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The Planet Of Straw Men

by Tropical Fuck Storm

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1.
THE PLANET OF STRAW MEN it’s got some looney tunes biology the planet of straw men their only purpose is to disagree and do it publicly, amen they’re always going for the coup de gras they think they’re gonna fuck a movie star but all paths lead to nowhere and it all adds up to nothing it radiates more of a loneliness than it does a visible light but its beacon to the cosmonaut a weekend to the taikonauts, alright and so then Bejing send her diplomats and the Kremlin sets their wire taps and they send a probe to mine the gold on the planet of straw men don’t hate the player, hate the game right? don’t hate the singer hate the song but don’t go saying that to the straw men or to their rubble kings, king kong they want the glory of the coup de gras a mating ritual or a courtship dance but all paths lead to nowhere and it all adds up to nothing you’ll be picking Chinese cotton on the moon soon on the planet of straw men you’ll buried in an egg then disinterred i’ve heard and made to do it, all again up on the surface its a charcoal roast there’s ruined temples in the undergrowth and strange insects chirping with all the rancour of a coliseum they want the glory of a coup de gras they want the glory of a coup de gras they want the glory of a coup de gras on the planet of straw men
2.

about

In a world where dissident writers are drawn and quartered, communists wear Rolexes, and Trump drives around with a fridge-full of blood; Tropical Fuck Storm’s new single is testament to the jester's duty. The Planet of Straw Men revives Tropical Fuck Storm’s art-punk manoeuvres with a political snarl that pulls your head in, without calling you out. Lauren Hummel’s drums unwind like a sonic mirage of a call to battle. The swagger of Fiona Kitschin’s bass line is as insecure as a parliamentary promise. And Erica Dunn’s uncorked guitars frolic throughout the track like a shit-faced fist fight. In this bare-knuckle ceremony, Tropical Fuck Storm have made a song and dance of diplomacies cheap-suit delusions of grandeur. “They want the glory of a coup de gras!” spits Gareth Liddiard; a broken bottle reminder that General Jack D. Ripper’s red-cap reincarnation is running the show—and how unsatirical this whole joke is.

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released May 3, 2019

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TFS Melbourne, Australia

Tropical Fuck Storm is Gareth Liddiard, Fiona Kitschin, Lauren Hammel and Erica Dunn

Management:
Ben Parrish | Jamboree Mgmt
jamboreemgmtpdx@gmail.com

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