Call it whatever you want! Post-ska! Laptop punk! This is the long awaited "difficult third album" (to put it in billy bragg terms) from ex-Arrogant Sons of Bitches frontman, Jeff Rosenstock. Synthesizers! Horns! Guitars! (fake) Drums! No merchandise just rock!

click here for the whole album!

Download specific tracks:
1. Old and Unprofessional
2. King of Minneapolis, Pts. I & II
3. Even Winning Feels Bad
4. Side Projects are Never Successful
5. 5 Funerals
6. My Response To An Article In Alternative Press
7. Sorry, Brooklyn. Dancing Won't Solve Anything.
8. It's Official! We're Borrrrring!
9. From Martyrdom To Startyrdom
10. All Alone In My Big Empty Apartment
11. Fuck The Fans
12. Grudge Report
13. King of Minneapolis, Pts. III & IV
14. Anywhere I Lay My Head (Tom Waits Cover)

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please note "bomb the music industry " in the subject or body of your donation.


This record is essentially the product of moving out of your house and into a creatively dismal area. While Forest Hills, Queens is a very safe area and I managed to snag a really nice apartment for a super low price it gets depressing to be surrounded by senior citizens, hasidic (sic?) jews and russians... I went my first month living here without seeing someone in their twenties, I went at least four months without seeing a single black person. All my friends seemed far away, I got very few visitors and I was too broke to even take the train to go out and visit people. That was the environment in which the album was written.

Now as far as how in was recorded, this was done in an apartment building which meant recording needed to take place during the day, before dinner time, before the kids were home. Unfortunately, the record was pushed back a lot because my computer kept breaking. Once I got everything back on track, I ended up having a new temp job which was sweet because I had some money but TOTALLY lame because I could now only record between 5:30 and 6:30 every day. It finally got finished, and I'm proud to say that only two or three of the vocal tracks were recorded outside the apartment (those were done in Chris Valentino's pracitce space, thanks Chris.) So as usual, all songs were recorded on a laptop by Jeff Rosenstock with pretty much one microphone. Steve Foote (Big D and the Kids Table), James Brown (Beret!), Rick Johnson and Brendan Jensen (Mustard Plug) were kind enough to lend a hand on some of the tracks. Thanks to those guys. And big thanks to Christine Mackie, my wonderful girlfriend who let me record parts of these songs on her computer while mine was broke! Long live the internet!

Old and Unprofessional (Huntington - Forest Hills)

This song underwent a massive transformation. It was always meant to be the first song on the new album, but initially I was trying to write something that sounded like Supergrass's "Caught By The Fuzz"... a quick fuzzy pop song with fun melodies and no extra fat. It ended up sounding more like Green Day, until I heard the melody at the beginning of this song in my head while I was pumping gas after leaving a temporary job which I made my rent off of. I wrote it down while driving, almost crashed, went to an all you can drink wine party, drank too much, came upstairs, listened to a lot of Botch and decided that the song should not be fun and poppy but spastic and glorious. It was originally titled "Stylish Looks For The Young Professional" and is about how people my age have started to take career-oriented paths in their lives that I find pretty ridiculous and impressive at the same time. Either way, there are plenty of people my age who are competing for promotions in the world of work, and screwing people over and I feel that they can have whatever it is they're trying to gain by doing that and I'll just ignore them. This song is an obvious Wrangler Brutes and Mclusky ripoff.

I got seven gallons in my tank.
That's enough to get me back to Queens so I can write this song.

I got $300. I can pay rent this month.
Oh my god! It's just enough.
Oh my god! I'm all grown up.

Burritos, malt liquor, Katamari, broken tuner.
Two days. Three bones times 1 0 0.
Oh my god!

HOORAY for the young professionals!
We'll stay out of your way. We will give you the world.
We will find an easy way to live life far away from you.
Give head. Get ahead. Play dirty, not fair.
Be a billionaire. Be a jillion... uh... aire.
But you'll all be same until you're old and unprofessional like me.

- Get a job.
- Try having fun.

