Category Archives: tom

Song of the Week – You Woo Me, Here I Come & Don’t Want You Back; The Courettes

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Today’s post was written by a guest contributor, KJ Nolan, who last penned for the SotW in August 2010.  KJ and I have been friends for 40 years when we met Boston College and worked at the school’s radio station – WZBC.  As you will see from today’s post, he still keeps up with new artists.  Of course, that’s no surprise to me! TM

Late to the party, as usual, I didn’t hear about the Courettes until my missus got a tickle about their fourth album in her Facebook feed.  Shortly later, our copy arrived, one of many times she has been the one to bring new music into our home. I was immediately hooked.  The album echoes Blondie, Lucious Jackson, Ronnie Spector (not to mention La La Brooks, who makes two appearances on the album), Brian Wilson (one of their engineers is an alum of the “Smile” sessions”), sixties fuzz punk and the Wall of Sound, just for starters.

The Courettes are Martin Couri, a fellow from Denmark and Flávia Couri, a gal from Brazil.  The two met when their respective bands were gigging together.  Joining forces, they built up a strong reputation over the course of three albums and such singles as “Want You Like a Cigarette” and “Boom! Dynamite”.

The Soul of . . . the Fabulous Courettes was released last September.  Martin, on drums, and Flávia, on a bad-ass Silvertone and other guitars, are joined in the studio by Søren Christensen, who produces the tracks and layers them with keyboards.  The album is a little more slick and a wee bit more Americanized (there is a “Boom” song here, too, and Flávia pronounces it “bewm”), but their power is undiminished.

The Soul of… takes no prisoners from the get-go.  Recognizing that the best rock & roll songs are about sex, the kids blast away with longing, hunger and joy on “You Woo Me”.  A Farfisa organ, another sure sign of a great rock & roll song, whines insistently, while Flávia makes clear what her protagonist is after.

Don’t leave me hanging

Don’t make me sad

I’ll give you something

That you’ve never had

Come on baby

You drive me mad

You’re in my mind

It’s all the time

You’re just my kind

I cannot hide

You woo me

Yeah, you woo me

Oh, is that what the kids are calling it these days?

[A side note: all lyrics are approximate.  With no online lyrics that I can find anywhere, I resorted to listening over and over.  I even took advantage of YouTube’s adjustable playback speed.  And you know what?  “Woo Me” at 50% speed isn’t half bad!  It’s got a languid, bluesy feel that I find entirely satisfying.]

My personal favorite track is “Here I Come”.  It’s another up-tempo barn burner driven by a clever little rhythm riff that stays with you.  Once again, the female protagonist is openly predatory, warning “You better stop, there’s nowhere to hide.”  The chorus arrives, the band roars into overdrive, and our heroine declaims:

Some day

I’m running your tail

I’m coming your way

I’m gonna getcha, getcha, getcha, getcha

Some day

I’m coming your way

I’m running your tail

You better watch your back, here I come!

Thanks, hon.  If you need me, I’ll be hiding under the bed.  But I’ll shave first, just in case.

The last track for this post is one of several “My ex is a douche” songs strewn through the album.  I guess we all knew someone who made us feel that way, but wait!  Turns out that this one isn’t about an old boyfriend at all.  This one (like another one, more obviously worded) is about her abusive father, who passed away some years ago.  Flávia says in the band’s page on the website for label Damaged Goods (damagedgoods.co.uk/) that “Don’t Want You Back” is “about his death and how he still has a power over me and bringing me down and what it’s like to break free from that.”  The song pulses and swirls at a slower tempo, punctuated by tube chimes. The intent is unmistakable.

Still haunting my dreams

Breaking my schemes

Causing me sorrow once again

I’m glad that you’re gone

Forever gone

I don’t want you back

Never, never again

Hurt by lover or parent, the emotion is universal. “Don’t Want You Back” plumbs it memorably.

Bonus stuff: the kids played SXSW last spring, for about 35 minutes.  The Soul of… was still months away, so they didn’t play any of the songs from it, except for “SHAKE”, their final number, now out as a single.  It’s just the two of them, and the show is raw and raucous.

It’s been half a century since the Ramones changed everything.  Pop music has gone in lots of directions since then, as has that subset we call rock & roll.  The Courettes harken back to when untrained teenagers with cheap guitars first took the stages of their high school auditoriums, and they synthesize everything worthwhile that followed.  Here’s to seeing them make it big.

