Turn Off Shuffle:
Concept Albums Explained
by Paul-Newell Reaves
A Musical Rebirth of the American Dream
Lyricists’ Watch
2024
Most pretentious concept album of all time is a highly contested prize.
Punching in the heavy-weight category of pretension, the fourth album by folk-punk band Lyricists’ Watch, “A Musical Rebirth of the American Dream”, weighs in at 20 tracks— 17 songs and several cryptic skits.
But Lyricists’ Watch revels tongue-in-cheek in this pretension, clearly having a great deal of fun on songs like “Got an Old Man’s Life” and “Truck War”. Those skits, meanwhile, I find enjoyably baffling. Then, with but two minutes remaining on the record, a twist to the album’s eponymous concept upper-cuts us to the face.
Because alongside the hooting and hollering, alongside the rockin’ and the finger-picking, the lyrics are the star of the show. Lyricists’ Watch has an unusual approach to tone, or the voice, of these lyrics— not necessarily satirical, and most of the time not emotionally-driven, with no abstraction, very few stories, and not even much metaphor. Lyricists’ Watch lyrics seem to mostly be statements— clear, concise statements. Statements on immigration, critiques of the two-party political system, and— intriguingly— freedom as loneliness.
So let’s tie on the analytical boxing gloves and see what we can make of this, “A Musical Rebirth of the American Dream”.
The album is divided into four parts— called “Articles” on the CD back cover and the website: “U.S. Will, a Testament”, “Only the Brave”, “Freedom Blues” and “Tempestad de la igualdad”. Although the major statements weave across the entirety of the record, these Articles stand alone both lyrically and musically. Each article has a thematic arc, and each has a musical finale.
First up, “U.S. Will, a Testament” plays on a funereal last will and testament, the legal document that allocates and distributes one’s assets and possessions upon death. By opening the album with a reference to death, we are reminded that nothing can be reborn— not even the American Dream— without first dying.
The literal meaning, however, as it is phrased, can be understood as a testament to U.S. will, or a testimony to the will-power of the United States. Before singing a word, if you can categorize the vocalizations of Lyricists’ Watch as singing— it’s like Rex Harrison almost, kinda singing, mostly talking, but still sorta melodic— before singing a single word, the band has already said a great deal.
The music begins with “Got an Old Man’s Life”, and we are greeted by a loud guitar slide, a shuffling drum beat and a walking baseline, followed within three seconds by a booming announcement of the album title. The first seconds of the first song insist that this is not a chipper melody, alone, it’s part of a larger album, part of a larger whole— and a larger concept.
The main statement of the song comes in the chorus, “you don’t gotta die before you get old.” Here we have an old man, who clearly has no need for a last will and testament, still enjoying life. No, the lyrics deal much more with the will-power element, the will to live and thrive and face down obstacles, the will to just keep on keeping-on, “living my life, just makin’ it through it.”
The lengthy bridge of the song features the lyrics “sure looking good in the picture shows”. As the folksy blues rhythm breaks the song down, this becomes, “who’s looking good in the picture shows? Youth.” After almost a full minute making fun of Youth Culture— “I don’t need help crossing the street, dork” as ad-libbed by the alto back-up singer, or “get a job. But not better than my job”— the episode concludes with this statement, “Youth. Who wants it.” So, we have here some old-timey notion of movies as picture shows, and in those movies the youths are looking good— but that seems about all these youths are good for. By the end of the lengthy outro, with “don’t gotta die in the picture shows,” Lyricists’ Watch has said a great deal, indeed.
But, importantly, right at the outro’s beginning, the tempo slows abruptly, the key changes, and a sharp, sudden inhalation is heard, followed by a quote from Marianne Moore, “hope not being hope until all grounds for hope has vanished.” Time to place the album in its historical context. “A Musical Rebirth of the American Dream” was released in December of 2024, shortly after Donald Trump was re-elected. In this context, that sharp breath becomes a note of surprise, or desperation, and the Moore quote becomes a potent statement about the future of American reality, regardless of its dreams. This sharp breath very subtly takes a political stance— although with the title so shockingly akin to “make America great again,” this stance could probably stand to be significantly less subtle.
