Anti-fascist. Anti-hate. Loud by design.

Independent punk from Trendy Cuts. Jenny Jolivet writes it, Ron Wolfe sings it. Four songs out. More on the way.

The songs

New

We're Gonna Pop

Eight billion people and they still want more. They already bought the bunker.

Lyrics
Oz says we’re under-babied
Gotta fill another crib
I look out my window
Wonder what he missed

Eight billion people
But they demand, “More”
More people on Earth
Than ever before

Count the babies
Count the jobs
Count our taxes
Count the cogs

We’re gonna pop
We’re gonna pop
Keep on adding numbers
Till the whole thing pops

We’re gonna pop
We’re gonna pop
Standing room only
On a planet that’s full

They drag the ocean floor
And chop off the hills
Fill our blood with plastic
The poison water kills

They want to drill deeper
Every day
Ripping up the planet
Throwing everything away

Count the shoppers
Steal the votes
Breed the workers
Force the growth

We’re gonna pop
We’re gonna pop
Keep on adding numbers
Till the whole thing pops

We’re gonna pop
We’re gonna pop
How much bigger
Can this bubble get?

What’s the real agenda?
Follow the money
The oligarchs are counting
On a place to run

Yachts on the water
Bunkers underground
Maybe another planet
When Earth comes unwound

More babies pushed although we’re poor
More bodies on the factory floor
Pushed to work and pushed to buy
Pushed to never question why

We’re gonna pop
We’re gonna pop
We turned the Garden into garbage
Now look at what they’ve done

We’re gonna pop
We’re gonna pop
More people than ever
Still they want more

More…
More…
More…

Too Much

Zombies, green Kool-Aid, Big Brother, and the files that got flushed.

Lyrics
Too much distraction on my little screen
Too much corruption hiding in between
Too much distortion on my endless feed
Constant extortion hiding in between
They flash the headlines, sell the fear
Keep us fighting while the truth’s unclear
Oh
They smash the scapegoats, push the fear
Keep us fighting but the truth is clear
Oh

Overfed
Overdone
Over every reason
Over sold
Over time
Over all the treason

There’s too much confusion flooding through my head
Way too much distortion, lies we’re being fed
Propaganda talking
Filling up my head
They just keep on mocking
Nothing being said

Lock up the files, hide the names
Change the story, shift the blame
Lock up the files, hide the names
Change the story, shift the blame

He floods the feed, we lose the thread
Democracy hanging by a thread
Oh
He floods the feed, we lose the thread
Democracy hanging by a thread
Oh

Overfed
Overdone
Over every reason
Over sold
Over time
Over all the treason

There’s too much confusion flooding through my head
Way too much distortion, lies we’re being fed
Propaganda talking
Filling up my head
They just keep on mocking
Nothing being said

Not All Right

You think you turned out all right? No, you didn’t.

Lyrics
Those who hate themselves are the most dangerous kind
Breaking their backs, then breaking their minds
Shooting their own feet, then turning the fun
On everyone else, when they come undone

You think you turned out all right
Hold onto that lie with all of your might
You think you turned out all right
No, you didn’t, no, you didn’t turn out…

Face your addiction, don’t push it on me
You need the orange troll to tell you what to see
You hate yourself but won’t look at your soul
Worshipping your leader, begging for control

You think you turned out all right
Hold onto that lie with all of your might
You think you turned out all right
No, you didn’t, no, you didn’t turn out…

You cry about bullies while lashing out
And play the victim with a world-class pout
We don’t need your daddy thanks we’re all set
Keep your delusions, you can be his pet

All right? No, you’re not!
All right? No, you’re not!
All right? No, you’re not!
No, you didn’t, no, you didn’t!

This is satire. People are not their politics, and honest self-reflection is a way forward for all of us.

Piece Prize

A raw punk protest song about power, war, and a stolen “peace prize.”

Lyrics
Gimme a piece… gimme a piece…
Gimme a piece of your oil…
Let me dip my beak… let me dip my beak…
Piece… peace… piece… peace… piece

Gimme a piece
Gimme a piece of your peace prize
Oil dripping, blood slipping
Let me dip my beak, dip dip…

Do you think… if I start a few wars
They’ll forget… those files?
Do you think… if I start a few wars
They’ll forget… my trials?

People wailing, children shake
Tanks are rolling, markets sink
Sycophants twisting to comply
Who decides… who will die?

ICE in the hallways
ICE at the gates
Your eyes are lying, war is peace
War is peace… war is peace

Do you think… if I end a few Americans here… at home
Do you think… I can keep my fat ass on… my throne

Gimme a piece
Gimme a peace
Gimme a peace… piece… peace… piece…
Peace… prize… piece… prize
Peace prize

Five seconds at a time

The clown, the sheep, the zombies. The Shorts loop until the hook sticks.

All the Shorts

Talk to Jenny and Ron

Tell us what you think, what you want to hear next, or where the song got it wrong. We read all of it and answer most of it.

So we can write back. Never shared.

New drops only

One email when a song comes out. No spam. Loud by design.

The Trendy Cuts name spray-painted on an alley wall above a pair of sunglasses on the sidewalk

Who

Trendy Cuts is an independent punk project. Jenny Jolivet writes the lyrics. Ron Wolfe sings them. The songs go after power, propaganda, and the people selling both, with a cast of clowns, sheep, and zombies standing in for the people who actually run things.

Late-70s guitars, dark humor, no filter. Every song comes with a video and a pile of five-second Shorts.

Loud by design.