The 51st State

Beneath the old iron bridges
Across the Victorian parks
And all the frightened people
Running home before dark
Past the Saturday morning cinema
That lies crumbling to the ground
And the piss stinking shopping centre
In the new side of town

I’ve come to smell the seasons change
And watch the city as the sun goes down again

Here comes another winter
Of long shadows and high hopes
Here comes another winter
Waitin’ for Utopia
Waitin’ for hell to freeze over

This is the land where nothing changes
The land of red buses and blue blooded babies
This is the place where pensioners are raped
And the hearts are being cut from the welfare state
Let the poor drink the milk
While the rich eat the honey
Let the bums count their blessings
While they count the money

So many people can’t express what’s on their minds
Nobody knows them, nobody ever will
Until their backs are broken, their dreams are stolen
And they can’t get what they want
Then they’re gonna get angry
Well, it ain’t written in the papers
But it’s written on the walls
The way this country’s dividing to fall
So the cranes are moving on the skyline
Tryin’ to knock down … this town
But the stains on the heartland
Can never be removed
From this country that’s sick, sad and confused

Here comes another winter
Of long shadows and high hopes
Here comes another winter
Waitin’ for Utopia
Waitin’ for hell to freeze over

The ammunition’s been passed
And the Lord’s been praised
But the wars on the televisions
Will never be explained
All the bankers gettin’ sweaty
Beneath their white collars
As the pound in our pocket
Turns into a dollar

THIS IS THE 51st STATE OF THE U.S.A
THIS IS THE 51st STATE OF THE U.S.A
THIS IS THE 51st STATE OF THE U.S.A
THIS IS THE 51st STATE OF THE U.S.A

The The made their name touring with the likes of Cabaret Voltaire and Wire, and have only sporadically reoleased material over the last thirty years. With his growling, acidic vocals, his upfront politics, his uncommercial release schedule and his refusal to shy away from controversy, Matt Johnson and his band The The (most of the time, the two were one and the same) should have been all over the Festive Fifty throughout the Eighties. To name but two: who could forget the savage yet coolly delivered anti-war Sweet Bird Of Youth? Or Jools Holland’s flowing, endless cascades of keyboard magic in That Uncertain Smile?
Yet only Heartland (FF 1986 #32) made the grade. It’s a no-brainer of a choice. From something approaching a saleable product, Infected, the juicy, danceable rhythms with hints of jazz draw you into Matt’s sinister picture of England as a nightmarish post-1984, post-Clockwork Orange Yankee lapdog. The image of England as a 51st state of America has been propounded before, most notably by New Nodel Army, but this was the 45 to beat them all in my days of unemployment. Remember, this was many years before the debacle of Iraq; who can say that he was wrong? This is, quite simply, the most damning indictment of my country I’ve ever heard and one of the greatest tracks of all-time.

If you wish to save Shoreditch, see more lyrics or listen to The The songs, go to their site here. Or (sigh) they’re on MySpace.

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