is a 1941 version of the song which was originally written in 1931 by Florence Reece, the wife of a Kentucky coal miner during the deadly and bitter Harlan Country Coal Wars of the 1930s. I have a very funny feeling that the Cape Breton coal miner Clarie Gillis likely would have liked this song given what happened to William Davis in 1925:
Chorus: *
Which side are you on?
Which side are you on?
Come all of you good workers
Good news to you I'll tell
Of how the good ol' union
Has come in here to dwell
*
My daddy was a miner
And I'm a miner's son
And I'll stick with the union
'Til every battle's won
*
They say in Harlan County
There are no neutrals there
You'll either be a union man
Or a thug for J. H. Blair
*
Oh, workers can you stand it?
Oh, tell me how you can
Will you be a lousy scab
Or will you be a man?
*
Don't scab for the bosses
Don't listen to their lies
Us poor folks haven't got a chance
Unless we organize
*
âThe Ballad of Joe Hillâ by Phil Ochs is a song that tells the life story of the Swedish-American Wobbly Martyr Joe Hill, who was executed by firing squad in Utah on November 19, 1915. This live version of Ochsâ playing the song in Sweden is an abridged version, believe it or not:
Joe Hill come over from Swedenâs shores
Looking for some work to do
And the Statue of Liberty waved him by
As Joe come a sailing through, Joe Hill
As Joe come a sailing through
/
Oh his clothes were coarse and his hopes were high
As he headed for the promised land
And it took a few weeks on the out-of-work streets
Before he began to understand
Before he began to understand
/
And Joe got hired by a bowery bar
Sweeping up the saloon
As his rag would sail o'er the bar-room rail
It sounded like he whistled on a tune
You could almost hear him whistling on a tune
/
So he headed out for the California shore
There things were just as bad
So he joined the Industrial Workers of the World
'Cause the union was the only friend he had
'Cause the union was the only friend he had
/
Now the strikes were bloody and the strikes were black
As hard as they were long
In the dark of the night Joe would stay awake and write
In the morning he would raise them with a song
In the morning he would raise them with a song
/
And he wrote his words to the tunes of the day
To be passed along the union vine
And the strikes were led and the songs were spread
And Joe Hill was always on the line
Yes, Joe Hill was always on the line
/
Now in Salt Lake City a murder was made
There was hardly a clue to find
Oh, the proof was poor, but the sheriff was sure
Joe was the killer of the crime
That Joe was the killer of the crime
/
Joe raised his hands but they shot him down
He had nothing but guilt to give
âIt's a doctor I need!â and they left him to bleed
But he made it 'cause he had the will to live
Yes, he made it 'cause he had the will to live
/
Then the trial was held in a building of wood
And there the killer would be named
And the days weighed more than the cold copper ore
'Cause he feared that he was being framed
'Cause he found out that he was being framed
/
Oh, strange are the ways of the western law
Strange are the ways of fate
For the government crawled to the mine owner's call
And the judge was appointed by the state
The judge was appointed by the state
/
For thirty-six years he lived out his days
And he more than played his part
For the songs that he made, he was carefully paid
With a rifle bullet buried in his heart
With a rifle bullet buried in his heart
/
Yes, they lined Joe Hill up against the wall
Blindfold over his eyes
It's the life of the rebel that he chose to live
It's the death of the rebel that he died
It's the death of the rebel that he died
/
Now some say Joe was guilty as charged
And some say he wasn't even there
And I guess nobody will ever know
'Cause the court records all disappeared
'Cause the court records all disappeared
/
Say wherever you go in this fair land
In every union hall
In the dusty dark these words are marked
In between all the cracks upon the wall
In between all the cracks upon the wall
/
It's the very last lines that Joe Hill wrote
When he knew that his days were through:
"Boys, this is my last and final will:
Good luck to all of you
Good luck to all of you"
âThere is Power in a Unionâ by Utah Phillips is a 1983 recording of a song originally written by Joe Hill in 1913. It should be no surprise that Utah Phillips was a Wobbly:
Chorus: *
There is power, there is power, in a band of working folk
When we stand, hand in hand
That's a power, that's a power, that must rule in every land
One industrial union grand!
Would you have freedom from wage slavery?
Then come join the grand industrial band!
Would you from misery and hunger be free?
C'mon do your share, lend a hand!
*
Would you have mansions of gold in the sky,
And live in a shack that's way in the back?
Would you have wings up in heaven to fly,
And starve here with rags on your back?
*
If you like sluggers to beat-in your head:
âDon't organize, all unions despise!â
If you want nothing before you are dead:
âShake hands with your boss and look wise!â
*
Oh come all ye workers from every land,
And come join the grand industrial band!
Then, we our share of this earth, shall demand,
C'mon do your share, lend a hand!