King of Minneapolis Pts. I & II (Minneapolis, Forest Hills, Long Island)

Okay. You're gonna have to work with me here. For a very brief period of time I was going to write a concept tape based on a "tape" I was going to "claim" to have found "on the beach" that was "left behind by a cruise shipafter it was shot down by a russian submarine in international waters during the cold war." Surprisingly, I decided this was a stupid idea (although i did tell people on last year's ska is dead that i would be writing a record about the tape) but I still had a few songs that I really liked from that tape (this, mpls pts. 3 & 4, grudge report and tell my boss 'i hate you.') So about Minneapolis... A lot of my favorite bands are from there and we were actually playing at my favorite band (Dillinger Four)'s club (The Triple Rock.) So finally playing there was a very exciting thing for me but due to overthinking and planning to "drink to relax" but then drinking so much that something very strange happened to me - everything in my head went from spinning and being confusing and whatever to EVERYTHING ABOUT MY LIFE BECOMING CLEARER THAN IT HAD EVER BEEN. And what was clear was that my life was a total joke. Did I kill myself? Wait 'til the sequel to see!!

We got a bottle of Jim Beam and I drank a liter.
To distract me from my constant overthinking I need a breather.

You built this up your head. The pressure.
Relax, don't think too much 'cause you can't take this.
Well, I relaxed with liquor.
The pressure has gone away, but baby, I can't see shit.
It's not the same to me when falling on my face.
I finally drank myself to death.

Enter the shaking, maaan, I shoulda eaten something. Enter the crying.
"My life is useless and I won't amount to nothing." Better start dying.

You built this up your head. The pressure.
Relax, don't think too much 'cause you can't take this.
Well, I relaxed with liquor.
The pressure has gone away, but baby, I can't see shit.
It's not the same to me when falling on my face.
Wrap me up in sheets, there's nothing left to see her.

I should be old enough to know (better better)
and I SHOULD be young enough to not take everything so seriously
SHOULD be smart enough to know that doing this is dangerous
this mixing anxious energy with drunk ferocious carelessness.
I finally drank myself to death.

It's turned to laughs.
I'm turning red outside on Cedar St.
It's twenty-two degrees.
I'm screaming "M-I-N-N-E-A-P-O-L-I-S CAN KISS MY ASS IN HELL"
I've built you up in my head and now you've started a war in my head.

Get me a friend or a smoke or a hospital or a suicide pill.
Get me a million dollar record deal so I can end this charade.
I've been writing the same song over again, over again, over again.
Over and over and over and over again.

And it feels like heroin.
I just got addicted to demanding your attention for my trite repetition.
And I can't stop thinking about the first songs I ever wrote
Where I swore off alcohol 'cause I knew better.
And I can't stop feeling like that "straight edge" shit became a cult
But I'm kidding myself by believing that the bar scene is any better.

And I keep writing the same damn song over again and over again and over again.
And it feels like there's nothing left at all.

Even Winning Feels Bad (Long Island, Cleveland, New York City)

This is one of those songs that pretty much wrote itself initially. I wrote some of the words while on the last tour with Bomb the Music Industry! and getting used to playing smaller crowds and also being easily the oldest guy in the room. When you think too much and hang out with people after shows that are a different age group than you (older or younger), you start to wonder whether or not anyone could possibly care about your views or problems. That and you can't help but feel bad when someone offers you marijuana and you think that they're offering you money or food. So this song is about feeling out of touch with other people whether it's 'cause they're older, younger or just don't feel the same as you. Word.

There's a song tonight that I don't wanna sing.
It seems like I'm complaining about something I've lost interest in.
So I sing "ba da badbabababa, here we go again."

There's a crowd tonight that I'm not gonna please.
Feels I'm desperately reaching for something that was there for, like, a day.
It went away and now I have nothing left to say.
So I'm not gonna stay going "hey! hey! hey! hey!"
Baby, I won't impress you no matter what.

There's a man tonight that I don't wanna meet.
Everyone's competing to be famous.
I don't even wanna be on a list of D-Rate celebrities.
I think I'd rather leave.
I've got my bag over my sleeve and my ticket out of town expires tonight.