Let’s talk about the cover image. Lyricists’ Watch slouches front and center in front of a dump truck with the name of the band spray painted upon it— a Bob Dylan reference, “I need a dump truck, baby, to unload my head”— with an acoustic guitar slung over the shoulder like a sledge hammer, or a battle axe. With red stripes above and below the image’s white background, and with the truck’s blue driver-cab off to the left, the Stars and Stripes of the USA flag are flown high. There’s also a big black dog, right up front. Not sure if that’s supposed to symbolize something. But it’s a cool looking dog.
Red and gold text adds additional stripes to the visual element, reading: “Genuine Grade-E Americana-Core”; “Complete with Lyrics”; “Knowledge Hazard: keep out of the reach of children under 45 years old, some analysis required, keep cool under duress, totalitarianism optional”; and the website, “MusicalRebirthoftheAmericanDream.com”.
I had to look-up Genuine Grade-E meat. It means the meat of an old cow, as opposed to Grade-A, which is a young cow— harking back to the Old Man’s Life. Same sentiment with the children up to 44 years in age. And the website mentioned includes the full lyrics of the album, as does the CD insert.
The second track, “To Dream On…”, begins the skits. In the crackly tones of an antique radio broadcast, a wailing whistle of a Western movie reverberates, the jangling of spurs is heard, followed by spoken words, “Bogart. Just Bogart. No one knows me by my true name”— the speaker, credited as special guest on the album, is actor Thomas Matthews. Yuppers, sure is old-timey, gee-willikers, gosh darn.
The skits get progressively more incomprehensible in what they signify as they continue across the album, especially the longer ones, but this first one does make sense— a stranger is sauntering into town, with a changed name. A classic movie reference is made— prepare yourself for more of those, many more, all mashed together, and more than mere name-dropping, the context of these films referenced adds meaning to the album, maybe the motivation of the characters in the reference or sometimes the plot of the film referenced, these fit into the concept of the record— intertextuality! That’s how it’s done, Lyricists’ Watch, that’s how it’s done! But this first skit alludes to Humphrey Bogart— you know, Casablanca… we got it, Effie, we got it!— whose acting roles always represent the American mythic hero, the tough-as-nails Everyman of the Greatest Generation, with smarts and a sense of humor and a conscience, who always does the right thing, no matter how reluctantly.
The lyrics of “To Dream On…” are highly straightforward. Of note, the second verse takes a strong pro-Union stance, the third verse opens the critique of two-party politics, and the fourth begins an immigration discussion with “let the hard workers stay and deport those in jail. To all my hagglers and rascals, get yourself to North America to keep the dream alive.” Dream alert. Immigrants perpetuate the American Dream.
“Race for the Dollar” doesn’t have nearly as much to say. Until the last measure. The song hits us with, “we must make… systemic bigotry unprofitable.” DAAAANG! Now, there’s a statement for ya.
Onward to the second skit, an impenetrable one. Radio sound, western whistle, cigarette smoking, movie references— and I think a Joni Mitchell lyric? But the basics are this, Mr. Bogart’s life isn’t worth living, so he should be killed, yet this is actually a good thing, for it’s a cultural death, a cultural death that will improve the quality of his life. Got it? At least close enough? Good.
“Midnight Flight” rounds off “U.S. Will a Testament”. It’s a mellow song, longing for “jet planes circle the sky, if only I ride that midnight flight, far from the strip-mall strip mines”. Following immediately behind Mr. Bogart’s cultural death, this flight lyrically takes us away from racing for the dollar, away from the strip malls that leave us barren as strip mines, then a cool bass breakdown musically climaxes the article.
“Article 2: Only the Brave”, and, commence distorted guitars. “Gather Your Courage”: a 28 second song with a guitar solo for almost four full seconds— that is how you compose! The only lyric aside from the song title is, “Be. On. Your. Guard.” We’ll come back to that.
