Poets have inflicted on society an inequitable untruth: that no matter the immensity of a scene, no matter the immediacy of a situation, words can adequately capture its essence. However, on Mogwai’s latest release, The Hawk is Howling, these prolific Scots have continued their efforts to unshackle meaning from the bondage of the word.
Between underhanded corporate shenanigans and inept legislative tomfoolery, this country hasn’t seen a day in years that wasn’t brimming with reasons to fill up with furor. Realistically, whether it’s a conservative senator being caught in the restroom of hypocrisy or an antique politician explaining to his tech-savvy audience about everyone’s favorite “series of tubes,” there’s no better place to turn to for entertainment than our very own government.
If you’ve ever envied the wealthy or worried about the “plight of the poor,” chances are you understand on some level a concept most people refuse to believe: Money buys happiness. Nothing secures a smile on a child’s face quite like a shiny new toy, nothing promotes an ecstatic response quite like a big cash prize, and nothing means true love quite like a diamond ring.
The self-absorbed population of ingrates in this country is growing at a rate that can only be described as pants-soilingly horrific. In a land where we’ve all been given so much, these perpetually dissatisfied whiners insist on a sort of masochistic nitpicking that seems as contagious as it is putrid.
We’ve all seen them, and know that nothing ruins a day quite like the unwelcome vision of unkempt, unseemly, unattractive people. That’s right, you ugly degenerates, you know who you are, and you know we don’t want you around.