Hey, would you like me if I stayed forever young?
Well, it sucks, but no one does.
Get used to staying out of touch with everyone you'll ever meet.
Continue feeling awkward in all social surroundings.

I'm not feeling very young these daaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaays.

Side Projects Are Never Successful (Staten Island, Long Island, The Apple Store)

After playing a show in Pennsylvania with my old band, I had a panic attack. I drove home that night with a goal to get THE FUCK HOME as SOON AS POSSIBLE. That of course meant I got a speeding ticket, which I had to fight in court a year and a half later. The thing was, the cop didn't even remember that he gave me the ticket at 4 AM... he thought he had given it to me in the afternoon! So while I tried to object, the judge kept yelling at me and while driving to work straight from court in my girlfriend's car with no air conditioning I started thinking about life a lot; about stupid kids who throw trash all over the place, about metaphor of us longing for billboards on sunny days to provide us with shade, about how Fugazi, a band who is clearly revolutionary and far more important than anything I've ever done, even THEY sell records. I wrote a real sad song when I came home. Then I went to the Apple Store to meet someone and started playing the beginning of this song while waiting. Some dude told me it sounded good, so I decided "hey! why don't i make the dismal song a 90's alterna-pop song!" So that's this. Me trying to write a Hold Steady song basically and failing. Backup vocals by Rick Johnson and Brendan Jensen from Mustard Plug.

When I was thinking about moving to VA., everyone I talked to had nothing but amazing things to say about it. “Oh the music scene is amazing!”, “Oh the people are so cool! You’re gonna love it!”. These people, as it turns out, had no idea what they were talking about.Once in VA., I got a job at a chain restaurant , where there were refugees from various states who had been similarly duped. We are the suckers, not the naitives.

It was a hot June day, and my ass was sticking to the seat of my girlfriend's car.
Staten Island traffic in the summer, baby.

And when you stuff yourself into a suit and tie do you think the judge can see through the sweat as he gives you your fine for a post-panic attack speeding ticket on a 90 degree day in New York. And yeah, you're gonna drive home for three hours to work in a basement for tribute bands making posters to pay about a fifth of that price. It's just Staten Island traffic in teh summer. Oh!

That orange ball.
That burning orb of fire in the sky is gonna explode and we're all gonna die!
Except for the foolish few who will "think ahead" and drive their SUV's to their bomb shelters
Complain about air conditioning because "baby, we ain't got no more electricity."
They wanna rise when it's done, be a leader with a gun.
Be a leader of what? Like a hundred and one?
Well, fuck it, I'm gonna hang out on the rooftop when it comes.

'Cause when it's dark, it'll be night time, baby.
And I'll get my ass on up out of this mess.
The only stores that are open, baby.
They gonna sell beer, and they're gonna sell ice cream.
And we'll drink drink drink and get drunk drunk drunk
and we'll talk talk talk about how much fun we had, yeah, when
we were fuckin' the world.

Through the glares on our windshields, we can't see each others eyes, just McDonalds cups and wrappers that they're throwing at full speed. And yes, I long for a shadow. And yes, I always appreciate the irony that the only cool comfort that allows us to see is a goddamn billboard. Sing it with me.

A BILL BOARD IS THE ONLY THING PREVENTING US FROM BLINDLY CRASHING. And we'll never see a city not marred by advertisements, and we'll NEVER have a future not working for those companies, and it's sure as shit not getting better so we might as well accept it now, oh.

And that really doesn't cheapen anything because, baby, we're all born to be businessmen. Every Fugazi record has a catalog number and a price tag and every independent label is selling you another goddamn product. But, NO, WE'RE not slaves to the music. Oh no, WE'RE not slaves to the company, baby. We do what we're born and raised to do and when you create something, you're producing something and that act of producing is the creation of a product.

'Cause when it's night, it'll be night time, baby.
And I'll get my ass on up out of this mess.
The only stores that are open, baby.
They gonna sell beer, and they're gonna sell ice cream.
And we'll drink drink drink and get drunk drunk drunk
and we'll talk talk talk about how much fun we had, yeah, when
we were fuckin' the world.
Oh we were fucking the world.
Yeah, we were fu fu cking cking the the world world.