Ah, we’re finally getting somewhere— “Now Arriving for the American Dream” combines the distortion of “Gather Your Courage” with the jangly guitars of the Americana-skewing Article 1. The American Dream is immediately encapsulated with, “wanna make it, go get it” — a by-your-bootstraps, Horatio Alger type of American Dream, a Dream of wealth and success and hard work. In the final two verses, however, the lyric turns into “come get it”— as in, come to America and get it, the American Dream. The skit at the end then also becomes about immigration: “[speaker one, let’s dub him Hackman:] you don’t live here! I live here! [Mr. Bogart:] sigh. Hi, neighbor.” Mr. Bogart has immigrated to the USA, and he and Hackman don’t appear to get along. So Bogart just has to put up with that. Well, I guess a long sigh is one way to deal with xenophobia. I mean, we all have at least one annoying neighbor.
That reference, by-the-by, is to “Sabrina”, a cutesy date flick from the early 1950s— one of the Audrey-Hepburn-gets-a-haircut movies. Twisting a Hollywood RomCom into political satire? That’s what I call hardcore.
OK, next in the ring comes “Truck War”, and it’s high-energy Rock and Roll. The lyrics tell a story, for once, of two 18-wheeler trucks racing each other up in the Appalachia Mountains. “One cut-off the other and it started a truck war!” With ludicrously enthusiastic talking-blues vocals— “play that Christ-licking guitar”— an utterly ripping bass solo, and over four full measures of acoustic guitar soloing— admirably sloppy acoustic guitar soloing— the rockin’ is achieved.
Another short skit, “[Hackman:] We have your full track record, Mr. Bogart, and I begin to wonder where your true placations lie. What is your nationality? [Mr. Bogart:] I’m a drunkard.” So, track-record would be the full tracks of the album. What placations means here is pretty obtuse, but the dictionary definition of the word relates to reducing hostility. And the concept of nationality, of belonging to a nation-state, is scoffingly dismissed as an intoxicant.
Has Lyricists’ Watch barked like a dog on this album, yet? Cue “Spawning Ground”, and the high energy intensifies. If we read the Article “Only the Brave” as analogous in some weird way to the immigrant experience, then the lyrics of “Spawning Ground” bring it all together. “When I feel lonely and full of repine, I got to get back to… the spawning ground”. At this point, Mr. Bogart has arrived for the American Dream, but gets homesick and longs to return to his birthplace. However, with “gather your courage, mate”, Bogart changes his mind, “don’t take me back to the spawning ground”. Lots of howling and barking later and “I’mma get it.” Gather your courage— the title of the first song in this article— becomes the necessary component to come get it from the second song— it being the American Dream. A dream reserved for only the brave.
The next song— which is kinda acoustic ska, also high-energy— is “Morning, Last Missed Bus For Home”, wherein a “poor kid, drunk and stumbling” has lost friends and phone, and doesn’t have a dollar. But as this kid heads for the bus stop, “flying by ahead of time went the last bus of the night”, and so must then put “one foot in front of the other for a while”. We’re back to the will-power theme, the will to simply keep plodding along, no matter how far the destination. After a distorted bridge section— an actual middle-eight bridge? I didn’t know Lyricists’ Watch did that!— we come to a solid profundity. “All abrupt he breathed in deep with a satisfied liberation, ‘cause where can freedom else be found than utter isolation.” This first freedom-as-loneness statement actually occludes all other types of freedom except for the kid’s liberation in isolation. A lyric that definitely says something notable, and says it powerfully and concisely.
Nothing about “Three Roses”, the following track, is concise. There is a lengthy skit— borderline nonsensical in its cornucopia of references— about a trigger turning into a callus, after which Mr. Bogart tells Hackman to “shut-up and sing”, whereupon the two agree that, “deserves got nothing to do with it” — possibly the most bad-ass quote of Clint Eastwood’s entire career of bad-assery, in which Gene Hackman complains about not deserving to be killed, and Eastwood suggests none-to-subtly that what one deserves is of very little consequence to what one gets.
The track continues its non-concisity with a magnificent ramble. Ostensibly, it’s about taking the time to notice our surroundings, to engage in the cliche of stopping to smell the roses. With the same four chords in the same progression for over three minutes, the ramble is the musical conclusion to the article.