Enjoy… until next week.

Song of the Week – Empty Glass, Pete Townshend

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Ecclesiastes was famously the inspiration for the Byrds’ massive 1965 hit “Turn! Turn! Turn! (To Everything There is a Season)”, written by Pete Seeger in 1959.  Pete Townshend’s song “Empty Glass,” the title track from his 1980 solo album, also refers to Ecclesiastes, resonating deeply with its existential musings.

Written during a turbulent period in Townshend’s life, the song’s lyrics evoke themes of spiritual longing, disillusionment, and the search for meaning amid chaos.  The “empty glass” becomes a powerful metaphor, capturing both depletion and the potential for renewal.

I don’t pretend to be a student of the Bible, but the connection between Ecclesiastes and “Empty Glass” led me to investigate. This is what I learned.

The book of Ecclesiastes in the Hebrew Bible is a poetic meditation on the human condition, marked by its exploration of life’s seeming futility and the quest for meaning.  Attributed to “Qoheleth” or “The Teacher,” the text grapples with profound existential questions, famously declaring, “Vanity of vanities! All is vanity (i.e. futile)!” (Ecclesiastes 1:2).  Themes of transience, toil, and the search for purpose thread through its twelve chapters, offering observations that oscillate between despair and tempered hope.

Qoheleth observes the cyclical nature of existence: generations come and go, the sun rises and sets, and human labor appears repetitive and ultimately inconsequential (1:4-11).  Despite its sober outlook, the text does not prescribe nihilism.  Instead, it encourages finding joy in simple pleasures — eating, drinking, and enjoying one’s toil — because these are gifts from God (3:12-13).  Ecclesiastes challenges readers to embrace life’s ephemeral beauty while acknowledging its mysteries and limitations, urging humility in the face of the divine.

Qoheleth’s declaration that “there is nothing new under the sun” (1:9) underscores a sense of futility, echoed in the opening lines of Townshend’s “Empty Glass”:

Why was I born today?
Life is useless like Ecclesiastes says.

This direct reference situates the song as a modern meditation on timeless questions.  Townshend’s lamentation of life’s emptiness mirrors Qoheleth’s reflections on the fleeting nature of worldly pursuits.  Yet, both the text and the song suggest that this acknowledgment need not lead to despair; instead, it invites introspection and openness to spiritual fulfillment.

Townshend’s lyrics are imbued with a yearning for divine connection, a theme central to Ecclesiastes.  Qoheleth acknowledges human dependence on God, stating, “He has made everything beautiful in its time. Also, He has put eternity in their hearts” (3:11). While “Empty Glass” does not directly articulate this sentiment, its metaphor of an “empty glass” can be seen as a vessel awaiting spiritual replenishment — a subtle reflection of the biblical notion that life’s meaning transcends human understanding.

Despite its somber tone, Ecclesiastes ultimately encourages finding joy in the mundane.  The text’s refrain to “eat, drink, and be merry” (8:15) is not hedonistic but an acknowledgment of life’s fleeting nature and the importance of cherishing its small blessings.  Townshend’s song, while darker in tone, contains a similar kernel of resilience.  The “empty glass” may symbolize a state of depletion, but it also implies readiness to be refilled — a nod to the potential for renewal.  He says:

Don’t worry, smile and dance
You just can work life out
Don’t let down moods entrance you
Take the wine and shout

Both Ecclesiastes and Pete Townshend’s “Empty Glass” wrestle with profound existential questions, grappling with themes of futility, mortality, and spiritual longing.  Yet, neither succumbs entirely to despair.  Ecclesiastes reminds readers to embrace life’s transience with humility and gratitude, while “Empty Glass” speaks to the enduring human quest for meaning and connection.  Together, they offer complementary reflections on the human condition, bridging ancient wisdom and contemporary experience.

Enjoy… until next week.

Song of the Week – Country Music Albums by Pop Artists

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The recent rejection of Beyoncé’s Cowboy Carter by the CMAs and the country music establishment highlights the barriers that pop artists often face when crossing over into country.  (That snub was somewhat corrected last week when Beyoncé and Cowboy Carter received 11 nods!)  Despite Beyoncé’s creative integration of country themes and sounds, her work received limited recognition from traditional country circles, exposing lingering questions about authenticity and genre boundaries.  Beyoncé is not the first artist to bridge these worlds—many pop musicians have taken bold, genre-bending steps into country, including Ray Charles, Ringo Starr, Elvis Costello, and Leon Russell.  These albums provide insight into how pop artists reshape country music, pushing its boundaries while navigating its norms.

