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MIKE HUGUENOR
BARDAMU
Simply put, and without hyperbole, Shinobu is one of the most underrated bands of all time. A lot of what makes them such a dark horse in the indie rock game is frontman Mike Huguenor's frenetic energy and clever lyrics. He delivers it all in spades on his debut solo EP. So check it out, dude!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! click here to buy this record!
click here to download the album!
1. Good Morning, Midnight
2. Agues
3. Great Plans!
4. Montreal
5. Bourgeois Food Culture
6. The Silver Sword
The list of people to thank for allowing me the opportunity to have a nice time playing music the way I want to play it is far too long to fit here. Plus I know I would inevitably forget an important name and then feel awful about it. Let’s avoid both of these situations. Instead, it is absolutely necessary for me to thank Matt and Shanna Arbogast for allowing me the time and space to record in their home. Also, Angelina Banda, Jeff Rosenstock, and Hank Richardson need to be thanked for helping facilitate this release. Thanks, guys!
All songs written and performed by Mike Huguenor.
Trumpets in ‘Agues’ and ‘Bourgeois Food Culture’ beautifully conceived and performed by Ben Grigg.
Recorded and mixed at 8AM in Chicago by Matt Arbogast.
Cover painting and photo by Shereen Rastgar. Lettering by Mike Huguenor. Layout by Jeff Rosenstock.
This work is licensed under a
Creative Commons Attribution-Noncommercial-Share Alike 3.0 United States License.
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..GOOD MORNING, MIDNIGHT..
(instrumental)
..AGUES..
When I picked myself up off the bathroom floor I was
still shaking with agues and unsure
of how to push myself
through the indignities of the day.
So I went back into the kitchen,
where my friend from the previous night was still drinking,
and with his glassy eyes and glass in hand he turned to me to say:
THIS HAPPENS OVER AND OVER AND OVER AND OVER AND OVER AND OVER AND OVER
And in the cruel daylight
we moved to different rhythms, to fight different fights.
I was looking for a job that I didn’t want,
he was looking for some kind of grave to haunt.
And when I got that job it nearly tore me apart:
I WAS DESPERATE FOR A DIFFERENT WAY.
But the truth springs from that awful place in your heart
that wakes you in the night to say:
THIS HAPPENS OVER AND OVER AND OVER AND OVER AND OVER AND OVER AND OVER
ITS NEVER OVER UNTIL YOU’RE DEAD.
When I laid back down on the bathroom floor I was
still shaking with agues and unsure.
..GREAT PLANS!..
Oh, I’ve got some great plans
that will never come to fruition.
Yeah, I’ve got some great plans
that will never see the light of day.
I could make you change the way you see
if I could only see it through—
and I’m not talking about the Petrarchan “you.”
You’d be surprised what you could find if you opened your eyes under a broken porchlight
sputtering its conversation poorly,
as we stagger through the days inside this purchasable world filled with earthly delights.
And, yeah, I’m fucking talking to you.
Oh, but I’ve got some great plans!
Oh yeah, I’ve got some great plans!
You’re gonna love these great plans!
I’ve got so many great plans!
..MONTREAL..
I don’t want to leave
Montreal,
because there is
nothing waiting for me at home anymore.
No, I don’t want to leave
Montreal,
because there is
nothing waiting for me at home anymore.
I’d like a drink, but I’ve already been drinking.
I slipped down the stairs to wander where
to wonder where to wander next.
At the end of the night there’s a day that looks
a lot like the one that you just left.
I’d like some hope, but I’ve ALREADY BEEN HOPING.
..BOURGEOIS FOOD CULTURE..
Waiting on the line,
static like smoke hanging in my ear.
And it never takes much time
at all
for me to just want to
disappear.
And like bourgeois food culture and
furniture stores,
it always succeeds in making me wish that I had
never been born.
Waiting on the line,
tethered to a point out in the darkness.
And I’ve been groping, blind,
and feeling out the grooves
IN THE MIDNIGHT CLOAK ROOM OF THE HEARTLESS.
And like bourgeois food culture and
furniture stores,
it always succeeds in making me wish that I had
never been born.
I’ve been born, I’ve been bored, I’ve been born, I’ve been bored.
..THE SILVER SWORD..
Put one balloon inside of another.
Put one balloon inside of another.
They’re going to feel you when you step inside,
but pretend it’s my hands on your thighs and
put one balloon inside of another.
Cause I’ve got this recurring dream where I’m staring
at the blade of the guillotine as it comes down,
So we’re gonna split these drugs
and we’re gonna let them take us home.
We’re gonna split these drugs
and we’re gonna go home.
I wish, I wish, I wish
that I could stay alive just long enough
to see the warden’s face when he finds me.
Yeah, I wish, I wish, I wish
that I could stay alive just long enough
to see the warden’s face when the trusty finds me.
Cause the barking from the muzzles of the firing squad
can’t touch your heart if we’re already gone,
So we’re gonna split these drugs
and we’re gonna let them take us home.
Yeah, we’re gonna split these drugs
and we’re gonna go home.
ALL RIGHT? |
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