Steve Lieberman, The Gangsta Rabbi, has never been an artist to hold back, and with his new single “Oh, Crotch Rocket,” from the album “Suicide Shift 50/88 Opus 23,” he goes full throttle into the rawest corners of his creativity. Known for his self-described militia punk fusion, Lieberman uses music as a weapon and therapy, tearing down conventions with distortion-heavy walls of sound and lyrics that feel as urgent as they are unrefined. “Oh, Crotch Rocket” is a howl at the absurdity of midlife, mortality, and rebellion, all funnelled through his unrelenting noise-punk aesthetic.
Musically, the track feels like an unhinged ride on a speeding motorcycle, equal parts exhilarating and terrifying. The guitars snarl with jagged distortion, the bass line growls like an engine revving too hard, and the percussion pounds with reckless abandon, never settling into a clean groove. This is a militia punk fusion, a sound Lieberman has carved out for himself that thrives on chaos and sheer volume. The intensity mirrors the “crotch rocket” imagery perfectly, with every riff and crash suggesting danger and velocity, as if daring the listener to hang on or be flung off into oblivion. There’s humour in the title, of course, but beneath the wry grin is a serious metaphor about life speeding past while one desperately tries to keep control.
What gives “Oh, Crotch Rocket” its visceral weight is the knowledge of what fuels it. Lieberman, battling leukaemia, creates whenever his health allows, and this track becomes a statement of persistence as much as a piece of music. Each distorted note feels like a declaration that he refuses to be silent, refuses to stop, even as his body imposes limits. The song’s messy, relentless drive mirrors the act of creating in the face of fragility: imperfect, urgent, but necessary. The midlife crisis inspiration bleeds through in the lyrics and tone as well—reckoning with ageing, mortality, and unfulfilled desires, but doing so with enough force to blow the roof off the crisis itself.
Lyrically, Lieberman veers between tongue-in-cheek bravado and genuine vulnerability, embodying the contradictions of his “Gangsta Rabbi” persona. He paints the “crotch rocket” as a toy of midlife desperation and a symbol of escape, mocking himself even as he leans into the metaphor’s darker truths. The tension between parody and sincerity is part of what makes the track compelling: it’s never just a joke, never just a lament, but a raw blur of both. In a way, that reflects the essence of militia punk fusion itself—a genre where contradictions are not resolved but amplified, where dissonance becomes catharsis.
Ultimately, “Oh, Crotch Rocket” is not meant to be easy listening. It’s abrasive, overwhelming, and chaotic—but that’s precisely its point. Steve Lieberman has built a career out of turning struggle into noise, making art that confronts rather than soothes, and this track is a perfect example of that ethos. It’s the sound of a man grappling with time, illness, and identity, and turning those battles into something ferocious and undeniable. “Oh, Crotch Rocket” is a midlife crisis anthem and a punk war cry, daring listeners to find liberation in chaos, even if the ride leaves them breathless.
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