Este peculiar personaje nació en la Inglaterra de Post-guerra y los caminos lo llevaron a criarse en el marco de nacimiento-desarrollo-evolución del Punk. Fruto de este convivir entre bandas como Sex Pistols, Joy division o the siouxsie and the banshees, Cooper Smith desarrolló un estilo en sus composiciones poéticas que lo han llevado a ganarse el apodo de Poeta Punk.
Sus escritos pasean por el desmembramiento del Ser, por esa idea que late en la música anglo de los 70's y por un NoFuture que lo lleva a desarmarse en interpretaciones casi auto-destructivas.
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Pero detrás de esa coraza que ha impuesto producto del personaje que ha construido, existe una persona sensible y con una visión del mundo bastante sencilla pero contundente a la vez. Odiado por los burócratas literatos pero amado por los músicos de rock actual, ha participado en infinidades de proyectos musicales (en el disco AM de los Arctic monkeys su influencia aparece en un cover que la banda hace "i wanna be yours" de su autoría)
Ha sacado unos cuantos discos en donde puede percibirse esa mezcla de amor-punk-autodestrucción y por qué no alcohol para decorar.
Algunos discos son Disguise in Love (1978), Walking Back to Happiness (1979), Snap, Crackle & Bop (1980)Zip Style Method (1982). No defraudan!
A continuación algunas de sus poesías, acompañadas de sus impactantes presentaciones.
Evidently Chikentown
The fucking cops are fucking keen
To fucking keep it fucking clean
The fucking chief's a fucking swine
Who fucking draws a fucking line
At fucking fun and fucking games
The fucking kids he fucking blames
Are nowehere to be fucking found
Anywhere in Chickentown
The fucking scene is fucking sad
The fucking news is fucking bad
The fucking weed is fucking turf
The fucking speed is fucking surf
The fucking folks are fucking daft
Don't make me fucking laugh
It fucking hurts to look around
Everywhere in Chickentown
To fucking keep it fucking clean
The fucking chief's a fucking swine
Who fucking draws a fucking line
At fucking fun and fucking games
The fucking kids he fucking blames
Are nowehere to be fucking found
Anywhere in Chickentown
The fucking scene is fucking sad
The fucking news is fucking bad
The fucking weed is fucking turf
The fucking speed is fucking surf
The fucking folks are fucking daft
Don't make me fucking laugh
It fucking hurts to look around
Everywhere in Chickentown
The fucking train is fucking late
You fucking wait you fucking wait
You're fucking lost and fucking found
Stuck in fucking Chickentown
You fucking wait you fucking wait
You're fucking lost and fucking found
Stuck in fucking Chickentown
The fucking view is fucking vile
For fucking miles and fucking miles
The fucking babies fucking cry
The fucking flowers fucking die
The fucking food is fucking muck
The fucking drains are fucking fucked
The colour scheme is fucking brown
Everywhere in Chickentown
For fucking miles and fucking miles
The fucking babies fucking cry
The fucking flowers fucking die
The fucking food is fucking muck
The fucking drains are fucking fucked
The colour scheme is fucking brown
Everywhere in Chickentown
The fucking pubs are fucking dull
The fucking clubs are fucking full
Of fucking girls and fucking guys
With fucking murder in Their eyes
A fucking bloke is fucking stabbed
Waiting for a fucking cab
You fucking stay at fucking home
The fucking neighbors fucking moan
Keep The fucking racket down
This is fucking Chickentown
The fucking clubs are fucking full
Of fucking girls and fucking guys
With fucking murder in Their eyes
A fucking bloke is fucking stabbed
Waiting for a fucking cab
You fucking stay at fucking home
The fucking neighbors fucking moan
Keep The fucking racket down
This is fucking Chickentown
The fucking train is fucking late
You fucking wait you fucking wait
You're fucking lost and fucking found
Stuck in fucking Chickentown
You fucking wait you fucking wait
You're fucking lost and fucking found
Stuck in fucking Chickentown
The fucking pies are fucking old
The fucking chips are fucking cold
The fucking beer is fucking flat
The fucking flats have fucking rats
The fucking clocks are fucking wrong
The fucking days are fucking long
It fucking gets you fucking down
Evidently Chickentown
The fucking chips are fucking cold
The fucking beer is fucking flat
The fucking flats have fucking rats
The fucking clocks are fucking wrong
The fucking days are fucking long
It fucking gets you fucking down
Evidently Chickentown
(I Married A )Monster from outer space
The milky way she walks around
All feet firmly off the ground
Two worlds collide, two worlds collide
Here comes the future bride
Gimme a lift to the lunar base
I wanna marry a monster from outer space
All feet firmly off the ground
Two worlds collide, two worlds collide
Here comes the future bride
Gimme a lift to the lunar base
I wanna marry a monster from outer space
I fell in love with an alien being
Whose skin was jelly - whose teeth were green
She had the big bug eyes and the death-ray glare
Feet like water wings - purple hair
I was over the moon - I asked her back to my place
Then I married the monster - from outer space
Whose skin was jelly - whose teeth were green
She had the big bug eyes and the death-ray glare
Feet like water wings - purple hair
I was over the moon - I asked her back to my place
Then I married the monster - from outer space
The days were numbered - the nights were spent
In a rent free furnished oxygen tent
When a cyborg chef served up moon beams
Done super rapid on a laser beam
I needed nutrition to keep up the pace
When I married the monster from outer space
In a rent free furnished oxygen tent
When a cyborg chef served up moon beams
Done super rapid on a laser beam
I needed nutrition to keep up the pace
When I married the monster from outer space
We walked out - tentacle in hand
You could sense that the earthlings would not understand
They'd go.. nudge nudge ...when we got off the bus
Saying it's extra-terrestial - not like us
And it's bad enough with another race
But fuck me... a monster ...from outer space
You could sense that the earthlings would not understand
They'd go.. nudge nudge ...when we got off the bus
Saying it's extra-terrestial - not like us
And it's bad enough with another race
But fuck me... a monster ...from outer space
In a cybernetic fit of rage
She pissed off to another age
She lives in 1999
With her new boyfriend - a blob of slime
Each time I see her translucent face
I remember the monster from outer space
She pissed off to another age
She lives in 1999
With her new boyfriend - a blob of slime
Each time I see her translucent face
I remember the monster from outer space
Hombre de acción
dale cicatrices y caqui para vestir
quítale las bolas, el irá donde sea
no opina, no se atreve
la muerte acecha, no teme
bolas fuera, no le importa
tíos cuídense del hombre de acción
el puede ba-ba-ba-lear- ackrington , bombardear berlín
reducir tu auto a una pila de lata
la guerra paga – qué más – ganar
piel herida no significa nada para él
granada humana sin seguro
ese es él, hombre de acción
una quijada con la delgada hendidura de Kirk Douglas
escuadrón!!!! por la sangrante izquierda
no grites es sordo
excitado de amores con la idea de matar
cuidado con la ira del hombre carente de…
el hombre de acción no tiene planes de matrimonio
Mas info o data de este hombre www.johncooperclarke.com
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