When the sun drops, you ain't gonna be hungover the next day.
When the comet hits, you ain't gonna have no bills to pay.
When the bomb hits, it's gonna be a four day weekend. Hey hey!
When it's all done I'm gonna feel great finally.

And when I finally got to work today, I ate my Subway sandwich, and I drank my Coca-Cola Classic, and then I ate my Sunchips and I thought about the weekend when I'd fill up my Ford van with Mobil brand gas and drive to the Clear Channel venue and I'd drink myself a Budweiser and play my Fender guitar through my Fender amplifier and tell the kids with a straight face through a Shure microphone and JBL speakers that corporate rock is for suckers.

5 Funerals (Long Island, Forest Hills)

Probably the saddest song I'll ever write. When everything was overwhelming, I went to the beach and floated it the ocean hoping that some insane current would sweep me up, take me out to the middle of the ocean where I'd never see anyone ever again. The next morning I found out that a close family friend, and an aunt of one of my close friends had died of cancer. I also found out later on that a friend's dad had died, and even later than that drummer of Premarital Sax, Zach Insler (sic, i'm sorry zach.) At funerals, I can't cry and I always feel terrible about it but at my family friend's funeral not only did I feel terrible about that but I felt terrible that I thought about floating out into the ocean the day before, and THEN i felt terrible about feeling terrible... FUCK, YO. I eventually wrote this whole song in my head at the funeral. The important thing to think about I guess is that everyone dies eventually, there's no sense in purposely speeding up or halting that process... but death is still terrible. This goes out to Lauren Connolly, Jason Bennett, Zach Insler, Mr. & Mrs. Jestrebzski, Bette Massari and Julie Possenreide's father and of course everyone else who has been bumming about their absence. Steve Foote of Big D and the Kids Table played bass on this. Thanks Steve!

I went to about five funerals this year
And I felt so empty that I couldn't even shed a tear.
I felt so fucking selfish, all I thought about was me
And how I'd love to lay down on my back and just float out to sea.
How I'm constantly losing my shit while my friends are losing family.

I had something like a hundred bad days this year
Where at the end of each one I couldn't wait to just get out of here.
If you knew how many times I thought
"the dead must have it pretty sweet"
I'd get beat.

So when I go, please don't cry.
It's not like I deserve to die but I've been burning bridges, man.
Since day number one.
And when the pack keeps lapping me and I don't fit in anywhere and don't know what to do
I wish that they took me instead of you.

Do you have a good time?
Do you do you want or do you do what people want from you?
When you hit a certain age, does everyone stop having fun?
I seem to think it's true.
Is exuberance a deterrent for which we pay a fee?
Is a quiet nod the only way?
Can't we loudly disagree?
It seems like these things, they work out for everyone.
Everyone but me.

So when I go, please don't cry.
It's not like I deserve to die but
Baby, we ain't born to mourn and there's no hope in mope.
And when the pack keeps lapping me and I don't fit in anywhere and don't know what to do
I wish that they took me instead of you.

Don't treat it like a race
There's no winner at the finish line.
Just treat it like a bar 'cause we all gotta leave some time.
We can't fight the future so why do we even care?
We won't always have the luxury of sun-kissed summer air.

We won't fight the future.
We don't really care.
So for the worst I'll always stay prepared.

I went to about five.
It went funeral, funeral, funeral, funeral, funeral, ugh.

My Response To An Article in Alternative Press (Oneonta, Forest Hills)

So I read an article in AP magazine that was with someone who I used to really admire musically and professionally, who became a pretentious boring mopestar dance rock wannabe. I won't name names, but this is my response to that article. Pretty simple. Unfortunately, I accidentally ripped off a new Mustard Plug song. I intentionally ripped off Suicide Machines and Toasters songs though. Let's chalk it all up to irony. James Brown wrote his own rant here, and he did a terrific job singin' about bands waxing their chests.

Here's the thing about the music business.
The trick is playing trend rock right before the trend hits.
Playing it right after means your band has missed the fucking bus and the kids have moved on.