*
I think Failed State by David Rovics is an excellent take-down of the modern American Empire from 2018, interestingly from the album âBallad of a Wobblyâ:
When youâre working two jobs and living in a tent
When a house costs a million bucks and you canât pay the rent
When politicians say theyâll help but it keeps getting worse
Each time the landlord lobby pulls the strings of the purse
When the human right to housing isnât even part of the debate
You know youâre living in a failed state
/
When millions of citizens are spending half their lives
Locked up in a prison for trying to survive
When laws must be broken just to have a place to stay
When the prisons pay the senators to look the other way
If you have to be a criminal to put food on your plate
You know youâre living in a failed state
/
When youâre facing climate breakdown, when the trees are all on fire
When half the countryâs underwater, when a climate change denier
Runs the nation and the opposition party
Votes for oil rigs and pipelines, this is not so much a country
As it is a corporation, buckling under its weight
You know youâre living in a failed state
/
When your nation is an empire facing daily blowback
And the only thing your leaders can think to do is attack
Bipartisan consensus that we need to spend
700 billion before the yearâs end
On a military budget To Make America Great
You know youâre living in a failed state
/
When almost every day some psycho with a gun
Has to open fire on a crowd before itâs done
When a music festival becomes a free fire zone
And all they can say is: âItâs OK now, he was acting alone!
Buy some armour, pray to God and hide behind a gate!â
You know youâre living in a failed state
/
You know youâre living in a failed state
Crucifixion by Phil Ochs is a 1966 song which indirectly compares the assassination of John F. Kennedy with the Crucifixion of Christ, in a cyclical view of history; Phil Ochs once played this song for Bobby Kennedy in â67, who tearfully made the connection with his late brother, a year before his own assassination in â68:
Chorus: *
So dance, dance, dance
Teach us to be true
Come, dance, dance, dance
'Cause we love you
And the night comes again to the circle-studded sky
The stars settle slowly, in loneliness they lie
'Til the universe explodes as a falling star is raised
Planets are paralyzed, the mountains are amazed
But they all glow brighter from the brilliance of the blaze
With the speed of insanity, then he dies
/
In the green fields a-turning, a baby is born
His cries crease the wind and mingle with the âmorn
An assault upon the order, the changing of the guard
Chosen for a challenge that is hopelessly hard
And the only single sound is the sighing of the stars
But to the silence of distance they are sworn
*
Images of innocence charge him to go on
But the decadence of destiny is looking for a pawn
To a nightmare of knowledge he opens up the gate
And a binding revelation is laid upon his plate
That beneath the greatest love is a hurricane of hate
And God help the critic of the dawn
/
So he stands on the sea and he shouts to the shore
But the louder that he screams, the longer he's ignored
For the wine of oblivion is drunk to the dregs
And the merchants of the masses almost have to be begged
'Til the giant is aware, someone's pulling at his leg
And someone is tapping at the door
*
Then his message gathers meaning and it spreads across the land
The rewarding of his fame is the following of the man
But ignorance is everywhere and people have their way
Success is an enemy to the losers of the day
In the shadows of the churches, who knows what they pray?
For blood is the language of the band
/
The Spanish bull is beaten, the crowd is soon beguiled
The matador is beautiful, a symphony of style
Excitement is ecstatic, passion places bets
Gracefully, he bows to ovations that he gets
But the hands that are applauding are slippery with sweat
And saliva is falling from their smiles
*
Then this overflow of life is crushed into a liar
The gentle soul is ripped apart and tossed into the fire
First, a smile of rejection at the nearness of the night
Truth becomes a tragedy limping from the light
All the heavens are horrified, they stagger from the sight
As the cross is trembling with desire
/
And they say they can't believe it, it's a sacrilegious shame
Now, who would want to hurt such a hero of the game?
But you know, I predicted it, I knew he had to fall
How did it happen? I hope his suffering was small
Tell me every detail, for I've got to know it all
And do you have a picture of the pain?
*
Time takes a toll and memory fades
But his glory is growing in magic that he made
Reality is ravaged, it's the freeing from the fear
The drama is distorted, to what they want to hear
Swimming in their sorrow, in the twisting of a tear
As they wait for the new thrill parade
/
Yes, the eyes of the rebel have been branded by the blind
To the safety of sterility, the threat has been refined
The child was created, to the slaughterhouse he's led
So good to be alive when the eulogies are read
Climax of emotion, the worship of the dead
As the cycle of sacrifice unwinds
*
And the night comes again to the circle-studded sky
The stars settle slowly, in loneliness they lie
'Til the universe explodes as a falling star is raised
Planets are paralyzed, the mountains are amazed
But they all glow brighter from the brilliance of the blaze
With the speed of insanity, then he died
âToo Many Martyrsâ by Phil Ochs is another song from his 1964 album âAll The News Thatâs Fit To Singââ, and this song commemorates Medgar Evers: a combat veteran of the D-Day landings in Normandy, and later a civil rights activist with the NAACP who was assassinated by the Ku Klux Klan in 1963. While Evers was buried with full military honours at the Arlington National Cemetery, two different juries refused to convict his known assassin in 1964; it wouldnât be until 1994 that Eversâ assassin would be convicted.
