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about

"Torture Bitch" is the first in a small series of songs about Guantanamo Bay.
Several years ago a NY Times article caught my attention. A psychologist who had worked with prisoners in Guantanamo Bay relayed her experience there. The tragic absurdity struck me. Men being held for years, with no charges brought against them--some known to be innocent--had become depressed. Instead of releasing them or otherwise moving their cases forward, the prison administration arranged for these men to have psychotherapy. But this therapy was doomed. The clinicians were bound by so many legal limitations that they were rendered ineffectual. Or they were completely untrained for the job, in some cases employees who had previously served as prison interrogators, menacing the very same men they were now tasked with healing. I was filled with frustration and heartbreak for the prisoners--as well as for the well-intentioned, ill-fated therapists--and a certain kind of awe at how terribly run--how profoundly inhumane--is the institution of Guantanamo Bay. Out of the powerful and complicated swirl of imagery, emotion and metaphor evoked in me came this song.
(and suddenly i'm thinking...Torture Bitch, the musical?)

The recording came at the end of an epic day spent recording all the songs for Stay Plastic at Mike Fornatale's studio in New Jersey. The performances and the creative production serve to capture the heartbreaking hallucinogenic intensity of the whole idea.

lyrics

TORTURE BITCH music and lyrics by Rembert Block

Torture Bitch,
What would your Jesus say?
The psychiatrists use pseudonyms.
Peeking through keyholes
Or slits in cell doors,
using interpreters who worked as interrogators.
Oh!
Sometimes by instruction
and sometimes by choice
We never asked questions that might make things worse;
We told ourselves we were preserving their dignity.
I wish I could go back and do things differently.

They say,
Why am I here?
What's my future?
The doctors couldn't answer;
their hands were tied:
The content of nightmares is classified.

Plane after plane
Filled with men--
shackled, in blackout goggles--
they came pouring in.
Coming from black sites
from who knows where.
We never asked them what happened there.

Never open a wound you cannot close.
Administer the medication,
Make sure he swallows.

They say,
Why am I here?
What's my future?
The doctors couldn't answer;
Their hands were tied:
The content of nightmares classified.
Oh...

Torture Bitch,
What would your Jesus say?
The psychiatrists use pseudonyms
Like Major Psych, Doctor Crocodile.
Please, Superman, don't put this in my permanent file

credits

released January 8, 2020
Rembert Block: accordion, vocals
Russell Alderson: bass guitar, backing vocals
Jagoda: drums
Jeff Hudgins: saxophone
Mike Fornatale: electric guitar

Engineered and produced by Mike Fornatale

Squiggle Music 2018

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Rembert and the Basic Goodness New York

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