<NationaReport> The Phish Rock and Roll Music Band is currently touring the United States and reaping havoc on each town and venue they play. My latest entertainment review is a follow-up, if you will, on my expose piece regarding the horrible cost in life and social construct the Phish visited upon the town of Chicago when they played Soldier’s Stadium for three shows in July.
I have received a tremendous reaction to my article for which I stand in my own britches selfishly proud but at the same time astonished. Parent and family welfare groups have flooded my e-inbox with pleas and appeals to not let this story die. I have a tremendous deepness of heart for those parents among us that stand erect and ready in the face of the moral and emotional trials that The Phish represent for our precious youth. I promise today and forever while blood beats through the heart of I, Cassidy Pen, that I will never allow the plight of parents and families that have seen their loved ones become victims of the Phish to become a statistic.
One such plea was from Sherrie, a single mother of three from Des Moines, IA who will remain nameless for the purposes of this article. In her heartfelt and deeply disturbing letter, she documented how her two oldest children have fallen under the hypnotic spell of four demon New Englanders to the point where they twirl their lives away in a marijuana stupors and worship lists of sets from such havens of degradation as Saratoga Springs and Gorge, Oregon.
Particularly of concern to this parent and child welfare groups nationwide are the messages contained in their songs. Being that I could not decipher a word that Trey Pistachio was shrieking when I witnessed their live Chicago debacles, I questioned the need to expose the lyrical content of their songs. But when alerted by these groups, I read exactly what was contained within the stanzas of certain Phish “songs” and I came to agree. I am now officially deeply concerned about the lyrical content, especially when hearing the children “whoo” to certain passages on concert recordings that the band peddles on their website.
“Fluffhead” is a number appearing on their ‘Junta’ album. Pistachio put this together with the help of a Polish communist named Pollack. It documents a freighting tale about a serial killer and the kind of wanton drug use that brings down societies and allows anarchy and human desperation to reign.
Upon hearing the voice of concern from family research groups about this song, I performed what is commonly known in journalistic research circles as a “google” search. Being a man of integrity and steel grit from my days in the service to Uncle Sam, I did not have my internet content filter applied. The disgusting list of websites and media files that returned from my search of “Fluffhead” was appalling. I almost vomited on my laptop screen. This is from a man (myself) that experienced some of the most cruel and horrible wartime combat death imaginable.
After a short break to pray, gather my thoughts, and confide in my beautiful wife for inspiration and the will to continue, I read further.
===== WARNING! =====The following lyrical analysis is provided for mature adults and those of moral fortitude. Some content is controversial and not intended for sensitive or immature audiences. Please make sure that all women and children are removed from the room before reading further.
In the song, “Fluffhead,” the opening stanza finally appears after a painstakingly long listen to what is called in jamband circuits a “pre-vocal.”
Fluffhead was a man
With a horrible disease
Could not find no cure
Won’t you help him if you please?
It reads certainly like a cry for help and, if for not reading my introduction, would not seem out of place in one of Jesus Christ’s parables in the Holy Book. But after this tug at the heart, the song takes a menacing turn.
Fluff came to my door
Fluff came to New York (two parts)
Askin’ me for change
His eyes were clear and pure
But his mind was so deranged
The suggestion of criminal mental illness is not lost to me. No doubt, the influence of drugs is paramount to the music and lyrical content of The Phish and other jam styled bands that peddle this garbage to our youth. The subject “Fluffhead” of this ditty is the kind of bohemian Greenwich Village type of red beatnik that infected New York City’s West Side in the late 1950′s and 60′s. Beneath the eyes of the public law enforcement and the media, thousands of bums and musically inclined poets penned communist songs of protest spitting in America’s eye while glorifying the Vietcong and Chairman Mao’s plans to discredit the young boys that were defending the very freedoms that they use to write mind-blowing filth like this.
I gasped in shock and then felt the rage inside when I read the next stanza.
Fluff went to a banker
Askin’ for some bills
The banker said, “I ain’t got that
But I sure got some powerful pills.
This last line is one that the “heads” use to supply an evil adrenalin rush to their burned out brains, a hidden code for the sick children that attend these shows that drugs are plentiful and abundant and that there is much money to be made on the sale and distribution thereof. Their tortured and addled minds are too young to process the deep underbelly of satanic influence and anti-authoritarian angst that these songs advance. The last line is shouted out in a sickening chant with raised fists as if telling the world, “Yes, Satan, I will do drugs and prostitute my body and soul for you.”
In conclusion, I must plead to you to help society rid itself of this trash. Don’t allow your children to attend The Phish concerts or bing their online music. Please keep your loved ones close and attend church together. The power of God’s word will deliver you from this type of sinister attempt to gather yours and your children’s souls.