Hearts are red, but my state (of mind) is ‘Blue’

In polite society, politics and religion are considered taboo subjects. There is some wisdom in that custom, although I would argue that if more discussion were had then both topics would lose some of their thorniness. The more talk, the more familiarity, the more lessening of tensions. Assuming you’re dealing with people of good will, of course.

Politics (and, of course, religion) in song has a long history.

From the workingman’s anthems of Woody Guthrie to the subtle sophistication of Toby “Boot In Their Ass” Keith to the anti-war songs of the 1960s and 2000s, music has reflected popular sentiment and with it, unrest. Because music is usually played by those with middle- or lower-class backgrounds and listened to mostly by folks of the same demographics, most political music winds up populist with leftist leanings.

Music can have a message and still be good – here are three examples.

The SUBDUDES are good guys, mensches, who come to bad moods and negativity with the most reluctance. So much, in fact, that they can’t even stay pissed off enough to wallow in Katrina-anger and despair for a whole song.

On their brand-spanking new STREET SYMPHONY, their take on the storm’s devastation is leavened with hope among the ruins. “Poor Man’s Paradise” shows how the weeds in the cracks are to be noticed and nurtured – if you don’t encourage the few good signs of rebirth, then all is truly lost.

On “Thorn in Her Side,” however, lead singer Tommy Malone doesn’t pull any punches. The female in the title is the Statue of Liberty and she’s hurt from the self-inflicted wounds that overreacting unwise leader and their trusting followers have caused. It’s preachy but pithy.

“Brother Man” gets righteous in a more personal way, and “I’m Your Town” gives voice to the Crescent City in a first-person plea for humanity and salvation.

The balance of the album deals with more conventional themes of love and loss, both personal and universal.

George Massenburg (of Linda Ronstadt and Little Feat fame) produces, and he brings his beefier sound to bear, all to the good.

The band’s creative juices have been fairly gushing since the reformation a few years ago, what with three albums in as many years. And while you can’t recreate first loves, this new one’s got charm for days.

STEVE EARLE has been on an extended rant for two albums. (Before that he just thought he was pissed). So, naturally he goes and releases his new one, WASHINGTON STREET SERENADE, and it’s all balanced, with miniature studies side-by-side with grand slams against “the man.”

Maybe marriage to the fetching Allison Moorer and moving to New York’s got something to do with it – no, definitely it does, and also getting a Dust Brother (John King) to produce, and new players to provide fresh accompaniment.

The new sonics are welcome. Don’t fret, Earle fans, this ain’t no disco (but there is some foolin’ around, by way of drum loops and added atmospherics).

Earle’s songs are still the stars. His literary talents are on display (he’s written a book of short stories) and his way with, and love of, a melody are too. Early favorites are “Satellite Radio,” “Sparkle and Shine” and “Oxycontin Blues,” but there are no sure-thing skippers, although I may have heard “Red Is The Color” enough times already.

And oh, the anger? “City of Immigrants” tells xenophobes where to get off, and “Steve’s Hammer (For Pete),” talks about the burden of carrying on Seeger’s tradition, with tongue in cheek self-pity. But even Fox News watchers would be hard-pressed to get offended, and then for any length of time.

JONI MITCHELL has reached iconic status. She’s the subject of a new tribute helmed by Herbie Hancock, and she’s got a new studio album, SHINE.

While it’s been released on the labor-abusing and environmentally challenged Starbucks in-house label (but, oh, that coffee!), Shine’s got its indignation on. “There’s just too many people” (“This Place”) and men are the scourge of history, “a mass-murder mystery/His story.” But hey, women are guilty too, of “still worshipping/Our own ego.”

But don’t think she uses the bludgeon here; it’s the pen honed to scalpel-sharpness that’s her weapon. “Night of the Iguana” takes the story of a “widow and her lover boys” and metaphorically transports us to a place where the lines between good and evil are blurred, while our bodies sway in the moonlight.

Her voice has aged. It’s darker, ragged even in places. But she still can lilt and soar when she wants. Her reworking of “Big Yellow Taxi” underlines the point. It’s a harder, punchier and wiser version.

Mitchell plays all the instruments save for a few sax, steel guitar and drum parts. She magnificently carries the day.

Hellraising. When done right, it’s good for the soul, yours and of man.