Here's the thing about the music business.
You can't become an addict 'til you're fucking famous.
If you do it backwards that just means your rent will be overdue and you'll have to keep a day job.

Get up. Stand up. Line up with the rest of them.
All so different? I say you're all the same.
Get up. Stand up. Line up with the rest of them.

Here's the thing about the music business.
10,000 records isn't much, if you consider the budget.
Your promo, your parties, payola insures your shitty band will stay poor.

Here's the thing about a nail in a coffin.
It keeps that shit shut while it's six feet under.
And zombies no one cares about don't get a chance to rise from the dead and make a VH1 special.

And when I'm wrong I'll shut my mouth.

If it's playing what you're into even though it's not the current trend, then SAFE WE PLAY IT SAFE.
If it's trying not to be boring to keep the audience interested, then SAFE WE PLAY IT SAFE.
If it's playing music that you like instead of what some label says, then SAFE WE PLAY IT SAFE.

*But if it's pulling the shit you do every night.....


Sorry, Brooklyn. Dancing Won't Solve Anything. (Long Island, Forest Hills)

This jam has been sitting around for a long time, but I never could finish writing it until I moved to sunny sunny Queens New York! It's basically about those kids who say that punk rock shouldn't concern itself with politics, y'know, the jaded ones. The ones who figure that we really can't change anything, so fuck it, let's get drunk and just go out and party. And sure, that's everyone sometimes but it shouldn't be anyone all the time! Crank the speakers!

Baby, grab your things. Let's hit the show
'Cause when the world's on fire, it's the one place we can go
Where we can just dance until we're dead
And it never really matters what they said.
So put a cork in the guy up front.
Don't make the world stop dancin'.

The kids will just dance until they're dead.
It never really matters what we said.
We gotta just shut the fuck up and let the kids keep dancing.

Step back. Everything's alright.
We all know the facts, but we're drunk tonight.
Oooh! It looks like somebody read a book! Wow!
But there's no solace found in listening to the underground.

'Cause when your ear's put down to the bottom of the street
You can't dance, man, it's really hard to move your feet.
Shut up, shut up and say, shut up, shut up and say
It's not that bad.
I mean it's obvious that something isn't right but if ignorance is bliss would you rather smile or fight?
Well, I'll take fight.

The kids just dance until they're dead.
It never really matters what we said.
So we gotta just move on out and let the kids keep dancin'.

It's Official! We're Booooorrrrring! (Forest Hills)

This is in the same vein, but this is about people who ONLY talk about politics instead of actually doing anything about it. The fact is that since the internet, it's super easy to organize protests or to get together with people who feel the same as you that you can actually meet in person. Most importantly, however, this song is about personal relationships and passive-agressiveness. If you have a problem with someone, you're never gonna solve anything unless you actually talk it out, and in some situations fight. Because at the end of the day, shit's still gonna go wrong but if you give it a shot, at least it ain't your fault. The music for this song pretty much happened immediately as I was trying to play "Coma Girl" and played the wrong chord.

It's official. We're mad.
We're all mad at someone and our anger takes over
And we stop having fun
And we talk but don't act
And then nothing will change.
We're so hellbent on destruction we forgot how to create.

You can't solve anything just by saying someone's wrong.
Yeah, behind your back we're enemies, face to face we get along.
'Cause we still shop at Wal-Mart and they still get major deals
And those insurance companies benefit from every fucking thing we steal.

We're not gonna fight and nothing's gonna change.
If we're not gonna fight, we're just lazy.

I guess I think the thing we need to keep in mind this time
Is that no one died the last time we stood up for our beliefs.
So I gotta say "adios" to irony.
"Later" lethargy.
"So long" sarcasm.
We're fucking bored with you.
If you want a war, we'll go to war with YOU.

So let's stop talking shit and let's start talking food.
If we're all feeling gyped, let's create something new.

From Martyrdom to Star(tyr)dom (Long Island, New York City)

P.S. Fighting on the internet does not count as productive fighting! Rick Johnson played bass on this, son!

Shut the fuck up. That's enough today.
You made your point, I can't make mine and that's the way we're gonna keep it, bro.
Get out now. Get out fast. That's my only plan
I have no skills but pleasing teenagers with a melody they'll soon forget.

