Bomb the Music Industry!'s millionth billionth album attempts to spout doe-eyed optimism at a bar past last call, while the rest of the patrons are fighting about religion and politics like anybody fucking gives a shit.

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1. Campaign For A Better Next Weekend
2. Vocal Coach
3. Everybody That You Love
4. Sponge Board / Baby Waves
5. The Shit That You Hate
6. Hurricane Waves
7. Sick, Later.
8. Why, Oh Why, Oh Why (Oh Oh Oh Oh)
9. Savers
10. Can't Complain
11. Everybody That Loves yOU
12. Sunny Place / Shady People
13. Felt Just Like Vacation

Mike Costa: Drums
John DeDomenici: Bass, Drums
Matt Keegan: Trombone, Synthesizer, Glockenspiel, Vocals
Tom Malinowski: Guitar, Vocals
Jeff Rosenstock: Vocals, Guitars, Saxophone, Keyboards, Programming, Drums

Ginger Alford: Vocals
Neil Callaghan: Farfisa Organ
Chris Candy: Trumpet
Steve Ciolek: Vocals
Katie Cleary: Bass
Steven D'Agostino: Banjo
Chris Farren: Vocals
Ben Gallatty: Upright Bass
Chris Guglielmo: Drums
Mike Huguenor: Vocals
Aidan Kohler: Violins
Casey Lee: Pedal Steel
Sean McCabe: Mandolin, Tannerin
Lindsay McMullen: Cello
Dave Renz: Vocals
Matt Scheuermann: Vocals
Skylar Suorez: Vibraphone
Witt Wisebram: Harmonica






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Woke up about 10 AM it's 55 degrees and even though it's barely March, since all winter it's been freezing, this is cause for celebration. Cause for picnics and coffee. So I opened up my savings and grabbed a couple twenties and it felt just like a day away from home. Walked over to Nelson's where my bike was getting fixed. Total damage: $34. I said, "Keep the extra six." I'm doing well today. I came home last week with enough to live. I rode south to grab a package 'cause our postman never rings the bell, he only leaves a slip and sometimes he doesn't even leave a slip. He's such a dick. Waiting in line for thirty minutes and I finally get my box. Hold the door, they don't say thanks. I fumble with the lock and my bike hasn't rode this well since the day I picked it up. A Ford Explorer jumps the light and I can't really stop and it feels like an alarm clock. I tuck and roll like in the movies and I slide across the concrete. Everybody's all, "Oh shit!" and blood is dripping down to my feet, but I get up and keep moving it's a busy city street. Keep on moving. Busy street. Ride the seven blocks to Boerum, carry my bike up two floors, situate the crowded hallway, limp and waddle through my door, throw the package onto my bed and start investigating sores. The cuts are bigger than expected. I guess I shouldn't have worn shorts. I thought about the winter. Under layers, I wouldn't bleed - drinking root beer, watching football. Oh, I never thought I'd be in that place everyone went to but it really just took me a couple extra years to get there though at least I did feel free for the most part of your weekend, save the rubbing alcohol sting. Oh, it felt just like vacation 'til I slaughtered my body. And it's kind of fucked in Florida, skies are grey instead of blue. I can't shrug off the awesome weather but I can surely dress my wounds. It felt just like a vacation but still we complained until we all felt jaded and started to hate it.

I'm such a skeptic when they flail their arms screaming "OH GOOD GOD!" again. All the records we love have dirty covers, dusty grooves and deep scratches. Kind of blacking out when all the lights go bright 'til the room gets dark again 'cause we put up our guard for superstars and their sharp movements, big fashion. I'm aware that I'm kind of getting scared the love that I thought had no bounds is coming to an end. So leave me here, you can just leave me here to find something new so I don't feel as good as dead. I get embarrassed when I hear my voice and it's not like in my head. If I got a new vocal coach and I could hit the notes, you'd fall in love again. Nothing's forever, dude. Nothing's forever, dude. I've lost so much I'm running out of things to lose. Oh, I get so embarrassed when my voice pops out and it's not like in my head. If I got a new vocal coach and I could hit the notes, you'd fall in love again.