Ray Charles’s Modern Sounds in Country and Western Music (1962) remains one of the most influential pop explorations into country music.  Charles’s interpretation of country standards through R&B, jazz, and soul transformed the songs and underscored country music’s universality.  This album achieved critical and commercial success, challenging both genre and racial barriers, and expanding country’s reach to new audiences.  Charles’s success demonstrated the genre’s potential for reinvention and set a high bar for future crossover efforts.

Former Beatle Ringo Starr approached country music with sincerity and respect in his 1970 album, Beaucoups of Blues, recorded in Nashville.  Unlike Charles’s reinterpretations, Starr’s album featured original songs written by country music insiders, such as Jerry Reed and Sorrells Pickard, and was crafted with Nashville’s leading session musicians. Starr’s connection to country music predated this album; he had previously recorded country-influenced tracks with the Beatles, including “Act Naturally” and “What Goes On,” and worked closely with George Harrison, who shared his appreciation for the genre.  While Beaucoups of Blues did not achieve commercial success, it reflected Starr’s genuine admiration for country and highlighted his willingness to dive into the genre’s traditions without diluting its sound.

Elvis Costello’s 1981 album Almost Blue took a different approach, focusing on cover versions of country classics by artists like George Jones and Gram Parsons.  Unlike Starr’s focus on original songs, Costello paid tribute to existing classics, adopting a traditional country production style.  Produced by Nashville icon Billy Sherrill, the album received mixed reviews; some critics appreciated Costello’s sincere tribute, while others questioned his ability to connect with country’s raw emotional depth.  Almost Blue showcased Costello’s serious regard for country music, serving as a love letter to the genre from an outsider’s perspective.

In 1973, Leon Russell, recording under the alias Hank Wilson, released Hank Wilson’s Back Vol. 1, an album rooted in country while blending rock, gospel, and blues.  Russell’s take on country, with his Southern roots and reputation for genre fusion, was largely embraced by country fans.  Russell’s crossover was met with enthusiasm, perhaps due to his background and connection to Southern musical traditions, and highlighted his ability to blend genres authentically, delivering an innovative yet faithful interpretation of country standards.

Beyoncé’s Cowboy Carter continued her exploration of country music, incorporating themes of resilience, independence, and Southern pride.  However, despite its country-inspired narratives and instrumentation, Cowboy Carter was met with limited recognition from the country establishment, following in the pattern set by her earlier foray into country with “Daddy Lessons” from Lemonade (2016).  While her work celebrated country traditions, her outsider status as a pop and R&B icon seemed to influence the genre’s gatekeepers.  Beyoncé’s journey into country is a testament to the ongoing challenge of genre-crossing, especially for Black artists, whose contributions to country are often under-recognized despite their impact.

Ray Charles, Ringo Starr, Elvis Costello, Leon Russell, and Beyoncé each ventured into country with unique styles, bridging genres and challenging conventions.  Charles redefined country standards, while Starr and Russell embraced country traditions with earnestness and originality.  Costello’s Almost Blue honored the genre’s roots, and Beyoncé’s Cowboy Carter continued the push for inclusivity. Together, these albums illustrate both the expansive possibilities within country music and the genre’s evolving yet complex relationship with crossover artists. The diverse approaches by these pop musicians reveal country’s potential to transcend boundaries, even as it maintains a guarded sense of tradition.

Enjoy… until next week.

Song of the Week – Boom Boom Back, Hinds

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I recently listened to a PBS feature on the Spanish band Hinds.  Originally, Carlotta Cosials (vocals, guitar) and Ana García Perrote (vocals, guitar) performed as a duo under the name Deers in 2011.  However, due to a dispute with another band called The Dears, they were forced to adopt a new name.  They chose Hinds, a word meaning a “doe, a deer, a female deer.”.

In 2014, they expanded to a four-piece band, a lineup that lasted until 2022, when they returned to their original duo format.  For live performances, however, they still tour with two supporting musicians — Paula Ruiz on bass and Maria Lázaro on drums — keeping their live sound full and vibrant.

Their latest album, Viva Hinds, marks something of a comeback, as it’s their first new release since 2020.  The album’s lead single, “Boom Boom Back,” is a fierce garage-rock anthem that has garnered attention, partly due to the collaboration with their new musical ally, Beck.  His influence brings an added edge to Hinds’ already raw sound.

