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C. Tangana and the hypocritical hairs


When I listen to Wagner, I don't feel like invading Poland. If I wear Brown Sugar, from the Rolling, I don't mind getting a heroin spike. C. Tan's Songs

When I listen to Wagner, I don't feel like invading Poland. If I wear Brown Sugar, from the Rolling, I don't mind getting a heroin spike. C. Tangana's songs do not push me to rape anyone, although I confess that his lyrics spit so much cheap testosterone that at times I notice how a penis is about to grow. Fortunately, I always stop the song on time.

I read the one that has gotten involved with the rapper (or was he reggaeton?) In Bilbao and I think that the worst of all, the most unbearable, is that we are a pain. Everyone, not just feminists. In general, nobody gets rid of being a movie here. When it is not the "fag" of a song, they are the "whores" of another or the bad joke of the nth stick comedian who only graces his 30 followers on Twitter. The question is to always send someone to burn at the stake. Oh, what we like the smell of Napalm in the morning.

Music does not have to be complacent, nor does literature, or cinema or any other artistic expression. When art succumbs to the will of the masses, it ceases to be art and becomes servitude, hypocrisy. Without subversion, without stinging, there is no artist. The bad thing is that we are too generous and call anything art, but nobody is to blame for shit seems like a masterpiece.

C. Tangana is so ridiculous that it must have happened before. You just have to throw away memory and there we have the Beatles and their Run for your life . "I'd rather see you dead, little one, than being with another man ... Better run for your life, little one." The letter basically tells that a man wants to kill his girlfriend. Some say that the song is just a parody of another by Elvis, but John Lennon already made it clear in his day that he hated her and there came a point where he denied so much of her that he avoided touching her. More than a decade after Lennon's murder, a Canadian radio banned the broadcast of that song following the protest of some listeners. That happened after the massacre at the Montreal Polytechnic School, in which a 25-year-old murdered 14 women while shouting "you are a handful of feminists and I hate feminists." It was the 90s and that boy wasn't even a Beatles fan.

If I cover the sun with my hand, it won't stop making this heat unbearable. Only a hypocrite prohibits a concert, a joke or a story. All that smoke blurs us from the important thing: machismo and the culture of rape are in our house, in the courtyards of our schools, in our police stations and courts, in our bars. If we continue to think that "something she will have done", that "how does it happen to go alone through that dark alley", no matter what the soundtrack of our lives. We will continue to stink the same, even if we only listen to Mocedades.

According to the criteria of The Trust Project

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