Is the album over yet? Don’t be cranky, we’re almost there. Is the album over yet? We’re half-way there, take a nap, or something— dork.
We’re on to the moody section of the record with “Article 3: Freedom Blues”, and the song-writing gets extraordinarily minimalistic.
First, we slow it down with “On the Earth Alone”, a track almost entirely driven by one, truly gorgeous guitar hook. There’s a micro-skit, “storm’s coming”, portenting some forthcoming social critique, then one lyric repeated thrice: “if only I were on the Earth alone”. This Article explicitly is themed around freedom, so beginning it with a longing for loneness which cannot be continues the freedom-as-isolation statement. It’s actually extremely existentially depressing to think about. The blues part of freedom is that we can’t be on the Earth alone, we never could be, and so can never be free.
But why does freedom only happen when we’re alone, utterly isolated? As I read it, the Earth— and therefore America, as well— is a pretty nice place, except for the people in it.
Another micro-skit— all the songs on this article have a micro-skit— initiates “Too Healthy”, “Leeches, the one thing I can’t stand this world on is leeches”. As the song develops into a critique of the pharmaceutical syndicate, the type of leech on which the world cannot stand becomes clear.
This track also has a very cool guitar lick, but the composition seems to be mostly a place-holder for the lyrics. There is a verse and an instrumental part, but the only structure is instrumental/ lick/ verse/ lick/ instrumental/ lick/ verse/ lick. It’s kind of a song, sort of. But it typifies a kind of Americana music before the British Rock‘n’Roll invasion. Sort of.
“Someday a hard rain will come and wash all this comfort off the streets” is a very hardcore micro-skit to start a song with, though “Done Greedy” is even less of a song than “Too Healthy”. There is one part. The part has one chord. The bass-line plays one note. About a minute of that. Surprisingly enough, it totally works, the song rocks hard.
The lyrics are the most obtuse on the record, in an awesome, figure-it-out-yourself sort of way. “Done greedy. Gone humble.” Strap those gloves up— it’s Lyricists’ Watch v. Concept Albums Explained— tap hands— ready, and… syntax!
The phrase “done greedy” can be constructed out of several conjugations: present continuous tense with a present participle— I am done being greedy; or present perfect continuous tense with a present participle— I have done this thing called greediness; or an adjectival phrase— greedy could be the subject which is modified, greedy is done.
Round two— syntax!
I am done being greedy expresses an exhaustion with being greedy; I have done this thing called greediness expresses an ongoing state of successfully obtaining greediness; while greedy is done expresses that greediness in the abstract is over and finished and simultaneously that greediness in the abstract can be done and is possible to do.
Oh, you think you’re bad, Lyricists’ Watch? You think you can go five rounds with Concept Albums Explained? Round three— syntax!
“Gone Humble” is a simpler construction, but still with several possible interpretations: humble has gone; humble is gone; gone is humble; I have gone humble.
And… syntax! Humble has gone expresses that the concept of humility in the abstract was formerly here, but has actively left or has actively ceased to be; humble is gone expresses that the concept of humility in the abstract is in a state of not being here; gone is humble makes no sense in this context; I have gone humble expresses that the subject once was not humble, but currently has finished becoming humble.
Stay down, Lyricists’ Watch, those ropes won’t hold you up forever. Round five, syntax.
1:1 I am done being greedy/ humility has gone
1:2 I am done being greedy/ humility is gone
1:3 I am done being greedy/ I have gone humble
2:1 I have done this thing called greediness/ humility has gone
2:2 I have done this thing called greediness/ humility is gone
2:3 I have done this thing called greediness/ I have gone humble
3:1 greediness is done/ humility has gone
3:2 greediness is done/ humility is gone
3:3 greediness is done/ I have gone humble
FINISH ‘EM!
The following combinations of the two phrases remotely make sense:
1:3— I am done being greedy and I have gone humble;— 2:1— I have done this thing called greediness because humility has gone;—3:2— greediness is done because humility is gone;— 3:3— greediness is done so I have gone humble
What’s great about open literature, we can choose whichever of these meanings we want to apply. I prefer a hermeneutical reading, whereby the lyrics mean all of these things simultaneously.