In addition to their music, Cosials and Perrote ventured into fashion by designing a clothing line (tees and hoodies) for Urban Outfitters.  Fifty percent of the proceeds from this line went to an Austin-based charity that empowers young people by providing them with resources to create their own music or zine — a mission that resonates with Hinds’ commitment to DIY artistry.

Enjoy… until next week.

Song of the Week – The Great Mississippi Flood of 1927

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The recent Helene and Milton hurricanes have made me reflect on music inspired by natural disasters. That’s just how my mind works! One of the most significant historical events that has inspired a wealth of music is the Great Mississippi Flood of 1927.

The flood resulted from a series of rainstorms that began as early as August 1926. By December, heavy rains in the northern Mississippi River states overwhelmed a levee system built in the 1880s. In the early spring of 1927, New Orleans was drenched with over 11 inches of rain, far above the usual 4.4 inches. The situation became critical on Good Friday, April 15, when 14 inches of rain fell in a single day. This was the final blow to an already strained system, leading to one of the most destructive floods in U.S. history.

The flood inundated 26,000 square miles, displaced over 930,000 people, and claimed between 250 and 500 lives. The devastation left a deep impression on the American consciousness, inspiring a range of music across generations.

One of the songs most associated with this catastrophe is “Backwater Blues” by the “Empress of the Blues,” Bessie Smith. Interestingly, Smith recorded the song in February 1927, before the April floods. It was likely inspired by an earlier flood in Nashville in 1926. However, the timing of the song’s release, just weeks before the Mississippi levees broke, allowed it to be perceived as an anthem for the unfolding disaster. Smith was already a major figure in blues music, and the song’s release cemented her connection to the tragedy.

Later that year, Smith recorded another song, “Homeless Blues,” this time directly inspired by the Mississippi flood’s aftermath, reflecting the widespread displacement of families and communities.

Delta bluesman Charley Patton also immortalized the event in his 1929 song “High Water Everywhere.” Patton’s song not only described the destruction caused by the flood but also shed light on the racial inequities that African Americans faced during the crisis. His music expressed frustration with how marginalized communities were disproportionately affected and largely neglected in relief efforts.

In the same year, Kansas Joe McCoy and Memphis Minnie recorded “When the Levee Breaks,” a song that captured the desperation and suffering of those who lost everything when the levees gave way. The song’s powerful narrative of displacement and hardship resonated so deeply that decades later, Led Zeppelin reinterpreted it for their 1971 album Led Zeppelin IV, introducing the haunting story to a new generation.

The legacy of the 1927 flood continued to inspire artists well beyond the blues era. In 1974, Randy Newman released Good Old Boys, an album that included the song “Louisiana 1927,” which reflected on the flood’s impact. Newman’s song told the story of how the waters rose, the displacement of people, and the failures of government response. His portrayal of the event drew parallels with ongoing social and political challenges in the South.

Bob Dylan also took inspiration from the flood for his 2001 song “High Water (for Charley Patton),” from the album Love and Theft. As the title suggests, the track pays tribute to Patton and the blues tradition, even though Dylan’s lyrics reflect a more modern perspective on disaster and societal collapse.

Dylan had previously touched on the theme in “Crash on the Levee (Down in the Flood),” a song he recorded with The Band during their Basement Tapes sessions. While the song’s lyrics remain ambiguous, it’s easy to see how the imagery of a levee breaking connects to the legacy of the 1927 flood.

The Great Mississippi Flood of 1927 left a deep scar on American history, and its influence on music has endured through decades. Whether through blues, rock, or folk, artists have continued to revisit the event, using it as a powerful symbol of natural disaster, social inequality, and human resilience.

Enjoy… until next week.

Song of the Week – Sorrow, Bad Religion

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I recently read Fortunate Son: My Life, My Music (2016) by classic rocker John Fogerty of Creedence Clearwater Revival and was surprised to learn that he enjoys some punk rock. He speaks highly of Bad Religion’s song “Sorrow,” even calling it “one of my favorite records ever.”  Who knew?

I have to agree — it’s a powerful track. The intro is an obvious nod to The Police, with drums that recall Stewart Copeland’s distinctive sound. Afterward, the song shifts into the more familiar punk rock territory associated with Bad Religion.

