Political rock bands suck.

Don't get me wrong: I'm open to all types. It's just that most of these bands -- which depend on loaded clichés, rhetorical tricks, and knee-jerk poses to keep on keepin' on -- strike me as insincere. Maybe my pen is teeming with cynicism, but rock 'n' roll is so competitive these days that similar-sounding bands gotta do something to separate themselves from the rest of the pack, right? I guess waving the party flag is as good a gimmick as any other.

The protest song is kinda dead to me, too. Abrasive sentiments directed toward "the man" or "the system" are typically so loaded with doublespeak that discerning one honest idea amid the ideological muck is nearly impossible. Cogent thought apparently doesn't matter when you're spearheading the revolution against the reflection in the mirror.

No matter what you say, you probably don't listen to rock 'n' roll to be told -- even in the most subtle, persuasive voice -- how to behave or, worse, what to think. You listen for an emotional, spiritual catharsis. Hearing somebody wax lyrical about the inadequacy of Dubya's foreign policy or the pervasiveness of racism is bound to snap you out of your emotional, spiritual reverie and, contrary to what I believe to be music's purpose (to help listeners slip this mortal coil, however temporarily), introduce you to a world of clearly identifiable, clearly manageable facts. Facts like any you'd find, say, in a newspaper. (Also, songs torn from the headlines have about as much staying power as the headlines themselves. Never forget that today's breaking story is yesterday's old news.) The idea to put in the bank: Commenting creatively on current events is, in my opinion, a job for Nat Hentoff or Seymour Hersh. Not Chuck D. Not Bruce Springsteen. Not Zack de la Rocha.

All most political art really does, anyway, is make sympathizers feel good about themselves. Said Nietzsche: "Compassion easily becomes a selfish pleasure fostering self-righteousness. It requires a constant supply of the poor and the weak, instead of encouraging the healthful and self-reliant." And isn't it always true that the people who should be hearing certain messages aren't even within listening distance?

Typically lefty, avowed poli-rockers aren't even good soldiers. Vulgar Marxists, not like the fakes in RATM, don't even want anything to do with "art." It's so bourgeois. Why bother making music, the vulgar Marxist asks the political rocker, when you can be out leading the local union in a march? The implicit point typically lost on poli-rockers is that all art, in the words of author and culture critic Peter Guralnick, "challenges the status quo." What these artists should understand is that being artists is a big enough political statement. There's really no need for them to bludgeon us with "messages."

While most poli-rock outfits and some protest songs may inspire a fan or two to pick up a newspaper or fire off a check to Greenpeace, they all fail in supporting the democracy they claim to love. For the record, not a single political rock band -- or old-timey protest artist, for that matter, from Joe Hill to Woody Guthrie -- has ever personally delivered an American citizen to a voting booth by writing a song. Inspired, yes. Delivered, no.

Sunday Cervus

The immortal Greil Marcus once described Gang of Four's lyrical content as that "of an ordinary person struggling to make sense of his or her life." This description applies pretty well to most of Cervus' new four-song e.p., Venomous Milk. These four Fort Worthians don't necessarily promulgate a particular political philosophy, but they're not above striving to appear -- and sound -- socially responsible.

The Cervus sound rests comfortably somewhere between the incredibly tight, incredibly muscular musicianship of Primus and the slippery funk of Fishbone. (Strongly articulated viewpoints and morality tales always seem to stand out best against this type of sonic background. I guess that's because the music must be loud enough to qualify as aggressive but not too loud to obscure the lecture.)

"Shepherd's Cane," the first track, reveals as much as it betrays: Songwriter/singer/guitarist Nathan Shartz knows how to twist a phrase into an ear-pleasing shape, that's for sure. ("When the shepherd's cane breaks in half, you'll know I was there / Finding and reminding this fraud that I don't care.") His imagery, of people being "hung" [sic] by the shepherd's cane and of the shepherd's sheep going over a cliff, is far beyond what most local rockers could ever pen. The problem is that the "message" -- that Christianity is a cruel joke -- is aesthetically obstructive and, more importantly, intellectually impoverished. I mean, show me a creative type who doesn't have something shitty to say about the faith and I'll buy you a sixer of Shiner. Let's go after less obvious targets in the future, shall we?

Reportage comes into play by track two, "TX Convenience," an elaborate excuse for criminal misbehavior told over a funked-out, uptempo beat colored by wah-wah rustles. Still, there's no denying Shartz' way with words: "It's like this, my man, I'm so tired of stressing / About the paycheck, it's so fucking depressing / Chasing Mr. Jones on my two-speed bike / I think I'llllllll hitch-hike."

That's a pearl, so allow me to drop one of my own: Lecturing folks kinda makes you just as doctrinaire and just as "evil" as any ol' slimy politician or priest. Take it from Uncle Bob, who in "My Back Pages" (1964) at least recognized the hypocrisy in preaching at people to get them to, you know, stop listening to preachers: "In a soldier's stance, I aimed my hand / At the mongrel dogs who teach / Fearing not that I'd become my enemy / In the instant that I preach."

Word.

King Harrod

Clearly North Texas' most outspoken poli-artist is Kerol Harrod, local rabble-rouser and editor of The Denton Scramble, an intellectually honest attempt at watchdogging. A great writer and commentator, Harrod should keep his day job: His early-2003 full-length, Police State of the Union, is top-to-bottom dreadful. Remember what I said earlier about how nothing's worse than awful rock with a message? Well, I want to amend that statement to say that nothing -- nothing -- is worse than awful folk with a message. Why in the hell you think Dylan plugged in, anyway? Not to score chicks.