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Our motto: "Critical thinking in the cheap seats." Unbiased, honest classical music and opera opinions, occasional obituaries and classical news reporting, since 2007. All written content © 2016 by Paul J. Pelkonen. For more about Superconductor, visit this link. For advertising rates, click this link. Follow us on Facebook.

Saturday, December 17, 2011

A Nightmare of New York (Zuccotti Park)

A Christmas ditty for troubled times.
The ghosts of a New York Christmas yet to come.
December 17th marks the one-month milestone since the raid on Zuccotti Park, when Mayor Mike Bloomberg and New York Police Chief Ray Kelly sent heavily armed and armored NYPD to evict the protestors from the park at the corner of Liberty St. and Broadway.

I was not there that night, but I was a contributor to the Occupation and a donor to the People's Library. One month later, I'm still outraged at the NYPD's continued violence against the people of this city and especially its members of the working press. So here's a Christmas present to the Commish, Hizzonner, and all the boys in blue who raided the park.

(Ed. note: I wrote this yesterday and thought twice about posting it. But given that the police are arresting former clergy at Duarte Square today--and that a cop just punched a credentialed photographer in the kidneys (twice) it's running now.)

A Nightmare of New York (Zuccotti Park)
A song parody by Paul J. Pelkonen
Sung to the tune of "Fairytale of New York" by The Pogues. Original song written by and © S. McGowan/J. Finer. Sheet music available for purchase and download here.

It was on the Seventeenth, in Zuccotti Park,
They came at one A.M., to catch us sleeping.
They came with sound cannons. Gave us no place to run.
Within just two hours, New York was weeping.

The Mayor sent them there, into a public square,
Two months of street protests, had made him nervous.
Bloomberg's private army, Came in to make us bleed,
For our right to protest, did we deserve this?

All the tables they smashed all the beds that were trashed,
The People's Library books ripped up and torn,
The tents they were slashed up, our stuff it was mashed up,
To the sound of a garbage truck's primitive roar.

They beat on reporters, they shut out all others,
They cleared the air space and kept the choppers down,
They came in like cowards, they crushed us like flowers,
It was a black mark for fair Manhattan town.

And the boys of the NYPD choir were armed with pepper spray,
And we shall ne'er forget their deeds that day.

You're a bum,

You're a punk,

And Ray Kelly's a skunk,
You stink of corruption and corporate graft.
Go sleep in Zuccotti,
with your corporate hottie,
with your own private army
you just make me laugh.

And the boys of the NYPD choir were using pepper spray,
And we shall ne'er forget their deeds that day.

You took our homes from us,
You took our jobs from us,
And what coins that were left,
Were pinched and swindled
You went and ruined our books
You claimed for our own good,
But we will rise again,
The sparks are kindled.

And the boys of the NYPD choir still using pepper spray,
And we shall ne'er forgive their deeds that day.
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Critical Thinking in the Cheap Seats

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Since 2007, Superconductor has grown from an occasional concert or CD review to a near-daily publication covering classical music, opera and the arts in and around NYC, with excursions to Boston, Philadelphia, and upstate NY. I am a freelance writer living and working in Brooklyn NY. And no, I'm not a conductor.