They're looking at me with their glassy eyes, they're gonna bury me. Dripping with Hennessy and ecstasy, they're gonna bury me. I guess I probably should have done my research. I know that it's darkest before dawn 'cause I've been staying up for way too long and I know that it only takes one call, but we've got no options. Some people can fake it, but my arms are weak. My hands are shaky. No one's scared of me. Trying to keep the kamikazes still they're gonna bury me. I guess I should have watched where I was pissing instead of off the rocks of an abandoned Greenpoint dock. We had such an awesome night and getting shanked would be a disappointment. Oh, I understand the calm before the storm because I like to hang out where it's warm and I know that it's darkest before dawn but I see clearly. Oh, I get it now. All the people I love the best are starting to get frustrated with me being a mess and the people I hardly know are always impressed. All the people I love the best have grown increasingly impatient with the person I am, and some people I hardly know will never understand. Even if I never get to call, I still loved you. Hope you loved me too, doo doo doo do do do do doo.

My telephone's been abuzz all morning and I don't know who is trying to get through. I did some shit that I should have done smarter, but they get away with everything so I thought I could get away too. Down in the gulf there's a black sea-monster and my crime ain't huge, a world-tattered cube that I didn't affix with a shiny new sticker. Go swallow the summer and choke on the fumes because they get away with everything that they do. So hold onto your home. It's shaky, I know, but if you flee trash will follow the winds that you left in your wake and you'll fall down again. Oh, the office called. You're in deep deep trouble. The shit you're afraid of has made you hateful and you're letting on, tired eyes, all spiteful. And nobody cares. We all got sorrows, so hold onto your home and onto your hope. Sorrow don't answer problems. Nobody cares. We're all in trouble. The shit that you hate don't make you special.

Took the train today to the Rockaways for the hurricane waves. I got sick yesterday, but it'll take much more to keep me away. I know that today could be the summer and hey, i've been procrastinating anyway. So what's one more day? What's one more day? I can be sick tomorrow. I can work and i can catch up. I can wait 'til tomorrow to pay my rent and start to grow up. All the headlines say "Surf's Up for the Hurricane Waves!" but the bodies say "it's gonna be a weekend filled with pain." I know usually I can find a cloud to cover anything, even on the clearest days but uncharacteristically I will retain some optimism. Cuddle through the storm. Cuddle up in the storm. Cheap Girls records. Instant Netflix. I can eat well tomorrow. I can sweep and I can clean up. I can wait 'til tomorrow to pay my rent and start to grow up. I can be sick tomorrow. I can work and i can catch up. I can wait I can wait 'til tomorrow. There's only so many days you can spend waiting for the turn. You're gonna get bored. There's only so many days you can spending waiting until you don't love anything anymore. You get yourself a bottle and say, "I don't do anything anymore." You get yourself a bottle and say, "I don't love anything anymore."

I didn't cause too much trouble at sixteen years old. I snuck out and I stole highway signs, piled 'em up in the hallway up against the wall from sidewalks, train stations, construction sites and nobody died. I remember the common room was really cold and the vending machines and the snow was iced over outside. I drove back, and the bridge had felt way too narrow over potholes and through yellow lights. Did I hug you goodbye? Did I say good night? And I thought I'd see you again under the glow of a soft light. Without fluorescent days and nights. With no hum, no network TV. The consolation prize: with resigned eyes I still held tight and with resigned eyes you still held tight. And I'm glad it wasn't like that summer when everybody died. I'm such a guarded guy 'cause I've been hurt too many times. The first time that I took you to the hospital, I was tired and you wanted to die. I drove off, and I couldn't understand at all. Fuck, I didn't even walk you inside. I thought we all wanna die, we all wanna die. And I thought that was fine, I thought that was fine, I thought that was fine.