So let's have a conversation.
Thank you Jesus!
Some lives big and we've got coattails to burn!

And when they tell me my "convictions did not pay the rent this month. Stop your whining and write a better song. Even martyr starving artists would rather eat meals than nothing. Even martyr starving artists would rather eat meals than shit."

Shit, man. I fell HARD.
Hard-on for a dream, my desperate attempt to bastardize a perfectly good medium.

Conjure up one more conversation whore thank the fucking lord that someone's living goddamn large.
"And we've got coattails to burn!"

My landlord said that my convictions will NOT pay the rent this month.
Find an office and stop writing these songs.
The neighbors are complaining.

Even martyr starving artists would rather eat meals than nothing.
Even martyr starving artists would rather eat meals than shit.

And contrary to how young we wanna stay
We're getting older every day
So turn the power off, go do something
Regardless of how young we wanna stay
We're getting older every day
Turn the power off and stake your claim.

Even martyr starving artists would rather eat meals than nothing.
Even martyr starving artists get tired of eating shit.
Even martyr starving artists would rather eat meals than nothing.
Even martyr starving artists would rather eat meals than shit.

All Alone in my Big Empty Apartment (Forest Hills)

I found this track lying around on my computer, a song that I had finished for the album but I was kinda putting to the side 'cause I wasn't sure how to fuck with it... anyway, I found the file yesterday and decided to record on top of it. There was no click track so the tempos were a little weird, and also I couldn't make beats for it. After the demo sounded WAY too out of time, I decided to re-record it with a ukelele covering the main guitar part. The drums on this are a laundry bin, a set of keys and a bag of pasta being smashed against a box of Couscous.

You got a new medicine
100 movie channels on television.
We can use it as evidence
of why I don't have any more friends.

I got a big comfortable couch
that seems a lot bigger when it seats just one.
I got a new video game
and playing on your own is almost fun.

1,000 square feet for the one and only.
Who cares about size when it's big and lonely?
Cutting my teeth on the biggest parties.
Who cares about life when it's big and lonely?

Fuck the Fans (Forest Hills)

This song used to be a lot longer, and was kind of a pop-ska half rip-off of the Jackmove song drunken tiger. The lyrics were kinda funny if you didn't take into account that they are really true. People used to be REALLY nice to me for no reason. I was never an important person in any social circles, but I did have a band that on occassion (especially if we were opening up for Big D and the Kids Table or Streetlight Manifesto) we could bring a couple of hundred kids to a show. I always thought this was funny. Now I think it's funny that people are REALLY mean and sarcastic to me for no reason. I guess the reason is that I no longer am in the same band that I was in before. ALL OF THIS SHIT IS SO DUMB. Who cares! FUCK OFF!

I got noticed at a restaurant once while I was out with my parents.
Got a couple hundred bucks for me and my friends to make an appearance.

But you don't like me anymore
'cause I'm not
In a marginally successful semi-regional punk rock band anymore.

I used to have dozens of fans.
That's right.

Grudge Report (Long Island, Forest Hills)

To think, this song used to be about some dude drowning in a life raft after being sunk by a Russian submarine... I just really like this song a lot in general, even if it does rip off the Pixies and Pavement a little bit... at least it's better than ripping off unreleased Mustard Plug tracks more than once on an album.

Contact through computer.
Broken guitar. Broken amps and dreams.
I felt old a long time ago but now the rest of the world's gotten older than me.
So what's the deal here?
Are you too old to get there?

Are you too lazy to get here?
Too lazy to even stay in touch?
No calls inside those walls.
A simple "how are you" is a little much to ask of you.
So I'll go on without you.

Take my chances and go it alone.
I hate people anyway.

Pile up in a dumpster.
Light that match and burn it up
And run away to somewhere safe.
Rubber tires are grounded and go from place to place.
You cannot live here.
You've already died here.

Take my chances and go it alone.
I hate people anyway.

Don't give up on the first thing you believe.
Take my chances and go it alone.
I don't need this shit anyway.

