The latest lyrical song I’ve released is titled “Haps of Icebergs, Mis” — an enigmatic track that alludes to the haunting complexity of Europe’s tangled past. In this piece, I wanted to explore, both subtly and starkly, the origins of disorder and empire: from the seemingly chaotic tribes of early Europe to the legacy of dynasties that shaped the modern world.
When I first studied European history, I was fascinated by the Hapsburgs and the Holy Roman Empire. There was a mystique to it — something almost ghostlike. The HRE was neither holy, nor Roman, nor an empire in the traditional sense, and yet it held influence for centuries. Today, the name Hapsburg rings quietly, with very little trace left in modern mainstream discourse. And yet… how could they not have been central to the narratives that spiraled into World War I and II?
The lyrics in this song start with an almost chant-like repetition:
the manic tribes
of jerrs and vibes
of hay *(e) —–
There’s something purposefully obscure in these lines. “Jerrs” and “vibes” reference not only sonic cues, but cultural reverberations — the manic undercurrent of Europe’s tribal past, particularly the Germanic tribes that, long before forming nation-states, roamed with warlike cadence. Those very tribes, from the Goths to the Vandals, were painted in historical texts as destroyers, often unfairly reduced to caricatures of chaos and destruction. And yet, were they not the foundations of the continent?
oras of haze
hours of the daze
This portion bridges to something more psychological, more metaphysical. The “hay” becomes “haze”, and with that subtle vowel shift, we move from a scene of rustic simplicity to one of mental fog — “hours of daze”, or perhaps, days of daze. That confusion, that dazed haze of history, is what this song sits within.
veux to veux
of lieu to lieu to stay
French listeners may recognize “veux” (want) and “lieu” (place), hinting at movement, longing, belonging — even a fragmented identity. I myself am predominantly British, though my bloodline traces back to Normandy, France around 800 AD, and still, there’s significant German descent woven in. In this way, the song becomes not just about nations and histories, but personal inheritance: where do we belong in the lines drawn by centuries before us?
The song repeats again:
the manic tribes
of jerrs and vibes
of hay *(e) —–
And it’s worth noting — some lines were intentionally left out. Maybe one day I’ll share the missing stanzas. Maybe some of the meaning is best left for interpretation.
Lastly, I want to touch on the title. Haps of Icebergs, Mis — a play on “Hapsburg” and “mishap” and the coldness of icebergs. The things we only see the tip of. What lies beneath?
This piece is not a straightforward telling. It’s not a lesson, not even a clear narrative. But it is a meditation on history, identity, power, and perhaps the absurdity that comes from trying to find order in centuries of disorder.
Thanks for listening. I suppose it isn’t the end. Not yet.
— Josh Montague
www.thejoshworld.com
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