It's about a cop who once pulled me over and searched my car, girls who want you when they know you're in a band and my gay friends flirting with me.
- Ike Reilly on Angels and Whores
Chicago-area rocker
Ike Reilly places just a little too much
profanity in his songs to have them played on American radio. Ike doesn't pull any punches in his
introspection, telling it as he sees it or remembers it.
Angels and Whores, the 2nd track off his 2001 debut album
Salesmen and Racists, is a perfect example of why you won't see
Ike Reilly on
VH1 or
MTV.
The song starts out with a kick, then features a quick little funk-fusion riff, until inevitably the guitars begin distorting and crashing. Various horns add some manic depth and the keyboards keep up a constant counterpoint - reminding me of Billy Preston.
Yet, the instrument that draws me in the most is Reilly's voice. The man loves this shit, he's having fun. You can hear his smile - even while he's telling you all the stupid things he's done. Hey, it's done, it's behind me, I've changed. Or I have I?
Angels and Whores isn't my favorite song off of Salesmen and Racists, but it's a good solid rocker and anything by Ike Reilly is better than most of what you'll hear on the radio.
Per usual, lyrics are as I hear them after repeated listenings.
Angels and Whores
(I want to know what the fuck's goin' on...)
1- 2 - 3 -
All the pretty girls call my home
They say whatcha doin' where ya goin whatcha singin' what's your song
I used to look and wonder
Are they angels or are they whores
But I don't look much like that anymore
Ridin' in my Crown Vic outta school half licked
Stops which we took down
Cop said, you little bitch lip off the limpdick
Hey motherfucker kiss the ground
I used to look and wonder
Are they angels or are they whores
I don't look much like that anymore
I'm gonna take the things I love (yeah, yeah)
I'm gonna take all the things that I fucked up (yeah, yeah)
I was wrong - children I belong, children I belong
Children, children, children I belong to you
Yeah, Yeah, you
(Yeah, Yeah, you)
Yeah, Yeah, you
(Yeah, Yeah, you)
Yeah, Yeah, you
(Yeah, Yeah, you)
All my pretty gay friends call my name
They say where ya been, you're cleaned up, you're lookin' good, where ya playin'?
Crosstown, downstate, Eastside, Bowery
Playin for the pussy and the saps
Money undressed me and money molest me as the suburbs suck the punk off of my lap
I used to look and wonder
Are they angels or are they whores
But I don't look much like that, (no, no)
I don't look much like that, (no, no)
I don't look much like that anymore
Anymore
(Anymore)
Anymore
(Anymore)
Anymore
(Anymore)
(What the fuck you drinkin' man?
This stuff tastes like Raid.)