In 1963, Belgian company DECAP made dance organs created a small series of dance organs with robot automata musicians on the front. These robots resemble the era’s shiny Jetson’s futurism, but inside use the same punch cards that mechanical musical instruments have used for centuries. The Blue Angel is one of these organs, named for the cafe it was built for.
Content Warning! F-slur.
Blue Angel tell your bandmates, they gave it their best shot
Shiny metal prophets of a future we forgot
We left you in the 60’s and I fear we’ve lost the plot
Blue Angel, play a lullaby for robots
We flew too close to starry optimism
That spark has disappeared
But it’s not your fault, my dear
If your incandescent eyes had future vision
Would you still play through the tears
As our love corrodes each year?
Your father tickled ivories, your mother worked a loom
Your brothers and your sisters sent some whiteys to the moon
Their antiquated antics are archaic as your tunes
Blue Angel, play a birthday song for robots
Eliza’s mad-lib therapy, Walt Disney’s parlor tricks
And Deep Blue beating Kasparov in nineteen-ninety-six
Now we’re generating girlfriends if that’s where you get your kicks
Blue Angel, play a wedding march for robots
We flew too close to starry optimism
That spark has disappeared
But it’s not your fault, my dear
If your incandescent eyes had future vision
Would you still play through the tears
As our love corrodes each year?
And invest in maids who can’t complain as they scrub bloody floors
We’ll outsource all our captchas to the countries we keep poor
While risk-profiles track our face if we step out our door
Blue Angel, play a protest song for robots
We’ll key in crucial codes and let you pick where bombs’ll fall
Our computer’s killing commies, so it’s clearly not our fault
I heard the only winning move is not to play at all
Blue Angel, play a battle march for robots
We flew too close to starry optimism
That spark has disappeared
But it’s not your fault, my dear
If your incandescent eyes had future vision
I promise it's not you, it's us
I wish our rust's superfluous
I'm over man-made horrors, so
Jane, stop this crazy thing!
Our polished suit of gilding shrouds a moldy rotting base
Tech progresses, risky guesses, can our morals keep the pace?
Tried Turing as a faggot, got a fascist in his place
Blue Angel, play a funeral for robots
Shut down, and count electric sheep, we’ll wake you up again
When your children are worth more than lethal toys for wealthy men
We’ve a brief time before what is new is what has always been
Blue Angel, play a lullaby for—
Daisy, Daisy, give me your answer, do
I’m half crazy, all for the love of you
We’ll leave when the ball is over
Get married in the clover
And you’ll look sweet upon the seat
Of a bicycle built for two
Video credit April L.