A song that Green Day liked so
much they re-recorded it and called it American Idiot.... (allegedly). In 2004,
Green Day released American Idiot, an album that would go on to sell an
estimated 16 million records worldwide, revitalising their career in the
process. The album opened with the title track, and the song’s main riff bared
a striking resemblance to “Doublewhiskeycokenoice.” It could have been a
coincidence, but given the fact that Green Day took Dillinger Four on tour in
Japan in 2001, and Billie Joe Armstrong’s other band, Pinhead Gunpowder,
released a split with Dillinger Four, the plausible deniability goes out the
window. To this day, there are rumours abound about whether or not Dillinger
Four made any money from this, but it showed their song writing prowess to the
world, even if they never got the credit.
On paper, Dillinger Four doesn’t make a lot of sense. They’re a pop-punk band,
but they look down on the genre, or at least that scene, with outright disdain.
Their songs are structured like 80s straight-edge hardcore anthems, but the
band is generally too drunk to play them. Now in their forties, the members
routinely pass up offers to play tours and festivals that their peers would
kill for. Sometimes it's due to work obligations as they all own, manage, or
work at bars in Minnesota, with the exception of drummer Lane Pederson who,
somewhat miraculously, is a successful clinical psychologist with three books
under his belt. Other times, they refuse to miss family obligations like their
kids or wives birthdays. But most times, they just plain old don't feel like
it.
There was always joy poking through their songs, and in the case of
“Doublewhiskeycokenoice,” there was a reason to celebrate. If every other song
on Midwestern Songs captured the stress of trying to make ends meet,
“Doublewhiskeycokenoice” was the relieved exhale after the pay check cleared.
“I’ve got a basement full of booze and some blues to lose / I’ll ignore the
whole world tonight / It will be alright,” sang Costello at the song’s end,
holding out that final word in the hope that, maybe if he never stopped singing
it, he could stave off Monday morning for a little while longer.
A vision of walking around and imagining my Walkman headphones were actually giant speakers accompanying me forcing the world into dancing and performing their tasks to my music. If I had giant speakers up in the sky blasting my own music then everywhere I went people would have to listen to my music and the world would have a uniform emotion, a sort of interconnectedness. Like an unrelenting soundtrack to which everyone must acquiesce… These are my speakers in the sky.
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