Hmm, that’s 500 words written on one four word song. Let’s advance.
“The Cost” is about Capitalism, as the micro-skit makes clear, “gold! Not foolish man’s gold, true gold!”
A blues beat and a repeated guitar part comprise the entirety of the song, but this type of songwriting makes more sense within the Americana Blues tradition.
The gist of the song is that “you gotta pay the cost” for a large military budget, a better school system, unprotected sex, and living hard in your youth. The statement is rounded out at the end with, “you get what you pay for.” In a politicized context such as this album, I read that as an imperative to pay your taxes.
To end “Freedom Blues”, we have “Free As It Gets”. Feeling pessimistic, yet? Give it about three minutes. “You free enough to bleed? You free enough to feel? You free enough to sing inside your own head? You free as it gets”. Oouf.
Another lengthy bass-driven breakdown— much like that on “Midnight Flight”, but stranger and much more moody— propels the Article to a climax, followed by a bleak, lingering fade-out.
However, there is a real ray of hope in the skit that ends the song and the Article. Or, this skit might be the most pessimistic bit of the entire album— depending on the context of the references. “It’s that dream-type stuff we’re all flyin’ on”, husks out Thomas Matthews in his finest performance on the record. The final words of Bogart’s the Maltese Falcon are the direct reference, “it’s the stuff dreams are made of”, which is in turn a reference to William Shakespeare’s the Tempest, “we are such stuff as dreams are made of”. In the Bogart movie, the falcon statue that causes all the drama, thievery and killing is the dream-type stuff— so when this reference is applied, freedom becomes the same stuff, causing the killing, thievery and drama. Alternatively, however, in the context of The Tempest, the dream stuff is a majestic dance of spirits about love and Greek gods, the stuff of acting and art and of storytelling, even of life itself, we are such stuff as dreams are made of— applied, freedom is a majestic dance, godly, loving, the greatest story ever told, and the essence of existence.
One more element must be considered, however, before we figure out what it all means— the literal phrasing of the song lyric, “dream-type stuff we’re all flyin’ on”. Freedom drives us forward, gives us wings, takes us places— also, a throwback to “Midnight Flight”, a flight taking us away from stripmalls. Although both of the above references apply hermeneutically and at the same time, the meaning leans more toward the Shakespeare reference. Especially since the name of that play is used in the title of the next article.
“Tempestad de la igualdad”— Spanish for tempest of equality— is mostly skits— one of which is delightfully irreverent and fun, the second of which is downright scary, and the third is… hmmmmm. Let’s say the third skit is a thinker.
First, however, does come some music, “Desert Wind”, eight minutes of a total jam— kinda reggae, like The Clash if they had haunting vocal harmonies. There’s a lot of lyrics on this one, so let’s stick to a high-level fly-over.
It starts with slamming drums, then “Yes, yes!”— Lyricists’ Watch is fully aware of what this album has accomplished, here. Then follows a dump truck load of rapid references to other concept albums, concluding with a lyrical sandwich of Nobel Prize on Gangster-Rap bread: “and to my allies that no longer roll, that approve of me and share my code, I’ll catch you at the crossroads”. Yes, yes— a Bob Dylan line in-between a Tupac rhyme. Do you see what’s happening here?— these references are not merely shout outs to literature, film and other music. Lyricists’ Watch uses these references to say something more. It’s the old adage, “a good writer borrows, a great writer steals”— T.S. Eliot said that— but look, Lyricists’ Watch is equating Tupac’s lyrics with those of Nobel Prize for Literature laureate Bob Dylan’s. And all the lyrics from other concept record are not merely shout-outs, they refer back to the concept-album nature of A Musical Rebirth of the American Dream.
The first sung verse of “Desert Wind” is short, and worth quoting in full: “Sister Coyote, I know why you howl your lonely late-night tune. I’ve seen the clean bones of your freshest kill, reflecting the light of the moon.” This is repeated as the last verse, so let’s ruminate on it a sec and analyze it last.