Chorus: *
Too many martyrs and too many dead
Too many lies, too many empty words were said
Too many times for too many angry men
Oh, let it never be again
In the state of Mississippi many years ago
A boy of 14 years got a taste of Southern law
He saw his friend a-hanging, his colour was his crime
And the blood upon his jacket put a brand upon his mind
*
His name was Medgar Evers and he walked his road alone
Like Emmett Till and thousands more whose names we'll never know
They tried to burn his home and they beat him to the ground
But deep inside they both knew what it took to bring him down
*
The killer waited by his home, hidden by the night
As Evers stepped out from his car, into the rifle sight
He slowly squeezed the trigger, the bullet left his side
It struck the heart of every man when Evers fell and died
*
And they laid him in his grave while the bugle sounded clear
Laid him in his grave when the victory was near
While we waited for the future, for freedom through the land
The country gained a killer and the country lost a man
*
Oh, let it never be again
Oh, let it never be again
âWilliam Mooreâ by Phil Ochs is another song about a murdered civil rights activist: this time William L. Moore, a WWII combat veteran of the U.S. Marine Corps, who was shot during a protest walk where he attempted to hand-deliver a letter to the Governor of Alabama requesting an end to racial segregation. Despite it being known which Klansman shot Moore in 1963 during his protest walk, there was ânot enough evidenceâ to even indict the shooter for a trial.
Chorus: *
What price the glory of one man?
What price the glory of one man?
What price the hopes?
What price the dreams?
And what price the glory of one man?
Walkin' down an Alabama road
Rememberin' what the Bible told
Walkin' with a letter in his hand
Dreamin' of another southern land
Walkin' down an Alabama road
/
And he went by the name of William Moore
âNow what are you doing, William Moore?â
âWhy the letter in your hand?â
âThere is only one southern landâ
âAnd he went by the name of William Mooreâ
*
Remembering what his grandfather done
Fought for the South in '61
A hundred years have passed by since then
Now Moore is fightingâ for the South again
Remembering what his grandfather done
/
Remembering the time in World War Two
And the South Pacific Island that he knew
Remembering the young men that he killed
And the praying that the guns of hate be stilled
Remembering the time in World War Two
*
And they shot him on the Alabama road
Forgot about what the Bible told
They shot him with that letter in his hand
As though he were a dog and not a man
They shot him on the Alabama road
/
Did you say it was a shame when he died?
Did you say he was a fool because he tried?
Did you wonder who had fired the gun?
Did you know that it was you that fired the gun?
Did you say it was a shame when he died?
*
The Ballad of Sharpeville by Ewan Maccoll & Peegy Seeger, British brother-in-law and sister of Pete Seeger, is a 1978 recording of an Anti-Apartheid protest song about the 1960 Sharpeville Massacre in South Africa. In regards to Canadian Toryism more broadly, the Disraelian âRedâ Tory John Diefenbaker would take a stand against Apartheid South Africa a year later at the 1961 Commonwealth Prime Minsterâs Conference in which South Africa was forced to leave the Commonwealth. Two decades later, the âBlue Toryâ Brian Mulroney would use his personal influence with Margaret Thatcher & Ronald Reagan to continue the fight against Apartheid South Africa, against the wishes of the latter two, until Nelson Mandela was released from prison in 1990; Mulroney worked with everyone from the Anglican bishop Desmond Tutu to the NDPâer Stephen Lewis in helping to organize the final fight against Apartheid in South Africa.
From the Cape to Southwest Africa
From the Transvaal to the sea
In farm and village, shanty town
The Pass Law holds the people down
The pass of slavery, âDOM PASS!â
The pass of slavery
/
The morning wind blows through the land
It murmurs in the grass
And every leaf of every tree
Whispers words of hope to me
This day will end the pass, âDOM PASS!â
This day will end the pass
/
The sun comes up on Sharpeville Town
And drives the night away
The word is heard in every street
Against the Pass Law we will meet
No one will work today, âDOM PASS!â
No one will work today
/
It was on the Twenty-First of March
The day of Sharpeville's shame
Hour by hour the crowd did grow
One voice that cried, âThe pass must go!â
It spoke in freedom's name, âDOM PASS!â
It spoke in freedom's name
/
Outside the police headquarters fence
The Sharpeville people stand
Inside the fence, the white men pace
Drunk with power, and pride of race
Each with a gun in hand, âDOM PASS!â
Each with a gun in hand
/
The Sharpeville crowd waits patiently
They talk and laugh and sing
At 11:15 the tanks come down
Roll through the streets of Sharpeville town
To join the armoured ring, âDOM PASS!â
To join the armoured ring
/
Neighbour talks to neighbour, and
The kids play all around
Until, without a warning word
The sound of rifle fire is heard
And men fall to the ground, âDOM PASS!â
And men fall to the ground
/
The panic-stricken people run
To flee the wild attack
The police reload and fire again
At running children, women, men
And shoot them in the back, âDOM PASS!â
And shoot them in the back
/
Sixty-seven Africans
Lay dead there on the ground
Apartheid's harvest for a day
Three times their number wounded lay
Their blood stained all around, âDOM PASS!â
Their blood stained all around
/
There's blood on the men who fired the guns
On the men who made the laws
There's blood on the hands of the Whitehall ranks
Who gave the thugs their guns and tanks
Who help in oppression's cause, âDOM PASS!â
Who help in oppression's cause