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Bootlicker

from Bootlicker by Modern Literature

/

about

Birmingham’s favourite post-punk miserablism merchants Modern Literature are back – with an expanded five-piece line up – and a new single.
Modern Literature’s new single Bootlicker is a lesson in taut Kraut rock rhythm performance, syncopated guitar stabs, arpeggios and punchy vocals. Bootlicker is also a visceral warning. It warns of the danger of the populism, jingoism and right-wing isolationism that’s infected the consciousness of our ever-less pleasant land and reminds us of the disdain in which we should hold those espousing such views.
The lyrics reflect on the othering of vast swathes of society through the performative cruelty of the nouveau riche and complacently comfortable. Those who lap up a diet of prescribed contempt cooked up by a sneering press, while conveniently forgetting their own less affluent upbringings. The people that pull the ladder up after themselves. The song combines the dry observation of The Fall at their most playful, the bombast and energy of prime Lydon, a Krautrock groove, and entirely justified vitriol.
Modern Literature are from Birmingham, birthplace of so much that is important and vital about rock music. They combine the post-punk leanings of their forebears with their own unique reflections and stylings. Their pummelling riffs, jagged rhythms and skewed guitar driven sound is usually delivered in a frenetic live performance. Bootlicker is a rare chance to hear them refined, but not restrained.

lyrics

How can you say
This accents dumb
When these are the people held in tithe you profiteer from
In a land devoid
Of empathy
Nobody notices strange fruit floating in the sea

Now Stephen says
He don't like people who don't look like him
Oh no the apologists excuses are wearing thin

You embalm yourself
In Nostalgia
Now you're quoting rivers of blood Christ what the fuck is wrong with you
As you hanker for
Those colonial years
In a nation built on immigration and unfounded fears

Now Stephen says
He don't like people who don't look like him
Oh no the apologists excuses are wearing thin

And now you rant and you foam at the mouth
Like a mad dog or an Englishman in the midday sun
When you're so full of hate you get nothing done
I don't wanna
Hide behind a flag or a crown like you bootlicking bastards constantly punching down
Just to ensconce your place in the middle ground

credits

from Bootlicker, released February 16, 2024
Vocals - Greg Smith
Guitar - Kieran Naughton
Guitar/Keys - Mark Lewis
Bass - Skip Davies
Drums - Jacob Hall

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Modern Literature Birmingham, UK

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