I don't wanna wake up to an alarm clock thinking "Well, what the fuck. I've done enough. Time to stop livin' and start giving up."
I know I'll have to or just go on without you.
Take my chances and go it alone.
I hate people anyway.

King of Minneapolis Pts. III & IV (Long Island, Forest Hills)

This is the end of the story that started in King of Minneapolis Pts. I and II, which to explain shortly is about drinking way too much because of stress while eating nothing all day but a pickle, but then somehow not getting alcohol poisoning or even much of a hangover. I was really surprised to find out I wasn't dead or sick in the morning, and for the first time in a while I really appreciated life - and then got a tattoo of this rapper named Cecil Otter, who is part of the Minneapolis Doomtree crew. He drew it and it looks really good. I had only met him once, and I heard his music zero times. It's also about those people who are always talking about the sliver lining of whatever situation. Sometimes situations don't have silver linings. And sometimes they don't need them. By the way, if you didn't guess it, in the title, that's right it's a Neutral Milk Hotel reference! Wow! What a glorious day! Remember, ya'lls, Goodbye Cool World comes out tomorrow and new songs will be posted here every day until then!

III. OK Hangover

My god.
I woke up on the floor of a famous Minneapolis rapper (whose name will go unmentioned.)
I didn't crush the cat.
No one wrote "dick" on my forehead.
I wasn't seeing stars, I was seeing cigarettes and 1990's compact discs.
I didn't even feel depressed like every other day that I wake up.

I wouldn't trade it for the world, I would trade it for way less.
Just a parking spot and a place to call my home.
I'm always waking up hating that life ain't perfect
Despite what they say, my mistakes AREN'T worth it
But fuck it, I got through today.
I can get through tomorrow.

We lost a tire, but we put it back on.
I lost the love of my life, holy shit, I got a better one.
I lost a couple of my favorite shirts and favorite friends.
I lost my favorite band.
I feel like I have lost my mind and people tell me "this is fine."
Still, I feel shitty every time I try to fall asleep at night.

I wouldn't trade it for the world, I would trade it for way less.
Just a parking spot and a place to call my home.
I'm always making mistakes that are never worth it
Despite what they say, I hate that life ain't perfect.
But fuck it, I got through today.
I got a few more tomorrows.

And everyday I wake and smile but by day's end my smile subsides.
But I guess I'll be here a while and I'll smile through today, 'cause last night I didn't die.

IV. Cecil Otter Tattoo

And I know I'm not dead because I just threw up in my own mouth and swallowed back.
This hangover ain't that bad.

I feel worse just about every day, but James Brown must have sparked a change
Somewhere in our dialogue about sleep, hardcore and not being young.

Got it drilled in my leg
Because I fucked my head.
When I'm all alone, I will always have one friend.

When I wish I was dead
And I hate my friends
I must repeat this 'til the end.
I still have a home even if my home's a van.

When I wish I was dead
And I hate my friends
I must repeat this 'til the end.
I still have a home even if my home's a van.
You still have a home even if your home's a van.
I still have a home.
I still have a home even if my home's a van.

Anywhere I Lay My Head (Tom Waits)

Sometimes songs speak to you. The first time I heard this song, I already envisioned playing this whenever a set would end in the future, and this being one of my favorite songs of all time. I read a review of it on allmusic that draws parallels between the lyrics of this song and death, depression and other sad stuff. I don't know if it's morbid, but I think this song is a brilliantly positive way of looking at being old, parts of your life ending, relationships being severed and being able to learn to be alone and be happy. And of course, whenever your life is touring from state to state, anywhere you lay your head you gotta make your home. Oh yeah, this track features Rick Johson playing Galaga and ME playing DRUMS!

My head is spinnig round.
My heart is in my shoes.
I went and set the Thames on fire
And now I must come back down.
She's laughing in her sleeves boys.
I can feel it in my bones.

Anywhere I lay my head, I'm gonna call my home.

It seems like the world is upside down.
It seemed my pockets were filled with gold.
Now the clouds have covered o'er
And the wind is blowing cold.

I don't need anybody
Because I learned to be alone.

Anywhere I lay my head, I'm gonna call my home.