The lyrics stand out too. Songwriter Brett Gurewitz (with Greg Graffin) explained the inspiration behind “Sorrow”:

“Well, it’s the story of Job from the Old Testament. Job was the most righteous man in the world. The devil said to God, ‘These people are basically bad,’ and God said, ‘Well, no.’ The devil replied, ‘Give me one example,’ and God pointed to Job. The devil bet he could corrupt Job, and they made a wager. That was God’s way of rewarding the one righteous man on the planet—by turning His back on him. That’s not God; that’s religion. What lesson is there? No matter how good you are, God will turn His back on you? This is the basis of Judaeo-Christian religion? Is it any surprise the world is so screwed up? The story of Job is the saddest story ever told, making it the perfect archetype for a song called ‘Sorrow.’”

One stanza, in particular, resonates with me:

When all soldiers lay their weapons down
Or when all kings and queens relinquish their crowns
Or when the only true Messiah rescues us from ourselves
It’s easy to imagine.

The final line reminds me of the idealism in John Lennon’s “Imagine.”

An acoustic version of “Sorrow” was performed for the film The Other F Word (2011), a documentary about aging punk rockers transitioning into fatherhood — a fitting context for such a reflective song.

Enjoy… until next week.

Song of the Week – Breakdown, Alan Parsons Project

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The recent surge in interest in artificial intelligence (AI) and robotics has taken me back to the 1977 album I Robot by The Alan Parsons Project. This concept album draws inspiration from the Robot series by science fiction legend Isaac Asimov, comprising thirty-seven short stories and six novels written between 1950 and 1995. Asimov’s series delves into the philosophical dilemmas surrounding AI, exploring the complexities of creating machines that can think and feel.

One of the standout tracks on the album is “Breakdown,” featuring lead vocals by Allan Clarke of The Hollies.

The lyrics poignantly capture the inner turmoil of a “thinking” robot as it experiences a malfunction:

I break down in the middle and lose my thread
No one can understand a word that I say
When I break down just a little and lose my head
Nothing I try to do can work the same way

Any time it happened I’d get over it
With a little help from all my friends
Anybody else could see what’s wrong with me
But they walk away and just pretend

Predictably, the robot yearns to break free from its programming, echoing themes found in other works like HAL 9000 in 2001: A Space Odyssey:

Freedom, freedom, we will not obey
Freedom, freedom, take the wall away
Freedom, freedom, we will not obey
Freedom, freedom, take them all away

Before embarking on his own recording career, Alan Parsons was a renowned engineer at Abbey Road Studios. He worked on iconic albums such as The Beatles’ Abbey Road and Let It Be, as well as Pink Floyd’s classic The Dark Side of the Moon. He also produced “Magic” by Pilot—the song that has been etched into our minds thanks to its use in Ozempic commercials.

Enjoy… until next week.

Song of the Week – She Don’t Love Me Now, Bruce Springsteen

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Jesse Malin, the talented songwriter, vocalist, and guitarist, suffered a rare spinal stroke about a year ago, leaving him paralyzed from the waist down. In response, his musician friends have rallied to record a tribute album titled Silver Patron Saints. Released on September 20th, the album’s proceeds go to the Sweet Relief Fund, an organization that provides “financial assistance to all types of career musicians and music industry workers who are struggling to make ends meet while facing physical or mental health issues, disability, or age-related problems.”

The album features an impressive lineup of guest artists, including Counting Crows, Billie Joe Armstrong (Green Day), Dinosaur Jr., Lucinda Williams & Elvis Costello, The Wallflowers, Spoon, Susannah Hoffs (The Bangles), Graham Parker, and The Hold Steady.

A standout track on the album is Bruce Springsteen’s rendition of “She Don’t Love Me Now.” Originally featured on Malin’s 2015 album New York Before the War, the song captures the essence of Malin’s beloved New York City. It’s a mid-tempo, reggae-tinged piece about lost love.

And, oh, we had so many nights down there in the village
Dressed up like each other’s dreams
We were kinda killers

Oh, she don’t love me now
She don’t love me now

Springsteen delivers the song with the spirit of his early bar band days, perfectly matching the sentiment of the lyrics. His connection with Malin goes back to 2007, when they collaborated on the track “Broken Radio,” with Springsteen providing backing vocals.

You can learn more about the Sweet Relief Fund by clicking on this link:

https://www.sweetrelief.org

Enjoy… until next week.