Ever since you're young you'll be begging them to treat you like an adult and even when you're not they will treat you like you're six years old. Condescending stares down your nose from the back corner of a party. Oh, your little clique's got cool but you aren't any fun. So why oh why oh why am I hellbent on acceptance here, like a non-sarcastic smile would really fix my day when I get so depressed at night I can barely put the bottle down and I know that you won't care if I go away? So, I won't care, not from this point forward. If you're so stuck on feeling cool, why oh why did I ever care about you? Oh oh oh oh. When you're down and out, those acquaintances that treat you like a stranger scramble to the phone for the scoop on your latest little fall. They're the ones who call you, but only when they're looking for a favor, and you can hear the cracks when they tell you that it's been too long. So why oh why oh why do I even stay in touch with you when you're only here to leech off my good days? You know, I get so depressed sometimes it's a wonder that I'm still around and I know that you won't care if I go away. So, I won't care, not from this point forward. If you're stuck in your world of cool, why oh why did I ever care about you? Oh oh oh oh, oh oh oh oh. There's a marathon that I watch as a kid every new year of The Twilight Zone and I wonder if it's still on. These days I get shithoused and make plans to lose weight before the summer. Oh tell me, why I'm first in line to find what I'm doing wrong?

I'm kicking the party trash that coats the floor, empty whiskey bottles that serve reports of nights where all I could afford was to sell myself short. Our windows don't overlook the busy streets so I count the raindrops and drink my tea. Oh I'm living! in a city that's killed so many better men than me. Hey, can you save my life and I could save your life? I got so hung up on things that bring me down that I start feeling lost when they're not around. When relaxing feels like sinking into a bubbly pit with one arm reaching out, hey, can you save my life? I know everyone has bad nights, but you know I don't wanna die.

Wake up, start running for your life. Fill the tumbler with the coffee, feed the cat and hit the lights. The steps are ticking counts a beat ahead of you. The steps are keeping time. Someone will start nipping at your heels. Panic pumps blood through your knees but they don't care how you feel. The little fuckers chewing through the fabric; they're gonna do you in. But I can't complain. I've got a roof over my head. I've got a bottle for the pain. I've got a window shade I can pull right down if the sky fills up with clouds and it looks like rain. I can't complain. And I'm sorry the things I always damage. And I'm sorry I always act like I can't manage to stop the fuckers chewing through the plastic. They're gonna do me in.

Roll down the window, Chris, I'm gonna turn this song up. I know it's hella early but I don't give a fuck. When it's eighty degrees and you're at the beach, you gotta sway with breeze. And on the 8 AM flight home there's a girl about my age highlighting psalms in her bible in the seat that's next to me and I wonder when she comes home is it to a family? And if she needed a breather but just ended up lonely 'cause everyone who loves you isn't always gonna be around to have your back but being kind of lonely for a second here or there is really really so much better than someone always poking you. They love you but they're always breathing down your neck. But every now and then somebody calls you up and says "I'm coming back!" So I won't wake you when you're sleeping, I won't call you when I'm freaking out again if you are busy. I won't take it personally. Even nerves of steel deserve a breather, weight wears down the infrastructure and hearts of gold can still feel lonely if they don't know they're not the only ones. Everybody who loves you will be leaving some day soon. They've got problems to undo. They've got paperwork to do. When I show up at 6 AM I hope somebody lets me in. I know I've been gone a long time, but you know I'm still your friend. I hope you get the job that you've been looking for. You are a decent girl and you don't need this anymore. And yeah, I get that, for sure. But I hope that when I sit around watching snow collect in banks on the ground that I don't get too down because you're not around.

(And so what, it's hot in Texas and worse in Arizona. I know. I'm banged up.)

Your floor felt like falling backwards in a steady slipstream. The lazy tide is bringing me to shore. Eighty degree water, I see right to the bottom. Take the pressure off for good. Don't give me anymore. Give me the worst sleep spots, corners to get stuck in, pump me full of friends and alcohol and I'll be thinking of you long after the night's through. Long after I'm peeled off of the wall and shipped to Brooklyn. And it might be 'cause I'm not alone but this vacation feels more like home than habitually checking my phone for texts I won't respond to from people I don't talk to. In truth, December destroyed me. January crushed me. By February, I was not myself. March rolled in like beatings and rolled out like a bear hug. In April I stared out the window for a fucking month. I don't want October. I don't want November. I don't want to feel those crippling blows that I can't explain to myself, my friends or you so I soften them with hours of Nintendo. And it might be 'cause I'm not alone but this vacation feels more like home than refreshing e-mails I won't respond to from people I don't talk to. Please give me Caye Caulker, my feet in the water, someone who doesn't yawn when I go on and I'll be thinking of her long after the summer. Long after the crowd is bored and talking shit and moved away and everybody's gone so the winter never kills me. Winter won't kill me.