The second verse reminds us that an old man’s life is worth living. Third verse reiterates that health is not everything in life. Fourth verse suggests that love is not everything in life, either. Neither is happiness everything, the fifth verse advises. By the sixth verse, we’re talking freedom again, returning to the theme that freedom is loneliness.
Seventh verse is quite the homily, let’s quote a large portion of it:
“I’ve been tempted everyday… by the first temptation of Christ… the Nazarinthean faced the worst temptation alone. Would he turn every stone into bread, or would mankind hungry go. Now, I’d just be troubled by every kingdom on Earth, and the tallest towers, they host quite a view. But feeding every man and woman on Earth, for that I’d sell my soul. But no… nothing motivates like hunger, without it man would never achieve. Our grandest feats, our highest arts come from someone hungering.”
Straightforward statements, interesting ones— nice homily, Lyricists’ Watch.
The eighth verse is a strange sentiment, but also interesting and straightforward. The statement is that “guiltiness is righteousness”, explaining that we cannot be forgiven if we “know no guilt”
Last verse, same as the first, revolves around the coyote’s howl. We know why the beast howls, because the moonlight reflects off the bones of the killed prey. Which relates back to the cultural killing of Mr. Bogart.
Then, skits.
The first one, “Dang Government” is the highlight of the album, and it makes perfect sense. It is a wrestling match between the Red Corner, Nick Dickson, and the Blue Corner, Sandi Burners. Neither are portrayed in a flattering light. When asked a question, the Red Corner candidate breaks into carnival tunes; the Blue Corner candidate snores. But there is another candidate, the Yellow Corner, though the announcer doesn’t know their name— much like Mr. Bogart’s unknown true name. And when the Yellow Corner is asked a question, snoring and carnival tunes drown out any response— though the announcer is also contributing to the noisy fray. It’s really quite hilarious. And the last line is a gem: “You have a nice tomorrow, but first have a goooooooooood night!”
“Cruelest Month: clawse, two” is the downright scary one. The delivery is aggressive— intensely so— and very rapid— so rapid that the articulation is affected, and the words difficult to discern.
It’s clearly a Trump-election reaction, and not very well produced sonically— giving the impression that it was thrown together at the last moment and put in the track list without much time to spare. There’s a cheesy Darth Mall effect on the first line— “as empires stumble”— but the rest of the skit is completely naked without any reverb or echo or other effects.
My main takeaway is in, “freedom’s been dealt with already… 225 year’s a good streak”. On January 6th, 2020, a 224-year streak of free and peaceful transition of power between US presidents came to an end.
The following track, on the other hand, “The Cruelest Month”, is extremely well produced sonically— with sustained sound effects of rain and radio static, and church organ accompaniment. There’s a whole lot to think about in there, so let’s stick to the large, overarching themes.
Capitalism gets defended quite strongly: “when you own a small business in America, the purpose is to profit. [radio static] In America, the purpose is to profit.”
Immigration is strongly supported, as well, “yeah, you have a problem immigrating, so you’d better report on the picket line floor.”
“Who is that masked man” is repeated ad nauseam between most of the other segments, so let’s analyze. The masked man simultaneously references the masked Lone Ranger character of old timey radio— a problematically racist show— also a masked executioner, and of course, a covid mask. In all these references, the identity of the masked man is questioned, who is that masked man, and the true name unknown— Mr. Bogart, again.
The rain intensifies, the church organ fades out, and the skit concludes by naming a dozen murdered people of color, followed by “we will now take a moment of silence, and only then will there be a rebirth of the American Dream.” Woah.
A moment of silence does ensue, and the final song “Come Dream With Me” — specified as the only rebirth of the American Dream on the album— has only four words “come dream with me”. It is, again, a statement of immigration: come to America to dream the American Dream alongside me. When the song climaxes in a suggestive fashion, the phrase becomes a dirty joke about a wet dream.
The album ends with tinny fireworks and these final words, a direct quote from Shakespeare’s The Tempest. “Be free and farewell”.
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