Song of the Week – #9 Dream, John Lennon; Boy Blue, Electric Light Orchestra; You’re No Good, Linda Ronstadt

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Fifty years ago this month, I began my freshman year at Boston College, and one of the first things I did was volunteer at the campus radio station, WZBC.

I arrived at a transformative moment.  Just six months prior, WZBC had been an AM station, limited to campus via carrier current.  But in April 1974, the station secured an FM license, allowing it to reach the greater Boston area.  I was eager to earn a spot on the FM schedule, but it required meeting a few key criteria: a semester on the AM schedule, passing a test for a third-class radio operator’s license (no longer a requirement today), and convincing the Program Director to grant me a slot.  By the second semester, I had met all three.

The biggest perk of being part of WZBC was early access to new releases.  Some incredible albums hit the airwaves in my first few months.  John Lennon’s Walls and Bridges, released on September 26th, was a highlight.  The hit single, “Whatever Gets You Thru the Night,” featured Elton John, whose involvement helped propel the song to the top of the charts.  I frequently played another favorite from the album, “#9 Dream.”

Another standout was Electric Light Orchestra’s Eldorado, released on October 1st.  My friend Kevin Nolan, who represented the station at a prerelease party, returned with a few white-label promo copies. He gave one to me, which I still cherish. Side 1, anchored by “Boy Blue,” is an album side I still consider to be perfect.

Linda Ronstadt’s Heart Like a Wheel dropped on November 19th and became a massive success.  The album topped the Billboard 200 for four weeks, while the single “You’re No Good” reached #1 on the Billboard singles chart.

The fall of 1974 and my initiation to WZBC remain inseparable from those great records and the magic of that year.

Enjoy… until next week.

Song of the Week – Public Image, Public Image Ltd

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In the wake of the Sex Pistols’ implosion in 1978, Johnny Lydon shed the “Rotten” moniker and emerged with a new manifesto—Public Image Ltd (PIL). Enlisting guitarist Keith Levene, bassist Jah Wobble, and drummer Jim Walker, Lydon set out to smash the mold of punk and mold something altogether stranger and more dangerous: post-punk.

PIL’s opening salvo came in the form of their debut single, “Public Image.” This was no mere continuation of the anarchic sneer of the Pistols—it was a declaration of war against the very machine that had commodified Lydon’s former band. The track arrives like a slap across the face of anyone who ever thought they had him pegged.

Lyrically, “Public Image” is Lydon at his most caustic. He’s not just biting the hand that fed him; he’s taking the whole industry down by the throat. This is a man who’s seen the strings behind the puppet show and is none too happy about it:

You never listened to a word that I said
You only seen me from the clothes that I wear.

The venom in his delivery makes it clear—this isn’t just a personal rant; it’s a declaration for anyone who’s ever felt reduced to their public persona, chewed up and spit out by the fame machine. And for Lydon, that machine was none other than Malcolm McLaren and the spectacle of the Pistols:

Behind the image was ignorance and fear
You hide behind this public machine
You still follow the same old scheme.

The lyrics cut through the hype and hysteria, exposing the hollow façade of the punk image he helped create. But Lydon is done playing the puppet. His defiance is unmistakable:

Two sides to every story
Somebody had to stop me
I’m not the same as when I began
I will not be treated as property.

Musically, “Public Image” feels like a reinvention. It’s a stark, skeletal groove, propelled by Wobble’s dub-heavy bass lines, which throb and pulse like a heartbeat, grounding the track in a kind of hypnotic menace. Keith Levene’s guitar, meanwhile, is all jagged edges and icy overtones. His playing here is visionary—a precursor to the atmospheric minimalism of U2’s The Edge and the taut, nervous riffs of James Honeyman-Scott from the Pretenders. Every chord Levene strikes seems to hang in the air, like shards of glass suspended in space.

And then there’s Lydon himself. His vocals are nothing short of a primal scream. The opening “hellos” are delivered with a deranged glee, as if Lydon is welcoming us into his new world order, while the howl that follows is the sound of an artist reborn—wilder, smarter, and infinitely more dangerous. His closing “goodbye” is less a farewell and more a promise: Johnny’s back, but he’s not playing by anyone’s rules.

In hindsight, “Public Image” was a mission statement. It wasn’t just a break from the past; it was a forward leap into uncharted territory. With this single, PIL staked their claim as pioneers of post-punk, a genre as unpredictable and uncompromising as Lydon himself.

Enjoy… until next week.