I'm not referring to tanks, battlerams and firearms, but rather musical instruments. Granted, the incessant thunder and crack of explosives is percussive, albeit erratic. The quick history lesson on the Bicentennial quarter reminds us that suckers with snares kept the beat of destruction. Tolkien's trolls thumped skin timpanis. Genghis had gongs.
War has rhythm.
I was reminded of this at the two most exhilarating concerts I've seen. Last weekend, a pogo bacchanal erupted in a cramped club. Six months ago, a crowd stomped dust and flicked cigarette ash off the floor of Chicago's Metro as three drummers locked into a primal groove. Revolution starts with a dance that the stuttering chugs of guitar can't provide. Funk, not volume, pulls people to the streets.